UUOQ L i U 1 \ n n f 
 
 X- 223/2. 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM 
 
 TAYLOR, HOOKER, HALL, 
 
 AND 
 
 LORD BACON. 
 
R. TAYLOR and Co. Printers, 
 Black Horse Court, Fleet'Stretl. 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM. TH 
 
 WORKS 
 
 or 
 
 Caplor, gxroher, 
 
 AND 
 
 Bacon. 
 
 WIT3 
 
 AN ANALYSIS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING. 
 
 BT 
 
 BASIL MONTAGU, ESQ. A.M. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR J. MAWMAN, NO. 22, POULTRY. 
 1805. 
 
TO THE KIND FAMILY WHO HAVE BLESSED MV 
 LIFE WITH OPPORTUNITIES OF MEDITATION. 
 
 BASIL MONTAGU. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ENGAGED in the completion of a laborious di- 
 gest of a small section of the Laws of England, 
 I have passed some of my hours of recreation 
 amidst the works of a few favourite authors, 
 to which, from my residence in the Univer- 
 sity, I have had easy access. From these works 
 this selection is made : It is published partly 
 with the conviction that every lesson of such 
 teachers of truth has a tendency to meliorate 
 our general taste, and our taste for moral beauty : 
 but chiefly with the hope that I may induce 
 some of my contemporaries, not accustomed 
 to this train of reading, to extend their re- 
 searches to these repositories of science. I 
 please myself with thinking that this little 
 volume will contain " the slip for use, and part 
 of the root for growth." 
 
 I subjoin in this preface an extract contain- 
 ing some account of the life of Bishop Taylor; 
 and, at the conclusion of the volume, I have 
 
 annexed 
 
viii PREPACK. 
 
 annexed an Analysis of " Lord Bacon's Ad- 
 vancement of Learning.'" I made die Analysis 
 in consequence of a suggestion that the intri- 
 cacy of the arrangement deterred many persons 
 from reading this valuable treatise, and of 
 thinking that such a syllabus would assist in 
 obviating the difficulty, 
 
 I have adhered, perhaps erroneously, to the 
 old spelling. 
 
 Some Account of the Life of 
 
 Bishop Taylor*. 
 
 He was born at Cambridge, and brought up 
 in the free-school there, and was ripe for the 
 university afore custome would allow of his 
 admittance ; but by that time he was thirteen 
 years old, he was entred into Caius-college j 
 and as soon as he was graduate, he was chosen 
 fellow. 
 
 He was a man long afore he was of age j 
 and knew little more of the state of childhood, 
 than its innocency and pleasantness. From the 
 university, by that time he was master of arts, 
 
 * From the sermon preached at his funeral by the 
 bishop of Droraore. See the conclusion of his volume 
 of sermons. 
 
 he 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 he removed to London, and became publick 
 lecturer in the church of Saint Paul's ; where 
 he preached to the admiration and astonishment 
 of his auditory ; and by his florid and youthful 
 beauty, and sweet and pleasant air, and sub- 
 lime and rais'd discourses, he made his hearers 
 take him for some young angel, newly de- 
 scended from the visions of glory : the fame of 
 this new star, that out- shone all the rest of the 
 firmament, quickly came to the notice of the 
 great archbishop of Canterbury, who would 
 needs have him preach before him ; which he 
 performed not less to his wonder than satisfac- 
 tion: his discourse was beyond exception and be- 
 yond imitation: yet the wise prelate thought him 
 too young ; but the great youth humbly begg'd 
 his grace to pardon that fault, and promised, 
 if he liv'd, he would mend it. However, the 
 grand patron of learning and ingenuity thought 
 it for the advantage of the world, that such 
 mighty parts should be afforded better opportu- 
 nities of study and improvement, than a course 
 of constant preaching would allow of ; and to 
 that purpose he placed him in his own college 
 of All Souls in Oxford ; where love and admi- 
 ration still waited upon him : which so long as 
 
 there 
 
X , PREFACE. 
 
 there is any spark of ingenuity in the breasts of 
 men, must needs be the inseparable attendants 
 of so extraordinary a worth and sweetness. He 
 had not been long here, afore my lord of Can- 
 terbury bestowed upon him the rectory of 
 Uphingham in Rutlandshire, and soon after 
 preferred him to be chaplain to king Charles 
 the Martyr, of blessed and immortal memory. 
 
 This great man had no sooner launch'd into 
 the world, but a fearful tempest arose, and a 
 barbarous and unnatural war disturb'd a long 
 and uninterrupted peace and tranquillity, and 
 brought all things into disorder and confusion ; 
 but his religion taught him to be loyal, and 
 engag'd him on his prince's side, whose canse 
 and quarrel he always o\vn'u and maintairfd 
 with a great courage and constancy ; till at last, 
 he and his little fortune were shipwreck' 1 in 
 that great hurricane, that overturn' cl both 
 church and state : this fatal storm cast Li;u 
 ashore in a private corner of ilie world, and a 
 tender providence bhrowded him under her 
 wings, ar.;l the prophet was fed in the wilder- 
 ness ; and his great worthiness procur'd h'in 
 friends, that supplied him with bread a::d 
 necessaries. In this solitude lie began to write 
 2 tl;.ofie 
 
PEEFACE. XI 
 
 those excellent discourses, which are enough 
 of themselves to furnish a library, and will be 
 famous to all succeeding generations, for their 
 greatness of wit, and profoundness of judg- 
 ment, and richness of fancy, and clearness of 
 expression, and copiousness of invention, and 
 general usefulness to all the purposes of a 
 Christian: and by these he soon got a great 
 reputation among all persons of judgment and 
 indifferency, and his name will grow greater 
 still, as the world grows better and wiser. 
 
 When he had spent some years in this re- 
 tirement, it pleas'd God to visit his family with 
 sickness, and to take to himself the dear pledges 
 of his favour, three sons of great hopes and 
 expectations, within the space of two or three 
 months : and though he had learned a quiet 
 submission unto the divine will ; yet the afflic- 
 tion touch' d him so sensibly, that it made him 
 desirous to leave the countrey ; and going to 
 London, he there met my lord Conway, a per- 
 son of great honour and generosity} who 
 making him a kind proffer, the good man em- 
 braced it, and that brought him over into Ire- 
 land, and settled him at Portmore, a place made 
 ibr study and contemplation, which lie there- 
 fore 
 
XU PREFACE. 
 
 fore dearly lov'd ; and here he wrote his Cases 
 of Conscience : a book that is able alone to give 
 its author immortality. 
 
 By this time the wheel of providence brought 
 about the king's happy restoration, and there 
 began a new world, and the spirit of God 
 moved upon the face of the waters, and out of 
 a confused chaos brought forth beauty and or- 
 der, and all the three nations were inspired 
 with a new life, and became drunk with an 
 excess of joy ; among the rest, this loyal sub- 
 ject went over to congratulate the prince and 
 people's happiness, and bear a part in the uni- 
 versal triumph. 
 
 It was not long ere his sacred majesty began 
 the settlement of the church, and the great 
 doctor Jeremy Taylor was resolv'd upon for the 
 bishoprick of Down and Connor ; and not long 
 after, Dromore was added to it : and it was but 
 reasonable that the king and church should 
 consider their champion, and reward the pains 
 and sufferings he underwent in the defence of 
 their cause and honour. With what care and 
 faithfulness he discharg'd his office, we are all 
 his witnesses ; what good rales and directions 
 he gave his clergy, and how he taught us the 
 
 practice 
 
PREFACE. X.ll 
 
 practice of them by his own example. Upon 
 his coming over bishop, he was made a privy- 
 counsellor j and the University of Dublin gave 
 him their testimony, by recommending him 
 for their vice-chancellor : which honourable 
 office he kept to his dying day. 
 
 Nature had befriended him much in his con- 
 stitution j for he was a person of a most sweet 
 and obliging humour, of great candour and 
 ingenuity ; and there was so much of salt and 
 fineness of wit, and prettiness of address in 
 his familiar discourses, as made his conver- 
 sation have all the pleasantness of a comedy, 
 and all die usefullness of a sermon : his soul 
 was made up of harmony, and he never spake, 
 but he charm'd his hearer, not only with the 
 clearness of his reason ; but all his words, and 
 his very tone, and cadencies were strangely 
 musical. 
 
 But, that which did most of all captivate 
 and enravish, was, the gaiety and richness of his 
 fancy ; for he had much in him of that natural 
 enthusiasm that inspires all great poets and 
 orators ; and there was a generous ferment in 
 his bloud and spirits, that set his fancy bravely 
 a- work, and made it swell, and teem, and be- 
 come 
 
XlY PHEFACE. 
 
 come pregnant to such degrees of luxuriancy, 
 as nothing but the greatness of his wit and 
 judgment could have kept it within due bounds 
 and measures. 
 
 And indeed it was a rare mixture, and a 
 single instance, hardly to be found in an age : 
 for the great tryer of wits has told us, that 
 there is a peculiar and several complexion re- 
 quir'd for wit, and judgment, and fancy ; and 
 yet you might have found all these in this great 
 personage, in their eminency and perfection. 
 But that which made his wit and judgment 
 so considerable, was the largeness and free- 
 dom of his spirit, for truth is plain and easie 
 to a mind disintangled from superstition and 
 prejudice ; he was one of the EK\KTIY.IJI, a sort 
 of brave philosophers that Laertius speaks of, 
 that did not addict themselves to any particular 
 sect, but ingeniously sought for Truth among 
 all the wrangling schools j and they found her 
 miserably torn and rent to pieces, and parcell'd 
 into rags, by the several contending parties, 
 and so disfigur'd and misshapen, that it was hard 
 to know her ; but they made a shift to gather 
 up her scatter' d limbs, which as soon as they 
 came together, by a strange sympathy and con- 
 naturalness, 
 
PREFACE. XV 
 
 naturalness, presently united into a lovely and 
 beautiful body. This, was the spirit of this 
 great man j he weighed men's reasons, and not 
 their names, and was not scared with the ugly 
 visars men usually put upon persons they hate, 
 and opinions they dislike ; not affrighted with 
 the anathemas and execrations of an infallible 
 chair, which he look'd upon only as bug-bears 
 to terrific weak and childish minds. He con- 
 sidered that it is not likely any one party should 
 wholly engross truth to themselves ; that obedi- 
 ence is the only way to true knowledge j that 
 God always, and only teaches docible and inge- 
 nuous minds, that are willing to hear, and ready 
 to obey according to their light ; that it is im- 
 possible, a pure, humble, resigned, godlike 
 soul should be kept out of heaven, whatever 
 mistakes it might be subject to in this state of 
 mortality j that the design of heaven is not to 
 fill men's heads, and feed their curiosities, but 
 to better their hearts, and mend their lives. 
 Such considerations as these, made him im- 
 partial in his disquisitions, and give a due al- 
 lowance to the reasons of his adversary, and 
 contend for truth, and not for victory. 
 
 And now you will easily believe that an ordi- 
 nary 
 
XVI PREFACE. 
 
 nary diligence would be able to make great 
 improvements upon such a stock of parts and 
 endowments ; but to these advantages of na- 
 ture, and excellency of his spirit, he added an 
 indefatigable industry, and God gave a plen- 
 tiful benediction : for there were very few 
 kinds of learning but he was a great master 
 in them : he was a rare humanist, and hugely 
 vers'd in all the polite parts of learning; and 
 had throughly concocted all the ancient mo- 
 ralists, Greek and Roman, poets and orators ; 
 and was not unacquainted with the refined wits 
 of the later ages, whether French or Italian. 
 
 But he had not only the accomplishments of 
 a gentleman, but so universal were his parts, 
 that they were proportioned to every thing : 
 and though his spirit and humour were made 
 up of smoothness and gentleness ; yet he could 
 bear with the harshness and roughness of the 
 schools ; and was not unseen in their subtil ties 
 and spinosities, and upon occasion could make 
 them serve his purpose. 
 
 His skill was great, both in the civil and 
 canon law, and casuistical divinity; and he 
 was a rare conductor of souls, and knew how 
 to counsel and to advise ; to solve difficulties, 
 
 and 
 
PREFACE. XVI 
 
 and determine cases, and quiet conscience?. He 
 understood what the several parties in Chris- 
 tendom have to say tor themselves, and could 
 plead their cause to better advantage than any 
 advocate of their tribe ; and when he had done, 
 he could confute them too; and shew, that 
 better arguments than ever they could produce 
 for themselves, would afford no sufficient 
 ground for their fond opinions. 
 
 It would be too great a task to pursue his 
 accomplishments through the various kinds of 
 literature : I shall content my self to add only 
 his great acquaintance with the fathers and 
 ecclesiastical writers, and the doctors of the 
 first and purest ages both of the Greek and 
 Latin church,- which he has made use- of 
 against the Romanists, to vindicate the church 
 of England from the challenge of innovation, 
 and prove her to be truly ancient, catholick and 
 apostolical. 
 
 But religion and vertue is the crown of all 
 other accomplishments ; and it was the glory of 
 this great man, to be thought a Christian, and 
 whatever you added to it, he look't upon as a 
 term of diminution : and yet he was a zealous 
 son of the church of England; but that was 
 a because 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 because he judg'd her (and with great reason) 
 a church the most purely Christian of any in the 
 world. In his younger years he met with some 
 assaults from popery ; and the high pretensions 
 of their religious orders were very accommo- 
 date to his devotional temper 5 but he was al- 
 ways so much master of himself, that he would 
 never be govern'd by any thing but reason, and 
 the evidence of truth, which engag'd him in 
 the study of those controversies ; and to how 
 good purpose, the world is by this time a suffi- 
 cient witness. 
 
 He was a person of great humility ; and, 
 notwithstanding his stupendous parts, and 
 learning, and eminency of place, he had no- 
 thing in him of pride and humour, but was 
 courteous and affable, and of easie access, and 
 would lend a ready ear to the complaints, yea 
 to the impertinencies, of the meanest persons. 
 His humility was coupled with an extraordinary 
 piety ; and, I believe, he spent the greatest 
 part of his time in heaven ; his solemn hours 
 of prayer took up a considerable portion of his 
 life ; and we are not to doubt, but he had 
 learned of St. Paul to pray continually ; and 
 that occasional ejaculations, and frequent aspi- 
 6 rations 
 
PEFACB. XIX 
 
 rations and emigrations of his soul after God, 
 made up the best part of his devotions. But 
 he was not only a good man God- ward, but he 
 was come to the top of St. Peter's gradation, 
 and to all his other vertues added a large and , 
 diffusive charity ; and, whoever compares his 
 plentiful incomes with the inconsiderable 
 estate he left at his death, will be easily con- 
 vinc'd that charity was steward for a great pro- 
 portion of his revenue. But the hungry that 
 he fed, and the naked that he cloath'd, and the 
 distressed that he supply'd, and the fatherless 
 that he provided for ; the poor children that he 
 put to apprentice, and brought up at school, 
 and maintained at the university, will now 
 sound a trumpet to that charity which lie di- 
 spersed with his right hand, but would not suf- 
 fer his left hand to have any knowledge of it. 
 
 A '2 CON- 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 ON Death 1 
 
 On Friendship and General Benevolence 5 
 
 Impatience 20 
 
 Educalion 21 
 
 Adversity 22 
 
 On the Miseries of Man's Life . . . . 24 
 
 Man's Reason and Life 26 
 
 The Virtuous Mind 29 
 
 The Prostitute 31 
 
 The Hospital 32 
 
 On Government and Revolutions 33 
 
 On Marriage 42 
 
 On Fear 56 
 
 On Superstition 5f) 
 
 Lust 60 
 
 Human Resolutions Ol 
 
 On Lukewarmness and Zeal <>2 
 
 Toleration (Jo 
 
 Miscellaneous 6fj 
 
 On Temperance O'S 
 
 On Humility 81 
 
 The Advantages of Learning 82 
 
 Of the Presence of God 113 
 
 On Idle Curiosity 114 
 
 On Content 1 16 
 
 Of the different Motives for acquiring 
 
 Knowledge 119 
 
 Miscellaneous 
 
CONTENTS. XXI 
 
 Miscellaneous 120 
 
 On Anger 121 
 
 On Covetousness 125 
 
 On Sinful Pleasures 126 
 
 On Hope ibid. 
 
 What Inconveniences happen to such as 
 
 delight in Wine 127 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh's Letter to his Wife, 
 
 after his Condemnation 130 
 
 On Sickness 134 
 
 On the Prolongation of Life 137 
 
 On Prayer .- . 14& 
 
 On Conversation 14p 
 
 On the Goodness of the Almighty 157 
 
 On Christianity 163 
 
 Distinction between apparent and real 
 
 Happiness 169 
 
 The Danger of Prosperity 172 
 
 Of the Progress of religious Sentiment .. 173 
 
 On Sin 177 
 
 On the true Sources of Happiness 181 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM BISHOP HALL. 
 
 From his Meditations and Vowes 1 87 
 
 On Friends 1 87 
 
 On the Snares of this World .... ibid. 
 
 Conscience 188 
 
 Virtue, Knowledge and Riches . . ibid. 
 
 Mirth and Sadness 189 
 
 Imperfectness of Human Know- 
 ledge ibid. 
 
 From the Art of Divine Meditation. . . . 1QI 
 Instruction to be derived from sur- 
 rounding Objects ipl 
 
 On Abstraction from Worldly Cares 192 
 
 From 
 
XX11 CONTENTS. 
 
 From the Holy Observations 1Q4 
 
 On Duties, principal and inferior . . 1Q4 
 
 On Living to an End 195 
 
 From the Characters of Virtues and Vices. 
 
 The Wise Man 1Q5 
 
 The Happy Man 199 
 
 The Hypocrite 204 
 
 The Unthrift 20? 
 
 From his Epistles 
 
 To Mr. Milward 209 
 
 To my Lord Denny 214 
 
 Of true and of mock Religion 222 
 
 On Diffidence 224 
 
 The Hopes of Man .... 225 
 
 On Mercy 226 
 
 On Passion and Reason 227 
 
 On Christianity 228 
 
 The Resurrection of Sinners 231 
 
 The Day of Judgment 232 
 
 ANALYSIS OF LORD BACON'S ADVANCE- 
 MENT OF LEARNING. 
 
 Objections to Learning 241 
 
 Advantages of Learning 248 
 
 Of L T ni\ ersities 25 1 
 
 Of Libraries 253 
 
 Of History ibfd. 
 
 Of Poetry 202 
 
 Of Philosophy 2/2 
 
 Natuial Religion 2/4 
 
 Natural Philosophy ibid. 
 
 Human Philosophy 288 
 
 Of the Body 292 
 
 The Preservation of Health 294 
 
 The Cuie of Diseases ibid. 
 
 The 
 
CONTENTS. XX111 
 
 The Prolongation of Life 296 
 
 Beauty 30O 
 
 Strength ibid. 
 
 Pleasure ; 3O1 
 
 The Mind ibid. 
 
 Divination 302 
 
 Fascination 304 
 
 Voluntary Motion ibid. 
 
 Of Sense and Sensibility ibid. 
 
 Of the Understanding 3O8 
 
 Invention ibid. 
 
 Judgment 318 
 
 Memory 325 
 
 Tradition 326 
 
 Of the Will 336 
 
 Of Conversation 3-ig 
 
 Of the Art of Rising in Life 351 
 
 Of Government 362 
 
 Of Universal Justice 365 
 
 Of Revealed Religion 366 
 
Wherever I find a man despising the false estimates 
 of the vulgar, and daring to aspire, in sentiment, language, 
 and conduct, to ivhat the highest wisdom through every 
 age has taught us as most excellent, to him I unite myself 
 by a sort of necessary attachment : and, if I am so inftu^ 
 enced ly nature or destiny, that, by no exertion or labours 
 of my own, I may exalt myself to this siimmit of worth 
 and honour ; yet no power of heaven or earth will hinder 
 me from looking with affection and reverence upon those 
 who have thoroughly attained this glory, or appear en- 
 gaged in the successful pursuit of it. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 TAYLOR, HOOKER, BARROW., 
 
 ON DEATH. 
 
 ft~\ 
 1 HE autumn with its fruits provides disorders 
 
 for us, and the winter's cold turns them into 
 sharp diseases, and the spring brings flowers to 
 strew our herse/ and the summer gives green 
 turf and brambles to bind upon our graves. 
 
 The wild fellow in Petronius that escaped 
 upon a broken table from the furies of a ship- 
 wreck, as he was sunning himself upon the 
 rocky shore, espied a man rolled upon his float- 
 ing bed of waves, ballasted with sand in the 
 folds of his garment, and carried by his civil 
 enemy the sea towards the shore to find a. 
 grave : and it cast him into some sad thoughts : 
 B That 
 
That peradventure this man's wife in some part 
 of the continent, safe and warm, looks next 
 month for the good man's return ; or it may be 
 his son knows nothing of the tempest; or his 
 father thinks of that affectionate kiss which 
 itill is warm upon the good old man's cheek 
 ever since he took a kind farewell, and he weeps 
 with joy to think how blessed he shall be when 
 his beloved boy returns into the circle of his 
 father's arms. These are the thoughts of mor- 
 tals, this the end and sum of all their designs : 
 a dark night and an ill guide, a boisterous sea 
 and a broken cable, an hard rock and a rough 
 wind dash'd hi pieces the fortune of a whole 
 family, and they that shall weep loudest for 
 the accident are not yet entred into the storm, 
 and yet have suffered shipwreck. Then look- 
 ing upon the carkass, he knew it, and found it 
 to be the master of the ship, who the day be- 
 fore cast up the accounts of his patrimony and 
 his trade, and named the day when he thought 
 to be at home. See how the man swims who 
 was so angry two days since ; his passions are 
 becalmed with the storm, his accounts cast up, 
 his cares at an end, his voyage done, and his 
 gains are the strange events of death. 
 
 It 
 
It Is a mighty change that is made by the 
 death of every person, and it is visible to us 
 who are alive. Reckon but from the spriteful- 
 liess of youth and the fair cheeks and the full 
 eyes of childhood, from the vigorousness and 
 strong flexure of the joints of five-and-twenty, 
 to the hollowness and dead paleness, to the 
 loathsomeness and horrour of a three days burial, 
 and we shall perceive the distance to be very 
 great and very strange. But so I have seen a 
 rose newly springing from the clefts of its 
 hood, and at first it was fair as the morning, 
 and full with the dew of heaven, as a lamb's 
 fleece : but when a ruder breath had forced 
 open its virgin modesty, and dismantled its too 
 youthful and unripe retirements, it began to put 
 on darkness, and to decline to softness and the 
 symptoms of a sickly age j it bowed the head, 
 and broke its stalk; and at night having lost 
 some of its leaves and all its beauty, it fell into 
 the portion of weeds and out-worn laces. 
 
 When the sentence of death is decreed, and 
 begins to be put in execution, it is sorrow 
 enough to see or feel respectively the sad ac- 
 cents of the agony and last contentions of the 
 
 soul. 
 
soul, and the reluctancies and unwillingnesses 
 ef the body : the forehead \vash'd with a new 
 and stranger baptism, besmeared with a cold 
 sweat, tenacious and clammy, apt to make it 
 r leave to the roof of his coffin j the nose cold 
 and undiscerning, not pleased with perfumes, 
 nor suffering violence with a cloud of unwhol- 
 some smoak ; the eyes dim as a sullied mirrour, 
 or the face of heaven when God shews his 
 anger in a prodigious storm j the feet cold, 
 the hands stiff ; the physicians despairing, our 
 friends weeping, the rooms dressed with dark- 
 ness and sorrow ; and the exteriour parts be- 
 traying what are the violences which the soul 
 and spirit suffer. 
 
 Then calamity is great, and sorrow rules in 
 all the capacities of man; then the mourners 
 weep, because it is civil, or because they need 
 thee, or because they fear : but who suffers 
 for thee with a compassion sharp as is thy pain ? 
 Then the noise is like the faint echo of a di- 
 stant valley, and few hear, and they will not 
 regard thee, who seemest like a person void of 
 understanding, and of a departing interest. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. 1,2. 
 
 ON 
 
ON FRIENDSHIP AND GENERAL 
 BENEVOLENCE : 
 
 JN A DISCOURSE OF THE NATURE, OFFICES, 
 A.ND MEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP, WITH 
 RULES OF CONDUCTING IT, IN A LETTE& 
 TO THE MOST INGENIOUS AND EXCEL- 
 LENT MRS. CATHARINE PHILIPS, EN&UIR- 
 ING, ' HOW FAR A DEAR AND A PERFECT 
 FRIENDSHIP IS AUTHORIZED BY THE PRIN- 
 CIPLES OF CHRISTIANITY.' 
 
 THE word friend is of a large signification; 
 and means all relations and societies, and what- 
 soever is not enemy. But by friendships, I 
 suppose you mean the greatest love, and the 
 greatest usefulness, and the most open commu- 
 uication, and the noblest sufferings, and the 
 most exemplar faithfulness, and the severest 
 truth, and the heartiest counsel, and the greatest 
 union of minds, of which brave men and wo- 
 men are capable. -But then I must tell you 
 that Christianity hath new christened it, and 
 calls this charity. The Christian knows no 
 enemy he hath ; that is, though persons may be 
 injurious to him, and unworthy in themselves, 
 
 yet. 
 
yef he knows none whom he is not first bound 
 to forgive, which is indeed to make them on 
 his part to be no enemies j that is, to make that 
 the word enemy shall not be perfectly contrary 
 to friend, it shall not be a relative term and 
 signifie something on each hand, a relative and a 
 correlative j and then he knows none whom he 
 is not bound to love and pray for, to treat 
 kindly and justly, liberally and obligingly, 
 Christian charity is friendship to all the world j 
 and when friendships were the noblest things 
 in the world, charity was little, like the sun, 
 drawn in at a chink, or his beams drawn into- 
 the centre of a burning-glass ; but ehristian cha- 
 nty is friendship expanded like the face of the 
 sun when it mounts above the eastern hills : 
 and I was strangely pleas'd when I saw some- 
 thing of this in Cicero ; for I have been so 
 push'd at by herds and flocks of people that 
 follow any body that whistles to them, or 
 drives them to pasture, that I am grown afraid 
 of any truth that seems chargeable with singu- 
 larity : but therefore I say, glad I was when I 
 saw Lrelius in Cicero discourse thus : Amicitia 
 fc injinllaic generis humani quam conciliavit 
 ipsa naiura, contracta res est, et adducta in 
 3 anguslitm} 
 
angustum ; ut omnis charitas, ant inter duos, 
 out inter paucosjungeretur. Nature hath made 
 friendships and societies, relations and endear- 
 ments ; and by something or other we relate 
 to all the world ; there is enough in every man 
 that is willing to make him become our friend ; 
 but when men contract friendships, they inclose 
 the commons ; and what nature intended should 
 be every man's, we make proper to two or 
 three. Friendship is like rivers, and the strand 
 of seas, and the air, common to all the world; 
 but tyrants, and evil customs, wars, and want 
 of love have made them proper and peculiar. 
 But when Christianity came to renew our na- 
 ture, and to restore our laws, and to increase 
 her priviledges, and to make her aptness to be- 
 come religion, then it was declared that our 
 friendships were to be as universal as our con- 
 versation ; that is, actual to all with whom we 
 converse, and potentially extended unto those 
 with whom we did not. For he who was to 
 treat his enemies with forgiveness and prayers, 
 and love and beneficence, was indeed to have 
 no enemies, and to have all friends. 
 
 So that to your question ' how far a dear and 
 perfect friendship is authoriz'd by the principles 
 
 of 
 
s 
 
 of Christianity' die answer is ready and easie *. 
 It is warranted to extend to all mankind ; and 
 the more we love, the better we are ; and the 
 greater our friendships are, the dearer we are 
 to God. Let them be as dear, and let them be 
 as perfect, and let them be as many as you 
 can; there is no danger in it; only where the 
 restraint begins, there begins our imperfection. 
 It is not ill that you entertain brave friendships 
 and worthy societies : it were well if you could 
 love and if you could benefit all mankind ; for 
 I conceive that is the summ of all friendship. 
 
 I confess this is not to be expected of us in 
 this world ; but, as all our graces here are but 
 imperfect, that is, at the best they are but ten- 
 dencies to glory, so our friendships are imper- 
 fect too, and but beginnings of a celestial 
 friendship by which we shall love every one as 
 much as they can be loved. But then so we 
 must here in our proportion ; and indeed that 
 is it that can make the difference ; we must be 
 friends to all, that is, apt to do good, loving 
 them really, and doing to them all the benefits 
 which we cnn, and which they are capable of. 
 The friendship is equal to all the world, and 
 cf it self hath no difference ; but is differenced 
 
 only 
 
only by accidents, and by the capacity or in- 
 capacity of them that receive it. 
 
 For thus the sun is the eye of the world ; and 
 he is indifferent to the Negro, or the cold 
 Russian, to them that dwell under the line, 
 and them that stand near the tropicks, the 
 scalded Indian, or the poor boy that shakes at 
 the foot of the Riphean hills. But the fluxures 
 of the heaven and the earth, the conveniency 
 of abode, and the approaches to the north or 
 south respectively change the emanations of his 
 beams ; not that they do not pass always from 
 him, but that they are not equally received be- 
 low, but by periods and changes, by Tittle in- 
 lets and reflections, they receive what they can. 
 And some have only a dark day and a long night 
 from him, snows and white cattle, a miserable 
 life, and a perpetual harvest of catarrhes and 
 consumptions, apoplexies and dead palsies. 
 But some have splendid fires and aromatick 
 spices, rich wines and well-digested fruits, great 
 wit and great courage ; because they dwell in 
 his eye, and look in his face, and are the cour- 
 tiers of the sun, and wait upon him in his 
 chambers of the east. Just so is it in friendships: 
 some are worthy, and some are necessary; some 
 
 dwell 
 
10 
 
 dwell hard by and are fitted for converse ; na- 
 ture joyns some to us, and religion combines us 
 with others j society and accidents, parity of 
 fortune, and equal dispositions do actuate our 
 friendships : which of themselves and in their 
 prime disposition are prepared for all mankind 
 according as any one can receive them. We 
 see this best exemplified by two instances and 
 expressions of friendships and charity : viz. 
 alms and prayers : every one that needs relief is 
 equally the object of our charity j but though 
 to all mankind in equal needs we ought to be 
 alike in charity, yet we signifie this severally 
 and by limits and distinct measures : the poor 
 man that is near me, he whom I meet, he 
 whom I love, he whom I fancy, he who did 
 me benefit, he who relates to my family, he 
 rnther than another; because my expressions, 
 being finite and narrow and cannot extend to all 
 in equal significations, must be appropriate to 
 those whose circumstances best fit me : and yet 
 even to all I give my alms, to all the world that 
 .needs them: I pray for all mankind, I am 
 grieved at every sad story I hear ; I am troubled 
 when I hear of a pretty bride murtliered in her 
 bride-chamber by an ambitious and enrag'd 
 
 rival: 
 
n 
 
 rival 5 I shed a tear when I am told that a brave 
 king was misunderstood, then slandered, then 
 imprisoned, and then put to death by evil men: 
 and I can never read the story of the Parisian 
 massacre, or the Sicilian vespers, but my blood 
 curdles, and I am disorder'd by two or three 
 affections. A good man is a friend to all the 
 world j and he is not truly charitable that does 
 not wish well, and do good to all mankind in 
 what he can. But though we must pray for all 
 men, yet we say sptrial litanies for brave king* 
 and holy prelates, and the wise guides of souls, 
 for our brethren and relations, our wives and 
 children. 
 
 The effect of this consideration is, that the 
 universal friendship of which I speak, must be 
 limited, because we are so : In those things 
 where we stand next to immensity and infinity, 
 as in good wishes and prayers, and a readiness 
 to benefit all mankind, in these our friendships 
 must not be limited : but in other things which 
 pass under our hand and eye, our voices and 
 our material exchanges ; our hands can reach 
 no further but to our arms end, and our voices 
 can but sound till the next air be quiet, and 
 therefore they can have entercourse but within 
 
 the 
 
the sphere of their own activity ; our needs and 
 our conversations are served by a few, and they 
 cannot reach to all j where they can, they 
 must ; but where it is impossible, it cannot be 
 necessary. It must therefore follow, that our 
 friendships to mankind may admit variety as 
 does our conversation ; and as by nature we are 
 made sociable to all, so we are friendly : but as 
 all cannot actually be of our society, so neither 
 can all be admitted to a special, actual friend- 
 ship. Of some entercourses all men are capa- 
 ble, but not of all ; men can pray for one an- 
 other, and abstain from doing injuries to all the 
 world, and be desirous to do all mankind good, 
 and love all men : now this friendship we must 
 pay to all because we can ; but if we can do 
 no more to all, we must shew our readiness to 
 do more good to all by actually doing more 
 good to all them to whom we can. 
 
 A good man is the best friend, and therefore 
 soonest to be chosen, longer to be retain'd ; and 
 indeed never to be parted with, unless he cease 
 to be that for which he was chosen. 
 
 For the good man is a profitable, useful per- 
 son, and that's the band of an effective friend- 
 ship. For I do not think that friendships are 
 
 metaphysical 
 
metaphysical nothings, created for conremplro- 
 tion, or that men or women should stare upon 
 each others faces, and make dialogues of news 
 and prettinesses, and look babies in one anothers 
 eyes. Friendship is the allay of our sorrows-, 
 the ease of our passions, the discharge of our 
 oppressions, the sanctuary to our calamities, 
 the counsellor of our doubts, the clarity of our 
 minds, the emission of our thoughts, the exer- 
 cise and improvement of what we meditate. 
 And although I love my friend because he is 
 worthy, yet he is not worthy if he can do me no 
 good : I do not speak of accidental hindrances 
 and misfortunes by which the bravest man may- 
 become unable to help his child; but of the 
 natural and artificial capacities of the man. He 
 only is fit to be chosen for a friend, who can do 
 those offices for which friendship is excellent. 
 For (mistake not) no man can be loved for him- 
 self; our perfections in this world cannot reach 
 so high ; it is well if we would love God at that 
 rate ; and I very much fear that if God did us 
 no good we might admire his beauties, but we 
 should have but a small proportion of love 
 towards him ; and therefore it is that God, to 
 endear the obedience, that is, the love of his 
 
 servants, 
 
servants, signifies what benefits he gives us, 
 what great good things he does for us. I am 
 the Lord God that brought thee out of the land 
 of Egypt : and does Job serve God for nought ? 
 and he that comes to God, must believe that he 
 is, and that he is a rewarder : all his other 
 greatnesses are objects of fear and wonder, it is 
 his goodness that makes him lovely : and so it 
 is in friendships. He only is fit to be chosen 
 for a friend who can give counsel, or defend my 
 cause, or guide me right, or relieve my need, 
 or can and will, when I need it, do me good : 
 only this I add : Into the heaps of doing good, 
 I will reckon loving me, for it is a pleasure to be 
 beloved : bat when his love signifies nothing 
 but kissing my cheek, or talking kindly, and 
 can go no further, it is a prostitution of the 
 bravery of friendship to spend it upon imper- 
 tinent people who are (it may be) loads to their 
 families, but can never ease my loads : but my 
 friend is a worthy person when he can become 
 to me instead of God, a guide or a support, an 
 eye, or a hand, a staff, or a rule. 
 
 Can any wise or good man be angiy if I 
 say, I chu.se this man to be my friend, because 
 he is able to give me counsel, to restrain my 
 
 wandrings, 
 
wandrings, to comfort me in my sorrows ; ha 
 is pleasant to me in private, and useful in pub- 
 lick j he will make my joys double, and divide 
 my grief between himself and me ? For what 
 else should I chuse ? For being a fool, and use- 
 less ? for a pretty face or a smooth chm ? I con- 
 fess it is possible to be a friend to one that is 
 ignorant, and pitiable, handsome and good for 
 nothing, that eats well, and drinks deep, but 
 he cannot be a friend to me 3 and I love him 
 with a fondness or a pity, but it cannot be a 
 noble friendship. 
 
 But if you yet enquire, further, whether 
 fancy may be an ingredient in your choice ? I 
 answer that fancy may minister to this as to all 
 other actions in which there is a liberty and va- 
 riety. And we shall find that there may be 
 peculiarities and little partialities, a friendship 
 improperly so called, entring upon accounts of 
 an innocent passion and a pleas'd fancy j even 
 our blessed Saviour himself loved S. John and 
 Lazarus by a special love, which was signified 
 by special treatments ; and of the young man 
 that spake well and wisely to Christ it is affirm- 
 ed, Jesus loved him, that is, he fancied the man, 
 and his soul had a certain cognation and simi- 
 litude 
 
litude of temper and inclination. For in all 
 things where there is a latitude, every faculty 
 will endeavour to be pleased, and sometimes 
 the meanest persons in a house have a festival : 
 even sympathies and natural inclinations to some 
 persons, and a conformity of humors, and pro- 
 portionable loves, jand the beauty of the face, 
 and a witty answer may first strike the flint and 
 kindle a spark, which if it falls upon tender and 
 compliant natures may grow into a flame ; but 
 this will never be maintained at the rate of 
 friendship, unless it be fed by pure materials, 
 by worthinesses which are the food of friend- 
 ship : where these are not, men and women 
 may be pleased with one anothers company, and 
 lye under the same roof and make themselves 
 companions of equal prosperities, and humor 
 their friend : but if you call this friendship, you 
 give a sacred name to humor or fancy ; for there 
 is a platonick friendship as well as a platonick 
 love : but they being but the images of more 
 noble bodies are but like tinsel dressings, which 
 
 O ' 
 
 will shew bravely by candle-light, and do ex- 
 cellently in a mask, but are not fit for conver- 
 sation and the material entercourses of our life. 
 These are the prettinesses of prosperity and 
 
 good 
 
good-natured wit ; but when we speak of friend- 
 ship, which is the best thing in the world (for 
 it is love and beneficence, it is charity that is 
 fitted for society), we cannot suppose a brave 
 pile should be built up with nothing ; and they 
 that build castles in the air, and look upon 
 friendship as upon a fine romance, a thing that 
 pleases the fancy, but is good for nothing else, 
 will do well when they are asleep, or when they 
 are come to Elysium ; and for ought I know in 
 the mean time may be as much in love with 
 Mandana in the Grand Cyrus, as with the In- 
 fanta of Spain, or any of the most perfect beau- 
 ties and real excellencies of the world : and by 
 dreaming of perfect and abstracted friendships, 
 make them so immaterial that they perish in 
 the handling and become good for nothing. 
 
 But I know not whither I was going ; I did 
 only mean to say that because friendship is that 
 by which the world is most blessed and receives 
 most good, it ought to be chosen amongst the- 
 worthiest persons, that is, amongst those that 
 can do greatest benefit to each other. And 
 though in equal worthiness I may chuse by my 
 eye, or ear, that is, into the consideration of 
 die essential I may take in also the accidental 
 c and 
 
18 
 
 and extrinsick worthinesses ; yet I ought to give 
 every one their just value j when the internal 
 beauties are equal, these shall help to weigh 
 down the scale, and I will love a worthy friend 
 that can delight me as well as profit me, rather 
 than him who cannot delight me at all, and 
 profit me no more ; but yet I will not weigh 
 the gayest flowers, or the wings of butterflies, 
 Against wheat j but when I am to chuse wheat, 
 I may take that which looks the brightest. I 
 Uad rather see thyme and roses, marjoram and 
 July flowers that are fair and sweet and medi- 
 cinal, than the prettiest tulips that are good for 
 nothing : and my sheep and kine are better ser- 
 vants than race-horses and greyhounds : And 
 i shall rather furnish my study with Plutarch 
 and Cicero, with Livy and Polybius, than with 
 Cassandra and Ibrahim Bassa ; and if I do givo 
 an hour to these for divertisement or pleasure,, 
 yet I will dwell with them that can instruct me, 
 and make me wise and eloquent, severe and 
 useful to myself and others. I end this with 
 the saying of L?elius in Cicero: ' Amicitia non 
 (L-lct consequi utilitatem, sed amicitiain utlli- 
 fas.' When I chuse my friend, I will not stay 
 till 1 have received a kindness j but 1 will chus 
 
 such 
 
19 
 
 such an one that can do me many if I need 
 them : but I mean such kindnesses which make 
 me wiser, and which make me better 5 that is, I 
 will, when I chuse my friend, chuse him that 
 is the bravest, the worthiest, and the most ex- 
 cellent person 5 and then your first question is 
 soon answered. To love such a person, and to 
 contract such friendships, is just so authorized 
 by the principles of Christianity, as it is war- 
 ranted to love wisdom and vertue, goodness and 
 beneficence, and all the impresses of God upon 
 the spirits of brave men. 
 
 He that does a base thing in zeal for his friend, 
 burns the golden thred that ties their hearts 
 together j it is a conspiracy, but no longer friend- 
 ship. 
 
 If friendship be a charity in society, and is not 
 for contemplation and noise, but for material 
 comforts and noble treatments and usages, this 
 is no peradventure but that if I buy land I may 
 eat the fruits, and if I take a house I may dwell 
 in it j and if I love a worthy person I may please 
 my self in his society : and in this there is no 
 exception, unless the friendship be between 
 persons of a different sex ; for then not only the 
 interest of their religion and the care of their 
 honour, but the worthiness of their friendship 
 
 requires 
 
20 
 
 requires that their entercourse be prudent and 
 free from suspicion and reproach. And if a 
 friend is obliged to bear a calamity, so he se- 
 cure the honour of his friend, it will concern 
 him to conduct his entercourse in the lines of a 
 vertuous prudence, so that he shall rather lose 
 much of his own comfort than she any thing of 
 her honour ; and in this case the noises of peo- 
 ple are so to be regarded that, next to inno- 
 cence, they are the principal. But when by 
 caution and prudence, and severe conduct, a 
 friend hath done all that he or she can to secure 
 fame and honourable reports, after this their 
 noises are to be despised : they must not fright 
 us from our friendships, nor from her fairest en- 
 
 tercourses. 
 
 Taylor's Polemical Discourses. 
 
 IMPATIENCE. 
 
 I HAVE seen the rays of the sun or moon 
 dash upon a brazen vessel, whose lips kissed 
 the face of those waters that lodged within 
 its bosom 5 but being turned back and sent 
 
 off, 
 
21 
 
 off, with its smooth pretences or rougher waft- 
 ings, it wandered about the room and beat 
 upon the roof, and still doubled its heat and 
 motion. So is a sickness and a sorrow enter- 
 tained by an unquiet and a discontented man. 
 Nothing is more unreasonable than to in- 
 tangle our spirits in wildness and amaze- 
 ment, like a partridge fluttering in a net, 
 which she breaks not though she breaks her 
 
 wings. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. 3. 
 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 OTHERWISE do fathers, and otherwise do 
 mothers handle their children. These soften 
 them with kisses and imperfect noises, with 
 the pap and breast-milk of soft endearments j 
 they rescue them from tutors, and snatch them 
 from discipline ; they desire to keep them fat and 
 warm, and their feet dry, and their bellies full : 
 and then the children govern, and cry, and 
 prove fools and troublesome, so long as the fe- 
 minine republic does endure. But fathers, be- 
 3 cause 
 
cause they design to have their children wise 
 and valiant, apt for counsel or for arms, send 
 them to severe governments, and tie them to 
 study, to hard labour, and afflictive contin- 
 gencies. They rejoice when the bold boy 
 strikes a lion with his hunting spear, and shrinks 
 not when the beast comes to affright his early 
 courage. Softness is for slaves and beasts, for 
 minstrels and useless persons ; for such who 
 cannot ascend higher than the state of a fair ox, 
 or a servant entertained for vainer offices : but 
 the man that designs his son for nobler employ- 
 ments, to honours, and to triumphs, to consu- 
 lar dignities, and presidencies of councils, 
 loves to see him pale with study, or panting 
 with labour, hardened with sufferings, or emi- 
 nent by dangers. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. 3, 
 
 ADVERSITY. 
 
 ALL is well as long as the sun shines, and 
 the fair breath of Heaven gently wafts us to our 
 o\vn purposes. But if you will try the excel- 
 lency, 
 
iency, and feel the work of faith, place the man 
 in a persecution ; let him ride hi a storm, let 
 his bones be broken with sorrow, and his eye- 
 lids loosed with sickness, let his bread be dipped 
 with tears, and all the daughters of Music be 
 brought low. Let us come to sit upon the mar- 
 gent of our grave, and let a tyrant lean hard upon 
 our fortunes, and dwell upon our wrong ; let 
 the storm arise, and the keels toss till the cordage 
 crack, or that all our hopes bulge under us, 
 and descend into the hollowness of sad misfor- 
 tunes *. 
 
 ibid. 
 
 * In the reproof of chance 
 
 Lies the true proof of men : the sea being smooth, 
 
 How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
 
 Upon her patient breast, making their way 
 
 With those of nobler bulk ! 
 
 But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
 
 The gentle Thetis, and anon, behold 
 
 The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cuts; 
 
 Bounding between the two moist elements, 
 
 Like Perseus' horse : Where's then the saucy boat, 
 
 Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
 
 Co-rival'd greatness > 
 
 TROILUS AND CKESSIDA. 
 
THE MISERIES OF MAN'S LIFE, 
 
 How few men in the world are prosperous ! 
 What an infinite number of slaves and beggars, 
 of persecuted and oppressed people, fill all cor- 
 ners of the earth with groans, and heaven itself 
 with weeping, prayers, and sad remembrances ! 
 Mow many provinces and kingdoms are af- 
 flicted by a violent war, or made desolate by 
 popular diseases ! Some whole countries are 
 remarked with fatal evils, or periodical sick- 
 nesses. Grand Cairo in Egypt feels the plague 
 every three years returning like a quartan ague, 
 and destroying many thousands of persons. All 
 the inhabitants of Arabia the desart are in con- 
 tinual fear of being buried in huge heaps of 
 sand, and therefore dwell in tents and ambula- 
 tory houses, or retire to unfruitful mountains, 
 to prolong an uneasie and wilder life. And all 
 the countries round about the Adriatic sea feel 
 such violent convulsions, by tempests and in- 
 tolerable earthquakes, that sometimes whole ci- 
 lies find a tomb, and every man sinks with his 
 
 own 
 
25 
 
 own house, made ready to become his monu- 
 ment, and his bed is crushed into the disorders 
 of a grave. 
 
 It were too sad if I should tell how many 
 persons are afflicted with evil spirits, with spec- 
 tres and illusions of the night. 
 
 He that is no fool, but can consider wisely, 
 if he be in love with this world, we need not 
 despair but that a witty man might reconcile 
 him with tortures, and make him think chari- 
 tably of the rack, and be brought to dwell with 
 vipers and dragons, and entertain his guests 
 with the shrieks of mandrakes, cats, and scriech- 
 owls, with the filing of iron, and the harshness 
 of rending of silk, or to admire the harmony 
 that is made by an herd of evening wolves 
 when they miss their draught of blood in their 
 midnight revels. The groans of a man in a fit 
 of the stone are worse than all these 3 and the 
 distractions of a troubled conscience are worse 
 than those groans ; and yet a merry careless 
 sinner is worse than all that. But if we could, 
 from one of the battlements of heaven, espie 
 how many men and women at this time lie 
 fainting and dying for want of bread ; how 
 many young men are hewn down by the sword 
 
 of 
 
of war ; how many poor orphans are now weep- 
 ing over the graves of their father, by whose 
 life they were enabled to eat) if we could 
 but hear how mariners and passengers are at 
 this present in a storm, and shriek out because 
 their keel dashes against a rock or bulges under 
 them ; how many people there are that weep 
 with want, and are mad with oppression, or are 
 desperate by too quick a sense of a constant 
 infelicity; in all reason we should be glad to 
 be out of the noise and participation of so 
 many evils. This is a place of sorrows and 
 tears, of so great evils and a constant calamity : 
 le l us remove from hence, at least, in affections 
 and preparation of mind. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. 1 . 
 
 MAX'S REASON AND LIFE. 
 
 WE must not think that the life of a man 
 begins when he can feed himself or walk alone, 
 v. hen he c; 1 .1 fight or beget his like, for so he 
 is contemporary with a camel or a cow 5 but 
 he is first a man when he comes to a certain 
 
 steady 
 
steady use of reason, according to his propor- 
 tion ; and when that is, all the world of men 
 cannot tell precisely. Some are called at age, at 
 fourteen, some at one-and-twenty, some neverj 
 but all men late enough ; for the life of a man 
 comes upon him slowly and insensibly. But 
 as when the sun approaching towards the gates 
 of the morning, he first opens a little eye of 
 heaven, and sends away the spirits of darkness, 
 and gives light to a cock, and calls up the 
 lark to mattens, and by and by gilds the fringes 
 of a cloud, and peeps over the eastern hills, 
 thrusting out his golden horns, like those which 
 decked the brows of Moses when he was forced 
 to wear a veil because himself had seen the face 
 of God j- and still, while a man tells the story, 
 the sun gets up higher, till he shews a fair face 
 and a full light, and then he shines one whole 
 day, under a cloud often, and sometimes weep- 
 ing great and little showers, and sets quickly. 
 So is a man's reason and his life. He first be- 
 gins to perceive himself to see or taste, making 
 little reflections upon his actions of sense, and 
 can discourse of flies and dogs, shells and play, 
 horses and liberty : but when he is strong enough 
 to enter into arts and little institutions, he is at 
 
 first 
 
28 
 
 first entertained with trifles and impertinent 
 things, not because he needs them, but because 
 his understanding is no bigger, and little images 
 of things are laid before him, like a cock-boat 
 to a whale, only to play withal : but, before a 
 man comes to be wise, he is half dead with 
 gouts and consumption, with catarrhs and aches, 
 with sore eyes and a worn-out body. So that, 
 if we must not reckon the life of a man but by 
 die accounts of his reason, he is long before his 
 soul be dressed ; and he is not to be called a 
 man without a wise and an adorned soul, a soul 
 at least furnished with what is necessary to- 
 wards his well-being. 
 
 And now let us consider what that thing is 
 which we call years of discretion. The young 
 man is passed his tutors, and arrived at the bon- 
 dage of a caitiff spirit ; he is run from discipline 
 and is let loose to passion. The man by this time 
 hath wit enough to chuse his vice, to act his 
 lust, to court his mistress, to talk confidently, 
 and ignorantly, and perpetually : to despise 
 his betters, to deny nothing to his appetite, to 
 do things that when he is indeed a man he 
 must for ever be ashamed of: for this is all the 
 discretion that most men shew in the first stage 
 
 of 
 
29 
 
 of their manhood. They can discern good from 
 evil j and they prove their skill by leaving all 
 that is good, and wallowing in the evils of folly 
 and an unbridled appetite. And by this time the 
 young man hath contracted vicious habits, and 
 is a beast in manners, and therefore it will not 
 be fitting to reckon the beginning of his life : 
 he is a fool in his understanding, and that is a 
 
 sad death, &c, 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. 1. 
 
 THE VIRTUOUS MIND. 
 
 IF I shall describe a living man, a man that 
 hath that life that distinguishes him from a 
 fowl or a bird, that which gives him a capa- 
 city next to angels ; we shall find that even a 
 good man lives not long, because it is long be- 
 fore he is born to this life, and longer yet be- 
 fore he hath a man's growth. " He * that can 
 look upon death, and see its face with the same 
 countenance \vith which he hears its story ; that 
 can endure all the labours of his life with his 
 
 * Seneca, De Vita beata, cap. 20. 
 
 soul 
 
so 
 
 soul supporting his body j that can equally de- 
 spise riches when he hath them, and when he 
 hath them not 5 that is not sadder if they lie 
 in his neighbour's trunks, nor more brag if they 
 shine round about his own walls ; he that is 
 neither moved with good fortune coming to 
 him, nor going from him ; that can look upon 
 another man's lands evenly and pleasedly as if 
 they were his own, and yet look upon his own 
 and use them too just as if they were another 
 man's; that neither spends his goods prodigally 
 and like a fool, nor yet keeps them avariciously 
 and like a wretch ; that weighs not benefits by 
 weight and number, but by the mind and cir- 
 cumstances of him that gives them ; that ne- 
 ver thinks his charity expensive if a worthy 
 person be the receiver ; he that does nothing for 
 opinion sake, but every tiling for conscience, 
 being as curious of his thoughts as of his act- 
 ings in markets and theatres, and is as much 
 in awe of himself as of a whole assembly ; he 
 that knows God looks on, and contrives his se- 
 cret affairs as in the presence of God and hit 
 holy angels ; that eats and drinks because he 
 needs it, not that he may serve a lust or load 
 his belly ; he that is bountiful and cheerful to 
 
 his 
 
SI 
 
 iiis friends, and charitable and apt to forgive 
 his enemies ; that loves his country and obeys 
 his prince, and desires and endeavours nothing 
 more than that they may do honour to God :" 
 this person may reckon his life to be the life of 
 a man, and compute his months, not by the 
 course of the sun, but the zodiac and circle of 
 his vertues : because these are such things 
 which fools and children, and birds and beasts, 
 cannot have : these are therefore the actions of 
 life, because they are the seeds of immortality. 
 That day in which we have done some excel- 
 lent tiling, we may as truly reckon to be added 
 to our life, as were the fifteen years to the days 
 
 of Hezekiah. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. 1. 
 
 THE PROSTITUTE. 
 
 THEY pay their souls down for the bread 
 they eat, buying this day's meal with the price 
 
 >f the last night's sin. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 IF you please in charity to visit an hospital, 
 which is indeed a map of the whole world, 
 there you shall see the effects of Adam's sin, 
 and the ruins of humane nature : bodies laid up 
 in heaps, like the bones of a destroyed town, 
 hominis precarii spirittts et male haerentis, men 
 whose souls seem to be borrowed, and are kept 
 there by art and the force of medicine, whose 
 miseries are so great that few people have cha- 
 rity or humanity enough to visit them, fewer 
 have the heart to dress them, and we pity them 
 in civility or with a transient prayer : but we 
 do not feel their sorrows by the mercies of a 
 religious pity; and therefore we leave their 
 sorrows in many degrees unrelieved and uneased. 
 So we contract by our unmercifulness a guilt 
 by which ourselves become liable to the same 
 calamities. Those many that need pity, and 
 those infinities of people that refuse to pity,- are 
 miserable itpon a several charge, but yet they 
 almost make up all mankind. Abel's blood 
 had a voice, and cried to God ; and humanity 
 
 hath 
 
33 
 
 hath a voice, and cries so loud to God that it 
 pierces the clouds ; and so hath every sorrow 
 and every sickness. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. 1. 
 
 ON GOVERNMENT AND REVOLU- 
 TIONS. 
 
 I. IN Orpheus's theatre, all beasts and birds 
 assembled, and, forgetting their several appe- 
 tites, some of prey, some of game, some of 
 quarrel, stood all sociably together, listening un- 
 to the airs and accords of the harp j the sound 
 whereof no sooner ceased, or was drowned by 
 some louder noise, but every beast returned to 
 his own nature : wherein is aptly described the 
 nature and condition of men, who are full of 
 savage and unreclaimed desires of profit, of lust, 
 of revenge ; which, as long as they give ear to 
 precepts, to laws, to religion, sweetly touched 
 with eloquence and persuasion of books, of 
 sermons, of harangues, so long is society and 
 peace maintained : but if these instruments be 
 D silent, 
 
34, 
 
 silent, or that sedition and tumult make them 
 not audible, all things dissolve into anarchy and 
 much confusion. 
 
 Bacon on the Advancement of Learning, b. 1. 
 
 II. Hfithatgoeth about to persuade a multitude 
 that they are not so well governed as they ought 
 to be, shall never want attentive and favoura- 
 ble hearers ; because they know the manifold 
 defects whereunto every kind of regiment is 
 subject. But the secret lets and difficulties, 
 which in publick proceedings are innumera- 
 ble and inevitable, they have not ordinarily the 
 judgment to consider. And because such as 
 openly reprove supposed disorders of state, are 
 taken for principal friends to the common be- 
 nefit of all, and for men that carry singular free- 
 dom of mind ; under this fair and plausible co- 
 lour, whatsoever they utter passeth for good 
 and current. That which wanteth in the weight 
 pf their speech, is supplied by the aptness of 
 men's minds to accept and believe it. Where- 
 as, on the other side, if we maintain things that 
 are established, we have not only to strive with 
 a number of heavy prejudices deeply rooted in 
 the hearts of men, who think that herein we 
 
 serve 
 
35 
 
 jr 
 
 serve the time and speak in favour of the pre- 
 sent state, because thereby we either hold or 
 seek preferment $ but also to bear such" excep- 
 tions, as minds so averted before-hand usually 
 take against that which they are loth should be 
 poured into them *. 
 
 THE stateliness of houses, the goodliness of 
 trees, when we behold them,delighteth the eye : 
 but that foundation which beareth up the one, 
 that root which ministreth unto the other nou- 
 rishment and life, is in the bosom of the earth 
 concealed ; and if there be occasion at any time 
 to search into it, such labour is then more ne- 
 cessary than pleasant, both to them which un- 
 dertake it, and for the lookers on. In lik* 
 manner, the use and benefit of good laws, all 
 that live under them may enjoy with delight 
 and comfort, albeit the grounds and first origi- 
 nal causes from whence they have sprung, be 
 unknown, as to the greatest part of men they 
 are*. 
 
 Since the time that God did first proclaim the 
 edicts of his law upon the world, heaven and earth 
 have hearkened unto his voice, and their labour 
 ha tli been to do his will. He made a law for 
 
 * Book 1. sect. 1. 
 
 the 
 
the rain ,- he gave his decree unto the ssu, 
 that the waters should not pass his command" 
 merit. Now, if nature should intermit her 
 course, and leave altogether, though it were for 
 a while, the observation of her own laws ; if 
 those principal and mother elements of the 
 world, whereof all things in this lower world 
 are made, should lose the qualities which now 
 they have ; if the frame of that heavenly arcli 
 erected over our heads, should loosen and dis- 
 solve itself: if celestial spheres should forget 
 their wonted motions, and by irregular volubi- 
 lity turn themselves any way as it might hap- 
 pen j if the prince of the lights of heaven, 
 which now, as a giant, doth run his unwearied 
 course, should as it were, through a languish- 
 ing faintness, begin to stand, and' to rest him- 
 self ; if the moon should wander from her 
 beaten way, the times and .seasons of the year 
 blend themselves by disorder' J and confuse' d 
 mixture, the winds breathe out their last gasp, 
 the clouds yield no rain, the earth be defeated 
 of heavenly influence, the fruits of the earth 
 pine away, as children at the withered breasts 
 of their mother, no longer able to yield them 
 relief; what would become of man himself. 
 
 whom 
 
37 
 
 whom these things do now all serve, > See we 
 not plainly, that obedience of creatures unto the 
 law of nature is the stay of the whole world * ? 
 
 OF Law there can be no less acknowledged 
 than that her seat is the bosom of God ; her 
 voice the harmony of the world : all things 
 in heaven and earth do her homage j die very 
 least as feeling her care, and the greatest as 
 not exempted from her power. Both angels 
 and men, and creatures of what condition so- 
 ever, though each in different sort and manner, 
 yet all with uniform consent, admiring her as 
 the mother of their peace and joy f . 
 
 Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity. 
 
 III. During the civil wars in this country, bishop 
 Taylor retired into Wales* His dedication to 
 his u-ork on the Lilerty of Prophesying, in his 
 Polemical Discourses, begijis as follows: 
 
 IN this great storm, which hath dasht the 
 vessel of the church all in pieces, I have been 
 cast upon the coast of Wales, and in a little 
 boat thought to have enjoyed that rest and 
 
 * Book 1. sect. 3. f Book 1. sect. 16. 
 
 quietness. 
 
quietness which in England in a greater I could 
 not hope for. Here I cast anchor, and thinking 
 to ride safely, the storm followed me with so 
 impetuous violence, that it broke a cable, and 
 I lost my anchor : and here again I was ex- 
 posed to the mercy of the sea, and the gentle- 
 ness of an element that could neither distin- 
 guish things nor persons. And but that he who 
 stilleth the raging of the sea, and the noise of 
 his waves, and the madness of his people, had 
 provided a plank for me, I had been lost to 
 all the opportunities of content or study. But 
 I know not whether I have been more preserved 
 by the courtesies of my friends, or the gentle- 
 ness and mercies of a noble enemy. 'Ot 
 
 fyoLvfEf yap Tfvptx.v i jtpo<rsXawfQ TTO,VTO(.$ 
 
 And now since I have come ashore, I have been 
 gathering a few sticks to warm me, a few bookt- 
 to entertain my thoughts, and divert them from 
 the perpetuall meditation of my private troubles 
 and the publick dyscrasy : but those which I 
 could obtain were so few and so impertinent, 
 and uniisefull to any great purposes, that I be- 
 gan to be sad upon a new stock, and full of ap- 
 
 prcheiuionr 
 
39 
 
 prehension that I should live unprofitably, and 
 die obscurely and be forgotten, and my bones 
 thrown into some common charnell-house, 
 without any name or note to distinguish m 
 from those who onely served their generation 
 by filling the number of citizens, and who 
 could pretend to no thanks or rewards from the 
 publick beyond jus trium lilerorum. While 
 I was troubled with these thoughts, and busie 
 to find an opportunity of doing some good in my 
 small proportion, still the cares of the publick 
 did so intervene, that it was as impossible to 
 separate my design from relating to the present, 
 as to exempt myself from the participation of 
 the common calamity ; still half my thoughts 
 was (in despite of all my diversions and arts of 
 avocation) fixt upon and mingled with the 
 present concernments ; so that besides them I 
 eould not go. 
 
 In another part of his Polemical Discourses, 
 he says : 
 
 have not only felt the evils of an intes- 
 tine war, but God hath smitten us in our spirit. 
 But I delight not to observe the correspon t 
 
 encias 
 
ncies of such sad accidents, which, as they may 
 happen upon divers causes, or may be forced 
 violently by the strength of fancy, or driven on 
 by jealousie, and the too fond opinings of trou- 
 bled hearts and afflicted spirits ; so they do but 
 help to vex the offending part, and relieve the 
 afflicted but with a phantastic and groundless 
 comfort : I will therefore deny leave to my 
 own affections to ease themselves by complain- 
 ing of others : I shall only crave leave that I 
 may remember Jerusalem, and call to mind 
 the pleasures of the temple, the order of her 
 services, the beauty of her buildings, the sweet- 
 ness of her songs, the decency of her ministra- 
 tions, the assiduity and ceconomy of her priests 
 and Levites, the daily sacrifice, and that eternal 
 fire of devotion that went not out by day nor by 
 night : these were the pleasures of our peace; 
 and there is a remanent felicity in the very me- 
 mory of those spiritual delights which we then 
 enjoyed as antepasts of heaven, and consigna- 
 tions to an immortality of joys. And it may 
 be so again when it shall please God, who hath 
 the hearts of all princes in his hand, and turn- 
 eth them as the rivers of waters ; and when 
 men will consider the invaluable loss that is 
 
 consequent, 
 
41 
 
 consequent, and the danger of sin that is ap- 
 pendant, to the destroying such forms of disci- 
 pline and devotion in which God was purely 
 worshipped, and the church was edified, and 
 the people instructed to great degrees of piety, 
 knowledge, and devotion. 
 
 Taylor's Polemical Discourses, 
 
ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 VKOM TAYLOR'S SERMON * ENTITLED ' THB 
 MARRIAGE RING.' 
 
 1 . Marriage compared with single life. 
 
 2. Marriage considered by itself'. 
 
 1st. As it relates equally to husland and 
 wife. Caution requisite in marrying : 
 They ought, when newly married, to a- 
 void offending each other : They should 
 be careful to avoid little vexations: 
 They should abstain from those things 
 from which they are respectively averse: 
 They should avoid nice distinctions 
 of mine and thine. 
 
 2dly, As it relates to the husland anduife 
 separately : and, 1st, To the husland. 
 Nature of his power : His love : He 
 should set a good example to his wife : 
 His chastity should be unspotted. 
 idly, 1o the wife. Obedience : Com- 
 pliance. 
 
 * Sermon xvii. page 122. 
 
 MARHIAG* 
 
MARRIAGE COMPARED WITH SINGLE LIFB. 
 
 MARRIAGE is a school and exercise of virtue} 
 and though marriage hath cares, yet the single 
 life hath desires, which are more troublesome 
 and more dangerous, and often end in sin j 
 while the cares are but instances of duty, and 
 exercises of piety : and therefore if single life 
 hath more privacy of devotion, yet marriage 
 hath more necessities and more variety of it, 
 and is an exercise of more graces. 
 
 Marriage is the proper scene of piety and 
 patience, of the duty of parents and the cha- 
 rity of relations j here kindness is spread 
 abroad; and love is united and made firm as 
 a centre : marriage is the nursery of heaven. 
 The virgin sends prayers to God ; but she 
 carries but one soul to him : but the state 
 of marriage fills up the numbers of the elect,, 
 and hath in .it the labour of love, and the 
 delicacies of friendship, the blessing of society, 
 and the union of hands and hearts. It hath in it 
 less of beauty, but more of safety than the single 
 life ; it hath more care, but less danger ; it is 
 more merry, and more sad ; is fuller of sorrows, 
 
 and 
 
44 
 
 and fuller of joys : it lies under more burdens, 
 but is supported by all the strengths of love and 
 charity, and those burdens are delightful. 
 
 Marriage is the mother of the world, and 
 preserves kingdoms, and fills cities, and 
 churches, and heaven itself. Celibate, like the 
 fly in the heart of an apple, dwells in a perpe- 
 tual sweetness ; but sits alone, and is confined 
 and dies in singularity : but marriage, like the 
 useful bee, builds a house and gathers sweetness 
 from every flower, and labours and unites into 
 societies and republics, and sends out colonies, 
 and feeds the world with delicacies, and obeys 
 their king, and keeps order, and exercises many 
 virtues, and promotes the interest of mankind, 
 and is that state of good things to which God 
 hath designed the present constitution of the 
 world. 
 
 CAUTION REQUISITE IN MARRYING. 
 
 They that enter into the state of marriage cast 
 a^die of the greatest contingency, and yet of the 
 greatest interest in the world, next to the last 
 throw for eternity. Life or death, felicity or a 
 lasting sorrow, are in the power of marriage. 
 3 A woman 
 
4.5 
 
 A woman indeed ventures most, for she hath 
 no sanctuary to retire to from an evil husband ; 
 she must dwell upon her sorrow, and hatch the 
 eggs which her own folly or infelicity hath 
 produced ; and she is more under it because 
 her tormenter hath a warrant of prerogative, 
 and the woman may complain to God as sub- 
 jects do of tyrant princes j but otherwise she 
 hath no appeal in the causes of unkindness. And 
 though the man can run from many hours of his 
 sadness, yet he must return to it again ; and 
 when he sits among his neighbours, he remem- 
 bers the objection that is in his bosom, and he 
 sighs deeply. The boys, and the pedlars, and 
 the fruiterers, shall tell of this man when he is 
 carried to his grave, that he lived and died a 
 poor wretched person. 
 
 The stags in the Greek epigram, whose 
 knees were clogged with frozen snow upon 
 the mountains, came down to the brooks of the 
 valleys, hoping to thaw their joints with the 
 waters of the stream ; ut there the frost over- 
 took them, and bound them fast in ice, till the 
 young herdsmen took them in their stranger 
 snare. It is the unhappy chance of many men, 
 finding many inconveniences upon the mountains 
 
 of 
 
ef single life, they descend into the valleys of 
 marriage to refresh their troubles ; and there 
 they enter into fetters, and are bound to sorrow 
 by the cords of a man's or woman's peevish- 
 ness. 
 
 As the Indian women enter into folly for 
 the price of an elephant, and think their crime 
 Warrantable, so do men and women change 
 their liberty for a rich fortune (like Eriphile 
 the Argi ve j she preferred gold before a good 
 man), and show themselves to be less than 
 money, by overvaluing that to all the content 
 and wise felicity of their lives ; and when they 
 have counted the money and their sorrows to- 
 gether, how willingly would they buy, with th 
 loss of all that money, modesty, or sweet na- 
 ture to their relative ! 
 
 As very a fool is he that chooses for 
 beauty principally ; cui sunt eruditi oculi et 
 stulta metis (as one said), whose eyes are 
 witty and their souls sensual : it is an ill band 
 of affections to tie two hearts together by 
 a little thread of red and white : and they caa 
 love no longer but until the next ague comes ; 
 and they are fond of each other but at the 
 chance of fancy, or the small-pox, or child- 
 4 bearing, 
 
bearing, or care, or time, or any thing thai cart 
 destroy a pretty flower. 
 
 THEY OUGHT, WHEN NEWLY MARRIED, T 
 AVOID OFFENDING EACH OTHER. 
 
 Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid 
 all offences of each other in the beginning of 
 their conversation : every little thing can blast 
 an infant blossom ; and the breath of the south 
 can shake the little rings of the vine, when first 
 they begin to curl, like the locks of a new- 
 weaned boy : but when by age and consolida- 
 tion they stiffen into the hardness of a stem, and 
 have, by the warm embraces of the sun and the 
 kisses of Heaven, brought forth their clusters, 
 they can endure the storms of die north, and 
 the loud noises of a tempest, and yet never be 
 broken : so are the early unions of an unfixed 
 marriage ; watchful and observant, jealous and 
 busie, inquisitive and careful, and apt to take 
 alarm at every unkind word. After the hearts 
 of the man and the wife are endeared and hard- 
 ened by a mutual confidence and experience, 
 longer than artifice and pretence can last, 
 there are a great many remembrances, and 
 
 som 
 
some things present that dash all little unkind- 
 nesses in pieces. 
 
 THEY SHOULD CAREFULLY AVOID LITTLE 
 VEXATIONS. 
 
 Let man and wife be careful to stifle little 
 things, that as fast as they spring they be cut 
 down and trod upon ; for, if they be suffered to 
 grow by numbers, they make the spirit peevish, 
 and the society troublesome, and the affections 
 loose and easy by an habitual aversation. Some 
 men are more vexed with a fly than with a \vound5 
 and when die gnats disturb our sleep, and the 
 reason is disquieted, but not perfectly awak- 
 ened, it is often seen that he is fuller of trouble 
 than if, in the day-light of his reason, he were 
 to contest with a potent enemy. In the frequent 
 little accidents of a family, a man's reason can- 
 not always be awake ; and, when the discourses 
 are imperfect, and a trifling trouble make* 
 him yet more restless, he is soon betrayed to 
 the violence of passion. 
 
 THEY 
 
49 
 
 1-1IEY SHOULD ABSTAIN' FROM THOSE THINGS 
 FROM WHICH THEY ARE RESPECTIVELY 
 AVERSE. 
 
 Let them be sure to abstain from all those 
 things which, by experience and observation, 
 they find to be contrary to each other. They 
 that govern elephants never appear before them 
 in white. 
 
 THEY SHOULD AVOID NICE DISTINCTIONS OF 
 MINE AND THINE. 
 
 Let the husband and wife infinitely avoid a 
 curious distinction of mine and thine ; for this 
 hath caused all the laws, and all the suits, and 
 all the wars in the world. Let them who have 
 but one person, have also but one interest. As 
 the earth, the mother of all creatures here be- 
 low, sends up all its vapours and proper emis- 
 sions at the command of the sun, and yet re- 
 quires them again to refresh her own needs, 
 and they are deposited between them both in 
 the bosom of a cloud, as a common receptacle, 
 that they may cool his flames, and yet descend 
 to make her fruitful : so are the proprieties of a 
 wife to be disposed of by her lord ; and yet all 
 K are 
 
30 
 
 are for her provisions, 5t being a part of bis need- 
 to refresh and supply hers ; and it serves the in- 
 terest of both while it serves the necessities of 
 cither. 
 
 These are the duties of them both, which have 
 common regards and equal necessities and obli- 
 gations ; and indeed there is scarce any matter 
 of duty but it concerns them both alike, and is 
 only distinguished by names, and hath its vari- 
 ety by circumstances and little accidents j and 
 what in one is called love, in the other is called 
 reverence ; and what in the wife is obedience, the 
 same in the man is duty. He provides and she 
 dispenses ; he gives commandments and she 
 rules by them ; he rules her by authority, arid 
 she rules him by luve ; she ought by all means 
 to please him, and he must by no means dis- 
 please her. For as the heart is set in the midst 
 of the body, and though it strikes to one side by 
 the prerogative of nature, yet those throbs and 
 constant motions are felt on the other side also, 
 and the influence is equal to both : so it is in 
 conjugal duties, some motions are to the one 
 side more than to the other ; but the interest is 
 on both, and the doty is equal in the several in- 
 stances. 
 
 THF. 
 
THE DUTY AND POWER OF THE MAN. 
 
 The next inquiry is more particular, and 
 considers the power and duty of the man : ' Let 
 every one of you so love his wife even as him- 
 self.' Thou art to be a father and a mother 
 to her, and a brother; and great reason, unless 
 die state of marriage should be no better than the 
 condition of an orphan. For she that is bound to 
 leave father, and mother, and brother for thee, 
 either is miserable like a poor fatherless, child, 
 or else ought to find all these, and more, in thee. 
 
 HIS LOVE. 
 
 There is nothing can please a man without 
 love j and rf a man be weary of the wise dis- 
 courses of the apostles, and of the innocency 
 of an even and private fortune, or hates peace 
 or a fruitful year, he hath reaped thorns and 
 thistles from the choicest flowers of paradise : 
 for nothing can sweeten felicity itself but love. 
 No man can tell but he that loves his childreft 
 how many delicious accents make a man's heart 
 dance in the pretty conversation of those dear 
 pledges ; their childishness, their stammering, 
 
 their 
 
their little angers, their innocence,, their im- 
 perfections, their necessities, are so many little 
 emanations of joy and comfort to him that de- 
 lights in their persons and society : but he that 
 loves not his wife and children feeds a lioness 
 at home, and broods a nest of sorrows j and 
 blessing itself cannot make him happy : so that 
 all the commandments of God injoyning a man 
 to love his wife, are nothing but so many neces- 
 sities and capacities of joy. She that is Jov'd is 
 safe, aud he that loves is joyfuL 
 
 HE SHOULD SET A G'OOD EXAMPLE TO BIS 
 WIFE, 
 
 Ulysses was a prudent man, and a wary coun- 
 sellor, sober and severe ; and he efFormed his 
 wife into such imagery as he desired ; and she 
 was chast as the snows upon the mountains $ 
 diligent as the fatal sisters j always busy and 
 always faithful, she had a lazy tongue, and a 
 busy hand. 
 
 HIS CHASTITY SHOULD BE UNSPOTTED. 
 
 Above all the instances of love, let him pre- 
 serve towards her an inviolable faith and an 
 
 unspotted 
 
unspotted chastity, for diis is die ' Marriage 
 Ring :' it ties two hearts by an eternal band ; 
 it is like die cherubims flaming sword, set for 
 the guard of paradise ; for he that passes into 
 that garden, now that it is immured by Christ 
 and die church, enters into die shades of 
 death. 
 
 Now, in diis grace, it is fit that the wisdom 
 and severity of the man should hold fordi a 
 pure taper, that his wife may, by seeing the 
 beauties and transparency of.that crystal, dress 
 her mind and her body by the light of so pure 
 reflections. It is certain he will expect it 
 from die modesty and retirement, from the 
 passive nature and colder temper, from the hu- 
 mility and fear, from die honour and love of 
 his wife, that she be pure as the eye of Heaven ; 
 and dierefore it is but reason that the wisdom and 
 nobleness, the love and confidence, the strengdi 
 and severity of the man should be as holy and 
 certain in this grace, as lie is a severe exacter 
 of it at her hands. These are the little lines 
 of a man's duty, which, like direads of light 
 from die body of the sun, do clearly describe 
 all die regions of his proper obligations. Now, 
 concerning the ivomaris duty, although it con- 
 sists 
 
sists in doing whatsoever her husband com- 
 mands, and so receives measures from the 
 rules of his government ; yet there are also 
 some lines of life depicted upon her hands, by 
 which she may read and know how to propor- 
 tion out her duty to her husband : 
 
 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 The wife can be no ways happy unless she 
 be governed by a prudent lord, whose com- 
 mands are sober counsels, whose authority is 
 paternal, whose orders are provisions, and whose 
 .. sentences are charity. 
 
 COMPLIANCE. 
 
 To partake secretly, and in her heart, of all 
 his joys and sorrows, to believe him comely and 
 fair, though the sun hath drawn a cypress over 
 him, (for as marriages are not to be contracted 
 by the hands and eyes, but with reason and the 
 hearts ; so are these judgments to be made by 
 the mind, not by the sight : ) and diamonds can- 
 not make the woman virtuous, nor him to value 
 her who sees her put them off then, when cha- 
 rity and modesty are her brightest ornaments. 
 
 Indeed 
 
Indeed the outward ornament is -fit to fake 
 fools ; but they are not worth the taking. 
 But she that hath a wise husband, must entice 
 him to an eternal dearness, by the vail of mo- 
 desty, and the grave robes of chastity, the or- 
 nament of meekness, and the jewels of faith and 
 charity ; her brightness must be purity, and she 
 must shine round about with sweetnesses and 
 friendship, and she shall be pleasant while she 
 lives, and desired when she dies. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Remember the days of darkness, for they 
 are many ; the joys of the bridal chambers are 
 quickly past, and the remaining portion of 
 the state is a dull progress, without variety of 
 joys, but not without the change of sorrows ; 
 but that portion that shall enter into the grave 
 must be eternal. It is fit that I should infuse 
 a bunch of myrrhe into the festival goblet ; and, 
 after the Egyptian manner, serve up a dead 
 man's bones at a feast. I will only show it and 
 take it away again ; it will make the wine bitter, 
 but wholesome. 
 
56 
 
 ON FEAR. 
 
 FEAR is the duty we owe to God, as being 
 the God of power and justice, the great judge 
 of heaven and earth, the avenger of the cause 
 of widows, the patron of the poor, and die ad- 
 vocate of the oppressed, a mighty God and 
 terrible ; and so essential an enemy to sin, that 
 he spared not his own Son, but gave him over 
 to death and to become a sacrifice ; when he 
 took upon him our nature, and became a per- 
 son obliged for our guilt. Fear is the great 
 bridle of intemperance, the modesty of the 
 .spirit, and the restraint of gaieties and dis- 
 solutions ; it is the girdle to the soul, and 
 the hand-maid to repentance, the arrest of 
 sin, and the cure or antidote to the spirit of 
 reprobation ; it preserves our apprehensions 
 of the Divine Majesty, and hinders our 
 single actions from combining to sinful ha- 
 bits ; it is the mother of consideration, and the 
 nurse of sober counsels ; and it puts the soul 
 to fermentation and activity, making it to pass 
 from trembling to caution, from caution to 
 carefulness, from carefulness to -watchfulness, 
 
 from 
 
from thence to prudence*; and by the gates 
 and progresses of repentance, it leads the soul 
 on to love and to felicity, and to joyes in God, 
 that shall never cease, agahu Fear is the 
 guard of a man in the days of prosperity, and 
 it stands upon the watch-towers and spies the 
 approaching danger, and gives warning to them 
 that laugh loud, and feast in. the chambers of 
 rejoycing, where a man cannot consider by rea- 
 son of the noises of wine, and jest, and mu- 
 sickj and if Prudence takes it hy the hand 
 and leads it on to duty, it is a state of grace, 
 and an universal instrument to infant-religion, 
 and the only security of the less perfect per- 
 sons j and in all senses is that homage we owe 
 to God, who sends often to demand it, even 
 then when he speaks in thunder, or smites by 
 a plague, or awakens us by threatnings, or dis- 
 composes our easiness by sad thoughts, and 
 tender eyes, and fearful hearts, and trembling 
 considerations. 
 
 Let the grounds of our actions 
 be noble, beginning upon reason, proceeding 
 with prudence, measured by the common lines 
 of men, and confident upon the expectation 
 of an usual Providence. Let us proceed from 
 
 causes 
 
causes to effects, from natural means to ordi- 
 nary events, and believe felicity not to be a 
 chance but a cJioice $ and evil to be the daugh- 
 ter of sin and the divine anger, not of fortune 
 zndjancy. Let us fear God when we have made 
 him angry, and not be afraid of him when we 
 heartily and laboriously do our duty ; and then 
 fear shall be a duty, and a rare instrument of 
 many : in all other cases, it is superstition or 
 folly, it is sin or punishment, the ivy of reli- 
 gion, and the misery of an honest and a weak 
 heart ; and is to be cured only by reason and 
 good company, a wise guide and a plain rule, a 
 cheerful spirit and a contented mind, by joy in 
 God according to the commandments, that is, 
 a rejoycing evermore. 
 
 The illusions of a weak piety or an unskilful, 
 confident soul, fancy to see mountains of diffi- 
 culty, but touch them and they seem like clouds 
 riding upon the wings of the wind, and put on 
 shapes as we please to dream. He that denies to 
 givea^ms for the fear of being poor, or to enter- 
 tain a disciple for fear of being suspected of the 
 party ; he that takes part of the intemperance 
 because he dares not displease the company, or 
 in any sense fears the fears of die world and 
 
 not 
 
not the fear of God ; this man enters into his 
 portion of fears betimes, buK: it will not be 
 finished to eternal ages. To fear the cen- 
 sures of men when God is your judge j to 
 fear their evil when God is your defence j to 
 fear death when he is the entrance to life and 
 felicity, is unreasonable and pernicious. But if 
 you will turn your passion into duty, and joy 
 and security, fear to offend God, to enter vo- 
 luntarily into temptation : fear the alluring- 
 face of lust, and the smooth entertainments of 
 intemperance : fear the anger of God when you 
 have deserved it 3 and when you have recovered 
 from the snare, then infinitely fear to return 
 into that condition, in which whosoever dwells 
 is the heir of fear and eternal sorrow. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon on Godly Fear* 
 
 ON SUPERSTITION. 
 
 I HAVE seen a harmless dove made dark 
 with an artificial night, and her eyes sealed and 
 locked up with a little quill, soaring upward 
 and flying with amazement, fear, and anundis- 
 
 * Sermon ix. part 3. 
 
 cerning 
 
ceming wing ; she made toward heaven, but 
 knew not that slip was made a train and an in- 
 strument, to teach her enemy to prevail upon 
 her and all her defenceless kindred. So is a 
 superstitious man, jealous and blind, forward 
 and mistaken ; he runs towards heaven as he 
 thinks, but he chases foolish paths ; and out of 
 fear takes any thing that he is told ; or fancies 
 and guesses concerning God by measures taken 
 from his own diseases and imperfectionss. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon on Godly Fear*.. 
 
 LUST, 
 
 LUST is a captivity of the reason, and an in- 
 raging of the passions : it wakens every night 
 and rages every day ; it desires passionately, and 
 prosecutes violently ; it hinders business, and 
 distracts counsel ; it brings jealousies, and en- 
 kindles wars 5 it sins against the body, and 
 weakens the soul ; it defiles a temple, and drives 
 the Holy Spirit forth. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon on the Flesh and the Spiritf.. 
 
 * Sermon ix. part 3. 
 f Sermon xi. part 2. 
 
61 
 
 HUMAN RESOLUTIONS. 
 
 I HAVE seen a fair structure begun with art 
 and care, and raised to half its stature, and 
 then it stood still by the misfortune or negligence 
 of the owner ; and the rain descended and dwelt 
 in its joynts, and supplanted the contexture of 
 its pillars, and, having stood awhile, like the an- 
 tiquated temple of a deceased oracle, it fell into 
 a hasty age, and sunk upon its own knees, and 
 so descended into ruine^ so is the imperfect, 
 unfinished .spirit of man 5 it lays the founda- 
 tion of a holy resolution, and strengthens it 
 with vows and arts of prosecution : it raises up 
 the walls, sacraments, and prayers, reading, 
 and holy ordinances ; and holy actions begin 
 with a slow motion, and the building stayes, 
 and the spirit is weary, and the soul is naked 
 and exposed to temptation, and in the days of 
 storm takes in every tiling that can do it mis- 
 chief; and it is faint and sick, listless and 
 tired, and it stands till its own weight wearies 
 the foundation, and then declines to death and 
 *ad disorder. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon on Lukewarmness and Zeal*. 
 
 Sermon siii. part 2. 
 
ON LUKEWARMNESS AND ZEAL. 
 
 IN every actkm of religion God expects such 
 a warmth, and a holy fire to go along, that it 
 may be able to enkindle the wood upon the 
 altar, and consume the sacrifice : but God hates 
 an indifferent spirit. Earnestness and vivacity; 
 quickness and delight, perfect choice of the 
 sen-ice, and a delight in the prosecution, is all 
 that the spirit of a man can yield towards his 
 religion : the outward work is the effect of the 
 body : but if a man does it heartily and with 
 all his mind, then religion hath wings and 
 moves upon wheels of fire. 
 
 However it be very easie to have our 
 thoughts wander, yet it is our indifferency and 
 lukewamness that makes it so natural : and you 
 may observe it that so long as the light shines 
 bright, and the fires of devotion and desires 
 flame out, so long the mind of a man stands 
 close to the altar, and waits upon the sacrifice : 
 but as the fires die and desires decay, so the 
 mind steals away and walks abroad, to see the 
 little images of beauty and pleasure which it 
 beholds in the falling stars and little glow- 
 s' worms 
 
V 
 
 63 
 
 worms of the world. The river that runs slow 
 and creeps by the banks, and begs leave ot 
 every turf to let it pass, is drawn into little hol- 
 lownesscs, and spends itself in smaller portions, 
 and dies with diversion ; but when it runs 
 with vigorousness and a full stream, and breaks 
 down every obstacle, making it even as its own 
 brow, it stays not to be tempted with little avo- 
 cations, and to creep into holes, bnt runs into 
 the sea through full and usefull channels : so is 
 a man's prayer ; if it moves upon die feet of 
 .m abated appetite, it wanders into the society 
 of ever)- trifling accident, and stays at the cor- 
 ners of the fancy, and talks with every object 
 it meets, and cannot arrive at heaven ; but 
 when it is carried upon the wings of passion 
 and strong desires, a swift motion and a hun- 
 gry appetite, it passes on through all the inter- 
 medial regions of clouds, and stays not till it 
 dwells at the foot of the throne, where Mercy 
 sits, and thence sends holy showers of refresh- 
 ments. I deny not but some little drops will turn 
 aside, and fall from the full channel by die weak- 
 ness of the banks and hollowness of die passage - } 
 but die main course is still continued. 
 
 He diat is warm to-day and cold to-morrow, 
 zealous in his resolution and weary in his prac- 
 tices, 
 
tices, fierce in the beginning, and slack and 
 easie in his progress, hath not yet well chosen 
 what side he will be of. For religion cannot 
 change though we do; and, if we do, we have 
 left God; and whither he can go that goes 
 from God, his own sorrows will soon enough 
 instruct him. This fire must never go out ; 
 but it must be like the fire of heaven ; it must 
 shine like the stars, though sometimes covered 
 with a cloud, or obscured by a greater light ; 
 yet they dwell for ever in their orbs, and walk 
 in their circles, and observe their circum- 
 stances ; but go not out by day nor night, and 
 set not when kings die, nor are extinguished 
 when nations change their government. So 
 must the zeal of a Christian bo, a constant in- 
 centive of his duty ; and though sometimes his 
 hand is drawn back by violence or need, and 
 his prayers shortened by the importunity of 
 business, and some parts omitted by necessities 
 and jiist compliances -, yet still the fire is kept 
 alive, it burns within when the light breaks 
 not forth, and is eternal as the orb of fire, or 
 the embers of the altar of incense. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon on Lukewarmness and Zeal*. 
 
 * Sermon xili. part 2. 
 
 TOLE- 
 
65 
 
 TOLERATION. 
 
 ANY zeal is proper for religion, but the zeal 
 of the sword and the zeal of anger ; this is the 
 bitterness of zeal, and it is a certain temptation 
 to every man against his duty j for if the sword 
 turns preacher, and dictates propositions by 
 empire instead of arguments, and ingraves them 
 in men's hearts with a ponyard ; that it shall be 
 death to believe what I innocently and igno- 
 rantly am persuaded of, it must needs be un- 
 safe to try the spirits, to try all things, to make 
 inquiery 5 and yet, without this liberty, no man 
 can justifie himself before God or man, nor 
 confidently say that his religion is best, since 
 he cannot, without a final danger, make him- 
 self able to give a right sentence, and to follow 
 that which he finds to be the best : this may 
 mine souls by making hypocrites, or careless and 
 compliant against conscience or without it ; but 
 it does not save souls, though peradventure it 
 should force them to a good opinion. This is 
 inordination of zeal ; for Christ, by reproving 
 St. Peter drawing his sword, even in the 
 cause of Christ, for his -sacred and yet injured 
 F person. 
 
person, teaches us not to use die sword, though 
 in the cause of God, or for God himself, be- 
 cause he will secure his own interest; only 
 let- him be served as he himself is pleased to 
 command. 
 From Taylor's Sermon on Lukewarmness and Zeal *. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE sense of a man resembles the sun, 
 which opens and reveals the terrestrial globe 
 but conceals the stars. Hence men fall who 
 seek to fly up to the secrets of the Deity by 
 the waxen wings of the senses. 
 
 It is an assured truth and a conclusion of ex- 
 perience, that a little and superficial knowledge 
 of philosophy doth incline the mind to atheism : 
 but a further proceeding therein doth bring the" 
 mind back to religion. 
 
 Let no man upon a weak conceit maintain 
 that he can be too well studied in the book of 
 God's word or in the book of God's work : 
 Divinity or Philosophy. 
 
 * Sermon xir. 
 
 Learned 
 
G7 
 
 Learned men forgotten in states are like the 
 images of Cassius and Brutus in the funerals of 
 Junia ; which not being represented as others 
 were, Tacitus saith Eo ipso prcefulgelant, 
 quod non vlselantur. 
 
 The corrupter sort never care in all tempests 
 what becomes of the ship of the state, so they 
 may save themselves in the cock-boat of their 
 own fortune. 
 
 He that cannot contract the sight of his 
 mind, as well as disperse and dilate it, wanteth 
 a great faculty. 
 
 The honest and just bounds of observation 
 by one person upon another extend no further 
 but to understand him sufficiently whereby not 
 to give him offense, or whereby to be able to 
 give him faithful counsel, or whereby to stand 
 upon reasonable guard and caution in respect 
 of a man's self. But to be speculative into 
 another man to the end to know how to work 
 him, or wind him, or govern him, proceedeth 
 from a heart that is double and cloven, and not 
 intire and ingenuous. 
 
 From Bacon's Advancement of Learning, part 1. 
 
 ON 
 
68 
 
 ON TEMPERANCE. 
 
 FROM TAYLOR'S SERMON * ENTITLED ' THE 
 HOUSE OF FEASTING.' 
 
 ' Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' 
 1 Cor. xv. 32. 
 
 1 . Plenty, and the pleasures of the world, are no 
 
 proper instruments of felicity. 
 
 2. Intemperance is a certain enemy to felicity. 
 
 1st, It is an enemy to health. 
 
 2dly, A constant full table hath in it less 
 pleasure than the temperate provisions 
 of the virtuous, or the natural banquets 
 of the poor. 
 
 3dly, Intemperance is an impure fountain 
 of vice, and a direct nurse of unclean- 
 ness. 
 
 4thly, Intemperance is a destruction of 
 wisdom. 
 
 othly, Intemperance is a dishonour and dis- 
 reputation to the person and the nature 
 of the man. 
 
 3. The rules and measures of temperance. 
 
 * Sermons xv. and ivi. 
 
 PLENTY 
 
fLENTY, AND THE FLEASUF.ES OF THE WORLD, 
 ARE NO PROPER INSTRUMENTS OF FELI- 
 CITY. 
 
 HE that cannot be satisfied with common 
 provision, hath a bigger need than he that can ; 
 it is harder, and more contingent, and more dif- 
 ficult, and more troublesome, for him to be sa- 
 tisfied. Epicurus said, ' I feed sweetly upon 
 bread and water, those sweet and easie provi- 
 sions of the body, and I defy the pleasures of 
 costly provisions.' And the man was so confi- 
 dent that he had the advantage over wealthy 
 tables, that he thought himself happy as the 
 immortal gods : for these provisions are easie, 
 they are to be gotten without amazing cares. 
 No man needs to flatter, if he can live as nature 
 did intend : ma^na pars lilertatis est bene mo- 
 ratus venter. He need not swell his accounts, 
 and intricate his spirit with arts of subtilty 
 and contrivance 5 he can be free from fears, 
 and the chances of the world cannot concern 
 him. 
 
 All our trouble is from within us ; and if a dish 
 of lettice and a clear fountain can cool all my 
 
 heats, 
 
70 
 
 heats, so that I shall have neither thirst nor 
 pride, lust nor revenge, envy nor ambition, 1 
 am lodged in the bosom of felicity ; and in- 
 deed no men sleep so soundly as they that lay 
 their head upon Nature's lap. For a single dish 
 and a clean chalice lifted from the springs, can 
 cure my hunger and thirst ; but the meat of 
 Jhasuerus' feast cannot satisfie my ambition and 
 my pride. Nulla re egere, Dei proprium ; quam 
 paucissimis autem, Deo proximum, said So- 
 crates. He therefore that hath the fewest de- 
 sires and the most quiet passions, whose 
 wants are soon provided for, and whose pos-^ 
 sessions cannot be disturbed with violent fears ; 
 he that dwells next door to Satisfaction, and 1 
 can carry his needs and lay them down where 
 he please, this man is the happy man, and this 
 is not to be done in great designs and swelling 
 fortunes. 
 
 A man must labour infinitely to get more 
 than he needs; but to drive away thirst and hun- 
 ger, a man needs not sit in the field of the op- 
 pressed poor, nor lead armies, nor break his 
 sleep, conlumeliosam humanitatem patl, and to 
 suffer shame, and danger, and envy, and af- 
 front, 
 
71 
 
 front, and all the retinue of -Infelicity. If men 
 did but know what felicity dwells in the cot- 
 tage of a vertuous poor man, how sound he 
 sleeps, how quiet his breast, how composed 
 his mind, how free from care, how easie his 
 provision, how healthful his morning, how so- 
 ber his night, how moist his mouth, how joy- 
 ful his heart, they would never admire the 
 noi.ses and die diseases of the throng of passions, 
 and the violence of unnatural appetites, that 
 fill the houses of the luxurious and the hearts 
 of the ambitious. 
 
 The private life, that which is freest from 
 tumult and vanity, noise and luxury, bu- 
 s.ness and ambition, nearest to nature and a 
 just entertainment to our necessities ; that life 
 is nearest to felicity. Therefore despise the 
 swellings and the diseases of a disordered life, 
 and a proud vanity ; be troubled for no outward 
 thing beyond its merit ; enjoy the present tem- 
 perately, and you cannot chuse but be pleased 
 to see that you have so little share in the follies 
 and miseries of the intemperate world. 
 
 TNT EM- 
 
IHTEMPEHANCE IS ANT ENEMY tO HEALTH. 
 
 Health is the opportunity of wisdom, th& 
 fairest scene of religion, the advantages of the 
 glorifications of God, the charitable ministeries 
 to men j it is a state of joy and thanksgiving, 
 and in every of its periods feels a pleasure 
 from the blessed emanations of a merciful Pro- 
 vidence. The world does not minister, does 1 
 i:ot feel a greater pleasure than to be newly 
 delivered from the racks of the gratings of the 
 stone, and the torments and convulsions of a 
 sharp cholick ; and no organs, no harp, no lute 
 can sound out the praises of the Almighty 
 Father so spritefully as the man that rises from 
 his bed of sorrows, and considers what an ex- 
 cellent difference he feels from the groans and 
 intolerable accents of yesterday *. 
 
 See the wretch that long has tost 
 
 Oa the thorny bed of pain, 
 
 At length regain his vigour lost, 
 
 And breathe and walk again. 
 
 The meanest floweret of the vale, 
 
 The simplest note that swells the gale, 
 
 The common sun, the air, the skies, 
 
 To him are opening paradise. CRAY. 
 
 When 
 
When Cyrus had espied Astyages and his 
 fellows coming drunk from a banquet loaden 
 with variety of follies and filthiness, their legs 
 failing them, their eyes red and staring, cou- 
 sened with a moist cloud, and abused by a 
 doubled object, their tongues full of spunges, 
 and their heads no wiser, he thought they were 
 pwjsoned : and he had reason j for what malig- 
 nant quality can be more venomous and hurt- 
 ful to a man than the effect of an intemperate 
 goblet and a full stomach ? It poysons both 
 the soul and body. All poysons do not kill 
 presently, and this will, in process of time, 
 and hath formidable effects at present. But 
 therefore methinks the temptations which men 
 meet withal from without, are, in themselves, 
 most unreasonable, and soonest confuted by us. 
 He that tempts me to drink beyond ray plea- 
 sure, civilly invites me to a fever, and to lay 
 aside my reason, as the Persian women did 
 their garments and their modesty at the end of 
 feasts : and all the question then will be, 
 which is the worst evil, to refuse your uncivil 
 kindness, or to suffer a violent head-ach, or to 
 lay up heaps big enough for an English surfeit. 
 Creon, in the tragedy, said well : 
 
 3 'It 
 
1 It is better for me to grieve thee, 6 stran- 
 ger, or to be affronted by thee, than to be tor- 
 mented by thy kindness the next day and the 
 morrow after.' 
 
 A drunkard and a gkittort feels the torments 
 of a restless night, although he hath not killed 
 a man ; that is, just like murtherers and per- 
 sons of an affrighting conscience. So wakes 
 the glutton, so broken and sick and disorderly 
 are the slumbers of the drunkard : but for 
 the honour of his banquet he hath some mini- 
 sters attending that he did not dream of, and 
 in the midst of his loud laughter, Pallor et 
 genes pendulce, oadorum ulcera, tremulte ma- 
 iius, furia/e:; somjii, inrjules nocturna, as Pliny 
 reckons them* ' Paleness and hanging cheeks, 
 ulcers of the eyes, and trembling hands, dead 
 or distracted sleeps 3' these speak aloud, that 
 to-day you eat and drink, that to-?norrow ymi 
 may die, and die for ever. 
 
 It is reported concerning Socrates, that when 
 Athens was destroyed by the plague, he, in the 
 midst of all the danger, escaped untouched by 
 sickness ; because, by a spare and severe diet* 
 he had within him no tumult of disorderly hu- 
 mours, no factions in his blood, no loades of 
 4 moisture 
 
moisture prepared for charnel-houses, or the 
 'sickly hospitals; but a vigorous heat, and a 
 well proportioned radical moisture : he had 
 enough for health and study, philosophy and 
 religion, for the temples and the academy ; but no 
 superfluities to be spent in groans and sickly 
 nights. 
 
 Certain it is that no man ever repented that 
 lie rose from the table sober, healthful, and with 
 his wits about him ; but very many have re- 
 pented that they sat so long, till their bellies 
 swelled, and their health, and their vertuc, and 
 their God is departed from them. 
 
 A CONSTANT FULL TABLE IS LESS PLEASANT 
 THAN THE TEMPERATE PROVISIONS OF THE 
 VIRTUOUS, OR THE NATURAL BANttUETS 
 OF THE POOR. 
 
 The pleasures of a sober and temperate table 
 are pleasures till the next day : they converse 
 sweetly, and are of perfect temper and delicacy 
 of spirit even the next morning. Whereas 
 t ; :e intemperate man is forced to lie long in 
 bed, and forget that there is a sun in the skie : 
 he must not be call'd till he hath concocted, 
 
 and 
 
and slept his surfeit Into a truce and quiet re- 
 spite : but whatsoever this man hath suffered, 
 certain it is that the poor man's head did not 
 ake, neither did he need the juice of poppies, or 
 costly cordials, physicians or nurses, to bring 
 him to his right shape again, like Apuleius's 
 ass, with eating ros^s. 
 
 INTEMPERANCE IS THE NURSE OF VICE. 
 
 By faring deliciously every day, men become 
 senseless of the evils of mankind, inapprehen- 
 sive of the troubles of their brethren, uncon- 
 cerned in the changes of the world, and the 
 cries of (he poor, the hunger of the fatherless, 
 and the thirst of widows 
 
 Formidable is the state of an intemperate man, 
 whose sin begins with sensuality and grows up 
 mfol/y and weak discourses, and is fed by 'vio- 
 lence, and applauded by fools and parasites, full 
 lellies and empty heady, servants andflatterers, 
 whose hands are full of flesh and Hood, and 
 their hearts empty of pity and natural com- 
 passion ; where religion cannot inhabit, and the 
 love of God must needs be a stranger ; whose 
 
 talk 
 
talk is loud and trifling, injurious and imper- 
 tinent, and whose imployment is the same with 
 the work of the sheep or the calf, always to 
 eat. 
 
 INTEMPERANCE IS A PERFECT DESTRUCTION 
 OF WISDOM. 
 
 A full gorged belly never produced a sprightly 
 mind. When the sun gives the sign to spread 
 the tables, and intemperance brings in the 
 messes, and drunkenness fills the bowls, then 
 the man falls away, and leaves a beast in his 
 room. A full meal is like Sisera's banquet, at 
 the end of which there is a nail struck into a 
 man's head : it knocks a man down, and nails 
 his soul to the sensual mixtures of the body. 
 For what wisdom can be expected from them 
 whose soul dwells in clouds of meat, and floats 
 up and down in wine, like the spilled cups 
 which fell from their hands when they could 
 Jift diem to their heads no longer ? 
 
 It is a perfect shipwreck of a man ; the pilot 
 is drunk, and the helm dash'd in pieces ; and 
 the ship first reels, and, by swalloAving too 
 iuch, is itself swallowed up at last. The 
 
 ceases 
 
73' 
 
 senses languish, the spark of divinity that dwell* 
 \vithin is quenched, and the mind snorts, dead 
 with sleep and fulness in the fouler regions of 
 the belly. So have I seen the eye of the world 
 looking upon a fenny bottom, and drinking up 
 too free draughts of moisture, gathered them 
 into a cloud, dnd that cloud crept about his face, 
 and made him first look red, and then covered 
 him with darkness and an artificial night. So 
 is our reason at a feast. The clouds gather 
 about the head, and, according to the method 
 and period of the children and productions of 
 darkness, it first grows red, and that redness' 
 turns into an obscurity, and a thick mist ; and 
 reason is lost to all use and profitableness of wise 
 and sober discourses. Their heads are gross, 
 their souls are emerged in matter, and drowned 
 in the moistures of an unwholesome cloud ; they 
 are dull of hearing, slow in apprehension; 
 and to action they are as unable as the hands of 
 a child, who too hastily hath broken the inclo-' 
 sures of his first dwelling . 
 
 THE 
 
THE RULES AND MEASURES OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 Every drunkard cloaths his head with a 
 mighty scorn ; and makes himself lower at that 
 time than the meanest of his servants : the boys 
 can laugh at him when he is led like a cripple; 
 directed like a blind man, and speaks, like an 
 infant, imperfect noises, lisping with a full 
 and spongy tongue, and an empty head, and 
 a vain and foolish heart : so cheaply does he 
 part with his honour for drink or loads of meat j 
 for which honour he is ready to die rather than 
 hear it to be disparaged by another ; when him- 
 self destroys it as bubbles perish with the breath 
 of children. Do not the laws of all wise na- 
 tions mark the drunkard for a fool, with the 
 meanest and most scornful punishment > and 
 is there any thing in the world so foolish as 
 a man that is drunk ? But, good God ! what 
 an intolerable sorrow hath seized upon great 
 portions of mankind, that this folly and mad- 
 ness should possess the greatest spirits 2nd 
 wittiest men, the best company, the most sen- 
 sible of the word honour, and the most jealous 
 of losing the shadow, and the most careless of 
 * . the 
 
80 
 
 the tiling! Is it not a horrid thing, that a 
 wise, or a crafty, a learned or a noble person 
 should dishonour himself as a fool, destroy his 
 body as a murtherer, lessen his estate as a 
 prodigal, disgrace every good cause that he can 
 pretend to by his relation, and become an ap- 
 pellative of scorn, a scene of laughter or deri- 
 sion, and all, for the reward of forgetful ness 
 and madness? for there are in immoderate 
 drinking no other pleasures. 
 
 I end with the saying of a wise man : He is fit 
 to sit at the table of the Lord, and to feast with 
 saints, who moderately uses the creatures which 
 God hath given him : But he that despises 
 even lawful pleasures, shall not only sit and 
 feast with God, but reign together with him, 
 and partake of his glorious kingdom. 
 
 THE 
 
81 
 
 ON HUMILITY. 
 
 HUMILITY is the great ornament and jewel" 
 of Christian religion, that whereby it is di- 
 stinguished from all the wisdom of the world; 
 it not having been taught by the wise men of 
 the gentiles, but "first put into a discipline, and 
 made part of a religion, by our Lord Jesus 
 
 ^Christ, who propounded himself imitable by 
 his disciples so signally in nothing as in the 
 twin-sisters of Meekness and Humility. " Learu 
 of me, for I am meek and humble, and ye shall 
 -find rest unto your souls." 
 
 For all the world, all that we are, and all 
 that we have, our bodies and our sonls, our 
 actions and our sufferings, our conditions at 
 home, our accidents abroad, our many sins, 
 
 -and our seldom virtues, are as so many argu- 
 ments to make our souls dwell low in the deep 
 valleys of humility. 
 
 t Holy Living 1 , chap. 2. sect. 4. 
 
 THE 
 
82 
 THE ADVANTAGES OF LEARNING*. 
 
 The following is an Analysis of this Sulyecl.- 
 
 I. Learning relieves man's afflictions which 
 
 arise from nature. 
 
 II. Learning represses the inconveniencies 
 
 which grow from man to man. 
 
 III. There is a concurrence between learning 
 
 and military virtue. 
 
 IV. Learning improves private virtues. 
 
 1. Learning takes away the wildness, and 
 
 barbarism, and fierceness of men's minds. 
 
 2. Learning takes away all levity, temerity, 
 
 and insolency. 
 
 3. Learning takes away vain admiration. 
 
 4. Learning takes away or mitigates the fear 
 
 of death or adverse fortune. 
 
 5. Learning disposes the constitution of the 
 
 mind not to be fixed or settled in the 
 defects thereof, but still to be capable 
 and susceptible of growth and reforma- 
 tion. 
 
 C. Peril as and lonitas differ but as the seal 
 and the print: for Truth prints Good- 
 ness, and they be the clouds of error 
 which descend in the storms of passions 
 and perturbations. 
 
 V. Learning is the greatest of all powers. 
 
 VI. Learning advances fortune. 
 
 VII. The pleasure and delight of learning sur- 
 
 passes all other pleasure in nature. 
 
 VIII. Learning insures immortality. 
 
 THE 
 
LEARNING RELIEVES MAN S AFFLICTIONS 
 WHICH ARISE FROM NATURE. 
 
 Amongst the heathens founders and uniters 
 of states and cities, lawgivers, extirpers of ty- 
 rants, fathers of the people, and other eminent 
 persons in civil merit, were honoured but with 
 the tides of worthies or demy-gods ; such as 
 were Hercules, Theseus, Minos, Romulus, and 
 the like: on the other side, such as were in-. 
 venters and authors of new arts, endowments, 
 and commodities towards man's life, were ever 
 
 * Lord Bacorfs JVork on the Advancement of Learning 
 is divided as follows: 
 
 "I. The excellence of learning and the merit of -dis- 
 seminating it. 
 
 C 1. Objections to learning. 
 2. Advantages of learning. A. 
 
 II. What has been done for the advancement of 
 learning, and what is emitted. 
 
 1. Preliminary considerations respect- 
 ing Universities, Libraries & Learn- 
 ed Men. C 1. History. 
 -2. Division of learning. < 2. Poetry. 
 
 3. Philosophy. 
 
 The aloi-e extract is taken from the part marked A. 
 
 conse- 
 
consecrated amongst the gods themselves,; as 
 was Ceres, Bacchus, Mercurius, Apollo, and 
 thers, and justly 5 for the merit of the former 
 Is confined within the circle of an age or a na- 
 tion, and is like fruitful showers, which, though 
 they be profitable and good, yet serve but for 
 that season, and for a latitude of ground where 
 {hey fall : but the other is indeed like the be- 
 nefits of heaven, which are permanent and 
 universal. The former again is mix'd with strife 
 and perturbation, but the later hath the true 
 character of divine presence, coming in aura 
 Icni, without noise or agitation. 
 
 .LEARNING REPKESSES THE INCONVENIENCIES 
 WHICH GROW FROM MAN TO MAN. 
 
 Neither is -certainly that other merit of learn- 
 ing, in repressing the inconveniencies which 
 grow from man to man, much inferior to the 
 former, of relieving the necessities which arise 
 from nature 3 which merit was lively set forth 
 by the ancients in that feigned relation of 
 Orpheus's theatre, where all beasts and birds 
 assembled ; and forgetting their several appe- 
 tites, some of prey, some of game, some of 
 
 .quarrel, 
 
fjnnrrel, stood all sociably together, listening 
 tinto the airs and accords of the harp: the 
 sound whereof no sooner ceased, or was drown- 
 ed by some louder noise, but every beast re- 
 turned to his own nature ; wherein is aptly 
 described the nature and condition of men,, 
 who are full of savage and unreclaimed desires 
 of profit, of lust, of revenge ; which as long 
 as they give ear to precepts, to laws, to re- 
 ligion, sweetly touched with eloquence and 
 persuasion of books, of sermons, of harangues, 
 so long is society and peace maintained : but if 
 these instruments be silent, or that sedition and 
 tumult make them not audible, all things, 
 dissolve into anarchy and confusion*. 
 
 But this appeareth more manifestly where 
 kings themselves, or persons of authority under 
 them, or other governours in commonwealths 
 and popular estates are endued with learning. 
 For although he might be thought partial to his- 
 own profession, that said, " Then should 
 people and estates be happy, when either kings 
 were philosophers, or philosophers kings 5" yet 
 so much is verified by experience, that undec 
 vise and learned princes and goveruours, there 
 
 * See ante, page 33~ 
 
have been ever the best times ; for howsoever 
 kings may have their imperfections in their 
 passions and customs; yet if they be illuminate 
 by learning, they have those notions of re- 
 ligion, policy, and morality, which do preserve 
 them, and refrain them from all ruinous and 
 peremptory errors and excesses, whispering 
 evermore in their ears, when councellors and 
 servants stand mute and silent : and senators or 
 councellors likewise which be learned do pro- 
 ceed upon more safe and substantial principles, 
 than councellors which are only men of ex- 
 perience j the one sort keeping dangers afar 
 off, whereas the other discover them not till 
 they come near hand, and then trust to the 
 agility of their wit to ward or avoid them. 
 
 Which felicity of times, under learned- 
 princes, (to keep still the law of brevity, by 
 using the most eminent and selected examples) 
 doth best appear in the age which passed from 
 the death of Domitianus the emperor, until 
 the reign of Cominodus ; comprehending a suc- 
 cession of six princes, all learned, or singular 
 favourers and advancers of learning} which 
 age, for temporal respects, was the most happy 
 and nourishing that ever the Roman empire 
 
 (which 
 
87 
 
 (which then was a model of the world) en- 
 joyed*. 
 
 But for a tablet or picture of smaller volume, 
 in my judgment the most excellent is that of 
 queen Elizabeth ; a prince, that if Plutarch 
 were now alive to write lives by parallels, 
 would trouble him, I think,, to find for her a 
 parallel amongst women. This lady was endued 
 with learning in her sex singular, and rare 
 even amongst masculine princes; whether we 
 speak of learning, of language, or of science 
 modern or ancient, divinity or humanity ; and 
 unto the very last year of her life she ac- - 
 customed to appoint set hours for reading ; 
 scarcely any young student in an university 
 more daily or more duly. As for her govern- 
 ment, I assure my self I shall not exceed, if I 
 do affirm that this part of the island never had 
 forty-five years of better times ; and yet not 
 through the calmness of the season, but through 
 the wisdom of her regiment. 
 
 For if there be considered of the one side 
 the truth of religion established ; the constant 
 peace and security ; the good administration 
 of justice ; the temperate use of the prero- 
 
 * The instances of the felicity during the times of 
 these emperors are fully stated in Bacon. 
 
 gative, 
 
88 
 
 gative, not slacken'd, nor much strained ) th* 
 flourishing state of learning, sortable to so ex- 
 cellent a patroness ; the convenient estate of 
 wealth, and means, both of crown and subject ; 
 the habit of obedience, and the moderation of 
 discontents: and there be considered on the 
 other side, the differences of religion, the 
 troubles of neighbour, countries, the ambition of 
 Spain, and opposition of Romej and then, that 
 ?he was solitary, and of her self: these things, 
 1 say, considered; as I could not have chosen 
 an instance so recent and so proper, so I sup- 
 pose I could not have chosen one more re- 
 markable or eminent to the purpose now in 
 hand, which is concerning the conjunction of 
 learning in the prince with felicity in the people. 
 
 THKRE IS A CONCURRENCE BETWEEN IE \RN- 
 ING AND MILITARY. VIRTUE. 
 
 Neither hath learning an influence and ope- 
 ration only upon civil merit and moral virtue, 
 and the arts or temperature of .peace and peace- 
 able government, but likewise H hath no less 
 power and efficacy in inablement towards 
 martial and military virtue and prowess ; as 
 ,iay be notably represented in the examples of 
 
 Alexander 
 
Alexander the Great, and Caesar the dictator,, 
 mentioned before, but now in fit place to be 
 resumed, of whose virtues and acts in war- 
 there needs no note or recital, having been 
 the wonders of time in that kind : but of their 
 affections towards learning, and perfections in 
 learning, it is pertinent to say somewhat. 
 
 Alexander was bred and taught under Aris- 
 totle the great philosopher, who dedicated divers, 
 of his books of philosophy unto him : he was- 
 attended with Callisthenes, and divers other 
 learned persons thai followed him in camp 
 throughout his journeys and conquests. What 
 price and estimation he had learning in doth 
 notably appear in these three particulars : jirst^ 
 in the envy he used to express that he bore 
 towards Achilles in this, that he had so good 
 a trumpet of his praises as Homer's verses : 
 secondly, in the judgment or solution he gave- 
 touching that precious cabinet of Darius which 
 was found amongst his jewels, whereof que- 
 stion was made, what thing was worthy to be 
 put into it, and he gave his opinion for Homer'* 
 \vorks: thirdly, in his letter to Aristotle, after 
 he had set forth his books of nature, wherein, 
 be expostulated with him for publishing the 
 
 secrete 
 
DO 
 
 secrets or mysteries of philosophy, and gave 
 him to understand that himself esteemed it 
 more to excel other men in learning and know- 
 ledge than in power and empire. And what 
 use he had of learning doth appear, or rather 
 shine, in all his speeches and answers, being full 
 of science and use of science, and that in all 
 variety. 
 
 And herein again it may seem a thing scho- 
 lastical and somewhat idle, to recite thing? 
 that every man knoweth; but yet, since the 
 argument I handle leadeth me thereunto, I 
 am glad that men shall perceive I am as willing 
 to flatter- (if they will so call it) an Alexander, 
 or a Caesar, or an Antoninus, that are dead 
 many hundred years since, as any that now 
 liveth ; for it is the displaying of the glory of 
 learning in sovereignty that I propound to my 
 self, and not an humour of declaiming any 
 man's praises. Observe then the speech he 
 used of Diogenes, and see if it tend not to the 
 true estate of one of the greatest questions of 
 moral philosophy j whether the enjoying of 
 outward things or the contemning of them 
 be the greatest happiness? for when he saw 
 Diogenes so perfectly contented with so little, 
 
 he 
 
91 
 
 he said to those that mocked at his condition j 
 " Were I not Alexander, I would wish to be 
 Diogenes." But Seneca inverteth it, and saith, 
 Plus erat, quod /tie nollet acdpere, quam quod 
 ille posset dare. There were more tilings which 
 Diogenes would have refused than those were 
 which Alexander could have given or enjoyed. 
 
 Observe again that speech which was usual 
 with him, "That he felt his mortality chiefly in 
 two things, sleep and lust," and see if it were 
 not a speech extracted out of the depth of 
 natural philosophy, and liker to have come out 
 of the mouth of Aristotle, or Democritus, than 
 from Alexander. 
 
 See again that speech of humanity and poesy, 
 when, upon the bleeding of his wounds, he 
 called unto him one of his flatterers, that was 
 wont to ascribe to him divine honour, and said, 
 ''Look, this is very blood ; this is not such 
 liquor as Homer speaketh of, which ran from 
 Venus' s hand when it was pierced by Dio- 
 inedes." 
 
 See likewise his readiness in reprehension of 
 Ipgick in the speech he used to Cassander, 
 upon a complaint that was made against his 
 father Antipater : for when Alexander hap- 
 
 pen'd 
 
pen'd to say, " Do you think these men would 
 have come from so far to eomplain, except they 
 had just cause of grief^' And Cassander 
 answered, "Yea, that was the matter, because 
 they thought they should not be disproved." 
 Said Alexander, laughing, " See the subtihies 
 of Aristotle, to take a matter both ways, pro- 
 tt contra, &c." 
 
 But note again how well he could use the 
 same art which he reprehended to serve his 
 own humour, when bearing a secret grudge to* 
 Callisthenes, because he was against the new- 
 ceremony of his adoration : feasting one night,, 
 where the same Callisthenes was at the table>. 
 It was moved by some after supper, for enter- 
 tainment sake, that Callisthenes, who was ai> 
 eloquent man, might speak of some theme or 
 purpose at his own choice, which Callisthenes 
 did : chusing the praise of the Macedonian, 
 nation for his discourse, and performing the- 
 same with so good manner as the hearers were 
 much ravished : whereupon Alexander, no- 
 thing pleased, said, " It was easy to be elo- 
 quent upon so good a subject. But," saith he,. 
 " turn your style, and let us hear what you 
 can say against us:" which Callisthenes pre- 
 sent Lw 
 
sently undertook, and did it with that sting and 
 life, that Alexander interrupted him, and said, 
 ' ' The goodness of the cause made him elo- 
 quent before, and despight made him eloquent 
 then again." 
 
 Consider farther, for tropes of rhetorick, that 
 excellent use of a metaphor or translation 
 wherewith he taxed Antipater, who was an 
 imperious and tyrannous governor: for when 
 one of Antipater's friends commended him to 
 Alexander for his moderation, that he did not 
 degenerate as his other lieutenants did into the 
 Persian pride in use of purple, but kept the 
 ancient habit of Macedon, of black : " True, 
 saith Alexander, " but Antipater is all purple 
 within." Or that other, when Parmenio came 
 to him in the plain of Arbela, and shewed him 
 the innumerable multitude of his enemies, 
 especially as they appeared by the infinite num- 
 ber of lights as it had been a new firmament of 
 stars, and thereupon advised him to assail them 
 by night : whereupon he answered, " That he 
 would not steal the victory." 
 
 For matter of policy, weigh that significant 
 
 <listinction so much in all ages embraced, that 
 
 ilie made between his two friends Hephaestion 
 
 1 and 
 
and Craterus, when he said, ""That the ontf 
 loved Alexander, and the other loved the 
 king:" describing the principal difference of 
 princes' best servants, that some in affection 
 love their person, and others in duty love their 
 crown. 
 
 Weigh also that excellent taxation of an 
 error ordinary with councellors of princes, that 
 they counsel their masters according to the 
 model of their own mind and fortune, and not 
 of their masters, when upon Darius' s great 
 offers, Parmenio had said, " Surely I would 
 accept these offers, were I as Alexander:" 
 Saith Alexander, " So would I, were I as 
 Parmenio." 
 
 Lastly, weigh that quick and acute reply 
 which he made when he gave so large gifts to 
 his friends and servants, and was asked what 
 he did reserve to himself, and he answered, 
 "Hope." Weigh, as 1 say,wheth er he had not 
 cast up his account right, because hope must 
 be the portion of all that resolve upon great 
 enterprizes. For this was Caesar's portion when 
 he went first into Gaul, his estate being then 
 utterly overthrown with largesses. And this 
 was likewise the portion of that noble prince, 
 
 how- 
 
howsoever transported with ambition, Henry- 
 duke of Guise, of whom it was usually said, 
 that he was the greater usurer in France, be- 
 cause he had turned all his estate into obli- 
 gations. 
 
 To conclude, therefore; as certain criticks 
 are used to say hyperbolically " That if all sen- 
 tences were lost they might be found in 
 Virgil," so certainly this may be said truly, 
 there are the prints and footsteps of all learning 
 in those few speeches which are reported of 
 this prince : the admiration of whom, when 
 I consider him not as Alexander the Great, but 
 as Aristotle's scholar, hath carried me too far. 
 
 As for Julius Caesar, the excellency of his 
 learning needeth not to be argued from his 
 education, or his company, or his speeches, 
 but in a farther degree doth declare it self in 
 his writings and works, whereof some are 
 .extant and permanent, and some unfortunately 
 perished. For first we see there is left unto us 
 that excellent history of his own wars, which 
 he entitled only a commentary, wherein all 
 succeeding times have admired the solid weight 
 of matter, and the real passages, and lively 
 images of actions and persons expressed in die 
 
 greatest 
 
greatest propriety of words and perspicuity 6? 
 narration that ever was; which, that it was 
 not the effect of a natural gift, but of learning 
 and precept, is well witnessed by that work of 
 
 'his, entitled, De Analogia, being a grammatical 
 philosophy, wherein he did labour to make 
 this same vox ad pladtum, to become vox ad 
 licitum-y and to reduce custom of speech to 
 congruity of speech, and took as it were the 
 picture of words from the life of reason. 
 
 So we receive from him, as a monument 
 both of his power and learning, the then re- 
 
 - formed computation of the year, well express- 
 ing, that he took it to be as great a glory to 
 himself to observe and know the law of tire 
 heavens, as to give law to men upon the earth. 
 So likewise in that book of his, Anticato, it 
 may easily appear that he did aspire as well to 
 victory of wit as victory of warj undertaking 
 therein a conflict against the greatest champion 
 with the pen that then lived, Cicero the 
 
 -orator. 
 
 So again in his book of Apophthegms which 
 lie collected, we see that he esteemed it more 
 honoxir to make himself but a pair of tables, 
 to take the wise and pithy words of others, 
 
 than 
 
97 
 
 than to have every word of his own to be made 
 an apophthegm, or an oracle ; as vain princes, 
 by custom of flattery, pretend to do. And yet 
 if I should enumerate divers of his speeches, as 
 I did those of Alexander: they are trnely such 
 as Solomon noleth, when he saith, J \-rla sa- 
 pientum tanquam acitr/i, ct tanjuam clavi in 
 ahum dffi.ii ; whereof I will only recite three, 
 not so delectable for elegancy, but admirable 
 for vigour and efficacy. 
 
 As first, it is reason he be thought a master 
 of words, that could with one word appease a 
 mutiny in his army, vhich was thus: The 
 Romans, when their generals did speak to 
 their army, did use the word milites ; but 
 when the magistrates spake to the people, they 
 did use the word Qubites. The soldiers were 
 in tumult, and seditiously prayed to be cashier- 
 ed ; not that they so meant, but by expostu- 
 lation thereof, to draw Caesar to other condi- 
 tions ; wherein he being resolute not to give 
 way, after .some silence, he began his speech : 
 Ego, Quintes, which did admit them already 
 cashiered ; wherewith they were so surprized, 
 crossed and contused, as they would not surfer 
 him to go on in his speech, but relinquished 
 H their 
 
98 
 
 their demands, and made it their suit to be 
 again called by the name of milites. 
 
 The second speech was thus : Caesar did ex- 
 tremely affect the name of king; and some 
 were set on as he passed by, in popular acclama- 
 tion to salute him king : whereupon finding 
 the cry weak and poor, he put it off thus, in a 
 kind of jest, as if they had mistaken his sur- 
 name ; Non rex sum, sed Caesar; a speech, 
 that if it be searched, the life and fulness of 
 it can scarcely be expressed: for first it was 
 a refusal of the name, but yet not serious : 
 Again, it did signify an infinite confidence and 
 magnanimity, as if he presumed Caesar was 
 the greater title, as by his worthiness it is come 
 to pass till this day; but chiefly, it was a 
 speech of great allurement toward his own 
 purpose ; as if the state did strive with him but 
 for a name, whereof mean families were vested; 
 for Rex was a surname with the Romans, as 
 well as King is with us. 
 
 The last speech which I will mention was 
 used to Metellusj when Caesar, after war 
 declared, did possess himself of the city of 
 Rome, after which time entering into the inner 
 treasury to take the money there accumulated, 
 
 Metellus 
 
99 
 
 Metellus being tribune forbad him: whereto 
 Caesar said, " That if he did not desist, he 
 would lay him dead in the place." And pre- 
 sently taking himself up, he added ; " Young 
 man, it is harder for me to speak it than to do 
 it:" Adolesccns, during est mihi hoc dicer c quam 
 facere. A speech compounded of the greatest 
 terror and greatest clemency that could proceed 
 out of the mouth of man. 
 
 But to return and conclude with him : it is 
 evident himself knew well his own perfection 
 in learning, and took it upon him, as appeared, 
 when upon occasion that some spake, what a 
 strange resolution it was in Lucius Sylla, to 
 resign his dictature; he scoffing at him, to his 
 own advantage, answered, " That Sylla could 
 not skill of letters, and therefore knew not how 
 to dictate." 
 
 And here it were fit to leave this point, 
 touching the concurrence of military virtue and 
 learning, (for what example should come with 
 any grace, after those two of Alexander and 
 Csesar?) were it not in regard of the rareness 
 of circumstance, that I find in one other parti- 
 cular, as that which did so suddenly pass from 
 extreme scorn to extreme wonder : and it is 
 
 of 
 
100 
 
 of Xenophon the philosopher, who went from 
 Socrates's school into Asia, in the expedition 
 of Cyrus the younger, against king Artaxerxes. 
 This Xenophon at that time was very young, 
 and never had seen the wars before 5 neither 
 had any command in the army, but only fol- 
 lowed the war as a voluntary, for the love and 
 conversation of Proxenus his friend: he was 
 present when Falinus came in message from the 
 great king to the Grecians, after that Cyrus 
 was slain in the field, and they a handful of 
 men left to themselves in the midst of the 
 king's territories, cut off from their conn trey 
 by many navigable rivers, and many hundred 
 miles. The message imported that they should 
 deliver up their arms and submit themselves to 
 the king's mercy. To which message before 
 answer was made, divers of the army con- 
 ferred familiarly with Falinus : and amongst 
 the rest Xenophon happen'cl to say: "Why, 
 Falinus, we luvc now but these two things 
 left, our arms and our virtue ; and if we yield 
 up our arms, how shall we make use of our 
 Airtue?" Whereto Falinus, smiling on him, 
 s>aid, " If I be not deceived, young gentleman, 
 you are an Athenian, and I believe you study 
 3 philoso- 
 
101 
 
 philosophy, nnd it isprettythat you say; but 
 you are much abused, if you think your virtue 
 can withstand the king's power." Here was 
 the scorn : the wonder followed ; which was, 
 that this young scholar or philosopher, after all 
 the captains were murthered in parly by trea- 
 son, conducted those ten thousand foot, through 
 the heart of all the king's high coun treys from 
 Babylon to Graecia in safety, in despight of all 
 the king's forces, to the astonishment of the 
 world, and the encouragement of the Grsecians 
 in times succeeding to make invasion upon the 
 kings of Persia; as was after purposed by 
 Jason the Thessalinn, attempted by Agesilaus 
 the Spartan, and atchieved by Alexander the 
 Macedonian, all upon the ground of the act of 
 that young scholar. 
 
 LEARNING IMPROVES PRIVATE VIRTUES. 
 
 To proceed now from imperial and military 
 virtue, to moral and private virtue : first, it is an 
 assured truth which is contained in the verses j 
 
 Scilicet ingemias didicisse fidcliter artes, 
 Emollit mores, nee sinit essejeros. 
 
 It taketh away the wildness and barbarism 
 and fierceness of mens minds ; but indeed the 
 
 accent 
 
102 
 
 accent had need be upon Jideliter : for a 
 little superficial learning doth rather work a 
 contrary effect. It taketh away all levity, 
 temerity and insolency, by copious suggestion 
 of all doubts and difficulties, and acquainting 
 the mind to balance reasons on both sides, 
 and to turn back the first offers and conceits of 
 the mind, and to accept of nothing but exa- 
 mined and tried. It taketh away vain admi- 
 ration of any thing, which is the root of all 
 weakness : For all things are admired, either 
 because they are new, or because they are 
 great. For novelty, no man that wadeth in 
 learning or contemplation throughly, but will 
 find that printed in his heart, Nil novi super 
 terrain. Neither can any man marvel at the 
 play of puppets that goeth behind the curtain, 
 and adviseth well of the motion. And for 
 magnitude, as Alexander the Great, after that 
 he was used to great armies, and the great 
 conquests of the spacious provinces in Asia, 
 when he received letters out of Greece of 
 some fights and services there, which were 
 commonly for a passage or a fort, or some 
 walled town at the most, he said, " It seem- 
 ed to him that he was advertised of the bat- 
 tles 
 
103 
 
 ties of the frogs and the mice that the old tales 
 went of." 
 
 So certainly, if a man meditate upon the 
 universal frame of nature, the earth with men 
 upon it (the divineness of souls excepted) will 
 not seem much other than an ant-hill, whereas 
 some ants carry corn, and some carry their 
 young $ and some go empty, and all to and fro 
 a little heap of dust. It taketh away or miti- 
 gateth fear of death, or adverse fortune ; which 
 is one of the greatest impediments of virtue, 
 and imperfections of manners. For if a man's 
 mind be deeply seasoned with the consideration 
 of the mortality and corruptible nature of 
 things, he will easily concur with Epictetus, 
 who went forth one day and saw a woman 
 weeping for her pitcher of earth that was broken j 
 and went forth the next day and saw a woman 
 weeping for her son that was dead ; and there- 
 upon said, Heri vidifragilemfrangi, hodievidi 
 mortalem mori. And therefore Virgil did ex-" 
 cellently and profoundly couple the knowledge 
 of causes and the conquests of all fears to- 
 gether, as concomitantia : 
 
 Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
 Qitique metus omnes ct inexorabile fatum 
 Ktd-jccit pedil'iis, sirepitumqut Acherontis avari. 
 
 It 
 
104 
 
 It were too long to go over the particular 
 remedies which learning doth minister to all 
 the diseases of the mind, sometimes purging 
 the ill humours, sometimes opening the ob- 
 structions, sometimes helping digestion, some- 
 times encreasing appetite, sometimes healing 
 the wound and exulceratioris thereof, and the 
 like j and therefore I will conclude with that 
 which liath rationem totius, which is, that it 
 disposeth the constitution of the mind not to 
 be rixed or settled in the defects thereof, but 
 still to be capable and susceptible of growth 
 and reformation. For die unlearned man knows 
 not what it is to descend into himself, or to. 
 <:::11 himself to account ; nor the pleasure of 
 that suavissima vita, indies sentire se ,fieri me- 
 li(,rem. The good parts he hath, he will leam 
 to shew to the full, and use diem dextrously, 
 but not much to encrease them. The faults he 
 hath, he will learn how to hide and colour 
 them, but not much to amend them : like an ill. 
 mower, that mows on still, and never whets his 
 scythe ; whereas with the learned man it fares 
 otherwise, that he doth ever intermix the cor- 
 rection and amendment of his mind with the 
 use and employment thereof. Nay farther in 
 
 general 
 
10,5 
 
 general nnd in sum, certain it is thaf vcritas 
 and bonitas differ but as the seal and the print : 
 for truth prints goodness, and they he die 
 clouds of error which descend in the storms 
 of passions and perturbations. 
 
 LEARNING IS p'oWER. 
 
 From moral virtue let us pass on to matter 
 )f power and commandment, and consider 
 whether in right reason there be any com- 
 parable with that wherewith knowledge in- 
 x'estelh and crownelh man's nature. We see 
 die dignity of dte commandment is according 
 to the dignity of the commanded : to have 
 commandment over beasts, as herdmen have, is 
 a thing contemptible; to have commandment 
 over children, as school-masters have, is a 
 matter of small honour; to have command- 
 ment over galley-slaves, is a disparagement 
 rather than an honour. Neither is die com- 
 mandment of tyrants much better over people 
 which have put oft" the generosity of their 
 minds : and therefore it was ever holden that 
 honours in free monarchies and common- 
 wealths had a sweetness more than in tyran- 
 nies. 
 
106 
 
 nies, because the commandment extendeth 
 more over the wills of men, and not only over 
 their deeds and services. And therefore when 
 Virgil putteth himself forth to attribute to 
 Augustus Caesar the best of human honours, 
 he doth it hi these words : 
 
 f'ictorqite volentes 
 Per populos datjura, riamque affectat Olijmpo. 
 
 But yet the commandment of knowledge is 
 yet higher than the commandment over the 
 will ; for it is a commandment over the reason, 
 belief and understanding of man, which is the 
 highest part of the mind, and giveth law to 
 the \vill it self: for there is no power on earth 
 which setteth up a throne or chair of state 
 in the spirits and souls of men, and in their 
 cogitations, imaginations, opinions and beliefs, 
 but knowledge and learning. And therefore 
 we see the detestable and extreme pleasure that 
 arch-hereticks, and false prophets, and im- 
 postors are transpoited with, when they once 
 find in themselves that they have a superiority 
 in the fa i tli and conscience of men; so great, 
 as, if they had once tasted of it, it is seldom, 
 seen that any torture or persecution can make 
 them relinquish or abandon it. But as this is 
 
 that 
 
107 
 
 that \vhich the author of die Revelation calleth 
 the depth or profoundness of satan, so by argu- 
 ment of contraries, the just and lawful sove- 
 reignty over men's understanding, by force of 
 truth rightly interpreted, is that which approach- 
 eth nearest to the similitude of the divine rule. 
 
 LEARNING ADVANCES FORTUNE. 
 
 As for fortune and advancement, the bene- 
 ficence of learning is not so confined to give 
 fortune only to states and commonwealths, as 
 it doth not likewise give fortune to particular 
 persons. For it was well noted long ago, that 
 Homer hath given more men their livings 
 than either Sylla, or Csesar, or Augustus ever 
 did, notwithstanding their great largesses and 
 donatives and distributions of lands to so many 
 legions ; and no doubt it is hard to say., whether 
 arms" or learning have advanced greater num- 
 bers. And in case of sovereignty we see, that 
 if arms or descent have carried away the king- 
 dom, yet learning hath carried the priesthood, 
 which ever hath been in some competition with 
 empire. 
 
 THE 
 
THE PLEASURE AND DELIGHT OF LEARN- 
 ING SURPASSES ALL OTHER PLEASURE IN 
 NATURE. 
 
 Again, for the pleasure and delight of know- 
 ledge and learning, it far surpasseth all other 
 in nature : for shall the pleasures of the affec- 
 tions so exceed the pleasures of the senses, as 
 much as the obtaining of desire or victory ex- 
 ceecleth a song or a dinner? and must not, of 
 consequence, the pleasures of the intellect or 
 understanding exceed the pleasures of the af- 
 fections ? We see in all other pleasures there 
 is a satiety, and after they be used, their ver- 
 dour departethj which sheweth well they be 
 but deceits of pleasure, and not pleasures) 
 and that it was the novelty which pleased, and 
 not the quality: and therefore we see that 
 voluptuous men turn friars, and ambitious 
 princes turn melancholy. But of knowledge 
 there is no satiety*, but satisfaction and appetite 
 are perpetually interchangeable ; and therefore 
 appeareth to be good in it self simply, without 
 
 A perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, 
 
 Where no crude surfeit reigns. 
 
 fallacy 
 
109 
 
 fallacy or accident. Neither is that pleasure 
 of small efficacy and contentment to the mind 
 of man, which the poet Lucretius describeth 
 elegantly, 
 
 Snare niari magiw, furl-aHtil-its trqwirit reiilis, SY. 
 
 " It is a view of delight," saith he, " to 
 stand or walk upon the shore side, and to see 
 a ship tossed with tempest upon the sea, or to 
 be in a fortified tower, and to see two battels 
 join upon a plain. But it is a pleasure incom- 
 parable for the mind of man to be settled, 
 landed, and fortified in the certainty of truth, 
 and from thence to descry and behold the 
 errors, perturbations, labours and wanderings 
 up and down of other men." 
 
 LEARNING INSURES IMMORTALITY*. 
 
 Lastly, leaving the vulgar arguments that 
 by learning man excelleth man in that wherein 
 man excelleth bensts; that by learning man 
 ascendeth to the heavens and their motions, 
 where in body he cannot come, and the like : 
 
 * Moreover by the means of her I shall obtain im- 
 mortality. 
 
 Wisdom of Solomon, viii. 13. 
 
 let 
 
110 
 
 let us conclude with the dignity and excellency 
 of knowledge and learning, in that whereunto 
 man's nature doth most aspire, which is im- 
 mortality or continuance; for to this tendeth 
 generation, and raising of houses and fami- 
 lies; to this tend buildings, foundations and 
 monuments; to this tendeth the desire of 
 memory, fame and celebration, and in effect 
 the strength of all other human desires. We 
 see then how far the monuments of wit and 
 learning are more durable than the monuments 
 of power, or of the hands. For have not the 
 verses of Homer continued twenty five hundred 
 years, or more, without the loss of a syllable or 
 letter ; during which time, infinite palaces, 
 temples, castles, cities, have been decayed 
 and demolished? It is not possible to have the 
 true pictures or statues of Cyrus, Alexander, 
 Cresur ; no, nor of the kings or great per- 
 sonages of much later years; for the originals 
 cannot last, and the copies cannot but lose of 
 the life and truth. But the images of men's 
 wits and knowledges remain in books exempted 
 from the wrong of time, and capable of per- 
 petual renovation. Neither are they fitly to 
 be called images because they generate still, 
 
 and 
 
Ill 
 
 and cast their seeds in the minds of others, 
 provoking and causing infinite actions and 
 opinions in succeeding ages : so that if the in- 
 vention of the ship was thought so noble, which 
 carrieth riches and commodities from place to 
 place, and consociateth the most remote regions 
 in participation of their fruits, how much 
 more are letters to be magnified, which as 
 ships pass through the vast seas of time, and 
 make ages so distant to participate of the 
 wisdom, illuminations and inventions, the one 
 of the other ? Nay, farther we see, some of 
 the philosophers which were least divine, and 
 most immersed in the senses, and denied ge- 
 nerally the immortality of the soul; yet came 
 to this point, that whatsoever motions the 
 spirit of man could act and perform without 
 the organs of the body, they thought might re- 
 main after death, which were only those of the 
 understanding, and not of the affection ; so im- 
 mortal and incorruptible a thing did knowledge 
 seem unto them to be. But we that know, by 
 divine revelation, that not only the understand- 
 ing, but the affections purified; not only the 
 spirit, but the body changed, shall be advanced 
 to immortality, do disclaim in these rudiments 
 2 of 
 
112 
 
 of the senses. But it must be remember' d 
 both in this last point, and so it may likewise 
 be needful in other places, that in probation of 
 the dignity of knowledge or learning, I did in 
 the beginning separate divine testimony from 
 human, which method I have pursued, and so 
 handled diem both apart. 
 
 Nevertheless I do not pretend, and I know 
 it will be impossible for me by any pleading of 
 mine, to reverse the judgment, either of Esop's 
 cock that preferred the barlycorn before the 
 gem ; or of Midas, that being chosen judge 
 between Apollo president of the muses, and Pan 
 god of the {locks, judged for plenty; or of Paris, 
 that judged for beauty and love against wisdorfi 
 and power: or of Agrippina, occidat matrt'tn, 
 modo impcret; that prefered empire with any 
 condition never so detestable ; or of Ulysses, 
 t/iii I't'tulam prtftuht immortaUtatl, being a 
 figure of those which prefer custom and habit 
 before all excellency, or of a number of the 
 like popular judgments. For these things must 
 continue as they have been: but so will that 
 also continue, whereupon learning hath ever 
 relied, and which faileth not : Justijicata est 
 sapicntia a jlllis su'is, 
 
 OF 
 
J13 
 
 OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD. 
 
 GOD is every where present by his power. 
 He rolls the orbs of heaven with his hand, he 
 fixes the earth with his foot, he guides all the 
 creatures with his eye, and refreshes them with 
 his influence : he makes the powers of hell to 
 shake with his terrours, and binds the devils 
 with his word, and throws them out with his 
 command, and sends the angels on embassies 
 \\ ith his decrees : he hardens the joints of in- 
 fants, and confirms the bones when they are 
 fashioned beneath secretly in the earth. He it 
 is that assists at the numerous productions of 
 fishes, and there is not one hollowness in the 
 bottom of the sea, but he shews himself to be 
 lord of it, by sustaining there the creatures 
 that come to dwell in it : and in the wilderness, 
 the bittern and the stork, the dragon and the 
 satyre, the unicorn and die elk, live upon his 
 provisions, and revere his power, and feel the 
 force of his almightiness. 
 
 Let every thing you see represent to your 
 
 spirit the presence, the excellency, and the 
 
 power of God, and let your conversation wiih 
 
 the creatures lead you unto the Creator, for so 
 
 I shall 
 
114 
 
 shall your actions be done more frequently with 
 an actual eye to God's presence, by your often 
 seeing him in the glass of the creation. In 
 the face of the sun you may see God's beauty j 
 in the fire you may feel his heat warming ; 
 in the water his gentleness to refresh you : it 
 is the dew of heaven that makes your field 
 give you bread. 
 
 Taylor's Holy laving, chap. i. sect. 3. 
 
 ON IDLE CURIOSITY. 
 
 COMMONLY curious persons, or (as thft 
 apostle's phrase is) busie-bodies, are not solli- 
 citous or inquisitive into the beauty and order 
 of a well governed family, or after the vertues 
 of an excellent person; but if there be any 
 thing for which men keep locks and bars and 
 porters, things that blush to see die light, and 
 either are shameful in manners, or private in 
 nature, these things are their care and their 
 business. But if great things will satisfie our 
 inquiry, the course of the sun and moon, the 
 spets in their faces, the firmament of heaven 
 
 and 
 
H-5 
 
 and the supposed orbs, .the ebbing and flawing 
 of the sea, are work enough for us : or, if this- 
 be not, let him tell me whether the number of 
 the stars be even or odd, and when they began 
 to be so; since some ages have discovered new 
 stars which the former knew not, but might 
 have seen if they had been where now they are 
 fixed. If these be too troublesome, search 
 lower, and tell me why this turf this year brings 
 forth a daisie, and the next year a plantanej 
 why the apple bears his seed in his heart 
 and wheat bears it in his head: let him tell 
 why a graft taking nourishment from a 'crab- 
 stock shall have a fruit more noble than it* 
 nurse and parent : let him say why the best of 
 oil is at the top, the best of wine in the middle, 
 and the best of honey at the bottom, otherwise 
 than it is in some liquors that are thinner, and 
 in some that are thicker. But these things are 
 not such as please busie-bodies j they must feed 
 upon tragedies, and stories of misfortunes and 
 crimes : and yet tell them ancient stories of the 
 ravishment of chast maidens, or the debauch - 
 ment of nations, or the extream poverty of 
 learned persons, or the persecutions of the old 
 saints, or the changes of government, and sad 
 
 accident? 
 
accidents happening in royal families amongst 
 the Arsacidae, the Caesars, the Ptolemies, these 
 were enough to scratch the itch of knowing sad 
 stories : but unless you tell them something sad 
 and new, something that is done within the 
 bounds of their own knowledge or relation, it 
 seems tedious and unsatisfying; which shews 
 plainly it is an evil spirit : Envy and idleness 
 married together, and begot curiosity. There- 
 fore Plutarch rarely well compares curious and 
 inquisitive ears to the execrable gates of cities, 
 otit of which only malefactors, and hangmen, 
 and tragedies pass, nothing that is chast or 
 
 holy. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living, chap. ii. sect. 5. 
 
 OX CONTENT. 
 
 SINCE all the evil in the world consists in the 
 disagreeing between the object aud the appetite, 
 as v.hen a man hath what he desires not, or 
 desires what he hath not, or desires amiss ; he 
 that composes his spirit to the present accident 
 hath variety of instances for his vertue, but 
 none lo trouble him, because his desires enlarge 
 
 not 
 
117 
 
 not beyond his present fortune : and a wise man 
 is placed in the variety of chances, like the nave 
 or centre of a wheel in the midst of all the cir- 
 cumvolutions and changes of posture, without 
 violence or change, save that it turns gently in 
 compliance with its changed parts, and is in- 
 different which part is up, and which is dr'.\ -n ; 
 i'or there is some vertue or other to be exercised 
 whatever happens, either patience or thanks- 
 giving, love or fear, moderation or humility, 
 charity or contentedness. 
 
 Jt conduces much to our content, if we pass 
 by those things which happen to our trouble, 
 and consider that which is pleasing and pro- 
 sperous j that, by the representation of die 
 better, the worse may be blotted out. 
 
 It may be tliou art entred into the cloud 
 which will bring a gentle shower to refresh thy 
 sorrows. 
 
 I am fallen into the hands of publicans and 
 sequestra tors, and they have taken all from 
 me : what now ? let me look about me. They 
 have left me the sun and moon, fire and water, 
 a loving wife, and many friends to pity me, 
 and some to relieve me, and I can still dis- 
 course ; 
 
course; and, unless I lis*, they have not takefi 
 away my merry countenance, and my chearful 
 spirit, and a good conscience : they still have left 
 me the providence of God, and all the promises 
 of the gospel, and my religion, and my hopes of 
 heaven, and my charity to them too : and still 
 I sleep and digest, I eat and drink, I read and 
 meditate, I can walk in my neighbour's' plea- 
 sant fields, and see the Varieties of natural 
 beauties, and delight in all that in which God 
 delights, that is, in vertue and wisdom, in the 
 whole creation, and in God himself. 
 
 If thy coarse robe trouble thee, remember 
 the swaddling-cloths of Jesus ; if thy bed be 
 urteasie, yet is it not worse than his manger ; 
 and it is no sadness to have a thin table, if thon 
 callest to mind that the king of heaven and 
 earth was fed with a little breast-milk : and yet 
 besides this he suffered all the sorrows which 
 
 tw deserved. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living, chap.ii. sect. (?- 
 
119 
 
 OF THE DIFFERENT MOTIVES FOR 
 ACQUIRING KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 MEN have entered into a desire of learning 
 and knowledge sometimes upon a natural cu- 
 riosity and inquisitive appetite : sometimes to 
 entertain their minds with variety and delight : 
 sometimes for ornament and reputation, and 
 sometimes to enable them to victory of wit 
 and contradiction : and most times for lucre 
 and profession : and seldom sincerely to give 
 a true account of their gift of reason to the be- 
 nefit and use of man. As if there were sought 
 in knowledge a couch whereupon to rest a 
 searching and restless spirit : or a terrass for a 
 wandering and variable mind to walk up and 
 down with a fair prospect : or a tower of state 
 for a proud mind to rest itself upon : or a fort 
 or commanding ground for strife and conten- 
 tion : or a shop for profit or sale : and not a 
 rich store-house for the glory of -the Creator, 
 and the relief of man's estate. 
 
 Baron's Advancement of Learning. 
 
 M ISC EL- 
 
120 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The wit and mind of man, if it work upon 
 matter, which is the contemplation of the crea- 
 tures of God, worketh according to the stuff, 
 and is limited thereby ; but if it work upon 
 itself, as the spider worketh his web, then it is 
 endless, and brings forth indeed cobwebs of 
 learning, admirable for the fineness of thread 
 and work, but of no substance or profit. 
 
 Alchemy may be compared to ./Esop's hus- 
 bandman, who, when he died, told his sons 
 he had left unto them gold buried under 
 ground in his vineyard : and they digged over 
 all the ground, and gold they found none : but 
 by reason of their stirring and digging the 
 mould about the roots of their vines, they had a 
 great vintage the year following. So assuredly 
 the search and stir to make gold hath brought 
 to light a great number of good and fruitful 
 inventions, and experiments, as well for the 
 disclosing of nature as for the use of man's 
 life*. Authors shou'd be considered as con- 
 
 * See The Progress of the Science of Astronomy in 
 Adam Smith's Posthumous Works. 
 
 Nothing tends so much lo the corruption of science 
 as to sufler it to stagnate : these waters must be troubled 
 before they can exert their virtues. BURKE. 
 
121 
 
 suls to give advice, and not as dictators that 
 their words should stand. 
 
 In the ceremonial law of Moses there is, 
 besides the theological sense, much aspersion 
 of philosophy; as in the law of the leprosy, 
 where it is said " If the whiteness overspread 
 the flesh, die patient may pas.-* abroad for clean : 
 but if there be any whole fleMi remaining, he 
 is to be shut up for unclean." One of the rab- 
 bins notetha principle of moral philosophy, that 
 men abandoned to vice do not so much corrupt 
 manners as those that are half good and half evil. 
 J Bacon's Advancement of Learning. 
 
 ON ANGER. 
 
 IN contentions be always passive, never ac- 
 tive, upon the defensive, not the assaulting 
 part j and then also give a gentle answer, re- 
 ceiving the furies and indiscretions of the other 
 like a stone into a bed of moss and soft com- 
 pliance ; and you shall find it sit down quietly : 
 whereas anger and violence make the contention 
 loud and long, and injurious to both the parties. 
 
 Consider that anger is a professed enemy to 
 counsel ; it is a direct storm, in which no man 
 
 can 
 
122 
 
 can be heard to speak or call from without : 
 for if you counsel gently, you are despised - } if 
 you urge it and be vehement, you provoke it 
 more. Be careful therefore to lay up before- 
 hand a great stock of reason and prudent consi- 
 deration, that, like a besieged town 1 , you may 
 be provided for, and be defensible from within, 
 since you are not likely to be relieved from 
 without. Anger is not to be suppressed but by 
 something that is as inward as it self, and more 
 habitual. To which purpose add, that of all 
 passions it endeavours most to make reason 
 useless. That it is an universal poison, of an 
 infinite object : for no man was ever so amo- 
 rous as to love a toad, none so envious as to 
 repine at the condition of the miserable, no 
 man so timorous as to fear a dead bee; but 
 anger is troubled at every thing, and every 
 man, and every accident, and therefore unless 
 it be suppressed, it will make a man's condi- 
 tion restless. If it proceeds from a great cause, 
 it turns to fury > if from a small cause, it is 
 peevishness : and so is always either terrible or 
 ridiculous. It makes a man's body monstrous, 
 deformed, r.nd contemptible, the voice horrid, 
 the eyes cruel, the face pale or fiery, the gart 
 
 fierce, 
 
123 
 
 fierce,, the speech clamorous and loud. It is 
 neither manly nor ingenuous. It proceeds from 
 softness of spirit and pusillanimity ; which 
 makes that women are more angry than men r 
 sick persons more than healthful, old men more 
 than young, unprosperous and calamitous peo- 
 ple than the blessed and fortunate. It is a pas* 
 sion fitter for flies and insects than for persons 
 professing nobleness and bounty. It is trou- 
 blesome not only to those that suffer it, but to 
 them that behold it : there being no greater in- 
 civility of entertainment than for the cook's 
 fault, or the negligence of the servants, to be 
 cruel, or oufragious, or unpleasant in the pre- 
 sence of the guests. It makes marriage to be 
 a necessary and unavoidable trouble; friend- 
 ships, and societies, and familiarities to be ir> 
 tolerable. It multiplies the evils of drunken- 
 ness, and makes the levities of wine to run 
 into madness. It makes innocent jesting to be 
 the beginning of tragedies. It turns friendship 
 into hatred ; it makes a man lose himself and 
 his reason and his argument in disputation. It 
 turns the desires of knowledge into an itch of 
 wrangling. It adds insolency to power. It 
 turns justice into cruelty, and judgement into 
 4 oppres- 
 
oppression. It changes discipline into tedious- 
 ness and hatred of liberal institution. It makes 
 a prosperous man to be envied, and the unfor- 
 tunate to be unpitied. It is a confluence of all 
 the irregular passions : there is in it envy and 
 .sorrow, fear and scorn, pride and prejudice, 
 .rashness and inconsideration, rejoicing in evil 
 and a desire to inflict it, self love, impatience, 
 and curiosity. And lastly, though it be very 
 troublesome to others, yet it is most troublesome 
 to him that hath it. 
 
 Only observe that such an anger alone is cri- 
 minal which is against charity to my self or my 
 .neighbour j but anger against sin is a holy zeal, 
 and an effect of love to God and my brother, 
 for whose interest I am passionate, like a con- 
 cerned person : and, if I take care that my anger 
 makes no reflection of scorn or cruelty upon 
 the offender, or of pride and violence, or trans- 
 portation to my self, anger becomes charity and 
 duty. And when one commended Charilaus, 
 the king of Sparta, for a gentle, a good, and a 
 meek prince, his collegue said well, "How can 
 he be good, who is not an enemy even to vi- 
 tious persons ?" 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living, chap. iv. sect. 8. 
 
 ON 
 
125 
 
 ON 7 COVETOUSXESS. 
 
 COVETOVSNESS swells the principal tojno 
 purpose, an 1 lessens the use to all purposes ; 
 disturbing the order of nature, and the designs 
 of God; making money not to be the instru- 
 ment of exchange or charity, nor corn to feed 
 himself or the poor, nor wool to cloath himself 
 or his brother, nor wine to refresh the sadness 
 ef the afflicted, nor oil to make his own 
 countenance chearful ; but all these to look 
 upon, and to toll over, and to take accounts 
 by, and make himself considerable, and 
 wonder'd at by fools, that while he lives he 
 may be called rich, and 'when he dies may be 
 accounted miserable. It teaches men to be cruel 
 and crafty, industrious and evil, full of care 
 and malice ; it devours young heirs, and grinds 
 the face of the poor, and undoes those who 
 specially belong to God's protection, helpless, 
 craftless and innocent people.; it inquires into 
 our parents' age, and longs for the death of our 
 friends ; it makes friendship an art of rapine, 
 and changes a partner into, a vulture, and a 
 companionin to a thief : and, after all this, it 
 is for no good to it self, for it dares not spend 
 4hose heaps of treasure which it snatched. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living, chap.iv. sect. 8. 
 
126 
 
 ON SINFUL PLEASURES. 
 
 LOOK upon pleasures not upon that side that 
 is next the sun, or where they look beauteously, 
 that is, as they come towards you to be enjoyed j 
 for then they paint and smile, and dress them- 
 selves up in tinsel and glass gems and counter- 
 feit , imagery,- but when thou hast rifled and 
 discomposed them with enjoying their false 
 beauties, and that they begin to go off, then 
 behold them in their nakedness and weariness. 
 See what a sigh and sorrow, wliat naked un- 
 handsome proportions and a filthy carcase they 
 discover ; and the next time they counterfeit, 
 remember what you have already discovered, 
 and be no more abused. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living, chap. U. sect, 1 . 
 
 ON HOPE. 
 
 HOPE is like the wing of an angel soaring up 
 to heaven, and bears our prayers to the throne 
 
 of God. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Living, chap. iv. sect. 2. 
 
 WHAT 
 
127 
 
 WHAT INCONVENIENCES HAPPEN 
 TO SUCH AS DELIGHT IN WINE. 
 
 TAKE especial care that thou delight not in 
 wine, for there never was any man that came 
 to honour or preferment that loved it; for it 
 transformed! a man into a beast, decayeth 
 health, poisoneth the breath, destroyetli natural 
 heat, brings a man's stomach to an artificial 
 heat, deformeth the face, rotteth the teeth, and 
 to conclude, maketh a man contemptible, soon 
 old, and despised of all wise and worthy men; 
 iiated in thy servants, in thy self and compa- 
 nions; for it is a bewitching and infectious 
 vice. And remember my words, that it were 
 better for a man to be subject to any vice than 
 to it, for all other vanities and sins are re- 
 covered, but a drunkard will never shake off 
 the delight of beastliness, for the longer it pos- 
 sesseth a man, the more he will delight in it, 
 and the elder he groweth, the more he shall be 
 subject to it; for it dulleth the spirits, and 
 destroyeth the body, as ivie doth the old tree : 
 or as the worm that engendereth hi the kernel 
 ef the nut. 
 
 Take 
 
Take heed therefore that such a cureless 
 canker possess not thy youth, nor such a beastly 
 infection thy old age ; for then shall ail thy life 
 be but as the life of a beast, and after thy death, 
 thou shalt onely leave a shaniefull infamy "to 
 thy posterity, who shall study to forget that 
 such a one was their father. Anacharsis saitb, 
 " The first draught serve th for health, the 
 second for pleasure, the third for shame, the 
 fourth for madness ;" but in youth there is not 
 so much as one draught permitted, for it put- 
 teth fire to fire, and wasteth the natural heat 
 and seed of generation. And therefore, ex- 
 cept thou desire to hasten thine end, take this 
 for a general rule, That tl>ou never adde any 
 artificial heat to thy bo iy by wine or spice-, 
 until thou find that time hath decayed thy na- 
 tural heat, and the sooner thou beginnest to 
 help nature, the sooner she will forsake thee, 
 and trust altogether to art : " Who have ink- 
 fortune," saith Solomon, "who have sorrow 
 and grief, who have trouble without fighting, 
 stripes without cause, and faintness of eyes ? 
 even they that sit at wine, and strain themselves 
 to empty cups." Pliny saith, " Wine maketh 
 the hand quivering, the eyes watcrie, the niglrt 
 3 unquiet , 
 
129 
 
 unquiet, lewd dreams, a stinking breath in the 
 morning, and an utter forgetfulness of all 
 tilings." 
 
 Whosoever loveth wine, shall not be trusted 
 of any man, for he cannot keep a secret. Wine 
 maketh a man not onely a beast, but a mad 
 man ; and if thou love it, thy own wife, thy 
 children, and thy friends will despise thee. In 
 drink men care not what they say, what offence 
 they give j they forget comeliness, commit 
 disorders j and, to conclude, offend all virtuous 
 and honest company, and God most of all ; to 
 whom we daily pray for health and a life free 
 from pain, and yet by drunkeness and gluttony 
 (which is the drunkeness of feeding) we draw 
 on, saith Hesiod, " A swift, hasty, untimely, 
 cruel, and an infamous old age." 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh's Letters to his Son . 
 
 SIR 
 
ISO 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S LETTER TO 
 HIS WIFE, AFfER HIS CONDEMNA- 
 TION. 
 
 You shall receive, my dear wife, my last 
 words in these my last lines ; my love I send 
 you, that you may keep when I am dead, and 
 my counsel, that you may remember it when I 
 am no more. I would not with my will present 
 you sorrows, dear Bess ; let them go to the 
 grave with me, and be buried in the dust. And 
 seeing that it is not the will of God that I shall 
 see you any more, bear my destruction pa- 
 tiently, and with an heart like your self. 
 
 First I send you all the thanks which my 
 heart can conceive, or my words express, for 
 your many travels and cares for me ; which 
 though they have not taken effect as you 
 wished, yet my debt to you is not the less; 
 but pay it I never shall in this world. 
 
 Secondly, I beseech you, for the love you 
 bare me living, thai you do not hide your self 
 many days, but by your travels seek to help 
 the miserable fortunes and the right of your 
 poor child. Your mourning cannot avail me 
 that am but dust. 
 
 Thirdly, 
 
1.11 
 
 Thirdly, yon shall understand, that my land* 
 were conveyed bona ^fide to my child ; the 
 writings were drawn at midsummer was twelve 
 moneths, as divers can witness; and I trust my 
 bloud will quench their malice who desired my 
 slaughter, that they will not seek also to kill 
 you and yours with extream povertie. To 
 what friend to direct you I know not, for all 
 mine have have left me in the true time of 
 triall. Most sorrie am I, that, being thus sur- 
 prised by death, I can leave you no better 
 estate^ God hath prevented all my determina- 
 tions, that great God \vhich worketh all in all ; 
 and if you can live free from want, care for no 
 more, for the rest is but a vanitie: love God, 
 and begin betimes, in him you shall find true, 
 everlasting, and endless comfort ; when you 
 have travelled and wearied your self with ail 
 sorts of worldly cogitations, you shall sit down 
 by sorrow in the end. Teach your sun also to 
 serve and fear God whilest he is young, that 
 the fear of God may grow up in him; then 
 will God be an husband to you, and a father to 
 him an husband and a lather that can never 
 be taken from you. 
 
 Baylis 
 
132 
 
 Baylie. oweth me a thousand pounds, and 
 Aryan six hundred ; in Jernesey also I have 
 much owing me. Dear wife, I beseech yon, 
 for my soul's sake, pay all poor men. When I 
 am dead, no doubt you shall be much sought 
 unto, for the world thinks I was very rich : 
 have a care to the fair pretences of men, for no 
 greater miserie can befall you in this life, than 
 to become a prey unto the world, and after to 
 be despised. I speak (God knows) not ta 
 disswacle you from marriage, for it will be best 
 for you, both in respect of God and the world. 
 As for me, I am no more yours, nor you mine ;. 
 death hath cat us asunder, and God hath di- 
 vided rne from the world, and you from me. 
 ilemember your poor child for his father's sake,, 
 who loved you in his happiest estate. I sued 
 for my life, but God knows it was for you 
 rnd yours that I desired k : for know it, my 
 d'-ar wife, your child is the child of a true man, 
 who in his own respect despiseth death and his 
 misshapen and ugly forms. I cannot write 
 much ; God knows how hardly I steal this 
 time when all sleep ; and it is also time for ma 
 to separate my thoughts from the world. Beg 
 
 my 
 
133 
 
 my dead bodie, which living was denied you, 
 and either lay it in Sherhorn or Exeter church 
 by my father and mother. I can say no more ; 
 time and death calleth me away. The ever- 
 lasting God, powerfull, infinite, and inscrutable 
 God Almighties, who is goodness it self, the 
 true light and life, keep you and yours, and 
 have mercy upon me, and forgive my perse- 
 cutors and false accusers, and send us to meet 
 in his glorious kingdom. My dear wife, fare- 
 well ; bless my boy, pray for me, and let my 
 true. God hold you both in his arms. 
 
 Yours that was, but 
 
 now not mine own, 
 
 U'ALTER EALEIGH. 
 
 ON 
 
134 
 
 ON SICKNESS. 
 
 AT the first address and presence of sickness 
 stand still and arrest thy spirit, that it may 
 without amazement or affright consider that 
 this was that thou lookest for, and wert always 
 certain should happen, and that now thou art to 
 enter into the actions of a new religion, the 
 agony of a strange constitution : but at no hand 
 suffer thy spirits to be dispersed with fear, or 
 M ildness of thought, but stay their looseness 
 and dispersion by a serious consideration of the 
 present and future employment. For so doth the 
 Libyan lion * ; spying the fierce huntsman, he 
 first beats himself with the strokes of his tail, 
 and curls up his spirits, making them strong 
 with union and recollection ; till, being struck 
 with a Mauritauian spear, he rushes forth into 
 his defence and noblest contention ; and either 
 Bcapes into the secrets of his own dwelling, or 
 else dies the bravest of the forest. 
 
 * See Theocritus, Ic yll '25. line 230. 
 
 In 
 
135 
 
 In sickness the soul begins to dress herself 
 for immortality. And first, she unties the 
 strings of vanity that made her upper garment 
 cleave to the world and sit unseasie. First she 
 puts oft" the light and phantaslick summer-robe 
 of lust and wanton appetite. 
 
 Next to this, the soxil by the help of sickness 
 knocks off the fetters of pride, and vainer com- 
 placencies. Then she draws the curtains, and 
 stops the light from coming in, and takes tho 
 pictures down, those fantastick images of self- 
 love, and gay remembrances of vain opinion, 
 and popular noises. Then the spirit stoops into 
 the sobrieties of humble thoughts and feels cor- 
 ruption chiding the forwardness of fancy and 
 allaying the vapours of conceit and factious 
 opinions. 
 
 Next to these, as the soul is still undressing, 
 ihe takes off the roughness of her great and 
 little angers and animosities, and receives the oil 
 of mercies and smooth forgiveness, fair inter- 
 pretations and gentle answers, designs of re- 
 concilement and Christian atonement, in their 
 places. 
 
 The temptations of this state, such I mean 
 which are proper to it, are little and incon- 
 siderable ; 
 
13G 
 
 siderable; the man is apt to chide a servant 
 too bitterly, and to be discontented with his 
 nurse, or not satisfied with his physician, and 
 he rests uneasily, and (poor man!) nothing 
 can please him: and indeed these little iin- 
 decencies must be cured and stopped, lest they 
 run into an inconvenience. But sickness is in 
 this particular a little image of the state of 
 blessed souls, or of Adam's early morning in 
 paradise, free from the troubles of lust, and 
 violences of anger, and the intricacies of am- 
 bition, or the restlesness of covetousness. For 
 though a man may carry all these along with 
 him into his sickness, yet there he will not 
 find them ; and in despight of all his own 
 malice, his soul shall find some rest from la- 
 bouring in the galleys and baser captivity of 
 sin. 
 
 Taylor's Holy Dying, chap. iv. sect. 1. and 
 chap. iii. sect. 6. 
 
 ON 
 
137 
 
 ON THE PROLONGATION OF LIFE*. 
 
 THE third part of medicine we have set 
 down to be that of the Prolongation of Life, 
 which is a part new and deficient, and the 
 most noble of all : for if any such tiling may 
 be found out, medicine shall not be practis'd 
 only in the impurities of cures, nor shall phy- 
 sitians be honour' d only for necessity, but for 
 a guift, the greatest of earthly donations that 
 could be conferr'd on mortality, whereof men, 
 next under God, may be the dispensers and ad- 
 ministrators. For although the world to a 
 
 * From Bacon's Advancement of Learning. 
 
 Lord Bacoiis Treatise on Human Nature, as contained in the 
 second part of his Advancement of Learning, is divided as fol- 
 lows: and the al'ove extract is taken, from the part in italics 
 marked with the letter X. 
 
 l.Asan 
 
 11. The sympathies between 
 the mind and the body. 
 
 !1. The preserva- 
 
 indivi-^ 
 
 
 
 tion of health. 
 
 dual. 
 
 2. His parts 
 considered 
 
 fl. Health. < 
 
 2. The curt of 
 diseases. 
 
 
 separately. 
 
 - 
 
 3. The prolonga- 
 
 
 1st. Body.- 
 
 J 
 
 tion oflije. X. 
 
 
 . ' 
 
 J 2. Strength. 
 
 
 
 
 ! 3. Beauty. 
 
 
 
 
 1.4. Pleasure. 
 
 
 
 2dly. Mind. 
 
 
 
 |_ '2. As a member of society. 
 
 Christian 
 
138 
 
 Christian man, travailing to the land of promise, 
 be as it were a wildernesse, yet that our shooes 
 and vestments (that is our body, which is as a 
 couverture to the soule) be lesse wcrne away 
 while we sojourne in this wildernesse, is to be 
 estimed a gift comming from' the divine good- 
 nesse. Now because this is one of the choicest 
 parts of phisique, and that we have set it downe 
 amongst deficients, we will after our ac- 
 customed manner give some admonitions, in- 
 dications, and precepts thereof. 
 
 First we advertise, that of writers in this ar- 
 gument there is none extant that hath found out 
 any thing of worth, that I may not say, any 
 thing sound touching this subject. Indeed 
 Aristotle hath left unto posterity a small briefe 
 commentarie of this matter ; wherein there is 
 some accutenesse, which he would have to be 
 ali can be said, as his manner is : but the more 
 recent writers have written so icllely, and su- 
 perstitiously upon the point, that the argument 
 it selfe, through their vanity, is reputed vaine 
 and sensele<se. 
 
 Secondly, we advertise, that the intentions 
 of pbysitians- touching this argument are no- 
 thing worth : and that they rather lead men 
 
 away 
 
139 
 
 away from the point/ than direct them unto it. 
 For they discourse that death is a destitution of 
 heate and moisture, and therefore naturall heate 
 should be comforted and radical moisture 
 cherisht ; as if it were a matter to be effected 
 by breaths, or lettuces, and mallows, or jujubs, 
 or fine wafer-cakes, or else with hot spices) ge- 
 nerous wine, or the spirits of wine, or chimicall 
 oyles; all which doe rather hurt, than helpe. 
 
 Thirdly, we admonish men that they cease to 
 trifle, and that they be not so credulous as to 
 think that such a great worke as this is, to 
 retard and turne back the course of nature, 
 may be brought to perfection by a morning 
 draught, or the use of some precious receipt ; 
 no not with aurum potulile., or the substances c,f 
 pearles, or such like toyes j but that they take 
 it for a grounded truth, that die prolongation 
 of life, is a great work, and which consists in 
 many kinds of receipts, and of an orderly course 
 and connexion of them : and let no man be so 
 stupid as to believe, that what never yet was 
 done, can be now effected, but by meanes yet 
 never attempted. 
 
 Fourthly, we admonish men that they rightly 
 observe and distinguish touching those receits 
 
 which 
 
140 
 
 which conduce to a healthfull life, and those 
 which conferre to a long life. For there are 
 many things which exhilarate the spirits, 
 strengthen the active powers of nature, repell 
 diseases, which yet subduct from the somme 
 of life, and without sicknesse accelerate aged 
 atrophie. And there are other receipts which 
 conduce to the prolongation of life, and the 
 retardation of the atrophie of old-age ; but yet 
 are not us' d without hazard of health: so that 
 they who use these remedies for the proroga- 
 tion of life, must likewise provide against such 
 inconveniencies as upon their usage may un- 
 expectedly fal out. And thus much by way of 
 admonition. 
 
 As for indications, the image, or idea we 
 have conceiv'd in our mind hereof, is this ; 
 Things are conserv'd and continued two wayes 3 
 either in their owne identitie, or by reparation. 
 In their proper identitie, as a flie or an ant in 
 amber ; a flower, an apple or wood in conser- 
 vatories of snow; a dead corps in balsame. 
 By reparation, as in flame, and mechanique. 
 He that goes about the worke of prolongation 
 of life, must put in practice both these kinds, 
 (for disunited, their strength is weakned) and 
 
 man's 
 
141 
 
 man's body must be conserv'd after the same 
 manner as inanimate bodies are conserved j and 
 againe, as flame is conserved ; and lastly, even 
 as mechaniques are conserved. Wherefore 
 there are three intentions for the prolongation 
 of life} the retardation of consumption; the 
 integrity of the reparation; and the renovation 
 of that u'ldch begun to decay and grow old. 
 Consumption is caus'd by two depredations ; 
 depredation of innate spirit, and depreda- 
 tion of ambient aire. The resistance of both is 
 two-fold, either when the agents (that is, the 
 sue and moistures of the body) become lesse 
 predatory ; or the patients are made lesse depre- 
 dable. The spirit is made lesse predatory, if 
 either it be condensed in substance, as in the 
 use of opiates, and nitrous application, and 
 in contestations ; or be diminished in quantity, 
 as in spare Pythagoricall or monasticall diets 
 or is svveetned and refresh! with motion, as in 
 ease and tranquility. Ambient aire is made 
 lesse predatory, either when it is lesse heated 
 with the beames of the sunne, as in colder 
 countries j in caves, in hills, and in the pillars 
 or stations of anchorites j or when it is repell'd 
 from the body as in dens-close skin; in the 
 
 plumage 
 
142 
 
 plumage of birds, and the use of oyle and un- 
 guents without aromatique ingredients. The 
 juyce and succulencies of the body, are made 
 lesse depredable, if either they be made more 
 indurate, or more dewy, and oyly : indurate as 
 as in austere course diet j in a life accustomed 
 to cold, by strong excercises; by certaine mi- 
 nerall bathes. Roscide or dewy, as in the use 
 of sweet meats, arid abstinence from meats 
 salt and acide ; but especially in such a mixture 
 of drinks as is of parts very tenuious and subtle, 
 and yet without all acrimony or tartnesse. Re- 
 paration is done by aliments ; and alimentation 
 is promoted four wayes : by the concoction of 
 the inward parts for the sending forth of the 
 nourishment ; as in confortatives of the principall 
 bowells ; by excitation of the outward parts 
 for the attraction of nourishment, as in due 
 excercises and frications ; and some kind of 
 unctions and appropriate bathes ; by prepara- 
 tion of the aliment it selfe; that it may more 
 easily insinuate it selte, and in a sort anticipate 
 digestions, as in diverse and artificial! kinds of 
 
 O 
 
 seasoning meat, mingling drinke, leavening 
 bread, and reducing the virtues of all these three 
 into one; by comforting the. last acl of assimi- 
 lation, 
 
143 
 
 lation, as in seasonable sleep, arid outward or 
 topique applications : the renovation of that 
 which began to waxe old is performed two 
 waies, either by inteneration of the habit of 
 the body it selfe, as in the use of suppleing or 
 softning applications by bathes, emplasters and 
 unctions, of such quality as may soak or in- 
 sinuate into the part, but not extract from it ; 
 or by expurgation of the old moisture, and 
 substitution of new moisture, as in seasonable 
 and often purging j letting of blood ; attenuat- 
 ing diets, which restore the flower of the body : 
 and so much for indications. 
 
 As for precepts, although many of them may 
 be deduced from the indications, yet we thought 
 good to set downe three of the most principal!. 
 First we give in precept that the prolongation 
 of life, must be expected from a prescript set 
 diet, rather than from any familiar regiment of 
 foode, or the excellency of particular receipts ; 
 for whatsoever are of such virtue as they are 
 able to make nature retrograde, are commonly 
 more strong and potent to alter, than that they 
 can be compounded together in any medicine, 
 much lesse be intermingled in familiar foode. 
 It remaincs therefore that such receipts be 
 
 admi- 
 
144 
 
 administred regularly, and successively and at 
 set appointed times, returning in certain courses. 
 
 Our second precept is, that the prolongation 
 of life be expected, rather from working upon 
 spirits, and from a malacissation or inteneration 
 of parts, than from any kinds of aliment or 
 order of diet. For seeing the body of man and 
 the frame thereof (leaving aside outward ac- 
 cidents) three waies becomes passive, namely 
 from the spirits; from the parts; and from 
 aliments; the way of prolongation of life by 
 means of aliment is a long \vay about, and that 
 by many ambages and circuits ; but the waies 
 by working upon the spirits, and upon the 
 parts, are more compendious and sooner brings 
 us to the end desired ; because the spirits are 
 sodainly mo\ed, both from vapours and pas- 
 sions, which work strangely upon them : and 
 the parts, by bathes, unguents or emplaisters, 
 which in like manner make way by sodaine 
 impressions. 
 
 Our third precept is, that malacissation or 
 inteneration of parts by outward topiques, must 
 be performed by applications consubstantiall, 
 penetrating, and stringent. Consubstantialls are 
 willingly intertained with a kindly embrace, 
 
 and 
 
145 
 
 and properly intenerate and supple; penetrating 
 and insinuating remedies are the defferrents, as 
 it were, of malacissant and mollifying qualities, 
 and convay more easily and impressedly the 
 virtue thereof ; and doe themselves somewhat 
 expand and open the parts. Restringents keep 
 in the virtue of them both, and for a time fixe 
 it, and also cohibite and represse perspiration ; 
 which is a thing repugnant to malacissation or 
 suppleing, because it sends forth the moisture ; 
 wherefore by these three (but disposed in 
 order, and succeeding, then intermixt) the 
 matter is effected. In the mean we give this 
 caveat, that it is not the intention of malacis- 
 sation by outward topiques to nourish parts ; 
 but only to render them more capable, of 
 nourishment : for whatsoever is more drie, is 
 Icsse active to assimilate. And thus much of 
 the prolongation of life, which is a third part 
 newly assigned to medicine. 
 
 Lord Bacon's Advancement of Learning. 
 
 ON 
 
146 
 
 ON PRAYER. 
 
 THE first thing that hinders the prayer of a 
 good man from obtaining its effects is a violent 
 anger, and a violent storm in the spirit of him 
 that prays. For anger sets the house on fire, 
 and all the spirits are busie upon trouble, and 
 intend propulsion, defence, displeasure, or re- 
 venge ; it is a short madness and an eternal 
 enemy to discourse, and sober counsels, and 
 fair conversation j it intends its own object with 
 all the earnestness of perception, or activity of 
 design, and a quicker motion of a too warm and 
 distempered bloud; it is a fever in the heart, 
 and a calenture in the head, and a fire in the 
 face, and a sword in the hand, and a fury all 
 over ; and therefore can never suffer a man to 
 be in a disposition to pray. For prayer is an 
 action and a state of entercourse, and desire, 
 exactly contrary to this character of anger. Prayer 
 is an action of likeness to the holy Ghost, the 
 spirit of gentleness and dove-like simplicity} an 
 imitation of the holy Jesus, whose spirit is 
 meek up to the greatness of the biggest ex- 
 ample, and a conformity to God, whose anger is 
 always just, and marches slowly, and is without 
 transportation, and often hindred, and never 
 
 hasty, 
 
147 
 
 hasty, and is full of mercy ; prayer is the peace 
 of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, the 
 evenness of recollection, the seat of meditation, 
 the rest of our cares, and the calm of our tem- 
 pest j prayer is the issue of a quiet mind, of 
 untroubled thoughts, it is the daughter of 
 charity, and the sister of meekness ; and he that 
 prays to God with an angry, that is, with a 
 troubled and discomposed spirit, is like him that 
 retires into a battel to meditate, and sets up his 
 closet in the out quarters of an army, and chuses 
 a frontier garison to be wise in. Anger is a 
 perfect alienation of the mind from prayer, and 
 therefore is contrary to that attention, which 
 presents our prayers in a right line to God. 
 For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of 
 grass, and soaring upwards singing as he rises, 
 and hopes to get to heaven, and climb above the 
 clouds ; but die poor bird was beaten back with 
 the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his 
 mction made irregular and unconstant, descend- 
 ing more at every breath of the tempest, than 
 it could recover by the libration and frequent 
 weighing of his wings 5 till the little creature 
 was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till 
 -the storm was over, and then k made a pro- 
 L 2 perous 
 
148 
 
 sperous flight, and did rise and sing as if it had 
 learned musick and motion from an angel, as 
 lie passed sometimes through the air about his 
 ministeries here below : so is the prayer of a 
 good man ; when his affairs have required bu-^ 
 siness, and his business was matter of discipline; 
 and his discipline was to- pass upon a sinning 
 person, or had a design of charity, his duty met 
 with infirmities of a man, and anger was its 
 instrument, and the instrument became stronger 
 than the prime agent, and raised a tempest, and 
 overruled the man ; and then his prayer was 
 broken, and his thoughts were troubled, and his 
 words went up towards a cloud, and his thoughts 
 pulled them back again, and made them with- 
 out intention ; and the good man sighs for his 
 infirmity, but must be content to lose the prayer, 
 and he must recover it, when his anger is re- 
 moved, and his spirit is becalmed, made even 
 as the brow of Jesus, and smooth like the heart 
 of God : and then it ascends to heaven upon the 
 wings of the holy dove, and dwells with God, 
 till it returns like the useful bee, leaden with 
 a blessing and the dew of heaven. 
 
 Taylor's Sennon entitled The Return of Prayers *. 
 * S rmo i v. p^ge 33, 
 
149 
 
 ON CONVERSATION. 
 
 FROM TAYLOR'S SERMON*, ENTITLED ' THE 
 GOOD AND EVIL TONGUE.' 
 
 The following is an Analysis of the Sermon. 
 
 I. General observations. 
 
 II. The vices of conversation, 
 
 /- s-\. Talking foolishly. 
 
 , .T. -12. Scurrility. 
 
 j 1. Tallung too ) ^ Revealing secrets. 
 
 j I 4. Common swearing. 
 
 | ^5. Contentious wrangling. 
 
 ! 2. Slander. 
 1.3. Flattery. 
 
 III. The virtues of conversation. 
 
 1. Instruction. 
 
 2. Comfort. 
 
 3. Reproof. 
 
 GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 BY the use of the tongue, God hath di- 
 stinguished us from beasts, and by the well or 
 ill using it we are distinguished from one an- 
 other j and therefore though silence be in- 
 nocent as death, harmless as a rose's breath- to 
 
 "* Sermon xxii. page 161. 
 
 a distant 
 
150 
 
 a distant passenger, yet it is rather the state of 
 death than life. By voices and homilies, by 
 questions and answers, by narratives and in- 
 vectives, by counsel and reproof, by praises and 
 hymns, by prayers and glorifications, we serve 
 God's glory, and the necessities of men; and 
 by the tongue our tables are made to differ from 
 mangers, our cities from desarts, our churches 
 from herds of beasts, and flocks of sheep. 
 
 TALKING TOO MUCH. 
 
 I have heard that all the noises and prat- 
 ing of the pool, the croaking of frogs and toads, 
 is hushed and appeased upon the instant of 
 bringing upon them the light of a candle or 
 torch. Every beam of reason and ray of know- 
 ledge checks the dissolutions of the tongue. 
 But, ut quisquc contemptissimus et maxim e lu- 
 dilrio est, ita solutissimee linguce est, said Se- 
 neca : Every man, as he is a fool and con- 
 temptible, so his tongue is hanged loose, being 
 like a bell, in which there is nothing but tongue 
 and noise. 
 
 TALKING FOOLISHLY. 
 
 No prudence is a sufficient guard, or can 
 ?il v, ays stand in excui'us still watching, when a 
 
 man 
 
151 
 
 man is in perpetual flouds of talk : for pru- 
 dence attends after the manner of an angel's 
 minister}^; it is dispatched on messages from 
 God, and drives away enemies, and places 
 guards, and calls upon the man to awake, and 
 bids him send out spies and observers, and then 
 goes about his own ministeries above : but an 
 angel does not sit by a man, as a nurse by the 
 babies cradle, watching every motion, and the 
 lighting of a Hie upon the child's lip : and so is 
 prudence ; it gives rules, and proportions out 
 our measures, and prescribes us cautions, and 
 by general influences orders our particulars: 
 but he that is given to talk cannot be secured 
 by all this; the emissions of his tongue are 
 beyond the general figures and lines of rule ; 
 and he can no more be wise in every period of 
 a long and running talk, than a lutenist can de- 
 liberate and make every motion of his hand by 
 the division of his notes, to be chosen and 
 distinctly voluntary. 
 
 SCURRILITY, OR FOOLISH JESTING. 
 
 Plaisance, and joy, and a lively spirit, and a 
 pleasant conversation, and the innocent caresses 
 of a charitable humanity, is not forbidden; ple- 
 num 
 
152 
 
 num tamen suavitatis et gratia scrmonem nttn 
 esse indecorum, saint Ambrose affirmed ; and 
 here in my text our conversation is commanded 
 to be such, iva. u> ^a-piv, that it may minister 
 grace, that is, favour, complacence, chearfulness; 
 and be acceptable and pleasant to the hearer : 
 and so must be our conversation ; it must be 
 as far from sullenness, as it ought to be from 
 lightness, and a chearful spirit is the best convoy 
 for religion j and though sadness does in some 
 cases become a Christian, as being an index of a 
 pious mind, of compassion, and a wise proper 
 resentment of tilings, yet it serves but one end, 
 being useful in the only instance of repentance? 
 and hath done its greatest works, not when it 
 weeps and sighs, but when it hates and grows 
 careful against sin. But chearfulness and a 
 festival spirit fills the soul full of harmony, it 
 composes musick for churches and hearts, it 
 makes and publishes glorifications of God, it 
 produces thankfulness and serves the end of 
 charity ; and when the oyl of gladness runs 
 over, it makes bright and tall emissions of light 
 and holy fires, reaching up to a cloud, and 
 making joy round about: and therefore, since 
 it is so innocent, and may be so pious and full 
 
 of 
 
153 
 
 of holy advantage, whatsoever can innocently 
 minister to this holy joy does set forward the 
 work of religion and charity. And indeed charity 
 it self, which is the vertical top of all religion, 
 is nothing else but an union of joys, concentred 
 in the heart, and reflected from all the angles 
 of our life and entercourse. It is a rejoycing 
 in God, a gladness in our neighbours good, a 
 pleasure in doing good, a rejoycing with him; 
 and without love we cannot have any joy at all. 
 Jt is this that makes children to be a pleasure, 
 and friendship to be so noble and divine a things 
 and upon this account it is certain that all that 
 which can innocently make a manchearful, does 
 also make him charitable ; for grief, and age, 
 and sickness, and weariness, these are peevish 
 and troublesome ; but mirth and chearfulness is 
 content, .and civil, and compliant, and com- 
 municative, and loves to do good, and swells 
 up to felicity only upon the wings of charity. 
 Upon this account here is pleasure enough for 
 a Christian at present, and if a facete discourse, 
 and an amicable friendly mirth can refresh the 
 spirit, and take it off from the vile temptation 
 of peevish, despairing, uncomplying melan- 
 xholy, it must needs be innocent and com- 
 mendable. 
 
154 
 
 mendable. And we may as well be refreshed 
 by a clean and a brisk discourse, as by the air 
 of Campanian wines ; and our faces and our 
 heads may as well be anointed and look plea- 
 sant with wit and friendly entercourse, as with 
 the fat of the balsam-tree ; and such a conver- 
 sation no wise man ever did, or ought to re- 
 prove. But when the jest hath teeth and nails, 
 biting or scratching our brother, when it is loose 
 and wanton, when it is unseasonable, and much 
 or many, when it serves ill purposes, or spends 
 better time, then it is the drunkenness of the 
 soul, and makes the spirit fly away, seeking for 
 a temple where the mirth and the musick is 
 solemn and religious. 
 
 OF SLANDER. 
 
 This crime is a conjugation of evils, and is 
 productive of infinite mischiefs ; it undermines 
 peace, and saps the foundation of friendship 5 
 it destroys families, and rends in pieces the 
 very heart and vital parts of charity ; it makes 
 an evil man, party, and witness, and judge, and 
 executioner of the innocent. 
 
155 
 
 OF FLATTERY. 
 
 He that perswades an ugly, deformed man, 
 that he is handsome, a short man that he is 
 tall, a bald man that he hath a good head of 
 hair, makes him to become ridiculous and a fool, 
 but does no other mischief. But he that per- 
 swades his friend that is a goat in his manners, 
 that he is a holy and a chaste person, or that his 
 looseness is a sign of a quick spirit, or that 
 it is not dangerous but easily pardonable, a 
 trick of youth, a habit that old age will lay aside 
 as a man pares his nails, this man hath given 
 great advantage to his friend's mischief ; he 
 hath made it grow in all the dimensions of the 
 sin, till it grows intolerable, and perhaps un- 
 pardonable. And let it be considered, what a 
 fearful destruction and contradiction of friend- 
 ship or service it is, so to love my self and my 
 little interest, as to prefer it before the soul of 
 him whom I ought to love. 
 
 OF COMFORTING THE DISCONSOLATE. 
 
 Certain it is, that as nothing can better do it, 
 so there is nothing greater, for which God made 
 
 our 
 
156 
 
 xmr'tongues, next to reciting his praises, than to 
 minister comfort to a weary soul. And what 
 greater measure can we have, than that we 
 should bring joy to our brother, who with his 
 dreary eyes looks to heaven and round about, 
 and cannot find so much rest as to lay his eye- 
 lids close together, than that thy tongue should 
 be tuned with heavenly accents, and make the 
 weary soul to listen for light and ease, and 
 when he perceives that there is such a thing in 
 the world, and in the order of things, as com- 
 fort and joy, to begin to break out from the 
 prison 'of his sorrows at the door of sighs and 
 tears, and by little and little melt into showres 
 and refreshment ? This is glory to thy voice, 
 and imployment fit for the brightest angel. But 
 so have I seen the sun kiss the frozen earth, 
 which was bound up with the images of death, 
 and the colder breath of the north ; and then 
 the waters break from their inclosures, and 
 melt with joy, and run in useful channels ; and 
 the flies do rise again from their little graves in 
 walls, and dance a while in the air, to tell that 
 there is joy within, and that the great mother 
 of creatures will open the stock of her new 
 refreshment, become useful .to mankind, and 
 
T57 
 
 sing praises to her redeemer : so is the heart erf* 
 a sorrowful man under the discourses of 3'Wise 
 comforter, he breaks from the despairs of the 
 grave, and the fetters and chains of sorrow, he 
 blesses God, and he blesses thee, and he feels his 
 life returning ; for to be miserable is death, but 
 nothing is life but to be comforted ; and God is 
 pleased with no musick from below so much as 
 in the thanksgiving songs of relieved widows, of 
 supported orphans, of rejoicing and comforted, 
 and thankful persons. 
 
 ON THE GOODNESS OF THE 
 ALMIGHTY. 
 
 FROM the beginning of time till now, all 
 effluxes which have come from God have been 
 nothing but emanations of his goodness cloathed 
 in variety of circumstances. He made man 
 with no other design than that man should be 
 happy, and by receiving derivations from his 
 fountain of mercy might reflect glory to him. 
 And therefore God making man for his own 
 glory, made also a paradise for man's use; and 
 
 did 
 
1-5B 
 
 'did him good, to invite him to do himself a 
 greater: for God gave forth demonstrations of 
 his power by instances of mercy, and he who 
 might have made ten thousand worlds of won- 
 der and prodigy, and created man with faculties 
 able only to stare upon and admire those mi- 
 racles of mightiness, did chuse to instance his 
 power in the effusions of mercy, that at the 
 same instant he might represent himself de- 
 sirable and adorable, in all the capacities of 
 amability; viz. as excellent in himself, and 
 profitable to us. For as the sun sends forth a 
 benign' and gentle influence on the seed of 
 plants, that it may invite forth the active and 
 plastick power from its recess and secrecy, that 
 by rising into the tallness and dimensions of a 
 tree it may still receive a greater and more re- 
 freshing influence from its foster father, the 
 prince of all the bodies of light j and in all 
 these emanations the sun it self receives no 
 advantage, but the honour of doing benefits: 
 so doth the Almighty father of all the crea- 
 tures ; he at first sends forth his blessings upon 
 us, that we by using them aright should make 
 our selves capable of greater; while the giving 
 glory to God, and doing homage to him, are 
 
 nothing 
 
159 
 
 nothing for his advantage, but only for ours j 
 our duties towards him being like vapours as- 
 cending from the earth, not at all to refresh the 
 region of the clouds, but to return back in a 
 fruitful and refreshing shower ; and God cre- 
 ated us, not that we can increase his felicity, 
 but that he might have a subject receptive of 
 felicity from him. 
 
 Does not God send his angels to keep thee in 
 all thy ways ? are not they ministring spirits 
 sent forth to wait upon thee as thy guard? 
 art not tliou kept from drowning, from fracture 
 of bones, from madness, from deformities, by 
 the riches of the divine goodness ? Tell the joynts 
 of thy body, doest thou want a finger ? and 
 if thou doest not understand how great a 
 blessing that is, do but remember how ill thou 
 canst spare die use of it when thou hast but a 
 thorn in it. The very privative blessings, the 
 blessings of immunity, safeguard, and inte- 
 grity, which we all enjoy, deserve a thanks- 
 giving of a whole life. If God should send a 
 cancer upon thy face, or a wolf into thy breast, 
 if he should spread a crust of leprosie upon thy 
 skin, what wouldest thou give to be but as 
 now thou art ? 
 
 If 
 
160 
 
 If God suffers men to go on in sins, ani 
 punishes them not, it is not a mercy, it is not a 
 forbearance ; it is a hardening them, a consign- 
 ing them to mine and reprobation : and them- 
 selves give the best argument to prove it j for 
 they continue in their sin, they multiply their 
 iniquity, and every day grow more enemy to 
 God j and that is no mercy that increases their 
 hostility and enmity with God. A prosperous 
 iniquity is the most unprosperous condition hi 
 the whole world. When he slew them, they 
 sought him-, and turned them early, and en- 
 quired after God : but as long as they prevailed 
 upon their enemies, they forgat that God 
 was their strength, and the high God was their 
 redeemer. It was well observed by the Persian 
 embassador of old ; when he was telling the 
 king a sad story of the overthrow of all his army 
 by the Athenians, he adds this of his own ; 
 that the day before the fight, the young Persian 
 gallants, being confident they should destroy 
 their enemies, were drinking drunk, and railing 
 at the timorousness and fears of religion, and 
 against all their Gods, saying, there were no 
 such things, and that all things came by chance 
 and industry, nothing by the providence of the 
 
 supreme 
 
161 
 
 supreme power. But the next day, when they 
 had fought unprosperously, and, flying from 
 their enemies, who were eager in their pursuit, 
 they came to the river Strymon, which was so 
 frozen that their boats could not lanch, and yet 
 it began to lhaw, so that they feared the ice 
 would not bear them; then you shoidd see the 
 bold gallants, that the day before said there w.?s 
 no God, most timorously and superstitiously 
 fall upon their faces, and beg of God that the 
 river Strymon might bear them over from their 
 enemies. What wisdom, and philosophy, and 
 perpetual experience, and revelation, and pro- 
 mises, and blessings cannot do, a mighty tear 
 can ; it can allay the confidences of bold last 
 and imperious sin, and soften our spirit into 
 the lowness of a child, our revenge into the 
 chanty of prayers, our impitdence into the 
 blushings of a chidden girl ; and therefore God 
 hath taken a course proportionable : for he H 
 not so unmercifully merciful as to give milk to 
 an infirm lust, and hatch the egg to the bigness 
 of a cockatrice. And therefore observe how 
 it is that God's mercy prevails over all his 
 works; it is even then when nothing can be 
 discerned but his judgments: for as when * 
 M fan:i;:e 
 
162 
 
 famine had been in Israel in the days of Ahab for 
 three years and a half, when the angry prophet 
 Elijah met the king, and presently a great wind 
 arose, and the dust blew into the eyes of them 
 that walked abroad, and the face of the heavens 
 was black and all tempest, yet then the prophet 
 was most gentle, and God began to forgive, and 
 the heavens were more beautiful than when die 
 sun puts on the brightest ornaments of a bride- 
 groom, going from his chambers of the east. 
 So it is in the ceconomy of the divine mercy ; 
 when God makes our faces black, and the winds 
 blow so loud till the cordage cracks, and our 
 gay fortunes split, and our houses are dressed 
 with cypress and yew, and the mourners go 
 about the streets, this is nothing but theponipa 
 wiser icordia*, this is the funeral of our sins, 
 dressed indeed with emblems of mourning, 
 and proclaimed with sad accents of death; but 
 the sight is refreshing, as the beauties of the 
 field which God had blessed, and the sounds 
 are healthful, as the noise of a physician. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon entitled The Mercy of the Divine 
 Judgments*. 
 
 Sermon xii., pages 286. 288. 295. 
 
 ON 
 
 
 
163 
 
 ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 INDIFFERENCE to an -object is the lowest 
 degree of liberty, and supposes un worthiness or 
 defect in the object, or the apprehension : but 
 the will is then the freest and most perfect in 
 its operation, when it entirely pursues a good 
 with so certain determination and clear elec- 
 tion, that the contrary evil cannot come into 
 dispute or pretence. Such in our proportions 
 is the liberty of the sons of God j it is an holy 
 and amiable captivity to the spirit. The will 
 of man is in love with those chains which draw 
 us to God, and loves the fetters that confine us 
 to the pleasures and religion of the kingdom. 
 And as no man will complain that his temples 
 are restrain'd, and his head is prisoner, when it 
 is enciicled with a crown: so, when the son of 
 God had ma.le us free, and hath only subjected 
 us to the service and dominion of the spirit, 
 we are free as princes within the circles of 
 fheir diadem, and our chains are bracelets, and 
 the law is a law of liberty, and his service i-? 
 perfect freedomej and the more wo are sub- 
 jects, the more \ve shall reign as kings ; mid the 
 M 2 tu-t-r 
 
1G4 
 
 faster we run, the easier is our burden; and 
 Christ's yoke is like feathers to a bird, not 
 loads, but helps to motion : without them the 
 body falls. 
 
 Taylor's Sermons Of the Spirit of Grace *. 
 
 JESUS entered into the world with all the 
 circumstances of poverty. He had a star to 
 illustrate his birth j but a stable for his bed- 
 rhamber, and a manger for his cradle. The 
 angels sang hymns when he was born } but he 
 was cold, and cried, uneasie and unprovided. 
 
 All that Christ came for was, or was mingled 
 with, sufferings : for all those little joyes which 
 God sent, either to recreate his person, or to 
 illustrate his office, were abated or attended 
 with afllictions; God being more careful to 
 establish in him the covenant of sufferings, than 
 to refresh his sorrows. Presently after the 
 angels had finished their hallelujahs, he was 
 forced to fly to save his life, and the air became 
 full of shrieks of the desolate mothers of Beth- 
 lehem for their dying babes. God had no 
 sooner made him illustrious with a voice from 
 
 * Part ii. Sermon I. 
 
 heaven , 
 
165 
 
 heaven, and the descent of the Holy Ghost 
 upon him in the waters of baptism, but he was 
 delh ered over to be tempted and assaulted by 
 the devil in the wilderness. His transfiguration 
 was a bright ray of glory ; but then also he en- 
 tred into a cloud, and was told a sad story what 
 he was to suffer at Jerusalem. And upon Palm 
 Sunday, when he rode triumphantly into Jeru- 
 salem, and was adorned with the acclamations 
 of a king and a God, he wet the palms with 
 his tears, sweeter than the drops of manna, or 
 the little pearls of heaven that descended upofi 
 mount Hermon ; weeping in the midst of this 
 triumph over obstinate, perishing, and mali- 
 cious Jerusalem. 
 
 They that had overcome the world could not 
 strangle Christianity. But so have I seen the 
 sun with a little ray of distant light challenge 
 all the power of darkness, and without violence 
 and noise climbing up the hill, hath made night 
 so to retire, that its memory was lost in the 
 joyes and spritefulness of the morning: and 
 Christianity without violence or armies, without 
 resistance and self-preservation,without strength 
 or humane eloquence, without challenging of 
 privileges or righting against tyranny, without 
 
 altera- 
 
166 
 
 alteration of government and scandal of princes, 
 with its humility and meekness, with toleration 
 and patience, with obedience and charity, with 
 praying and dying, did insensibly turn the world 
 into Christian, and persecution into victory *. 
 
 As the silk- worm eateth it self out of a seed 
 to become a little worm, and there feeding 
 on the leaves of mulberries, it grows till its 
 coat be off, and then works it self into a house 
 of silk j then casting its pearly seeds for the 
 young to breed, it leaveth its silk for man, and 
 dieth all white and winged in the shape of a 
 
 * Thefolloicing Extract is from the 9th of Sherlock's 
 Discourses. 
 
 Go to your Natural Religion : lay before her Maho- 
 met and his disciples, arrayed in armour and in blood > 
 riding in triumph over the spoils of thousands and 
 tens of thousands who fell by his victorious sword : 
 shew her the cities which he set in flames, the countries 
 which he ravaged and destroyed, and the miserable 
 distress of all the inhabitants of the earth. When she 
 has viewed him in this scene, carry her into his re- 
 tirements : shew her the prophet's chamber, his con- 
 cubines and wives ; let her see his adultery, and hear 
 him alledge revelation and his divine commission to 
 justify his lust and his oppression. When she is tired 
 with this prospect, then shew her the blessed Jesus, 
 
 humble 
 
167 
 
 flying creature : so is the progress of souls. 
 When they are regenerate by baptism, and 
 have cast off their first stains and the skin of 
 worldly vanities, by feeding on the leaves of 
 scriptures, and the fruits of the vine, and the 
 joys of the sacrament, they incircle themselves. 
 in the rich garments of holy and vertuous 
 habits; then by leaving their blood, which is 
 the churches' seed, to raise up a new generation 
 to God, they leave a blessed memory, and fair 
 example, and are themselves turned into angels, 
 whose felicity is to do the will of God, as their 
 imployment was in this world to suffer. 
 
 humble and meek, doing good to all the sons of men, 
 patiently instructing both the ignorant and the per- 
 verse : let her see him in his most retired privacies : 
 let her follow him to the mount, and hear his devo- 
 tions and supplications to God : carry her to his table 
 to view his poor fare, and hear his heavenly discourse: 
 let her see him injuired, but not provoked : let her 
 attend him to the tribunal, and consider the patience 
 with which he endured the fcoffi and reproaches of his 
 $nemies: lead her to the cross, and let her view hint 
 in the agony of death, and hear his last prayer for his 
 persecutors: " Father, forgive them, for ihey know not 
 what they do !" 
 
 When Natural Religion hr.s viewed both, ask, Tf'huk 
 it the prophet of Goii ? 
 
 Se 
 
168 
 
 I have often seen young and unskilful per- 
 sons sitting in a little boat, when every little 
 wave sporting about the sides of the vessel, 
 and every motion and dancing of the barge 
 seemed a danger, and made them cling fast upon 
 their fellows j and yet all the while they were 
 as safe as if they sate under a tree, while a 
 gentle wind shaked the leaves into a refresh- 
 ment and a cooling shade. And the unskilful., 
 unexperienced Christian shrieks out when ever 
 his vessel shakes, thinking it always a danger, 
 that the watery pavement is not stable and re- 
 sident like a rock ; and yet all his danger is in 
 himself, none at all from without ; for he is 
 indeed moving upon the waters, but fastened 
 to a rock; faith is his foundation, and hope is 
 his anchor, and death is his harbour, and 
 Christ is his pilot, and heaven is his country ; 
 and all the evils of poverty, or affronts of tri- 
 bunals and evil judges, of fears and sadder ap- 
 prehensions, are but like the loud wind blowing 
 from the right point, they make a noise, and 
 drive faster to the harbour : and if we do not 
 leave the ship, and leap into the sea; quit the 
 interest of religion, and run to the securities of 
 Hie world; cut our cables, and dissolve our 
 
 hopesj 
 
169 
 
 hopes ; grow impatient, and hug a wave, and 
 die in its embraces ; we are as safe at sea, safer 
 in the storm which God sends us, than in a 
 calm when we are befriended with the world. 
 Taylor's Sermons entitled The Faith and Patience 
 of the Saints *. 
 
 DISTINCTION BETWEEN APPARENT 
 AND REAL HAPPINESS. 
 
 IF we should look under the skirt of the 
 prosperous and prevailing tyrant, we should 
 find even in the days of his joys such allays and 
 abatements of his pleasure, as may serve to re- 
 present him presently miserable, besides his 
 linal infelicities. For I have seen a young and 
 healthful person warm and ruddy under a poor 
 and a thin garment, when at the same time an 
 old rich person hath been cold and paralytick 
 .under a load of sables, and the bkins of foxes. 
 1 1 is the body that makes the clothes warm, not 
 the clothes the body : and the spirit of a man 
 makes felicity and content, not any spoils of a 
 
 * Sermons ix. and xi. 
 2 rich 
 
170 
 
 .. fortune wrapt about a sickly and an uneasie 
 soul. Apollodoras was a traitor and a tyrant, 
 and the world wondered to see a bad man have 
 so good a fortune ; but knew not that he 
 nourished scorpions in his breast, and that his 
 liver and his heart were eaten up with spectres 
 and images of death : his thoughts were full of 
 interruptions, his dreams of illusions ; his fancy 
 was abused with real troubles and phantastick 
 images, imagining that he saw the Scythians 
 flaying him alive, his daughters like pillars of 
 fire dancing round about a cauldron in which 
 himself was boiling, and that his heart accused 
 it self to be the cause of all these evils. And 
 although all tyrants have not imaginative and 
 phantastick consciences, yet all tyrants shall die 
 and come to judgment ; and such a man is not 
 to be feared, not at all to be envied. And in the 
 mean time can he be said to escape who hath an 
 unquiet conscience, who is already designed for 
 hell, he whom God hates, and the people curse, 
 and \vlio hath an evil name, and against whom 
 all good men pray, and many desire to fight, 
 and all \\-ish him destroyed, and some contrive 
 to do it? Is this man a blessed man? Is that 
 man prosperous \\ho hath stolen a rich robe, 
 
 fend 
 
171 
 
 and is in fear to have his throat cut for it, and 
 is fain to defend it. with the greatest difficulty 
 and the greatest danger ? Does not he drink 
 more sweetly that takes his beverage in an 
 earthen vessel, than he that looks and searches 
 into his golden chalices for fear of poison, and 
 looks pale at every sudden noise, and sleeps in 
 armour, and trusts no body, and does not trust 
 God for his safety, but does greater wickedness 
 only to escape a while unpunished for his former 
 crimes ? Auro llbitur venenum. No man goes 
 about to poison a poor man's pitcher, nor lays 
 plots to forrage his little garden made for the 
 hospital of two beehives, and die feasting of a 
 few Pythagorean herbe-eaters. 
 
 UK itracriv orrw ifXsov r'.ary itzvlos, 
 
 Ov$' otrov ev paAa^ rs. KCU a,<r<po$s\(u F' 7* 
 ovsioip. 
 
 They that admire the happiness of a prosperous 
 prevailing tyrant, know not the felicities that 
 dwell in innocent hearts, and poor cottages, and 
 small fortunes. 
 
 Taylor's Sermons entitled The Faith and Patieuce 
 of the Saints*. 
 
 * Sermon x. page 276. 
 
 THE 
 
172 
 
 THE DANGER OF PROSPERITY. 
 
 As long as the waters of persecutions are 
 upon the earth, so long we dwell in the ark j 
 but where the land is dry, the dove it self will 
 be tempted to a wandring course of life, and 
 never to return to the house of her safety. 
 
 Taylor's Sermons entitled The Faith and Patience 
 of the Saints *. 
 
 Many are not able to suffer and endure pro- 
 sperity ; it is like the light of the sun to a weak 
 eye ; glorious indeed in it self, but not propor- 
 tioned to such an instrument. 
 
 Taylor's Sermons entitled The Mercy of the Divine 
 Judgments -K 
 
 In the tombof Tercntia certain lamps burned 
 under ground many ages together] but as soon 
 as eve: they were brought into the air, and saw 
 a bigger light, tlu-y went out, never to be re- 
 enkinUied. So long as we are in the retirements 
 of soi'i'O'.v, of want, cf fear, of sickness, or of 
 any sad accident, we are burning and shining 
 
 .''enucn >:>: p;iC 290. 
 
 lamps: 
 
173 
 
 lamps; but when God comes with his 
 with his forbearance, and lifts us up from the 
 gates of death, and carries us abroad into the 
 open air, that we converse with prosperity and 
 temptation, we go out in darkness ; and we 
 cannot be preserved in heat and light, but by 
 still dwelling in the regions of sorrow. 
 
 Taylor's Sermons entitled The Mercy of the Divine 
 Judgments*. 
 
 OF THE PROGRESS OF RELIGIOUS 
 SENTIMENT. 
 
 THE canes of Egypt, when they newly arise 
 from their bed of mud and slime of Nilus, 
 start \ip into an equal and continual length, and 
 are interrupted btit with few knots, and are 
 strong and beauteous with great distances and 
 intervals: but when they are grown to their 
 full length, they lessen into the point of a py- 
 ramis, and multiply their knots and joints, in- 
 terrupting the fineness- and smoothness of its 
 body. So are the steps and declensions of him 
 that does not grow in grace : at first, when he 
 
 * Sermon xii. page 202. 
 
 springs 
 
174- 
 
 springs up from his impurity by the waters of 
 baptism and repentance, he grows straight and 
 strong, and suffers but few interruptions of 
 piety, and his constant courses of religion are but 
 rarely intermitted, tiil they ascend up to a full 
 age, or towards the ends of their lifej then they 
 arc weak, and their devotions often intermitted, 
 and their breaches are frequent, and they seek 
 excuses, and labour for dispensations, and love 
 God and religion less and less, till their old age, 
 in stead of a crown of their vertue and perse- 
 verance, ends in levity and unprofitable courses ; 
 light and useless as the tufted feathers upon the 
 cane, every wind can play with it and abuse it, 
 but no man can make it useful. When there- 
 fore our piety interrupts its greater and more 
 solemn expressions, and upon the return of the 
 greater offices and bigger solemnities we find 
 them to come upon our spirits like the wave 
 of a tide, which retired only because it was 
 natural so to do, and yet came farther upon the 
 strand at the next rolling ; when every new 
 confession, every succeeding communion, every 
 time of separation for more solemn and intense 
 prayer is better spent and more affectionate, 
 leaving a greater relish upon the spirit, and 
 
 possessing 
 
175 
 
 possessing greater portions of our affections, 
 our reason and our choice ; then we may give 
 God thanks, who hath given us more grace to 
 use that grace, and a blessing to endeavour our 
 duty, and a blessing upon our endeavour. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon Of Growth in Grace*. 
 
 God's sheep are not like Jacob's flock streaked 
 and spotted ; it is an intire holiness that God 
 requires, and will not endure to have a holy 
 course interrupted by the dishonour of a base 
 and ignoble action. I do not mean that a 
 man's life can be as pure as the sun, or the rayes 
 of celestial Jerusalem ; but like the moon, in 
 which there are spots, but they are no deformity j 
 a lessening only and an abatement of light, no 
 cloud to hinder and draw a veil before its face, 
 but sometimes it is not so serene and bright as 
 ;it other times. Every man hath his indiscre- 
 tions and infirmities, his arrests and sudden in- 
 cursions, his neighbourhoods and semblances 
 of sin, his little violences to reason, and peevish 
 melancholy, and humorous phantastick dis- 
 coursesj unaptness to a devout prayer, his fond- 
 
 * Sermon xiv. p. 305. 
 
 ness 
 
176 
 
 ness to judge favourably in his own cases> 
 little deceptions, and voluntary and involuntary 
 cozenages, ignorances and inadvertences, care- 
 less hours and unwatchful seasons. But no 
 good man ever commits one act of adultery 5 
 no godly man will at any time bed runkj or, if 
 he be, he ceases to be a godly man, and is run 
 into the confines of death, and is sick at heart, 
 and may die of the sickness, die eternally. 
 This happens more frequently in persons of 
 an infant-piety, when the vertue is not corro- 
 borated by a long abode, and a confirmed re- 
 solution, and an usual victory, and a triumphant 
 grace : and the longer we are accustomed to 
 piety, the more infrequent will be the little 
 breaches of folly, and a returning to sin. But 
 as the needle of a compass, when it is directed 
 to its beloved star, at the first addresses waves 
 on either side, and seems indifferent in his 
 courtship of the rising or declining sun, and 
 when it seems first determined to the north, 
 stands a while trembling, as if it suffered in- 
 convenience in the first fruition of its desires, 
 and stands not still in full injoyment till a/ter 
 first a great variety of motion, and then an 
 undisturbed posture : so is the piety, and so is 
 
 the 
 
177 
 
 the conversion of a man, wrought by degrees 
 and several steps of imperfection : and at first 
 our choices are wavering, convinced by the 
 grace of God, and yet not pers waded ; and 
 then perswaded, but not resolved ; and then 
 resolved, but deferring to begin ; and then 
 beginning, but, as all beginnings are, in weak- 
 ness and uncertainty j and we flie out often 
 into huge indiscretions, and look back to 
 Sodom and long to return to Egypt : and when 
 the storm is quite over, \ve find little bublings 
 and uneavennesses upon the face of the waters, 
 'we often weaken our own purposes by the 
 returns of sin ; and we do not call our selves 
 conquerours, till by the long possession of ver- 
 ities it js a strange and unusual, and therefore 
 an uneasie and unpleasant thing, to act a crime. 
 Taylor's Sermon of Growth in Sin *. 
 
 ON SIN. 
 
 HE that means to be temperate, and avoid 
 the crime and dishonour of being a drunkard, 
 must not love to partake of the songs, or to 
 
 * Part ii. Sermon xvii. 
 
 N bear 
 
178 
 
 bear a part in the foolish scenes of laughter, 
 which distract wisdom, and fright her from the 
 company. And Lavina, that was chaster than 
 the elder Sabines, and severer than her philo- 
 sophical guardian, was well instructed in the 
 great lines of honour and cold justice to her 
 husband : but when she gave way to the wanton 
 ointments and looser circumstances of the 
 Baiae, and bathed often in Avernus, arid from 
 thence hurried to the companies and dressings 
 of Lucrinus, she quenched her honour, and 
 gave her vertue and her body as a spoil to the 
 follies and intemperance of a young gentleman. 
 For so have I seen the little purls of a spring 
 sweat through the bottom of a bank, and inte- 
 nentte the stubborn pavement, till it hath made 
 it fit for the impression of a child's foot; and 
 it was despised, like the descending pearls of a 
 misty morning, till it 'had opened its way, and 
 jnade a stream large enough to carry away the 
 mines of the undermined strand, and to invade 
 the neighbouring gardens : but then the despised 
 drops were grown into an artificial river, and an 
 intolerable mischief. So are the first entrances 
 of sin, stopp'd with the antidotes of a hearty 
 prayer, and checked into sobriety by the eye of 
 
179 
 
 a reverend man, or the counsels of a single 
 sermon : but when such beginnings are neg- 
 lected, and our religion hath not in it so much 
 philosophy as to think any thing evil as long as 
 we can endure it, they grow up to ulcers, and 
 pestilential evils; they destroy the soul by their 
 abode, who at their first entry might have been 
 killed with the pressure of a little finger. 
 
 He that hath past many stages of a good life, 
 to prevent his being tempted to a single sin, 
 must be very careful that he never entertain his 
 spirit with the remembrances of his past sin, 
 nor amuse it with the phantasdck apprehensions 
 of the present. When the Israelites fancied 
 the sapidness and relish of the flesh-pots, they 
 longed to taste and to return. 
 
 So when a Libyan tiger drawn from his 
 wilder fbrragings is shut up and tanght to eat 
 civil meat, and suffer tfte authority of a man, he 
 sits down tamely in his prison, and pays to his 
 keeper fear and rev erence for his meat : but if 
 he chance to come again, and taste a draught of 
 warm blood, he presently leaps into his natural 
 cruelty. 
 
 Adinonitn-que fitment gurfato sanguine fauces ; 
 Fervet, et a trtpidu cue alstinet ira magistro. 
 
 N 2 H* 
 
ISO 
 
 He scarce abstains from eating those hands that 
 brought him discipline and food. So is the 
 nature of a man made tame and gentle by the 
 grace of God, and reduced to reason, and kept 
 in awe by religion and laws, and by an awful 
 vertue is taught to forget those alluring and 
 sottish relishes of sin ; but if he diverts from 
 his path, and snatches handfuls from the wanton 
 vineyards, and remembers the lasciviousness of 
 his unwholsom food that pleased his childish 
 palate : then he grows sick again, and hungry 
 after unwholsom diet, and longs for the apples 
 of Sodom. 
 
 The Fannonian bears, when they have clasped 
 a dart in the region of their liver, wheel them- 
 selves upon the wound, and with anger and 
 malicious revenge strike the deadly barb deeper, 
 and cannot be quit from that fatal steel, but in 
 flying bear along that which themselves make 
 the instrument of a more hasty death : so is 
 every vicious person struck with a deadly 
 wound, and his own hands force it into the en- 
 tertainments of the heart ; and because it is 
 painful to draw it forth by a sharp and salutary 
 repentance, he still rouls and turns upon his 
 wound, and carries his death in his bowels, 
 6 where 
 
181 
 
 where it first entered by choice, and then dwelt 
 by love, and at la^t shall finish the tragedy by. 
 divine judgments and an unalterable decree. 
 
 Taylor's Sermons Of Growth in Sin*. 
 
 ON THE TRUE SOURCES OF 
 HAPPJNESS. 
 
 SUPPOSE a man lord of all the world (for still 
 we are but in supposition), yet, since every 
 thing is received not according to its own 
 greatness and worth, but according to the ca- 
 pacity of the receiver, it signifies very little as to 
 our content, or to the riches of our possession. 
 If any man should give to a lion a fair meadow 
 full of hay, or a thousand quince trees ; or 
 should give to the goodly, bull, the master and 
 the fairest of the whole herd, a thousand fair 
 stags 5 if a man should present to a child a ship 
 laden with Persian carpets, and the ingredients 
 of the rich scarlet ; all these, being dispropor- 
 tionate either to the appetite or to the under- 
 standing, could add nothing of content, and 
 
 * Part ii. Sermon xvii. '"' 
 
 might 
 
182 
 
 might declare the freeness of the presenter, but 
 they upbraid the incapacity of the receiver. 
 And so it does if God should give the whole 
 world to any man. He knows not what to do 
 with it; he can use no more but according to the 
 capacities of a man; he can use nothing but meat 
 and drink and clothes : and infinite riches, that 
 can give him changes of raiment every day and a 
 full table, do but give him a clean trencher every 
 bit he eats ; it signifies no more but wantonness, 
 and variety to the same, not to any new pur- 
 poses. He to whom the world can be given to 
 ;?ny purpose greater than a private estate can 
 minister, must have new capacities created in 
 him: he needs the understanding of an angel, 
 tt? take the accounts of his estate ; he had need 
 have a stomach like fire or the grave, for else 
 he can eat no more than one of his healthful 
 subjects j and unless he hath an eye like the sun, 
 and a motion like that of a thought, and a bulk 
 as big as one of the orbs of heaven, the plea- 
 sures of his eye can be no greater than to behold 
 the beauty of a little prospect from a hill, or to 
 look upon the heap of gold packt up in a little 
 room, or to dote upon a cabinet of jewels, 
 better than which there is no man that sees at 
 
 all 
 
383 
 
 all but sees every day. For, not to name the 
 beauties and sparkling diamonds of heaven, a 
 man's, or a woman's, or a hauk's eye is more 
 beauteous and excellent than all the jewels of 
 his crown. And when we remember that a 
 beast, who hath quicker senses than a man, 
 yet hath not so great delight in the fruition of 
 any object, because he wants understanding, 
 and the power to make reflex acts upon his 
 perception ; it will follow, that understanding 
 and knowledge is the greatest instrument of 
 pleasure, and he that is most knowing hath a 
 capacity to become happy, which a less-knowing 
 prince or a rich person hath not: and in this 
 only a man's capacity is capable of enlargement. 
 But then, although they only have power to 
 relish any pleasure rightly who rightly under- 
 stand the nature and degrees and essences and 
 ends of things j yet they that do so, understand 
 also the vanity and the unsatisfyingness of the 
 things of this world, so that the relish, which 
 could not be great but in a great understanding, 
 appears contemptible, because its vanity appears 
 at the same time : the understanding sees all, 
 and sees through it. 
 
 Cannot a man quench his thirst as well out 
 
 of 
 
184 
 
 of an urn or chalice, as out of a whole river r 
 It is an ambitious thirst, and a pride of draught, 
 that had rather lay his mouth to Euphrates than 
 to a petty goblet. f 
 
 The soul is all that whereby we may be, 
 and without which we cannot be happy. It is 
 not the eye that sees the beauties of the heaven, 
 nor the ear that hears the sweetness of musick, 
 or the glad tidings of a prosperous accident, but 
 the soul that perceives all the relishes of sensual 
 and intellectual perfections ; and the more noble 
 and excellent .the soul is, the greater and more 
 savoury are its perceptions. .And if a child 
 beholds the rich ermine, or the diamonds of a 
 starry night, or the order of the world, or hears 
 the dii-conrses of an apostle; because he makes 
 no reflex acts upon hiiijs-tif, and sees not that 
 he sees, he can have but the pleasure of a fool, 
 or the deliciousness of a mule. But although 
 the reflexion of its own acts be a rare instru- 
 ment of p'easure or pain respectively, yet the 
 soul's excellency is upon the same reason not 
 perceived by us, by which the sapidness of 
 pleasant things of nature is not understood by 
 a child, even because the soul cannot reflect 
 far enou h. For as tlie sun, which is the 
 
 fountain 
 
fountain of light and heat, makes violent and 
 direct emissions of his rays from himself, but 
 reflects them no farther than to the bottom of 
 a cloud, or the lowest imaginary circle of the 
 middle region, and therefore receives not a 
 duplicate of his own heat ; so is the soul of 
 man, it reflects upon its own inferiour actions 
 of particular sense, or general understanding; 
 but because it knows little of its own nature, 
 the manners of volition, the immediate instru- 
 ments of understanding, the way how it comes 
 to meditate, and cannot discern how a sudden 
 thought arrives, or the solution of a doubt not 
 depending upon preceding premisses ; there- 
 fore above half its pleasures are abated, and its 
 own worth less understood : and possibly it is 
 the better it is so. If the elephant knew his- 
 strength, or the horse the vigorousness of his 
 own spirit, they would be as rebellious against 
 their rulers as unreasonable men against govern- 
 ment : nay the angels themselves, because their 
 light reflected home to their orbs, and they 
 understood all the secrets of their own perfec- 
 tion, they grew vertiginous and fell from the 
 battlements of heaven. But the excellency of 
 
 a humane 
 
186 
 
 a humane soul shall then be truly understood, 
 when the reflection will make no distraction of 
 our faculties, nor enkindle any irregular fires ; 
 when we may understand ourselves without 
 danger. 
 
 Taylor's Sermon entitled The Foolish Exchange*. 
 
 * Part ii. Sermon six. 
 
 EXTRACTS 
 
EXTRACTS 
 
 FROM 
 
 BISHOP HALL. 
 
 I. FROM HIS MEDITATIONS AND 
 VOWES. 
 
 I WILL use my friend as Moses did his rod. 
 While it was a rod he held it familiarly in his 
 hand : when once a serpent, he ran away from 
 it*. 
 
 We pity the folly of the lark, which (while 
 it plaieth with the fether and stoopeth to the 
 glasse) is caught in the fowler's net : and yet 
 cannot see ourselves alike made fooles by 
 Satan : who, deluding us by the vaine fathers 
 and glasses of the world, suddenly enwrap- 
 peth us in his snares. We see not the nets 
 indeed : it is too much that we shall feele 
 them,, and that they are not so easily escaped 
 
 Century i. 23. 
 
 after, 
 
188 
 
 afer, as before avoided. O Lord keep thou 
 mine eies from beholding vanity. And, 
 though mine eies see it, let not my heart 
 stoope to it, but loath it afarre off. - And, if 
 I stoope at any time, and be taken, set thou 
 my soul at liberty : that I may say, my soul 
 is escaped, even as a bird out of the snare 
 of the fowler : the snare is broken, and I am 
 delivered*. 
 
 True virtue rests in the conscience of itself, 
 either for reward or censure. If therefore I 
 know myself upright, false rumours shall not 
 daunt me : if not answerable to the good 
 report of my favourers, I will myself find the 
 first fault, that I may prevent the shame of 
 others -f- . 
 
 I will account vertue the best riches, know- 
 ledge the next, riches the worst : and therfore 
 will labour to be vertuov.s and learned, without 
 condition : as for riches, if they fall in my way, 
 I reaiS'j them not: but if not, I desire them 
 not;. 
 
 * Century ii. 25. f Century iJ. 43. 
 | Century ii. 44. 
 
 I will 
 
189 
 
 I will not be so merry, as to forget God : nor 
 so sorrowful, as to fo-get myself e *. 
 
 Tell a plaine country-man, that the sunne, 
 or some higher or lesser starre is much bigger 
 than his cart wheele: or at least, so many 
 scores bigger than the whole earth : hee laughes 
 thee to scorne, as affecting admiration with a 
 learned untruth} yet the scholer, by the eye 
 of reason, doth as plainly see and acknow- 
 ledge this truth, as that his hand is bigger 
 than his pen. What a thicke mist, yea what 
 a palpable and more than Egyptian darkness, 
 doth the naturall man live in ! What a world is 
 there, that he doth not see at all ! and how little 
 doth he see in this, which is his proper element! 
 There is no bodily thing, but the brute crea- 
 tures see as well as he, and some of them 
 better. As for his eye of reason, how dim is 
 it in those things which are best fitted to 
 it ! What one thing is there in nature, which 
 he doth perfectly know? Whatherbe,orflowre, 
 or worme that he treads on, is there, whose 
 true essence he knoweth ! No, not so much 
 as what is in his own bosome : what it is, 
 
 * Century ii. 48. 
 i,ii where 
 
190 
 
 where it is, or whence it is that gives being to 
 himselfe. But, for those things which concern 
 the best world, he doth not so much as con- 
 fusedly see them: neither knoweth whether 
 they be. Hee sees no whit into the great 
 and awful majesty of God. He discerns him 
 not in all his creatures, filling the world with 
 his infinite and glorious presence. Hee sees 
 not his wise providence, over-ruling all things, 
 disposing all casual events, ordering all sinful 
 actions of men to his own glory. He com- 
 prehends nothing of the beauty, majesty, 
 power and mercy of the Saviour of the world, 
 sitting in his humanity at his father's right 
 hand. He sees not the unspeakable happiness 
 of die glorified souls of the saints. He sees 
 not the whole heavenly commonwealth of an- 
 gels (ascending and descending to the behoofe 
 of God's children) waiting upon him at all 
 times invisibly (not excluded with closenesse 
 of prisons, nor desolatenesse of wildernesses) 
 and the multitude of evil spirits passing and 
 standing by him, to tempt him unto evil : 
 but, like unto the foolish bird when he hath 
 hid his head that he sees nobody, he thinkes 
 himself unseene : .and then counts himself so- 
 litary, 
 
191 
 
 litary, when his eye can meet with no com- 
 panion. Though my insight into matters of 
 the world be so shallow, that my simplicity 
 moveth pity, or maketh sport unto others ; 
 it shall be my contentment and happiness, 
 that I see further into better matters. That 
 which I see not, is worthless and deserveth 
 little better than contempt: that which I 
 see is unspeakable, inestimable for comfort, 
 for glory*. 
 
 II. FROM THE ART OF DIVINE 
 MEDITATION. 
 
 As travellers in a foraine countrey, make 
 every sight a lesson: so ought we in this 
 our pilgrimage. Thou seest the heaven roll- 
 ing above thine head, in a constant and un- 
 moveable motion : the starrs so overlooking 
 one another, that the greatest shew little, 
 the least greatest, all glorious : the aire full 
 of the bottles of raine, or fleeces of snow, 
 or divevo forms of fiery exhalations : the sea, 
 
 Century ii. 82. 
 
 under 
 
192 
 
 under one uniform face, full of strange and 
 monstrous shapes beneath : the earth so adorned 
 with variety of plants, that thou canst not but 
 tread on many at once with every foot : besides 
 ihe store of creatures that flie above it, walke 
 upon it, live in it. Thou idle truant, doeat 
 thou learn nothing of so many masters * ? 
 
 Neither may the soul that hopeth to profit by 
 meditation, suffer itself for the time to be 
 intangled with the world : which is all one 
 as to come to God's naming bush on the hill 
 of visions, with our shoes on our feet. Thou 
 seest the bird whose feathers are limed un- 
 able to take her former flight: so are we, when 
 our thoughts are clinged together by the world, 
 to soar up to our heaven in meditation. The 
 paire of brothers must leave their nets, if they 
 will follow Christ ; Elisha his oxen, if hee 
 will attend a prophet. It must be a free and 
 a light mind that can ascend this mount of 
 -contemplation, overcoming this hight, this 
 steepness. Cares are an heavy load, and un- 
 easie : these must be laid down at the bottom 
 of the hill, if we ever looke to attain the top. 
 
 * Chap. iv. 
 
 Thou 
 
193 
 
 Thou art loaded with household cares, per- 
 haps pnblike : I bid thee not cast them away : 
 even these have their season, which thou canst 
 not omit without impietie : I bid thee lay them 
 down at thy closet doore, when thou attemptest 
 this worke. Let them in with thee, thou 
 shalt finde them troublesome companions, ever 
 distracting thee from thy best errand : thou 
 wouldest thinke of heaven ; thy barne comes 
 in thy way, or perhaps thy count-booke, or 
 thy coffers ; or it may be, thy minde is before- 
 hand travelling upon thy morrowes journey. 
 So, while thou thinkest of many things, thou 
 thinkest of nothing : while thou wouldest goe 
 many waies, thou standest still. And as in 
 a crowde, while many presse forward at once 
 thorow one doore, none proceedeth : so when 
 variety of thoughts tumultuously throng in 
 upon the minde, each proveth a barre to the 
 other, and all an hindrance to him that en- 
 tertains them. Chap. ix. 
 
194 
 
 FROM THE HOLY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 I have ever noted it a true sign of a false 
 heart to be scrupulous and nice in small mat- 
 ters, negligent in the maine : whereas the good 
 soul is stili curious in substantial points, and \ 
 not careless in things of an inferior nature : 
 accounting no duty so small as to be neg- 
 lected, and no care great enough for prin- 
 cipal duties : not so rything mint and cummin, 
 that he should forget justice and judgement j 
 not yet so regarding judgment and justice, that 
 he should contemn mint and cummin. He 
 that thus misplaces his conscience, will be 
 found either hypocritical or superstitious*. 
 
 The lives of most are mis-spent only for want 
 of a certain end of their actions : wherein 
 they doe, as unwise archers, shoote away 
 their arrowes they know not at what mark. 
 They live only out of the present, not di- 
 recting themselves and their proceedings to 
 one universal scope : whence they alter upon 
 all change of occasions, and never reach any 
 
 Century 70. 
 
 perfections 
 
195 
 
 perfection : neither can doe other but continue 
 in uncertaintie, and end in discomfort. Others 
 aim at one certain marke, but a wrong one. 
 Some (though fewer) level! at the right end, 
 but amisse. To live without one maine and 
 common end, is idleness and folly. To live 
 at a false end, is deceit and losse. True 
 Christian wisdom both shewes the end and 
 finds the way. And, as cunning politics have 
 many plots to compasse one and the same 
 design by a determined succession, so the 
 wise Christian, failing in the means, yet still 
 fetcheth about to his steady end with a con- 
 stant change of endeavours : such one onely 
 lives to purpose, and at last repents not that 
 hee hath lived*. 
 
 FROM THE CHARACTERS OF VIRTUES 
 AND VICES. 
 
 THE WISE MAN. 
 
 There is nothing that he desires not to know, 
 bat most and first himselfe j and not so much 
 
 * Century 73. 
 
 o 2 his 
 
196 
 
 his own strength, as his weaknesses ; neither 
 is his knowledge reduced to discourse, but 
 practice. Hee is a skilfull logician, not by 
 nature so much as use : his working minde 
 doth nothing all his time but make syllo- 
 gismes, and draw out conclusions ; every thing 
 that he sees and heares serves for one of the 
 premisses : with these hee cares first to inform 
 himself, then to direct others. Both his eies 
 aie never at once from home, but one keeps 
 house while the other roves abroad for intelli- 
 gence. In materiall and weightie points he 
 abides not his mind suspended in uncertainties j 
 but hates doubting, where hee may, where 
 he should be, resolute : and first he makes sure 
 worke for his soule ; accounting it no safetie 
 to bee unsettled in the fore-knowledge of his 
 finall estate. The best is first regarded ; and 
 vaine is that regard which endeth not in se- 
 curitie. Every care hath his just order j neither 
 is there any one either neglected or misplaced. 
 Hee is seldome overseen with credulitie ; for 
 knowing the falseness of the world, hee hath 
 learned to trust himself alwaies ; others so 
 farre as hee sees may not be dammaged by 
 their disappointment. He seekes his quietness 
 
197 
 
 m secrecie, and is wont both to hide himself 
 in retiredness, and his tongue in himselfe. 
 He loves to be guessed at, not known, and 
 to see the world unseen ; and when he is 
 forced into the light shews by his actions that 
 his obscuritie was neither from affectation 
 nor weakness. His purposes are neither so 
 variable as may argue inconstancie, nor obsti- 
 nately unchangeable, but framed according to 
 his after-wits or the strength of new occasions. 
 He is both an apt scholler, and an excellent 
 master j for both every thing he sees informs 
 him, and his minde, enriched with plentifull 
 observation, can give the best precepts. His 
 free discourse runs backe to the ages past, and 
 recovers events out of memorie, and then 
 preventeth time in flying forward to future 
 things ; and comparing one with the other, can 
 give a verdict well-neere prophericall : wherein 
 his conjectures are better than others' judge- 
 ments. His passions are so many good servants, 
 which stand in a diligent attendance ready to 
 be commanded by reason, by religion; and if 
 at any time forgetting their duty, they be 
 miscarried to rebell, he can first conceal their 
 mutinie, then suppress it. In all his just and 
 
 worthy 
 
worthy designes, hee is never at a losse, but 
 hath so projected all his courses, that a second 
 thought begins where the first failed ; and 
 fetcheth strength from that which succeeded 
 not. There be wrongs which he will not see ; 
 neither doth he alwaies looke that way which he 
 meaneth j nor take notice of his secret smarts,, 
 when they come from great ones. In good 
 turnes, he loves not to owe more than he 
 must ; in evill to owe and not pay. Just 
 censures he deserves not, for he lives without 
 the com passe of an adversaries unjust he con- 
 temneth, and had rather suffer false infamie 
 to die alone, than lay hands upon it in aa 
 open violence. He confineth himself in the 
 circle of his own affaires, and lists not to 
 trust his finger into a needless fire. Hee 
 stands like a center unmoved, while the cir- 
 cumference of his estate is drawn above,, 
 beneath, about him. Finally, his wit hath cost 
 him much ; and he can both keepe and value,, 
 and employ it. He is his owne lawyer ; the 
 treasurie of knowledge, the oracle of counsele, 
 blind in no man's cause, best sighted in hi* 
 owne. 
 
 THB 
 
199 
 
 THE HAPPY MAN 
 
 That hath learned to read himself more than 
 all books ; and hath so taken out this lesson 
 that he can never forget it; that knows the 
 world, and cares not for it; that after many 
 traverses of thoughts, is grown to know what 
 he may trust to, and stands now equally armed 
 for all events : that hath got the mastery at 
 home, so as he can crosse his will without a 
 mutinie, and so please it, that he makes it 
 not a wanton : that in earthly things wishes 
 no more than nature j- in spiritual!, is ever 
 graceously ambitious : that for his condition, 
 stands on his own feet, not needing to leane 
 upon the great ; and can so frame his thoughts 
 to his estate, that when he hath least, he 
 cannot want, because he is as free from 
 desire, as superfluity : that he hath season- 
 ably broken the head-btrong restiness of pro- 
 speritie, and can now manage it at pleasure. 
 Upon wliom all smaller crosses light as haile- 
 stones upon a roofej and for the greater ca- 
 lamities, he can take them as tributes of life, 
 and tokens of love ; and if his ship be toss'd, 
 yet is he sure his anchor is fast. If all the 
 
 world 
 
200 
 
 world were his, he could be no other thanr 
 he is, no whit gladder of himselfe, no whit 
 higher in his carriage, because he knows, 
 contentment is not in the things hee hath, 
 but in the minde that values them. The 
 powers of his resolution can either. multiply, 
 or substract at pleasure. He can make his 
 cottage a mannor, or a palace when he lists ; 
 and his home-close a large dominion ; his 
 stained cloth, arrass ; his earth, plate ; and can 
 see state in the attendance of one servant ; as 
 one that hath learned a man's greatness or 
 baseness is in himself ; and in this he may 
 even contest with the proud, that he thinkes 
 his own the best. Or if he must be out- 
 wardly great, he can but turn the other end of 
 the glasse, and make his stately mannor a low 
 and strait cottage ; and in all his costly fur- 
 niture he can see not richness but use. He 
 can see drosse in the best metall, and earth 
 thorow the best cloths ; and in all his troup he 
 can see himself his owne servant. He lives 
 quietly at home,, out of the noise of the world, 
 and loves to enjoy himself alwaies, and some- 
 times his friend, and hath as full scope to hi* 
 thoughts as to his eyes. He walkes ever 
 
 even. 
 
even in the midway betwixt hopes and fearr, 
 resolved to fear nothing but God, to hope for 
 nothing but that which he must have. He 
 hath a wise and virtuous minde in a ser- 
 viceable body ; which that better part affects 
 as a present servant and a future companion, s<v 
 cherishing his flesh, as one that would scorn to 
 be all flesh. He hath no enemies; not for 
 that all love him, but because he knowes 
 to make a gain of ma-lice. He is not so 
 engaged to any earthly thing that they two 
 cannot part OH even tearmes ; there is neither 
 laughter in their meeting, nor in their shaking 
 hands, tears. He keeps ever the best com- 
 pany, the God of spirits, and the spirits of 
 that Godj whom he entertains continually in 
 an awfull familiaritie, not being hindred either 
 with too much light, or with none at all. His 
 conscience and his hand are friends> and (what 
 devill soever tempt him) will not fall out. 
 That divine part goes ever uprightly and 
 freely, not stooping under the burthen of a 
 willing sinne, not fettered with the gieves 
 of unjust scruples : he would not, if he could, 
 run away from himself, or from God ; not 
 caring from whome he is hid so he msjr 
 
 look 
 
202 
 
 look these two in the face. Censures and 
 applauses are passengers to him, not guests: 
 his ear is their thorow-fare, not their harbour j 
 he hath learned to fetch both his counsell and 
 his sentence from his own breast. He doth 
 not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as 
 one that loves to torment himself with the 
 honour of much employment j but as he 
 makes work his game, so doth he not list 
 to make himself work. His strife is ever 
 to redeem and not to spend time. It is his 
 trade to do good, and to think of it his 
 recreation. He hath hands enow for himself 
 and others, which are ever stretched forth 
 for beneficence, not for need. He walkes 
 cheerfully the way that God hath chalk'd, 
 and never wishes it more wide, or more 
 smooth. Those very temptations whereby he 
 is foiled, strengthen him ; hee comes forth 
 crowned, and triumphing out of the spiritual 
 battels, and those scarres that he hath make 
 him beautiful. His soul is every day dilated 
 to receive that God, in whom he is, and 
 hath attained to love himself for God, and 
 God for his own sake. His eyes stick so 
 fast in heaven, that no earthly object can 
 
 remove 
 
remove them : yea, his whole selfe is there 
 before his time; and sees with Steven, and 
 hears with Paul, and injoys with Lazarus, 
 the glorie that he shall have; and takes pos- 
 session before hand- of his roome amongst 
 the saints:- and (hese heavenly contentments 
 have so taken him up, that now he looks 
 down displeasedly upon the earth, as the re- 
 gions of his sorrow and banishment ; yet 
 joying more in hope, than troubled with the 
 sense of evil, lie holds it no great matter 
 to live, and greatest business to die: and is 
 so welf acquainted with his last guest that 
 he fears no unkindness from him ; neither 
 makes he any other of dying, than of walking 
 home when he is abroad, or of going to bed 
 when he is weaiy of the day. He is well 
 provided for both worlds, and is sure of peace 
 here, of glory hereafter ; and therefore hath 
 a light heart, and a cheereful face. All hi 
 fellow creatures rejoice to serve him ; his 
 betters, the angels, love to observe him j 
 God himself takes pleasure to converse with 
 him ; and hath sainted him afore his death, 
 and in his death crowned him. 
 
 TH* 
 
THE HYPOCRITB. 
 
 An hypocrite is the worst kind of plaier, 
 by so much as he acts the better part j which 
 hath alwaies two faces, 'oft times two hearts: 
 that can compose his forehead to sadness and 
 gravitie, while he bids his heart be wanton 
 and careless within, and (in the mean time) 
 laughs within himself to think how smoothly 
 he hath couzened the beholder. In whose 
 silent face are written the characters of re- 
 ligion, which his tongue and gestures pro- 
 nounce, but his hands recant. That hath a 
 clean face and garment, with a foule soul, 
 whose mouth belies his heart, and his fingers 
 belie his mouth. Walking early up into the 
 citie he turns into the great church, and sa- 
 lutes cne of the pillars on one knee, worship- 
 ing that God which at home he cares not 
 for, while his eye is fixed on some window 
 or some passenger, and his heart knowes not 
 whither his lips go. He rises, and, looking 
 about with admiration, complains on our frozen 
 charity, commends the ancient. At church 
 he will ever sit where he may be scene 
 best, and in the midst of the sermon pulls 
 6 out 
 
205 
 
 out his tables in haste, as if be feared to 
 loose that note, when he writes either his 
 forgotten errand, or nothing. Then he turnes 
 his bible with a noise, to seek an omitted 
 quotation, and folds the leafe as if he had 
 found it, and asks aloud the name of the 
 preacher, and repeats it, whom he publickly 
 salutes, thanks, praises in an honest mouth. 
 He can command tears when he speaks of his 
 youth, indeed, because it is past, not because 
 it was sinfull : himself is now better, but 
 the times are worse. All other sins he 
 reckons up with detestation, while he loves 
 and hides his darling in his bosom: all his 
 speech returns to himself, and every occur- 
 rent drawes in a storie to his own praise. 
 When he should give, he looks about him, and 
 saies, Who sees me? No almes, no prayers fall 
 from him without a witness j belike lest God 
 should denie that he hath received them : and 
 when he hath done (lest the world should 
 not know it) his own mouth is his trumpet 
 to proclaime it. With the superfluitie of his 
 usury he builds an hosprtall, and harbours 
 them whom his extortion hath spoiled ; so, 
 while he makes many beggars, he keeps some. 
 
 He 
 
203 
 
 He turneth all gnats into camels, and cares 
 not to undo the world for a circumstance. 
 Flesh on a Friday is more abominable to him 
 than his neighbour's bed: he abhorres more 
 not to uncover at the name of Jesus than to 
 swear by the name of God. When a rimer 
 reads his poeme to him, he begs a copie, 
 and persuades the presse. There is nothing 
 that he dislikes in presence, that in absence 
 he censures not. He comes to the sick bed 
 of his step-mother, and weeps, when he 
 secretly fears her recovery. He greets his 
 friend in the street with a cleere countenance, 
 so fast a closure, that the other thinks he 
 reads his heart in his face ; and shakes hands 
 with an indefinite invitation of When will 
 you come? and when his back is turned, joys 
 that he is so well rid of a guest : yet if 
 that guest visit him unfeared, he counterfits 
 a smiling welcome, and excuses his cheere, 
 when closely he frowns on his wife for too 
 much. He shewes well, and saies well, and 
 himselfe is the worst thing he hath. In 
 brief, he is the strangers saint, the neigh- 
 bours disease, the blot of goodness, a rotten 
 stick in a dark night, a poppie in a corn- 
 6 field, 
 
Z07 
 
 field, an ill-tempered candle with a great 
 snurFe, that in going out smells ill j and an 
 angell abroad, a devill at home; and worse 
 when an angell, than when a devill. 
 
 OF THE UNTHKIFT. 
 
 He ranges beyond his pale, and lives without 
 compasse. His expence is measured not by 
 abilitie, but will. His pleasures are immo- 
 derate, and not honest. A wanton eye, a 
 lickerish tongue, a gamesome hand have im- 
 poverish t him. The vulgar sort call him boun- 
 tiful, and applaud him while he spends, and 
 recompence him with wishes when he gives, 
 with pitie when he wants. Neither can it be 
 denied that he taught true liberalitie, but over 
 went it. No man could have lived more 
 laudably, if, when he was at the best, he 
 had staid there. While he is present, none 
 of the wealthier guests may pay aught to 
 the shot, without much vehemency, without 
 danger of unkindnesse. Use hath made it 
 unpleasant to him not to spend. He is in 
 all things more ambitious of the title of good 
 fellowship, than of wisdomc. When he lookes 
 
 into 
 
208 
 
 into the wealthy chest of his father, his con- 
 ceit suggests that it cannot be emptied : and 
 while he takes out some deale every day, 
 hee perceives not any diminution : and, when 
 the heape is sensibly abated, yet still flatters 
 himself with enough. One hand couzens the 
 other, and the belly deceives both : he doeth 
 not so much bestow benefits, as scatter them. 
 True merit doth not carrie them, but smooth- 
 ness of adulation. His senses are too much 
 his guides, and his purveyors ; and appetite 
 is his steward. Hee is an impotent servant 
 to his lusts ; and knows not to govern either 
 his minde or his purse. Improvidence is 
 ever the companion of unthriftiness. This ma-n 
 cannot looke beyond the present, and neither 
 thinks nor cares what shall be ; much lesse 
 suspects what may be : and, while he la- 
 vishes out his substance in superfluities, 
 thinkes he only knowes what the world is 
 worth, and that others over prize it. He 
 feels poverty before he sees it, never com- 
 plains till he be pinched with wants : never 
 spares till the bottom, when it is too late 
 either to spend or recover. He is every 
 man's friend save his own, and then wrongs 
 
 himself 
 
209 
 
 himself most, when he courteth himself with 
 most kindness. He vies time with the slothful, 
 and it is an hard match, whether chases away 
 good houres to worse purpose : the one by 
 doing nothing, or the other by idle pastime. 
 He hath so dilated himself with the beames 
 of prosperitie, that he lies open to all dangers, 
 and cannot gather up himself, on just warning, 
 to avoid a mischief. ITe were good for an 
 almner, ill for a steward. Finally, he is the 
 living tomb of his fore-fathers, of his posterity: 
 and, when he hath swallowed both, is more 
 empty than before he devoured them. 
 
 FROM HIS EPISTLES. 
 
 TO MR, M. MILWARD*. 
 
 A Discourse of the Pleasure of Study and Con- 
 templation, with the Varieties of scholarlike 
 Employments, not without Incitation of others 
 thereunto : and a Censure of their Neglect. 
 
 I CAN wonder at nothing more, then how a 
 man can be idle; but of all others, a scholar j 
 
 * Decad. iv. Epistle iii. 
 
 in 
 
210 
 
 in so many improvments of reason, in such 
 sweetness of knowledge, in such variety of 
 studies, in such importunity of thoughts : other 
 artizans do but practice, we still learne ; others 
 runne still in the same gyre to weariness, fo 
 salietie; our choice is infinite: other labours 
 require recreations ; our yery labour recreates . 
 our sports : we can never want either somewhat 
 to do, or somewhat that we wou'd do. How 
 numberless are those volumes which men have 
 written of arts, of tongues ! How endlesse is 
 that volume which God hath written of the 
 world ! wherein every creature is a letter ; 
 every clay a new page. Who can be weary of 
 either of these ? To finde wit in poetry ; in 
 philosophy, profoundness ; in mathematicks, 
 acuteness ; in history, wonder of events ; in 
 oratory, sweet eloquence ; in divinity, super- 
 naturall light, and holy devotion : as so many 
 rich metals in their proper mynes ; whom 
 would it not ravish with delight ? After 
 all these, let us but open our eyes, we can- 
 not look beside a lesson, in this universal! 
 bookc of our maker, worth our study, worth 
 taking out. What creature hath not his mi- 
 racle ? what event doth not challenge his 
 
 observa- 
 
211 
 
 observation ? And if, weary of foraine employ- 
 ment, we list to look home into our selves, 
 there we find a more private world of thoughts 
 which set us on worke anew, more busily not 
 less profitably; now our silence is vocall, our 
 solitarinesse popular j and we are shut up, to 
 do good unto many: if once we be cloyed with 
 our owne company, the doore of conference 
 is open : here interchange of discourse (besides 
 pleasure) benefits us : and he is a weake com- 
 panion from whom we returne not wiser. I 
 could envy, if I could believe that Ana- 
 choret, who, secluded from the world, and 
 pent up iu his voluntary prison wals, denied 
 that lie thought the day long, whiles yet he 
 wanted learning to vary his thoughts. Not to 
 be cloyed -with the same conceit, is difficult 
 above humaine strength ; but to a man so 
 furnished with all sorts of knowledge, that ac- 
 cording to his disposition* he can change his 
 studies, I should wonder that ever the sun 
 should seem to pass slowly. How many 
 busy tongues chase away good hours in 
 pleasant chat, and complain of the haste of 
 night ! What ingenuous mind can be sooner 
 weary of talking with learned authors, the 
 most harmless and sweetest of companions ? 
 p 2 What 
 
212 
 
 What an heaven lives a scholar in, that at 
 once in one close room can dayly converse 
 with all the glorious martyrs and fathers ? 
 that can single out at pleasure, either senten- 
 tious Tertullian, or grave Cyprian, or resolute 
 Hierome, or flowing Chrysostome, or divine 
 Ambrose, or devout Bernard, or (who alone 
 is all these) heavenly Augustine, and talke 
 with them and hear their wise and holy coun- 
 sels, verdicts, resolutions : yea (to rise higher) 
 with courtly Esay, with learned Paul, with 
 all their fellow-prophets, apostles : yet more, 
 like another Moses, with God himself, in them 
 both ? Let the world contemne us ; while 
 we have these delights we cannot envy them; 
 we cannot wish our selves other than we are. 
 Besides, the way to all other contentements is 
 troublesome ; the only recompence is in the 
 end. To delve in the mines, to scorch in the 
 rire for the getting, for the fining of gold is a 
 slavish toyle ; the comfort is in the wedge to 
 the owner, not the labourers ; where our very 
 search of knowledge is delightsome. Study 
 itselfe is our life ; from which we would not 
 be barred for a world. How much sweeter 
 tln:n is the iruit of study, the conscience of 
 knowledge? In comparison whereof the soulo 
 
 that 
 
213 
 
 that hath once tasted it, easily contemnes all 
 humane comforts. Go now, yee worldlings, 
 and insult over our paleness, our neediness, our 
 neglect. Ye could not bee so jocund, if you 
 were not ignorant : if you did not want know- 
 ledge, you could not over look him that hath 
 it : for me, I am so farre from emulating you, 
 that I professe I had as leive be a brute beast, 
 as an ignorant rich man. How is it then, 
 that- those gallants, which have privilege of 
 blood and birth, and better education, do so 
 scornfully turn off these most manly, rea- 
 sonable, noble exercises of scholarship ? An 
 hawke becomes their fist better than a book : 
 no dogge but is a better companion : any thing 
 or nothing, rather then what we ought. O 
 minds brutishly sensuall ! Do they think that 
 God made them for disport, who even in his 
 paradise, would not allow pleasure without 
 work ? And if for business ; either of body, 
 or mind : those of the body are commonly 
 servile, like it selfe. The mind therefore, the 
 mind only, that honorable and divine part, is 
 fittest to be imployedof those which wou'd reach 
 to the highest perfection of men, and would 
 be more then the most. And what work is 
 
 there 
 
214 
 
 there of the mind but the trade of a scholar, 
 study ? Let me therefore fasten this prohleme 
 on our schoole-gates, and challenge all com- 
 mers, in the defence of it ; that no scholar, 
 can not be truely noble. And if I make it 
 not good let me never be admitted further 
 then to the subject of our question. Thus we 
 do well to congratulate to ourselves our own 
 happiness : if others will come to us, it shall 
 be our comfort, but more their's ; if not/ it is 
 enough that we can joy in our selves, and in 
 him in whom we are that we are. 
 
 TO MY LORD DENNY*. 
 
 A particular stccount how our Dayes are, or 
 
 should ie spe?it, loth common and holy, 
 
 Every day is a little life ; and our whole life is 
 but a day repeated : whence it is that old Jacob 
 numbers his life by dayes, and Moses desires 
 to be taught this point of holy arithmeticke, 
 to number not his years, but his dayes. Those 
 therefore that dare lose a day, are dangerously 
 prodigall ; those that dare mis-spend it, de- 
 
 * Dec ad. vi. Epistle i. 
 
 Bperate. 
 
215 
 
 sperate. We can best teach others by our 
 selves : let me tell your lordship, how I would 
 passe my days, whether common or sacred j 
 that you (or whosoever others, over-hearing 
 mee) may either approve my thriftinesse, or 
 correct my errors : to whom is the account 
 of my houres either more due, or more 
 knowne ? All day es are his, who gave lime 
 a beginning and continuance ; yet some 
 hee hath made ours, not to command, but to 
 use. 
 
 In none may wee forget him j in some wee 
 must forget all, besides him. First therefore, 
 I desire to awake at those houres, not when I 
 will, but when I must; pleasure is not a fit 
 rule for rest, but health ; neither doe I consult 
 so much with the sunne, as mine owne ne- 
 cessity, whether of body, or in that of the 
 mind. If this vassall could well serve me 
 waking, it should never sle^pe ; but now it 
 must be pleased, that it may be serviceable. 
 Now, when sleepe is rather driven away, then 
 leaves mee ; I would ever awake with God ; 
 my first thoughts are for him, who hath made 
 the night for rest, and the day for travell ; and 
 as he gives, so blesses both. If my heart bee 
 
 early 
 
21G 
 
 early seasoned with his presence, it will savour 
 of him all day after. While my body is 
 dressing, not with an effeminate curiosity, nor 
 yet with rude neglect $ my mind addresses 
 itselfe to her ensuing taske, bethinking what 
 is to bee done, and in what order ; and marshall- 
 ing (as it may) my houres with my worke :.- 
 that done, after some whiles meditation, I 
 walke up to my masters and companions, my 
 bookes ; and sitting downe amongst them, 
 with the best contentement, I dare not reach 
 forth my hand to salute any of them> till I 
 Lave first looked up to heaven, and craved 
 favour of him to whom all rrry studies are- 
 duly referred : without whom, I can neither 
 profit, nor labour. After this, out of no over 
 great variety, I call forth those, which may 
 best lit my occasions ; wherein, I am not too 
 scrupulous of age : sometimes I put myselfe- 
 to schoole, to one of those ancients, whom 
 the church hath honoured with the name of 
 Fathers ; whose volumes, I confess not to 
 open, without a secret reverence of their ho- 
 linesse, and gravity : sometimes to those later 
 doctcTs, which want nothing but age to make 
 them chssicall : alwayes, to God's booke. 
 
 That 
 
217 
 
 That day is lost, whereof some houres are not 
 improved in those divine monuments : others 
 I turn over out of choice ; these out of duty. 
 Ere I can have sate unto wearinesse, my family, 
 having now overcome all houshold-distractions, 
 in\ ites me to our common devotions ; not 
 without some short preparation. These hearti- 
 ly performed, send me up with a more strong 
 and cheerfull appetite to my former worke, 
 which I find made easie to me by intermission, 
 and varietie : now therefore can I deceive the 
 houres with change of pleasures, that is, of 
 labours. One while mine eyes are busied, 
 another while my hand, and sometimes my 
 mind takes the burthen from them both: 
 wherein I would imitate the skillfullest cookes^ 
 which make the best dishes with manifold 
 mixtures ; one houre is spent in textuall divi- 
 nity, another in controversie ; histories re- 
 lieve them both. Now, when the mind is 
 weary of other labours, it begins to under* 
 take her own : sometimes it meditates and 
 winds up for future use 5 sometimes it layes 
 forth her conceits into present discourse ; 
 sometimes for itselfe, ofter for others. Nei- 
 ther know I whether it workes or playes in 
 
218 
 
 these thoughts : I am sure no sport hath more 
 pleasure, no worke more use : onely the decay 
 of a weake body, makes me thinke these delights 
 insensibly laborious. Thus could I all day 
 (as ringers use) make myselfe musicke with 
 changes, and complaine sooner of the day for 
 shortness, then of the businesse for toyle : 
 were it not that this faint monitor interrupts 
 me still in the midst of my busie pleasures, 
 and inforces me both to respite and repast : 
 I must yeeld to both ; while my body and 
 mind are joyned together in unequall couples, 
 the better must follow the weaker. Before 
 my meales therefore, and after, I let myselfe 
 loose from all thoughts ; and now, would 
 forget that I ever studied : a full mind takes 
 away the bodies appetite, no lesse than a full 
 body makes a dull and unwieldy mind : com- 
 pany, discourse, recreations, are now sea- 
 sonable and welcome j these prepare me for 
 a diet, not gluttonous, but medicinall ; the 
 palate may not bee pleased, but the stomach j 
 nor that for its owne sake: neither would I 
 thinke any of these comforts worth respect 
 in themselves but in their use, in their end ; 
 so farre, as they may enable me to better things. 
 
 If 
 
219 
 
 If I see any dish to tempt ray palate, I feare 
 a serpent in that apple, and would please my- 
 selfe in a wilfull deniall : I rise capable of 
 more, not desirous : not now immediately 
 from my trencher to my booke ; but after 
 some intermission. Moderate speed is a sure 
 helpe to all proceedings ; where those things 
 which are prosecuted with violence of en- 
 devour or desire, either succeed not, or con- 
 tinue not. 
 
 After my later meale, my thoughts are 
 sleight : onely my memory may be changed 
 with her taske, of recalling what was com- 
 mitted to her custody in the day j and my 
 heart is busie in examining my hands and 
 mouth, and all other senses, of that dayes 
 behaviour. And now the evening is come, no 
 tradesman doth more carefully take in his 
 wares, cleare his shopboard, and shut his 
 windowes, than I would shut up my thoughts, 
 and cleare my minde. That student shall live 
 miserably, which like a camel lies downe under 
 his burden. All this done, calling together 
 my family, we end the day with God. Thus, 
 doe we rather drive away the time before us, 
 than follow it. I grant, neither is my practice 
 
 worthy 
 
220 
 
 worthy to be exemplary, neither are our calU 
 ings proportionable. The lives of a nobleman, 
 of a courtier, of a scholler, of a citizen, of a 
 countriman, differ no lesse then their dispo- 
 sitions : yet must all conspire in honest labour. 
 Sweat is the destiny of all trades, whether 
 of the browes, or of the mind. God never 
 allowed any man to doe nothing. How mi- 
 serable is the condition of those men, which 
 spend the time as if it were given them, and 
 not lent: as if houres were waste creatures, 
 and such as should never be accounted for : 
 as if God would take this for a good bill of 
 reckoning ; Item, spent upon my pleasures 
 forty yeares ! These men shall once find, that 
 no blood can priviledge idlenesse; and that 
 nothing is more precious to God, than that 
 which they desire to cast away; time. Such 
 are my common days: but God's day calls 
 for another respect. The same sun arises on 
 this day, and enlightens it ; yet because that 
 sun of lighteousnesse arose upon it, and gave 
 a new life unto the world in it, and drew the 
 strength of God's morall precept unto it, there- 
 fore justly doe we sing with the psalmist ; 
 This is the day which the Lord hath made. 
 
 Now, 
 
221 
 
 Now, I forget the world, and in a sort myselfe ; 
 and deaie with my wonted thoughts, as great 
 men use, who, at sometimes of their privacie, 
 forbid the accesse of all suters. Prayer, me- 
 ditation, reading, hearing, preaching, singing, 
 good conference, are the businesses of this day, 
 which I dare not bestow on any work, or plea- 
 sure, but heavenly. 
 
 I hate superstition on the one side, and loose- 
 nesse on the other ; but I find it hard to offend 
 in too much devotion, easie in prophanenesse. 
 The whole weeke is sanctified by this day ; 
 and according to my care of this, is my bless- 
 ing on the rest. I show your lordship what I 
 would doe, and what I ought: I commit my 
 desires to the imitation of the weake ; my 
 actions to the censures of the wise and holy j 
 my weaknesses to the pardon and redresse of 
 my mercifull God. 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE PRESENT EXTRACTS 
 FROM BISHOP HALL. 
 
 OF 
 
222 
 
 OF TRUE AND OF MOCK RELIGION*. 
 
 I HAVE seen a female religion that wholly 
 dwelt upon the face and tongue ; that like a 
 wanton and an undressed tree spends all its juice 
 in succers and irregular branches, in leaves 
 and gum, and after all such goodly outsides 
 you should never eat an apple, or be de- 
 lighted with the beauties, or the perfumes of 
 a hopeful blossom. But the religion of this 
 excellent lady was of another constitution j 
 it took root downward in humility, and 
 brought forth fruit upward in the substantial 
 graces of a Christian, in charity and justice, 
 in chastity and modesty, in fair friendships 
 and sweetness of society : She had not very 
 much of the forms and outsides of godliness, 
 but she was hugely careful for the power 
 of it, for the moral, essential, and useful parts: 
 such which would make her be, not seem to 
 be, religious. 
 
 In all her religion, and in all her actions 
 of relation towards God, she had a strange 
 
 * From Taylor's Sermon on the Death of Lady 
 
 Carbery. 
 
 evenness 
 
223 
 
 evenness and untroubled passage, sliding to- 
 ward her ocean of God and of infinity with 
 a certain and silent motion. So have I seen 
 a river deep and smooth passing with a still 
 foot and a sober face, and paying to the Fiscus, 
 the great exchequer of the sea, the prince 
 of all the watery bodies, a tribute large and 
 full : and hard by it a little brook skipping and 
 making a noise upon its unequal and neigh- 
 bour bottom ; and after all its talking and 
 bragged motion, it payed to its common audit 
 no more than the revenues of a little cloud, 
 or a contemptible vessel : so have I sometimes 
 compared the issues of her religion to the 
 solemnities and famed outsides of anothers 
 piety. It dwelt upon her spirit, and was in- 
 corporated with the periodical work of every 
 day: she did not believe that religion was in- 
 tended to minister to fame and reputation, 
 but to pardon of sins, to the pleasure of God, 
 and the salvation of souls. For religion is 
 like the breath of heaven 3 if it goes abroad 
 into the open air, it scatters and dissolves like 
 camphire. 
 
 ON 
 
224 
 
 9o:fK r-> .-TV-"'' " tad >r<!i:. '..-- 
 ssfr ziywo 'i f^i' ^ 
 
 ON DIFFIDENCE. 
 
 THE other appendage of her religion, which 
 also was a great ornament to all the parts of her 
 life, was a rare modesty and humility of spirit, 
 a confident despising and undervaluing of her- 
 self. For though she had the greatest judg- 
 ment, and the greatest experience of things 
 and persons that I ever yet knew in a person 
 of her youth, and sex, and circumstances ; yet, 
 as if she knew nothing of it, she had the 
 meanest opinion of her self ; and like a fair 
 taper, when she shined to all the room, yet 
 round about her own station she had cast a sha- 
 dow and a cloud, and she shined to every body 
 but her self. But the perfectness of her prudence 
 and excellent parts could not be hid ; and all 
 her humility and arts of concealment, made 
 the vertues more amiable and illustrious. For 
 as pride sullies the beauty of the fairest vertues, 
 and makes our understanding but like the craft 
 and learning of a devil : so humility is the 
 greatest eminency, and art of publication in 
 the whole world ; and she in all her arts of 
 6 secrecy 
 
225 
 
 secrecy and hiding her worthy things, was but 
 like one that hidetli the wind, and covers the 
 heavens with her right hand. 
 
 From Taylor's Sermon on the Death of Lady 
 Carbery, 
 
 THE HOPES OF MAN. 
 
 As a worm creepeth with her belly on the 
 ground, with her portion and share of Adam's 
 curse, lifts up its head to partake a little of 
 the blessings of the air, and opens the junctures 
 of her imperfect body, and curies her little 
 rings into knots and combinations, drawing 
 up her tail to a neighbourhood of the head's 
 pleasure and motion ; but still it must return 
 to abide the fate of its own nature, and dwell 
 and sleep upon the dust : so are the hopes of 
 a mortal man; he opens his eyes and looks 
 upon fine things at distance, and shuts them 
 again with weakness, because they are too 
 glorious to behold; and the man rejoices be- 
 cause he hopes fine tilings are staying for him ; 
 but his heart akes, because he knows there 
 are a thousand ways to fail and miss of those 
 a glories ; 
 
226 
 
 glories j and though he hopes, yet he enjoy* 
 not j he longs, but he possesses not, and must 
 be content with his portion of dust ; and being 
 a worm and no man must lie down in this por- 
 tion, before he can receive the end of his 
 hopes, the salvation of his soul in the resur- 
 rection of the dead. 
 
 From Taylor's Funeral Sermon on the Arch- 
 bishop of Armagh. 
 
 ON MERCY. 
 
 SURELY no man is so much pleased with his- 
 own innocence as that he will be willing to 
 quit his claim to mercy : and if we all need it, 
 let us all shew it. If you do but see a maiden 
 caniecl to her grave a little before her in- 
 tended marriage, or an infant die before the 
 birth of reason, nature hath taught us to pay 
 a tributary tear : alas ! your eyes will behold 
 the mine of man}- families, which though they 
 sadly have deserved, yet mercy is not de- 
 lighted with the spectacle ; and therefore God 
 places a watery cloud in the eye, that when 
 the light of heaven shines upon it, it may 
 produce a rainbow to be a sacrament and a 
 
 memorial 
 
memorial that God and the sons of God do 
 not love to see a man perish. God never re- 
 joyces in the death of him that dies $ and we 
 also esteem it undecent to have irmsick at a 
 funeral. And as religion teaches us to pity 
 a condemned criminal, so mercy intercedes 
 for the most benigne interpretation of the law?. 
 You must indeed be as just as the laws, and 
 you must be as merciful as your religion : and 
 you have no way to tye these together, but 
 to follow the pattern in the mount; do as 
 God does, who in judgment remembers mercy. 
 From Taylor's Sermon, preached at the Opening 
 of the Parliament. 
 
 ON PASSION AND REASON. 
 TRUTH enters into the heart of man when 
 it is empty, and clean, aud still : but when the 
 mi ad is shaken with passion as with a storm, 
 you can never hear the voice of the charmer 
 though he cluirm very ivisely : and you will 
 very hardly sheath a sword when it is held by a 
 loose and a paralytic arm. 
 
 From Taylor's Sermon preached to the Univer- 
 sity of Dublin. 
 
 a2 ON 
 
228 
 
 ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 PKESENTLY it came to pass that men 
 v/ere no longer ashamed of the cross, but 
 it was worn upon breasts, printed in the 
 air, drawn upon foreheads, carried upon ban- 
 ners, put upon crowns imperial, presently it 
 came to pass that the religion of the despised 
 Jesus did infinitely prevail : a religion that 
 tauglit men to be meek and humble, apt to 
 receive injuries, but unapt to do any ; a re- 
 ligion that gave countenance to the poor and 
 pitiful, in a time when riches were adored, 
 and ambition and pleasure had possessed the 
 heart of all mankind ; a religion that would 
 change the face of things, and the hearts of 
 men, and break vile habits into gentleness 
 and counsel. That such a religion, in such a 
 time, by the sermons and conduct of fisher- 
 men, men of mean breeding and illiberal arts, 
 should so speedily triumph over the philosophy 
 of the world, and the arguments of the subtle, 
 and the sermons of the eloquent ; the power 
 of princes and the interests of states, the in- 
 clinations 
 
229 
 
 clinations of nature and the b'.indness of zeal, 
 the force of custom and the solicitation of 
 passions, the pleasures of sin and the busie 
 arts of the devil ; that is against wit and powe", 
 superstition and wiifulness, fame and money, 
 nature and empire, which are aU the causes 
 in this world that can make a thing impos- 
 sible 3 this, this is to be ascribed to the power 
 of God, and is the great demonstration of the 
 resurrection of Jesus. Every thing was an 
 argument for it, and improved it; no objection 
 could hinder it, no enemies destroy it ; whatso- 
 ever was for them, it made the religion to in- 
 crease ; whatsoever was against them, made it 
 to increase; sun-shine and storms, fair weather 
 or foul, it was all one as to the exent of things: 
 for they were instruments in die hands of God, 
 who could make what himself should eh use to 
 be the product of any cause; so that if the 
 Christians had peace, they went abroad and 
 brought in converts; if they had no peace, 
 but persecution, the converts came in to them. 
 In prosperity they allured and enticed the 
 world by the beauty of holiness; in affliction 
 and trouble they amazed all men with the 
 
 splendor 
 
230 
 
 splendor of their innocence, and the glories 
 of their patience j and quickly it was that the 
 world became disciple to the glorious Naza- 
 rene, and men could no longer doubt of the 
 resurrection of Jesus, when it became so de- 
 monstrated by the certainty of them that saw 
 it, and the courage of them that died for it, 
 and the multitude of them that believed itj 
 who by their sermons and their actions, by 
 their publick offices and discourses, by festivals 
 and eucharists, by arguments of experience 
 and sense, by reason and religion, by perswad- 
 ing rational men, and establishing believing 
 Christians, by their living in the obedience of 
 Jesus, and dying for the testimony of Jesus, 
 have greatly advanced his kingdom, and his 
 power, and his glory, into which he entered 
 after his resurrection from the dead. 
 
 From Taylor's Sermon preached at the Funeral of 
 the .Lord Primate. 
 
 THE 
 
231 
 
 THE RESURRECTION OF SINNERS. 
 
 So have we seen a poor condemned criminal, 
 the weight of whose sorrows sitting heavily 
 upon his soul, hath benummed him into a deep 
 sleep, till he hath forgotten his groans, and laid 
 aside his deep sighings; but on a sudden comes 
 the messenger of death, and unbinds the poppy 
 garland, scatters the heavy cloud that incircled 
 his miserable head, and makes him return to 
 acts of life, that he may quickly descend into 
 death and be no more. So is every sinner that 
 lies down in shame, and makes his grave with 
 the wicked ; he shall indeed rise again, and be 
 called upon by the voice of the archangel ; but 
 then he shall descend into sorrows greater 
 than the reason and the patience of a man, 
 weeping and shrieking louder than the groans 
 of the miserable children in the valley of 
 Hinnom. 
 
 From Taylor's Sermon preached at the Funeral of 
 the Lord Primate. 
 
 THE 
 
232 
 
 THE DAY OP JUDGMENT. 
 
 2 Cor. v. 10. 
 
 For we must all appear It-fore the judgment- 
 seat of Christ, tiiat every one may receive the 
 things done in his body, according to that he 
 hath done, whether it be good or lad. 
 
 VERTUE and vice are so essentially distin- 
 guished, and the distinction is so necessary 
 to be observed in order to the well-being of 
 men in private and in societies, that to divide 
 them in themselves, and to separate them by 
 sufficient notices, and to distinguish them by 
 rewards, hath been designed by all Jaws, by 
 the sayings of" wise men, by the order of 
 things, by their proportions to good or evilj 
 and the expectations of men have been framed 
 accordingly : that venue may have a proper 
 seat in the will and in the affections, and may 
 become amiable by its own excellency and its 
 appentk'iit blessing ; and that vice may be as 
 natural an enemy to a man as a wolf to the 
 lamb, and as darkness to light j destructive 
 of its being, and a contradiction of its nature. 
 But it is not < nought that all the world hath 
 armed it self against vice, and, ly all that 
 
 is 
 
233 
 
 is wise and sober among men, hath taken 
 the part of virtue, adorning it with glorious 
 appellatives, encouraging it by rewards, en- 
 tertaining it with sweetness, and command- 
 ing it by edicts, foit.fying it with defensa- 
 tives, and twining with it in all artificial 
 compliances j all this is short of man's ne- 
 cessitie : for this will in all modest men se- 
 cure their actions in theatres and high-ways, 
 in markets and churches, before the eye of 
 judges, and in the society of witnesses : but 
 the actions of closets and chambers, the deT 
 signs and thoughts of men, their discourses 
 in dark places, and the actions of retirements 
 and of the night, are left indifferent to virtue 
 or to vice ; and of these, as man cau take 
 no cognisance, so he can make no coercitive; 
 and therefore above one half of humane 
 actions is by the laws of man left unregarded 
 and unprovided for. And besides this, there 
 are some men who are bigger than laws, and 
 some are bigger than judges, and some judges 
 have lessened themselves by fear and cow- 
 ardize, by bribery and flattery, by iniquity 
 and compliance ; and where they have nor, 
 jet they have notices but of few causes : ai.d 
 
 there 
 
234 
 
 there are some sins so popular and universal, 
 that to punish them is either impossible or 
 intolerable; and to question such, would be- 
 tray the weakness of the publick rods and 
 axes, and represent the sinner to be stronger 
 than the power that is appointed to be his bridle. 
 And after all this, we find sinners so prosperous 
 that they escape, so potent that they fear not ; 
 and sin is made safe when it grows great 
 
 Facere omrtia s<rve 
 
 Non impunl licet, nisi dwnfacis 
 
 and innocence is oppressed, and the poor cries, 
 and he hath no helper ; and he is oppressed, 
 and he wants a patron. And for these and 
 many other concurrent causes, if you reckon 
 all the causes that come before all the judi- 
 cntories of the world, though the litigious are 
 too many, and the matters of instance are in- 
 tricate and numerous, yet the personal and 
 criminal are so few, that of two thousand sins 
 that cry aloud to God for vengeance, scarce 
 two are noted by the publick eye, and chas- 
 tis'd by the hand of justice. It must follow 
 from hence, that it is but reasonable, for 
 the interest of vertue and the necessities of 
 the world, that the private should be judg'd, 
 
 and 
 
235 
 
 and virtue should be tied upon the spirit, 
 and the poor should be relieved, and the op- 
 pressed should appeal, and the noise of widows 
 should be heard, and the saints should stand 
 upright, and the cause that was ill judged 
 should be judged over again, and tyrants 
 should be called to account, and our thoughts 
 should be examined, and our secret actions 
 viewed on all sides, and the infinite number 
 of sins which escape here should not escape 
 finally. And therefore God hath so ordained it, 
 that there shall be a day of doom, wherein 
 all that are let alone by men shall be question'd 
 by God, and every word, and every action 
 shall receive its just recompence of reward. 
 " .For we must all appear before the judgment- 
 seat of Christ, that every one may receive the 
 tilings done in his body, according to that he 
 hath done, whether it be good or bad." 
 
 At the day of judgment every man's fear 
 shall be increased by his neighbours shrieks, 
 and the amazement that all the world shall 
 be in, shall unite as the sparks of a raging 
 furnace into a globe of fire, and roul upon 
 its own principle, and increase by direct ap- 
 pearances, and intolerable reflections. He that 
 
 stands 
 
236 
 
 stands in a church-yard in the time of a great 
 plague, and hears the passing-bell perpetually 
 telling the sad stories of death, and sees crowds 
 of infected bodies pressing to their graves, 
 and others sick and tremulous, and death 
 dress'd up in all the images of sorrow round 
 about him, is not supported in his spirit by 
 the variety of his sorrow: and at doomsday, 
 when the terrors are universal, besides that 
 it is in itself so much greater, because it 
 can affright the whole world, it is also made 
 greater by communication and a sorrowful in- 
 fluence ; grief being then strongly infectious, 
 when there is no variety of state but an entire 
 kingdom of fear ; and amazement is the king 
 of all our passions, and all the world its sub- 
 jects : and that shriek must needs be terrible, 
 when millions of men and women at die same 
 instant shall fearfully cry out, and the noise 
 shall mingle with the trumpet of the archangel, 
 with the thunders of the dying and groaning 
 heavens, and the crack of the dissolving 
 world, when the whole fabrick of nature shall 
 shake into dissolution and eternal ashes. But 
 this general consideration may be heightned 
 with four or five circumstances. 
 
 Consider 
 
237 
 
 Consider what an infinite multitude of angels 
 and men and women shall then appear. 
 
 In this great multitude we shall meet all 
 those, who by their example and their holy 
 precepts have, like tapers, enkindled with a 
 beam of the son of rightgeousnes*, enlightned 
 us, and taught us to walk in the paths of 
 justice. 
 
 There shall appear the men of Caper- 
 naum, and the queen of the south, and the men 
 of Berea, and the first-fruits of the Christian 
 church, and the holy martyrs, and shall pro- 
 claim to all the world, that it was not im- 
 possible to do the work of grace in the midst 
 of all our weaknesses, and accidental dis- 
 advantages : and that the obedience of faith, 
 and the labour of love, and the contentions of 
 chastity, and the severities of temperance and 
 self-denial, are not such insuperable mountains, 
 but that an honest and sober person may per- 
 form them in acceptable degrees, if he have 
 but a ready ear, and a willing mind, and an 
 honest heart. 
 
 There men shall meet the partners of their 
 sins, and them that drank the round when 
 
 they 
 
238 
 
 they crown'd their heads with folly and forget- 
 fulness, and their cups with wine and noises. 
 There shall ye see that poor perishing soul, 
 whom thou didst tempt to adultery and wan- 
 tonness, to drunkenness or perjury, to rebel- 
 lion or an evil interest, by power or craft, 
 by witty discourses or .deep dissembling, by 
 scandal or a snare, by evil example or perni- 
 cious counsel, by malice or unwariness. 
 
 That soul that cries to those rocks to cover 
 her, if it had ,not been for thy perpetual temp- 
 tations, might have followed the lamb in a 
 white robe ; and that poor man, that is cloathed 
 with shame and flames of fire, would have 
 shin'd in glory, but that thou didst force him 
 to be partner of the baseness. 
 
 The majesty of the judge, and the terrors of 
 the judgment shall be spoken aloud by the im- 
 mediate forerunning accidents, which shall be so 
 great violences to the old constitutions of na- 
 ture, that it shall break her very bones, and 
 disorder her till she be destroyed. 
 
 The sea (they say) shall rise fifteen cubits 
 above the highest mountains, and thence de- 
 scend into hollownesSj and a prodigious drought j 
 
 and 
 
239 
 
 and when they are reduc'd again to their usual 
 proportions, then all the beasts and creeping 
 things, the monsters and the usual inhabitants 
 of the sea shall be gathered together, and make 
 fearful noises to distract mankind : the birds 
 shall mourn and change their songs into threnes 
 and sad accents : rivers of fire shall rise from 
 the east to west, and the stars shall be rent into 
 threcls of light, and scatter like the beards of 
 comets ; then shall be fearful earthquakes, and 
 the rocks shall rend in pieces, the trees shall 
 distil blood, and the mountains and fairest 
 structures shall return into their primitive 
 dust ; the wild beasts shall leave their dens, and 
 come into the companies of men, so that you 
 shall hardly tell how to call them, herds of 
 men, or congregations of leasts ; then shall the 
 graves open and give up their dead, and those 
 which are alive in nature and dead in fear r 
 shall be forc'd from the rocks whither they 
 went to hide them, and from caverns of the 
 earth, where they would fain have been con- 
 cealed; because their retirements are dis- 
 mantled, and their rocks are broken into 
 wider ruptures, and admit a strange light into 
 
 their 
 
240 
 
 their secret bowels ; and the men being forcM 
 abroad into the theatre of mighty horrors shall 
 run up and down distracted and at their wits 
 end. 
 
 " The earth shall tremble, and the powers of 
 the heavens shall be shaken, the sun shall be 
 turned into darkness, and the moon into bloud. 
 The rocks shall rend and the elements shall 
 melt with fervent heat. The heavens shall 
 be rolled up like a parchment, the earth shall 
 be burned with fire, the hills shall be like wax, 
 for there shall go a fire Tjefore him, and a 
 mighty tempest shall be stirred round about 
 him." 
 
 From Taylor's Sermon entitled " Christ's Advent 
 fo Judgment :" which is the first in his Col- 
 lection of Sermons. 
 
analyst's; of Horn Bacon's 9fobanre= 
 ment of learning. 
 
 
 
 UIVISION of the work. 
 
 I. The excellence of learning, and die merit of 
 disseminating it. 
 
 1 . Objections to learning. 
 
 2. Advantages of learning. 
 
 II. What has been done for . the Advancement 
 of learning, and what is omitted. 
 
 THE EXCELLENCE OF LEARNING AND 
 THE MERIT OF DISSEMINATING IT. 
 
 OBJECTIONS TO LEARNING*. 
 
 1 . Objections of divines. 
 
 2. Objections of politicians. 
 
 3. Objections from the errors of learned men. 
 
 * In the entrance to the former of these, to clear 
 the way, and as it were to make silence, to have the 
 true testimonies concerning the dignity of learning to 
 be better heard, without the interruption of tacite 
 objection: I think good to deliver it from the discredit 1 ; 
 and disgraces which it hath received, all from igno- 
 rance; but ignorance severally disguised, appearing 
 sometimes in the zeal and jealousy of divines, some- 
 times in the severity and arrogancy of politicians, and 
 sometimes in the errors and imperfection* of Learned men 
 themselves. 
 
 * O3JEC- 
 
242 
 
 OBJECTIONS WHICH DIVINES MAKE TO 
 LEARNING. 
 
 1. The aspiring to over much knowledge was 
 the cause of the fall of man. 
 
 2. Knowledge generates pride. 
 
 3. Solomon says that there is no end of making 
 books, and that much reading is a weariness 
 of the flesh ; and that he who increases know- 
 ledge increases anxiety. 
 
 4. St. Paul warns us not to be spoiled through 
 vain philosophy. 
 
 The sensf of man resembles the sun, 
 which, opens and reveals the terrestrial 
 globe, iut conceals ike stars: hcnre men 
 fail who seek to jiy up to the secrets of the 
 Deity ly the waxen wings of the senses * . 
 
 5. Experience demonstrates that learned men 
 have been heretics, and learned times inclined 
 to atheism. 
 
 It is an assured truth, and a conclusion of 
 experience, that a little or superficial knozv- 
 Icdge of philosophy doth incline tJie mind of 
 man to atheism ; but a further proceeding 
 therein doth bring the mind back to religion. 
 
 Let no man, from a weak conceit, 
 maintain that he can be too well read in the 
 look of God's word, or the book of God's 
 
 U'Orks, DIVINITY OH PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 * This analysis contains some extracts which have 
 already been inserted in this work. The reason of this 
 is, that the analysis was m^de after the -work was 
 printed, and a repetition ot a few extracts appeared 
 to be a less evil than the omission of them. 
 
 OBJEC- 
 
243 
 
 OBJECTIONS WHICH POLITICIANS MAKE 
 TO LEARNING. 
 
 I. Learning softens men's minds, and makes 
 them unfit for arms. 
 
 II. Learning unfits men for civil affairs. 
 
 1 . Learning makes men irresolute by variety 
 of reading. 
 
 2. Learning makes men too peremptory by 
 strictness of rules. 
 
 3. Learning makes men immoderate by rea- 
 son of the greatness of examples. 
 
 4. Learning makes men differ from th#times 
 by reason of the dissimilitude of examples. 
 
 5. Learning disposes men to leisure and re- 
 tirement, and makes them slothful. 
 
 6. Learning relaxes discipline by making men 
 more ready to argue than to obey. 
 
 To say that a blind custom of oledience 
 should be a surer obligation, than duty taught 
 and understood : is to affirm that a blind man 
 may tread surer by a guide, than a seeing 
 man can by a light. 
 
 OBJECTIONS TO LEARNING- FROM THE 
 ERRORS OF LEARNED MEN. 
 
 1. From their fortunes. 
 
 2. From their manners. 
 
 3. From die nature of their studies. 
 
 R 2 FIRST. 
 
FIRST. 
 
 Objections to learning from the fortunes of 
 learned men. 
 
 1. Learned men are poor. 
 
 2. Learned men live in obscurity. 
 
 Learned men forgotten in states arc like 
 the images of Cassius and Bj-utus in the 
 funerals of Junia; 'of which, not l-eing re- 
 presented as others were, Tacitus saith, 
 " Eo ipso prcpfulgelant, quod non vise- 
 bantur." 
 
 3. Learned men are engaged in mean employ- 
 ments, as the education of youth. 
 
 -SECONDLY. 
 
 Objections to learning from the manners of 
 learned men. 
 
 1. Leatned men endeavour to impose the laws 
 of ancient severity upon dissolute times. 
 
 2. Learned men prefer the public good to their 
 own interest. 
 
 The corrupter sort never care in all tem- 
 pests what L'L'comes of the ship of the state, 
 so thei/ may save themselves in the cock-boat 
 of their own fortune. 
 
 3. Learned m?n fail sometimes in applying 
 themselves to individuals. 
 
 The reasons of this : 
 
 1 . The largeness of their minds, which cannot 
 descend to particulars. 
 
 He that cannot contract the sight of his 
 mind, as well as disperse and dilate it, 
 tvanteih a great faculty. 
 
 2. Learned 
 
215 
 
 2. Learned men reject upon choice and judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Tue honest and just bounds of observa- 
 tion by one person upon, another extend no 
 further but to understand him sufficiently 
 ir hereby not to give him offence ; or where- 
 by to be able to give /urn faithful, counsel ; 
 or whereby to stand upon reasonable guard 
 and caution with respect to a man's self: 
 but to ie speculative into another man, to 
 the end to know how to woik him or wind 
 him, or govern /dm., proceedeth from a heart 
 that is double and cloven, and not entire 
 and ingenuous. 
 
 3. Learned men are negligent in iheir be- 
 haviour. 
 
 4. Observation. 
 
 Learned men should not stoop to persons, 
 although they ought to submit to occasions. 
 
 THIRDLY. 
 
 Objections to learning from the nature of the 
 stiulies of learned men, 
 
 DISTEMPERS OF LEARNING. 
 
 1. Delicate learning. 
 
 2. Contentious learning. 
 
 3. Phantastical learning. 
 
 PECCANT HUMOURS OF LEARNING. 
 I. DISTEMPERS OF LEARNING. 
 
 1st. Delicate learning. 
 
 \. It is the study of words and not of matter. 
 
 Pygmalion's phrenzy is a good emblem 
 
 or portraiture of this vanity ; for words are 
 
 but 
 
240 
 
 lut the images nf matter, and, e.tcepf (hey 
 have life of reason and invention, to fall in 
 love n'ith them is all one as to jail in love 
 with a picture. 
 
 2. Origin of the prevalence of delicate learn- 
 ing; in late times. 
 
 3. Delicate learning exists more or less in all 
 times. 
 
 4. Attention to style ought nottcf be neglected. 
 
 2d. Contentious learning. 
 
 1 . It is vanity of matter, or useless knowledge, 
 and is worse than vanity of words. 
 
 2. There are two badges of falsified science : 
 
 1. Novelty of terms. 
 
 2. Strictness of positions. 
 
 3 . Contentious learning reigned chiefly amongst 
 the schoolmen. 
 
 4. This unprofitable curiosity is of two sorts : 
 
 1 . Fruitless speculations. 
 
 2. Erroneous modes of investigation. 
 
 5. Tt is to be lamented that the knowledge of 
 the schoolmen was so confined. 
 
 3d. Phantastical learning. 
 
 1. It is falsehood, and is the foulest of all the 
 distempers of learning. 
 
 2. Of imposture, or delight in deceiving. 
 
 3. Of credulity, or aptness to be deceived. 
 
 1 . In matters of fact. 
 
 1 . In ecclesiastical history. 
 
 2. In natural history. 
 
 2. In matters of opinion. 
 
 1. In 
 
24-7 
 
 1. In arts and sciences. 
 
 2. In authors. 
 
 Authors should l-e considered as con- 
 suls to give advice, and not as dictators, 
 that their words should stand. 
 
 II. PECCANT HUMOURS OF LEARNING. 
 
 1. The extreme affecting either of antiquity 
 or novelty. 
 
 State super vias antiques, et videte qu(e- 
 nam sit via recta et lona, et ambulate in ea. 
 Antiquitas stPcufi, juventus mundi. 
 
 2. A suspicion that there is not any thing 
 new under the sun. 
 
 3. A conceit that of former opinions or sects, 
 after variety and examination, the best lias 
 prevailed. 
 
 4. The over early reduction of knowledge 
 into arts and methods. 
 
 As young men, when they knit and 
 shape perfectly, do seldom grow to a 
 farther stature: so knowledge, while it 
 is in aphorisms and oherrations, it is 
 in growth; tut when it once is com- 
 prehended in exact methods, it may 
 perchance le farther polished and il- 
 lustrated, and accommodated for use 
 and practice ; lut it increasetli no mere 
 in l:ulk and sulstance. 
 
 5. The abandoning universality afler the dis- 
 tribution of particular arts and sciences. 
 
 6. The having too much reverence for the 
 mind and human understanding. 
 
 7. The 
 
248 
 
 7- The tincturing meditations, opinions, and 
 doctrines, with favourite studies. 
 
 8. Impatience of doubt, and haste to asser- 
 tion. 
 
 p. The delivering knowledge too perempto- 
 rily. 
 
 10. The being content to work on the labours 
 of others, instead of endeavouring to add 
 to science. 
 
 1 1 . The mistaking the farthest end of know- 
 ledge. 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF LEARNING. 
 
 The intent of this enquiry is to weigh the 
 dignity of knowledge in the balance with other 
 things. 
 
 Different proofs of the advantages of learning. 
 
 I. Divine p oofs. 
 
 1. Before the creation*. 
 
 2. After the creation. 
 
 1. Before 
 
 * I wisdom dwell with prudence, and find out know- 
 ledge of witty inventions. 
 
 The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his way, 
 before his works of old. 
 
 I was set up from everlasting, from the beginning, 
 or ever the earth was. 
 
 When there were no depths I was brought forth; 
 when there were no fountains abounding with water. 
 
 Ect'ore the mountains were settled, before the hills 
 was I brought forth. 
 
 While 
 
249 
 
 1. Before the fall. 
 
 2. After the fall. 
 
 1 . Before the flood. 
 
 2. After the flood. 
 
 1. Before Christianity. 
 
 2. After Christianity. 
 II. Human proofs. 
 
 1 . Learning relieves man's afflictions which 
 arise from nature. 
 
 2. Learning represses the inconveniences 
 which grow from man to man. 
 
 3. There is a concurrence between learn- 
 ing and military virtue. 
 
 4. Learning improves private virtues. 
 
 1 . Learning takes away the wildness 
 and barbarism and fierceness of 
 men's minds. 
 
 2. Learning takes away all levity, te- 
 merity, and insolency. 
 
 3. Learning takes away vain admira- 
 tion. 
 
 4. Learn ing takes away or mitigates the 
 fear of death or adverse fortune. 
 
 While as yet he had not made the earth, nor the 
 fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the world. 
 
 When he prepared the heavens I was there : when, 
 he set a compass upon the face cf the depth : 
 
 When he established the clouds above : when he 
 strengthened the fountains of the deep : 
 
 When he gave to the sea his decree, that the waters 
 should not pass his commandment : when he appointed 
 the foundations of the earth: 
 
 Then I was by him, as one brought up with him : 
 and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him. 
 
 Proverbs, chap. -viii. 
 
 5. Leajning 
 
250 
 
 5. Learning disposes the constitution 
 of the mind not to be fixed or 
 settled in the defects thereof, but 
 still to be capable and susceptible 
 of growth and reformation. 
 
 5. Learning is power. 
 
 6. Learning advances fortune. 
 
 7. The pleasure and delight of learning 
 surpasses all other pleasure in nature. 
 
 8. Learning insures immortality. 
 
 WHAT HAS BEEN DONE FOR THE AD- 
 VANCEMENT OF LEARNING, AND 
 WHAT IS OMITTED. 
 
 1. Preliminary considerations. 
 
 2. Division of learning. 
 
 PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS. 
 
 1. Modes by which difficulties are overcome. 
 
 1 . Amplitude ot reward to encourage 
 exertion. 
 
 2. Soundness of direction to prevent 
 confusion. 
 
 3 . Conjunction of labours to supply 
 the frailty of man. 
 
 2. The objects about which the acts of merit 
 
 towards 
 
251 
 
 towards learning are conversant are, 1st, the 
 places of learning ; 2dly, the books of learn- 
 ing ; and 3dly, the persons of the learned. 
 
 I. THE PLACES OF LEARNING. 
 
 As water, whether it le the deiv of 
 heaven or the springs of the earth, doth 
 scalier and lose itself in the ground, except 
 it le collected into some recep-e.de, ivhere 
 it may ly union comfort and sustain itself: 
 and, for that cause, the industry of man 
 hath framed and made spring-heads, con- 
 duits, cisterns and pools; which men have 
 accustomed likewise to leautify and adorn 
 irith accomplishments of magnificence and 
 state, us well as of use and necessity. So 
 knowledge, whether it descend frmn divine 
 inspiration or spring from human sense, 
 would soon perish and vanish to otlirion, 
 if it were not preserved in looks, traditions, 
 conferences and places appointed : as uni- 
 versities, colleges, and schools for the receipt 
 and comforting of the same. 
 , Works relating to the places of learning. 
 
 1. Foundations and buildings. 
 
 2. Endowments with revenues. 
 
 3. Endowments with franchises. 
 
 4. Institutions for government. 
 
 ^U tending to quietness and private- 
 ness nf life and discharge of cares and 
 troubles, much like the stations u-hich 
 f^irgilprescril-ethfor t he hi-v ing of lees. 
 
 Principio sedes apibus, statioque petenda 
 Quo Tieque fit vetitis aditus, &c. 
 
 2. Defects 
 
25! 
 
 Defects of universities. 
 First defect. Colleges are all dedicated to 
 professions. 
 
 1 . This is injurious to the advance- 
 ment of general knowledge. 
 
 If you will have a tree bear more 
 fruit than it hath used to do, it is not 
 any thing you can do to the loughs ; 
 tut it is the stirring of the earth, and 
 putting neir mould about the roots that 
 must work it. 
 
 2. It is injurious to government that 
 there is not any collegiate educa- 
 tion for statesmea. 
 
 Second defect. The salaries of lecturers 
 are too small. 
 Observe David's military law " That 
 
 those which stay'd tvith the carriage should 
 
 hare equal part with those that were in 
 
 action" 
 
 Third defect. There are no funds for pro- 
 viding models and defraying the ex- 
 penses of experiments. 
 
 Fourth defect. There is a neglect in the 
 governors of consultation, and in su- 
 periors of visitation as to the propriety 
 of continuing or of amending the esta- 
 blished courses of study. 
 
 1. Young men study too soon logic 
 and rhetoric. 
 
 Minds unfrau-ght with matter stu- 
 dying these arts, is, as it were, learning 
 to paint the air. 
 
 2. There is, in the exercises, too great 
 a divorce between invention and 
 memory. 
 
253 
 
 Fifth defect. There is a want of mutual 
 intelligence between the different uni- 
 versities of Europe. 
 
 Sixth d a fect. There is a want of proper 
 rewards for enquiries in new or un- 
 labour'd parts of learning. 
 
 II. THE BOOKS OK LEARNING. 
 
 1. Libraries. 
 
 Libraries are as the shrines irhrre a/1 
 the relicks of the antient saints, full of true 
 virtue, and that without delusion or im- 
 posture, are preserved and reposed. 
 
 2. New editions of authors. 
 
 III. THE PERSONS OF THE LEARNED. 
 
 1. Learned men should be countenanced. 
 
 2. There should be rewards 
 
 1 . For readers in sciences already extant. 
 
 2. For enquirers on new subjects. 
 
 DIVISION OF LEARNING. 
 
 1. History relating to the memory. 
 
 2. Poetry relating to the imagination. 
 
 3. Science relating to the reason. 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 1 . It relates to individuals. 
 
 2. Is either natural or civil. 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY. 
 
 1 . It is the history of the operations of nature, 
 
 exclusive of the actions of men. 
 
 2. Its division 1st, as to the subject, which is 
 
 history of creatures, or history of marvails, 
 or history of arts ; and 2dly, as to its use. 
 
254 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY CONSIDERED AS TO THE 
 SUBJECT. 
 
 History of creatures. 
 
 1 . It is the history of nature in course. 
 
 2. Division of the history of nature in course. 
 
 1. History of coelestial bodies. 
 
 2. History of the region of the air. 
 
 3. History of the earth and water, as 
 integral parts of the world, as also 
 of the figure of the continents and 
 their situations. 
 
 4. History of the elements or genera. 
 
 5. History of the kinds or species. 
 
 3. History of species has alone been laboured : 
 but is rather swell'd with the outward de- 
 scriptions of creatures than enriched with di- 
 ligent observations. 
 
 History of marvails. 
 
 1. It is the history of nature wandering. 
 
 2. The uses of the history of marvails. 
 
 1 . To correct the partialities of axioms. 
 
 2. To obtain a knowledge of the won- 
 ders of arts. 
 
 3. Different marvails. 
 
 1. Purely natural. 
 
 2. Mixed with superstition, as sorce- 
 ries, witchcraft. 
 
 3. Miracles, being violations of the 
 laws of nature, cannot be properly 
 classed under natural history. 
 
 3 ^History 
 
255 
 
 History of arts. 
 
 1 . This is the history of nature wrought. 
 
 2. Reasons for considering arts as a branch of 
 natural history. 
 
 Man hath no pmver over nature, 
 except in uniting or separating bodies. 
 
 3. The history of arts is in general deficient: 
 but there are some collections of agriculture 
 and of manual arts, though commonly with a 
 rejection of simple experiments : whereas 
 the nature of every thing is best seen in its 
 smallest portions. 
 
 The philosopher, while he gazed 
 upwards to the stars, fell into the 
 water : but, if he had looked doivn, he 
 might have seen the stars in the ivater. 
 
 The property of the loadstone was 
 discovered in needles of iron, and not 
 in bars of iron. 
 
 4. The use of mechanical history to the raising 
 of natural philosophy is of all others the most 
 fundamental. 
 
 Proteus never changed shapes till 
 he ivas straitned and held fast with 
 cords: so nature provoked and i-exed 
 ly art appears more clearly than when 
 she is free. 
 
 5. The body of such a history must be built 
 not only upon mechanical arts themselves, 
 but the operative part of liberal sciences : 
 and also upon many practices not yet grown 
 up into art. 
 
 NATURAI 
 
256 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY CONSIDERED AS TO 
 ITS USE. 
 
 1. In the knowledge of things recorded in 
 history, or history narrative. 
 
 2. In being the primitive matter of philo- 
 sophy, or history inductive. 
 
 1 . This is the most important use 
 of natural philosophy. 
 
 2. This science is defective. 
 
 CIVIL HISTORY. 
 
 It is either literary history, or common civil 
 history , or ecclesiastical history. 
 
 Literary history. 
 
 1. It is the history of learning from age to age. 
 
 2. Literary history is in general defective, but 
 there are some slight memorials of some par- 
 ticular sects and sciences. 
 
 3. Precepts for compiling a literary history, as 
 to the matter of which it ought to be com- 
 posed, and the mode of collecting the matter. 
 
 The learned spirit of every age, as by a 
 kind of charm, should be worked and 
 raised. 
 
 4. The uses of literary history. 
 
 Common 
 
257 
 
 Common civil history. 
 
 1. Its dignity and difficulty are great. 
 
 2. Its division. 
 
 1. Primary. 
 
 1. Memorials. 
 
 2. Perfect history. 
 
 3. Antiquities. 
 "2. iJecondary. 
 
 1. Simple. 
 
 2. Mixed. 
 
 Memorials. 
 
 1 . Memorials are preparations for history. 
 
 2. Different sorts of memorials. 
 
 1. Commentaries. 
 
 2. Registers. 
 
 1 . Registers of titles, of matters, and 
 persons : in continuation of times ; 
 as calendars, &c. 
 
 2. Registers of solemn acts ; but not 
 continued, as edicts, orations, &c. 
 
 3. Memorials are by their nature imperfect. 
 
 Antiquities. 
 
 1. They are the remains of history. 
 
 They are as the planks saved from the 
 deluge of time. 
 
 2. Antiquities are valuable, but of suspicious 
 authority. 
 
 3. Antiquities are by their nature imperfect. 
 
 4. Epitomes ought to be abolished. 
 
 They are the moths of history, which 
 have fretted and corroded the sound bodies 
 of many excellent histories. 
 
 s Perfect 
 
258 
 
 Perfect history. 
 
 1. Chronicles. 
 
 2. Biography. 
 
 3. Relations. 
 
 Biography. 
 
 1 . It excels for profit. 
 
 2. Lord Bacon complains that biographers were 
 negligent in his time. 
 
 One of the poets feigned that at the end 
 cf tbe thread of every mans life there was 
 a medal or tablet, ivbereon tbe name of tbe 
 dead c was stampt, and tbat Time 'waited 
 upon tbe sbeers of tbe fatal sister, and, as 
 soon as tbe thread was cut, caught tbe me- 
 dals ; and carrying them away, a little after, 
 threw them out of bis bosom into tbe river 
 Lttbc. And tbat, about tbe bank, there 
 were many birds JJying up and down tbat 
 would get tbe medals, and after they bad 
 carried them in their beaks a little while, 
 soo?i after, through negligence, suffered them 
 to fall into tbe river. Amongst these birds 
 there were a few swans found, which, if 
 they got a medal with a name, they used to 
 carry it into a temple consecrated to immor- 
 tality. But such swans are rare in our age. 
 
 3. Some men improperly do not regard post- 
 humous fame. 
 
 The memory of the just is with l-ene~ 
 diction, lut the name of the wicked shall 
 putrefy. 
 
 Bona fama propria est possessio defunctorum. 
 
 Relations. 
 
259 
 
 Relations. 
 
 1 . They are the history of any particular event j 
 as the conspiracy of Catiline. 
 
 2. Relations excel for sincerity ; unless written 
 near the time of the events which they re- 
 cord ; when truth must be elicited by com- 
 paring the relations of opposite relators. 
 
 3. It is to be lamented that there is nofcmore 
 diligence in relations. 
 
 Such collections might le as a nursery 
 garden, whereby to plant a fair and stately 
 garden in future times. 
 
 Chronicles. 
 
 1 . They excel for celebrity. 
 
 2. There are many particular histories impro- 
 perly neglected. 
 
 3. Bacon recommends a history of England 
 from the union of the roses to the union of 
 the kingdoms. 
 
 4. Chronicles are universal, extending to the 
 whole world ; or particular, relating to some 
 particular state or nation. 
 
 .5. The majesty of history is diminished by its 
 extent, by inserting what ought to be omit- 
 ted, and omitting what ought to be inserted. 
 6. Of annals or records of matters of state. 
 /. Of journals or records of inferior matters. 
 Distinction between modern and antient 
 journals. 
 
 Mixed history. 
 
 1. A mixture of selected pieces of histories, 
 which, tinder proper regulations, is recom- 
 mended. 
 
 s 2 2. Cos- 
 
260 
 
 2. Cosmography, or a mixture of natural .and 
 civil history. 
 
 From the improvement in navigation, j&ro- 
 Jiciencies in science may be expected. 
 
 Appendices to history. 
 
 1. They relate to the words of men. 
 
 2. 'Different sorts. 
 
 1. Orations. 
 
 2. Epistles. 
 
 3. Apophthegms. 
 
 3. The relative advantages of orations, epistles., 
 and apophthegms. 
 
 Ecclesiastical history. 
 
 1 . It has a common division analogous to the 
 division of common civil history ; that is, 
 
 1 . Ecclesiastical chronicles. 
 
 2. Lives of the fathers. 
 
 3. Relations of synods, and the like. 
 
 2. Proper division. 
 
 1 . History of the church. 
 
 2. History of prophecy. 
 
 3. History of providence. 
 
 History of the church. 
 
 1 . It records the state of the church 
 in persecution, in remove, and in 
 geace. 
 
 It records the state of the 
 church, ivhether she float, as the 
 .ark in the deluge; or sojourn, as 
 the ark in the wilderness ; or le 
 Mt rest, as the ark in the temple. 
 2. This 
 
261 
 
 2. This species of history is more want* 
 ing in sincerity than in quantity. 
 
 History of prophecy. 
 
 1. It is the history of the prophecy 
 and the accomplishment. 
 
 2. Every prophecy should be sorted 
 with the event. 
 
 3. Uses of this history. 
 
 1. A confirmation of faith. 
 
 2. To generate a skill in the in- 
 terpretation of prophecy. 
 
 4. In this history that latitude must 
 be allowed which is proper to di- 
 vine prophecies. 
 
 To him one day is as a thou- 
 sand years, and a thousand years 
 are but as one day. 
 
 5. This history is deficient. 
 
 6. The history of prophecy must be 
 handled with great wisdom, sobrie- 
 ty, and reverence, or not at all. 
 
 History of providence. 
 
 1 . It is the history of the correspon- 
 dence between God's revealed will 
 and his secret will : as, unlooked- 
 for judgments ; unhoped-for deli- 
 verances suddenly shining forth, for 
 the consolation of the faithful ; and 
 the astonishment and conviction of 
 the consciences of the wicked. 
 
 2. This history is not deficient j but 
 not without siding of partiaries. 
 
 POESY. 
 
262 
 
 POESY. 
 
 1. As it respects the words composing ft. 
 
 1 . It is but a character of style. 
 
 2. It is not pertinent for this place. 
 
 2. As it respects the matter of which it is com- 
 posed. 
 
 1. It is fiction; in words restrained j in 
 matter unlicensed. 
 
 The imagination, not being tied 
 to the laivs of matter, may, at plea- 
 sure, join that which nature hath se- 
 vered, and sever that which nature 
 hath joined. 
 
 Pictoribus atque poetis, 
 Qitidlitet audendi, semper fuit cequa potestas. 
 
 2. Division of poetry. 
 
 1 . Common division the same as in 
 history. 
 
 2. Proper division. 
 
 1 . Narrative or heroical. 
 
 2. Representative or dramatical. 
 
 3. ^Illusive or parabolical. 
 Narrative or heroical poetry. 
 
 1 . It is feigned history, often representing what 
 is incredible. 
 
 2. Its excellencies. 
 
 1. It raises the mind, by submitting the 
 shoii's of things to our desires, instead of 
 boiving the mind to the nature of things. 
 
 2. In poesy a more stately greatness of 
 things; a more perfect order; a more 
 beautiful variety delights the soul, than 
 can be found in nature since the fall. 
 
 3. Poesy 
 
263 
 
 3. Poesy cheereth and rcfresheth the soul, 
 chanting things rare and various, and 
 
 full of vicissitudes, 
 
 4. Poesy, joined with sweet music, has leen 
 in estimation in rude times, when other 
 learning stood excluded. 
 
 3. It has been in use in barbarous times. 
 
 Representative or dramatical poetry. 
 
 1 . It is a feigned, lut credible, history. 
 
 2. It is of excellent use if not abused ; and is 
 more abused by us than by the antients. 
 
 3. Philosophers have accounted dramatic poetry 
 as the musical bow of the mind. 
 
 The minds of men are more patent to 
 affections and impressions congregate than 
 solitary. 
 
 Allusive or parabolical poetry. 
 
 1. Parabolical poetry is history, with a type 
 reducing objects of the imagination to sensi- 
 ble objects. 
 
 2. Parabolical excels other poetry, and seemeth 
 to be sacred and venerable. 
 
 3. Parabolical poetry has been contaminated by 
 the improper use of allegories. 
 
 4. Its uses are two : 1st, For illustration to ex- 
 plain truths ; 2dly, For obscuration or mys- 
 tery to veil or conceal truths. 
 
 Of illustrative parabolical poetry. 
 
 1. In antient times, when reason was In its 
 infancy, resemblances and examples were 
 brought down to sense ; as parables, fables, 
 
 ate: 
 
 2. Parables have always much life and vigour. 
 
 Of 
 
264 
 
 Of mysterious parabolical poetry. 
 
 1. It tends to the folding up of these things, 
 the dignity whereof deserves to be retired and 
 distinguished, as with a drawn curtain ; that 
 is, when the secrets and mysteries of religion, 
 policy, and philosophy, are veiled and in- 
 vested with fables and parables. 
 
 2. The fables of antient poesy are of greatest 
 antiquity next to the scriptures, and of greater 
 antiquity than the reputed authors. 
 
 The fables of poesy are like a rarified 
 air, which, from more antient nations, fell 
 into the flutes of the Grec'ums. 
 
 3. In heathen poesy the exposition is sometimes 
 very happy ; but it seems that the exposition 
 is often devised after the fable is made. 
 
 4. Philosophy, according to antient parables, is 
 defective. Poetry in general is not defi- 
 cient. 
 
 5. Instances of the interpretation of mysterious 
 parabolical poetry. 
 
 1 . In the fable of Pan, in natural philoso- 
 phy. 
 
 2. In the fable of Perseus, in politics on 
 war. 
 
 3. In the fable of Bacchus, in morals. 
 
 The follouing is an example of philosophy ac- 
 cording to antient parables in politics of war, 
 according to the fable of Perseus. 
 
 Perseus, a prince of the East, is reported to 
 have been employed by Pallas for the destroying 
 vf Medusa, who was very infectious to the 
 
 westera 
 
265 
 
 western parts of the world, about the utmost 
 coasts of Hiberia. A monster huge and fierce, 
 of an aspect so dire and horrid, that with her 
 very looks she turned men into stones : of all 
 the Gorgons this Medusa alone was mortal, the 
 rest not subject to death. Perseus, therefore, 
 preparing himself for this noble enterprise, had 
 arms and gifts bestowed on him by three of the 
 gods : Mercury gave him wings fitted for his 
 feet, not his arms ; Pluto, a helmet ; Pallas, a 
 shield and a looking-glass. Notwithstanding, 
 although he was thus well furnished, he went 
 not directly to Medusa, but turned into the 
 Grece, which, by the mother's side, were sisters 
 to the Gorgons. These Grece from their birth 
 were hoary headed, resembling old women; 
 They had btit one only eye and one tooth among 
 them all; both which as they bad occasion to 
 go abroad they were wont in course to take with 
 them, and at their return to lay them down 
 again. This eye and tooth they lent to Perseus : 
 so finding himself completely appointed for the 
 action designed, with winged speed he marchei 
 towards Medusa. Her he found sleeping^ yet 
 durst not venture himself a-front to her aspect, 
 if she should chance to awake ; but, turning his 
 head aside, beholding her by reflection in 1' al- 
 ias's mirror, and so directing his blow, cut off 
 her head j from whose blood gushing out, in- 
 stantly there emerged Pegasus, the flying hor.e. 
 Her head thus smitten off, Perseus transfers and 
 inserts into Pa/las's shield ; which yet retained 
 this virtue, that whosoever looked upon it, as 
 2 one 
 
266 
 
 one blasted or planet-struck, he should suddenly 
 become senseless. 
 
 This fable seems to be devised for direction 
 to die preparation and order that is to be ob- 
 served in making of war. And first, the under- 
 taking of any war ought to be as a commission 
 from Pallas, certainly not from Venus, (as the 
 Trojan war was,) or some such slight motive, 
 because the designs of war ought to be grounded 
 upon solid councils. Then for the choice of 
 war, for the nature and quality thereof, the 
 fable propounds three grave and wholesome 
 precepts. The first is, that a prince do not 
 much trouble himself about the conquest of neigh- 
 bouring nations : nor is the way of enlarging a 
 patrimony and an empire the same ; for in the 
 augmentation of private possessions the vicinity 
 of territories is to be considered; but in the am- 
 plification of public dominions, the occasion and 
 facility of making u-ar, and the fruit to be ex- 
 pected, ought to be instead of propinquity. 
 Therefore Perseus, though an eastern prince, 
 makes the expedition of this war afar off, even 
 in the remotest part of the western world. There 
 is a notable precedent of this case in the different 
 manner of warring practised by two kings, the 
 father and the son, Philip and Alexander. For 
 Philip warred upon borders only, and added to 
 the empire some few cities, and that not with- 
 out great contention and danger ; who many 
 times, but especially in a Theban war, was 
 brought in extreme hazard : but Alexander car- 
 ried the actions of his war afar off, and with a 
 
 prosperous 
 
267 
 
 prosperous boldness undertook an expedition 
 against the Persian, conquered infinite nations j 
 tired rather with travel than war. This point 
 is further cleared in the propagation of the Ro- 
 man empire: what time their conquests towards 
 the west scarce reached beyond Liguria, did 
 yet in die East bring all the provinces as far as 
 the mountain Taurus, within the compass of 
 their arms and command. So Charles the 
 Eighth, king of France, finding the war of Brit- 
 tain (which afterward was compounded by mar- 
 riage) not so feasible, pursued his enterprise 
 upon Naples, which lie accomplished with 
 wonderful facility and felicity. Certainly wars 
 made upon nations far off have this advantage, 
 that they are to fight with those who are not 
 practised in the discipline and arms of the ag- 
 gressor : but in a war made upon borderers the 
 case is otherwise. Besides, the preparation for 
 such an expedition is commonly better ap- 
 pointed, and the terror to the enemy from such 
 a bold and confident enterprize, the greater. 
 Neither can there usually be made by the ene- 
 my to whom the war is brought so far off, any 
 retaliation or reciprocal invasion, which in a 
 war upon borderers often falls out. But the 
 chief point is, that in subduing a neighbour state, 
 the election of advantages is brought to a strait j 
 but in a foreign expedition a man may turn the 
 race of die war at pleasure thidier where mili- 
 tary discipline is most weakened, or the strengdi 
 of the nation much wasted and worn ; or civil 
 
 discords 
 
268 
 
 discords are seasonably on foot, or such like op- 
 portunities present themselves. 
 
 The second precept is, that the motives of 
 war be just, and religious, and honourable, and 
 plausible; for that "begets alacrity, as well in 
 the soldiers that fight, as in the people that af- 
 ford pay: it draws on and procures aids, and 
 hath many other advantages besides. Amongst 
 the just grounds of war, that is most favourable 
 which is undertaken fop the extirpation of ty- 
 rants, under whom the people lose their cou- 
 rage and are cast down without heart and vi- 
 gour, as in the Jight of Medusa; which kind of 
 heroic acts procured Hercules a divinity amongst 
 the gods. Certainly it was a point of religion 
 amongst the Romans with valour and speed to 
 aid and succour their confederates and allies that 
 were any way distressed. So just vindicative 
 wars have for the most part been, prosperous : 
 so the war againt Brutus and Cassius, for the 
 revenge of Ctcsars death ; of Severus, for the 
 death of Pertinax ; of Junius Brutus, for the 
 revenge of the death of Lucre tia: and,, in a word, 
 whosoever Velieve and revenge the calamities 
 and injuries of men, bear arms under Perseus. 
 
 The third precept is, that in the undertaking 
 of any war a true estimate of the forces be 
 taken ; and that it be rightly weighed whether 
 the enterprize may be compact and accom- 
 plished ; lest va>>t and endless designs be pur- 
 sued. For amongst the Gorgons, by which war 
 is represented, Perseus wisely undertook her 
 
 enly 
 
269 
 
 only that was mortal, and did not set his mind 
 upon impossibilities. Thus far the fable in- 
 tracts touching those things that fall in delibe- 
 ration about the undertaking of a war : the rest 
 pertain to the war itself. 
 
 In war those three gifts of the gods do most 
 avail so as commonly they govern and lead for- 
 tune after them : for Perseus received speed from 
 Mercury; concealing of his councils from Orcus.; 
 and providence from Pallas. Neither is it with- 
 out an allegory, and that most prudent, that 
 those wings of speed in dispatch of affairs (for 
 quickness in war is of special importance) were 
 fastened unto his heels and not unto his arm- 
 holes ; to his feet and not to his shoulders ; be- 
 cause celerity is required, not so much in the 
 first aggressions and preparations, as in the pur- 
 suit, and the succours that second the first as- 
 saults : for there is no error in war more fre- 
 quent than that prosecution, and subsidiary forces 
 fail to answer the alacrity of the fast onsets. 
 Now the helmet of Pluto, which hath power to 
 make men invisible, is plain in the moral : for 
 the secreting of councils, next to celerity, is of 
 great moment in war ; whereof celerity is a 
 great part j for speed prevents the disclosure of 
 councils. It pertains to Pluto's helmet that there 
 be one general of the army in war invested with 
 absolute authority ; for consultations communi- 
 cated with many partake more of the plumes of 
 Mars than of the helmet of Pluto. To the same 
 purpose are various pretensions and doubtful 
 designations and emissary reports, which either 
 
 cast 
 
270 
 
 cast a cloud over men's eyes, or turn them an* 
 other way, and place the true aims of councils 
 in the dark : for diligent and diffident cautions 
 touching letters, ambassadors, rebels, and many 
 such like provisoes, adorn and begirt the helmet 
 of Pluto. But it iviporteth no less to discover the 
 councils of the enemy than to conceal their 
 own j wherefore to the helmet of Pluto we must 
 join the looking-glass of Pallas, whereby the 
 strength, the weakness, the secret abettors, the 
 divisions and factions, the proceedings and coun- 
 cils of the enemy, may be discerned and dis- 
 closed. And because the casualties of war are 
 such, as we must not put too much confidence 
 either in the concealing our own designs, or dis- 
 secreting the designs of the enemy, or in cele- 
 rity itself, we must especially take the shield of 
 Pallas, that is, of Providence, that so as little 
 as may be left to fortune. Hitherto belong the 
 sending out of espials, the fortification of camps, 
 (which in the military discipline of this latter 
 age is almost grown out of use ; for the camps of 
 the Romans were strengthened, as if it had been 
 a city, against adverse events of war,) a settled 
 and well ordered army not trusting too much 
 to the light bands or to the troops of horsemen, 
 and whatsoever appertains to a substantial and 
 advised defensive war, seeing in wars the shield 
 of Pallas prevails more than the sivord of Mars. 
 But Perseus, albeit he was sufficiently fur- 
 nished with forces and courage, yet was he to 
 do one thing of special importance before he 
 enterprised the action, and that was, to have 
 
 some 
 
271 
 
 some intelligence with the Grea. These 
 are treasons, which may be termed the sisters 
 of tear; not descended of the same stock, 
 but far unlike in nobility of birth : so wars are 
 generous and heroical, but treasons base and ig- 
 noble. Their description is elegant ; for they 
 are said to be grey-headed and like old women 
 from their birth ; by reason that traitors m6 
 continually vexed with cares and trepidations. 
 But all their strength before they break out into 
 open rebellions consists either in an eye or in a. 
 tooth; for every faction alienated from any state 
 hath an evil eye, and bites : besides, this eye and 
 tooth is, as it were, common ; for whatsoever 
 they can learn or know, runs from hand to hand 
 amongst them. And as concerning the tooth 
 they do all bite alike and cast the same scandals, 
 so that hear one and you hear all j Perseus, 
 therefore, was to deal with these Greee and 
 to engage their assistance for the loan of their 
 eye and tooth. Their eye for discoveries, their 
 tooth for the solving nnd spreading of rumours, 
 and the stirring up of noise and the troubling 
 of the minds ot men. After all things are well, 
 and preparedly disposed for war, that is first of 
 all to be taken into consideration which Perseus 
 did, that Medusa may be found asleep ; for a 
 wise captain ever assaults the enemy unpre- 
 pared, and when he is most secure. Lastly, in 
 the very action and heat of war, the looking 
 into Pallas' s glass is to be put in practice; for 
 most men, before it come to the push, can with 
 diligence and circumspection dive into and dis- 
 cern 
 
neenr the state and design of the enemies; but 
 in the very point of danger either are amazed 
 with fear, or in a rash mood, fronting dangers 
 top directly, precipitate themselves into them, 
 mindful of victory, but forgetful of evasion and 
 retreat. Yet neither of these should be prac- 
 tised, but they should look with a reversed 
 countenance into Pallas's mirror, that so the 
 stroke may be rightly directed, without either 
 terror or fury. 
 
 After the war was finished, and the victory 
 won, there followed two effects, the procrea- 
 tion and raising of Pegasus $ which evidently 
 denotes Fame, that, flying through the world, 
 proclaims victory, and makes the remains of 
 that war easy and feasible. The second is, the 
 tearing of Medusa's head in his shield, because 
 there is no kind of defence for excellencies com- 
 parable to this ; for one famous and memorable 
 act, prosperously enterprised and atchieved, 
 strikes the spirit of insurrection in an enemy 
 into an amazing terror, and blasts Envy herself 
 into an astonishment and wonder. 
 
 Philosophy. 
 
 1 . It relates not to particulars, but extends to 
 generals. 
 
 2, Division of philosophy. 
 
 1. From divine inspiration or revealed re- 
 ligion. 
 
 2. From sense. 
 
 1 . Primitive or general philosophy. 
 
 2. Particular philosophy. 
 
 1 , Divine 
 
273 
 
 1. Divine : or natural religion. 
 
 2. Natural : the knowledge of nature. 
 
 3. Human: the knowledge of man. 
 
 PRIMITIVE OR GENERAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Because the partition of sciences is not 
 like several lines which meet in one angle: 
 lut rather like tranches of trees that meet 
 in one stem ; which stem, for some dimen- 
 sion and space, is entire and continued 
 before it break: and part itself into arms 
 and loughs : therefore the nature of the 
 sulject requires, lefore we pursue the 
 parts of the former distribution, to erect 
 and constitute one universal science which 
 may le the mother of the rest : and that, 
 in the progress of sciences, a portion, as 
 it were, of the common highway may le 
 kept, lefore we come where the ways 
 divide. 
 
 1 . This science is defective. 
 
 2. Division of primitive philosophy. 
 
 1st part A receptacle of all such axioms 
 as fall not within the compass of any 
 particular part of philosophy : but are 
 more common to all or to most of them. 
 Naturase potissimum prodit in mini- 
 mis, is a rule in natural philosophy 
 and in politics. 
 
 2d part of primitive philosophy An en- 
 quiry into the accessory conditions of 
 entities. 
 
 Why are some things (as iron or 
 grass) so plenty : while other things 
 (as qold or roses) are more rare? 
 
274 
 
 .YHIOZO Wty are there not stronger attrac- 
 tions between like bodies (as iron) : 
 than between unlike, as (iron and the 
 magnet) ? 
 
 S ' 
 
 n n ,'fl . 
 
 PARTICULAR PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 NATURAL RELIGION. T;vi92dO .! 
 
 1. As to the knowledge of God. 
 
 1. It is that knowledge of God which 
 may be obtained by the light of nature : 
 and the contemplation of his creatures. 
 
 2. The limits of this knowledge are, that 
 it sufliceth to convince atheism. ,..-_ " 
 
 3. This is not defective : but it is not con- 
 tained within the proper limits*..;.: 
 
 2. As to angels. 
 
 1 . An enquiry into the nature of angels 
 is lawful. 
 
 2. The adoration of angels : and phantas- 
 tical opinions of them are prohibited. 
 
 3. The enquiries respecting angels relating 
 to angels superior to man : and to evil 
 spirits. 
 
 It is no more unlawful to enquire, 
 in natural theology, into the nature 
 of evil spirits : than to enquire into 
 t/te nature of poisons in physic ; or of 
 vices in the ethics. > 
 
 4. Enquiries into the nature of angels are 
 not deficient. 
 
 5. This enquiry is an appendix to natural 
 theology. 
 
 NATURAL PHILOSOPHY;' ~ 
 
 Its division. 1st. Speculative. 
 2d!y. Operative. 
 
275 
 
 SPECULATIVE NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 1 . It is aii enquiry into the nature of causes. 
 
 2. Its division. 
 
 1. Physic. 
 
 2. Metaphysic. 
 
 3. Observation upon the impropriety of using 
 new words to new ideas. 
 
 PHYSIC. 
 
 1. Physic is that which enquires of the efficient 
 cause : and of the matter. 
 
 2. Physics comprehend causes variable and un- 
 certain : and, according to the nature of the 
 subject, moveable and changing. 
 
 3. Division of physics. 
 
 1. As it respects nature united. 
 
 1. The seeds and principles of all 
 things. 
 
 2. The fabric of the universe. 
 
 2. As it respects nature diffused. 
 
 4. None of physics are defective. 
 
 Physics as it respects nature diffused. 
 
 I . It is either physic of concrets or physic of 
 ah tracts. 
 
 Concret Physics. 
 
 1. It enquires of substances with all the 
 variety of their adjuncts. i.. .^ 
 
 2. Concret physic is nearer to natural his- 
 tory than metaphysic. 
 
 3. The division of concret physic is the 
 same with the division of natural his- 
 tory. 
 
 4. That part of concret physics -which en- 
 
 T 2 quires 
 
276 
 
 quires into the nature of coelestial bodies 
 
 is important but imperfect. 
 1st. As to astronomy. 
 
 *wl; Astronomy presents such a sa- 
 crifice to mail's understanding as once 
 Prometheus did when be vjrnt about 
 to cozen Jupiter : for, instead of a 
 true substantial ox, be presented tbe 
 bide of a great and fair ox stuffed, 
 and set out wi'.b straw, leaves, and 
 ozier twigs : so in like manner astro- 
 nomy exbibitetb tbe extrinsic farts of 
 coelestial bodies, namely tbe numbers; 
 situation, motion, and periods ' of tbe 
 stars, as tbe bide of heaven : fair 
 and artificially contrived into systems, 
 and scheme's ; but tbe entrails are 
 'wanting : that is, physical reasons, 
 out of ivbicb should be extracted tbe 
 real theory of tbe heavens. 
 
 2 . Whoever shall reject tbe feigned 
 divorces of superlunary and sublu- 
 nary bodies ; and shall intentively 
 observe tbe appetencies of matter : 
 and the most universal passions : 
 (which in eitbe>- globe are exceeding 
 potent, and transverb'rate tbe uni- 
 versal nature of things} be shall re- 
 ceive clear information ccncerning 
 coelestial matters fioin the things seen 
 bere with us ; and contrariivise, from 
 tlese motions wbicb are practised in 
 beaven, be shall learn many obser- 
 vations ivbich now are latent toncb- 
 3 ing 
 
277 
 
 ing tie motion of bodies here le'.vw : 
 not only so far as tbcir inferior motions 
 are moderated by superior: but in 
 regard they bave a mutual inter- 
 course by passions common to tbem 
 Loth*. 
 
 3. Enquiries as to the physical rea- 
 sons of the bea-vens are defective. 
 
 Astrology. 
 
 1 . It is corrupt, but ought to be weeded rather 
 than cast away. 
 
 2. Some errors explained. 
 
 3. Precepts for the matter of sound astrology. 
 ^\ -1st precept. Let the effects of the great- 
 
 er heavenly bodies be considered : the 
 .s^v^ 65561 " rejected. 
 
 Great ordnance may discharge their 
 influence at a spacious remoteness : 
 small Lows are for a short distance, 
 and carry not their forces far. 
 2d precept. The operation of the hea- 
 vens, except of the heat of the sun,works 
 not on all bodies, but only upon the 
 more tender. 
 
 3d precept. T/ie operation of the hea- 
 vens extends rather to nature in gross-: 
 than to individual essences. 
 4th precept. Th-e operation of the hea- 
 vens has its dominion in great and not in 
 small periods of time. 
 
 Prognostications of the temperature 
 
 the account of the origin of Sir Isaac New- 
 
 of 
 ' 
 
 ton's discoveries 
 
 
278 
 
 of the year may le true : l-ut, upon 
 particular days, vain and trf/^r.navg- 
 5th precept. The power of physical causes 
 may be resisted. 
 
 Cosiest ial bodies have other influ- 
 ences besides light and heat. 
 
 4. Sound astrology is deficient. 
 
 5. Farther observations respecting the matter of 
 sound astrology. 
 
 1 . Let the conjunctions and oppositions 
 and affinities of the planets be observed. 
 
 2. Let the perpendicular and oblique ac- 
 tion of the planets be noted according 
 to the climates of regions. 
 
 3. Let the apogee and perigee of planets 
 be noted as to their vigor with respect 
 to themselves, and with respect to their 
 vicinity to us. 
 
 4. Let the accidents of the motions of the 
 planets be noted : as eclipses. 
 
 5. Let ever}' thing be received which may 
 disclose the nature of the stars, in their 
 essence and activity. 
 
 6. Let the traditions respecting the natures 
 of planets be received : unless mani- 
 festly erroneous. 
 
 6. Astrology is applied to predictions and to 
 elections. 
 
 Predictions ly ofitrolcgy. 
 
 7. Astrology is applied with more confidence 
 to predictions than to elections. 
 
 8. General predictions may be made of various 
 phenomena of the heiuenly bodie'S ; '-the re- 
 gions 
 
regions of the airj and of natural and civil 
 
 events on the earth. \\V> TK>\U.O 
 ?.98uno [future comets we conjecture may before- 
 
 told; so meteors, and plenty or dearth. 
 <). Particular predictions, though not with like 
 certainty, may be made. 
 
 From the knowledge of the influence of 
 the heavens over the spirits of men, the 
 temperament of an individual may possibly 
 zno\h4ie discovered. 
 
 ^itcfo fe^W fy 'astrology. 
 1CK Elections are to be used with more caution 
 
 than predictions. 
 
 ?1'A. Elections are offeree only when die influx 
 i' of 'the heavens, and the action of inferior 
 
 bodies are not of short duration. 
 12. Elections by astrology may be made also of 
 9ifo i xavil affairs. 
 
 J3. Precepts for the manner of deducing sound 
 astrology. 
 
 1. By experiments future, which are 
 infinite and hopeless. 
 
 2. By experiments past, from which 
 much may be collected. 
 
 3. By traditions, which ought to be 
 sified. 
 
 4. By natural reasons, \vhich are the 
 aptest for tiiis enquiry. 
 
 14. Astrological phrenzy is rejected. 
 
 distract Physics. 
 
 ?r j.. It enquires into adjuncts through all the va- 
 riety of circumstances, 
 
 '' TK 
 irnory * Jts 
 
280 
 
 \ 
 
 2. Its diviaJMOrtdb yre amaWoiq limned 
 
 1. The doctrine of the schemes of matter 
 txf bi: as dense, rare, &e. o Isi 
 
 2. The doctrine of appetites and motions. 
 
 J. Of motions simple. 
 2. Of compound motions 5 as genera- 
 tion, corruption, &c. 
 3; The measure of motions is an appendix 
 
 to abstract physics. 
 
 4. All enquiries in physics are to be li- 
 mited to the matter and its efficients 
 
 ' > I.' lV ' I'tf'.K. IV! JVy^V'iU J 
 
 Appendices to physics. 
 
 1. They relate chiefly to the manner of en- 
 quiry. 
 
 2. They are, first, natural problems ; secondly, 
 placits of antient philosophers. 
 
 Natural problems. 
 
 1. They are a calendar of particular 
 doubts. 
 
 2. They are an appendix to nature dif- 
 fused. 
 
 3. A grave and circumspect moving of 
 doubts is no mean part of knowledge. 
 
 1. It fortifies philosophy against er- 
 rors. 
 
 2. Doubts are as sponges to suck in 
 knowledge. 
 
 4. The advantages of recording doubts are 
 opposed by the evil of suffering doubts, 
 once recorded, to continue doubts., . 
 
 The right use of reason is to make 
 doubtful things certain : and not to 
 make certain things doubtful. 
 
 5. Natural 
 
5. Natural problems are deficient.' 'ball 
 
 6. A calendar of popular errors, in hatu- 
 ral history and in opinions, should be 
 annexed to the calendar of doubts. 
 
 Placits of antient philosophers. 
 
 1 . They are a calendar of general doubts. 
 
 2. They are an appendix to nature united. 
 
 3. The different opinions of different philoso- 
 phers ought to be registered : not to extract 
 a good theory : but to assist in enquiry. 
 
 Children at jirst call all men fathers, 
 and women mothers : but aftenvards they 
 -it--) distinguish them both: so inexperience in 
 childhood will call every philosophy mo- 
 ther : but, when it attains maturity, it 
 will discern the true motlier. 
 
 4. The registers of antient philosophers should 
 be full and continued. 
 
 Philosophy while it is entire in the tchole 
 piece supports itself: and the opinions 
 maintained therein give light, strength, 
 and credence mutually the one to the other .- 
 whereas if they le simple, and broken, it 
 will be dissonant. 
 
 b. Opinions of later philosophers should be 
 annexed to the placits of antient philoso- 
 phers : which opinions may be registered by 
 abridgements. 
 
 METAPHYSIC. 
 
 1. It enquires \\iioformal andjinal causes. 
 Of form al causes* \ , \ M 
 
 1. It has been observed that the essential 
 
 forms, 
 
282 
 
 s, and true differences of things 
 are beyond the reachifif human investi- 
 gation. 
 
 1. The invention of forms is, of all 
 -O'lqrni naoc parts of knowledge, the worthiest 
 to be sought, if it is possible they 
 may be found. 
 
 They a r e ill discoverers that 
 think there ii no land, when they 
 can see nothing but sea. 
 2. Plato, though he lost the fruit of 
 his opinion, did descry thatybr?n,s 
 were the true objects of know- 
 ledge. 
 
 Plato leheld ail things as from 
 a cliff. 
 
 2. By keeping a watchful and severe eye 
 upon action and use, it will not be dif- 
 ficult, to trace and find out what are 
 the forms, the disclosure whereof would 
 wonderfully enrich the estate of man. 
 
 3. The forms of nature in her more sim- 
 ple existence are first to be determined : 
 and then, if possible, in her more com- 
 plicated states. 
 
 4. Physics may consider the same natures, 
 but only according to the mutable 
 causes. 
 
 5. This part of metaphysic is deficient : 
 because men have generalized too soon. 
 
 6. The excellencies of this part of meta- 
 physics. 
 
 1st. To abridge the infinity of indi- 
 vidual experience. 
 
 2<lly. To 
 
' 2dly. To enfranchise the power of 
 f d rteulJpBSiT 3fil bi 
 
 Of final causes. 
 
 Jl^itfFhe enquiry of final causes has been impro- 
 '; perly made in physics. 
 
 1 . The investigating final causes in die 
 iA* ^^'$physics, has banished die enquiry of real 
 ^b^ physical causes. 
 
 To say that the eye-lids furnished 
 trith hairs are for a quick set and 
 TO^JE.- fence to fortify the sight, &c. is pro- 
 perly enquired in metaphysic : but in 
 physic it is impertinent : and is, as 
 the remoras adhering to ships, u'hich 
 stay and slug the sailing. 
 
 When final causes sally out and 
 break in upon the possession of physi- 
 cal causes ; they depopulate and lay 
 waste that province. 
 ncBi Observations upon some philosophical 
 
 tenets. 
 
 jni3~i There is no enmity between final and 
 physical causes ; save that one declares 
 an intention : the other a consequence. 
 
 The cause rendered, " That the 
 hairs alout the eye-lids are for the 
 safeguard of the sight,'" doth not im- 
 pugn that other cause, " that pjlosity 
 is incident to orifices ofwoisttere" 
 -2J -Final causes, instead of derogating from di- 
 vine providence, highly exalt it* 
 3U*FIh?J causes have been investigated. 
 
 OPERATIVE 
 
OPERATIVE NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ''V.it; 
 
 1. It is the production of effects. 
 
 2.gjte Division: 1st, mechanique; 2d, magique. 
 
 Mechanique. 
 -wsi <i\sw -qr 
 
 1. It is the invention of operations by the en- 
 quiry of efficient and material causes. 
 
 2. Different sorts of mechanique not investi- 
 gated in this place. 
 
 1 . Merely operatic : and this is referred 
 to natural history. 
 
 2. The invention of operations by pur- 
 posed experiments : and this is referred 
 to literate experience. 
 
 3. Mechaniques are not deficient. 
 
 4. Enumeration of some authors on this sub- 
 ject. 
 
 5. The promiscuous mechanicals of Aristotle 
 ought to be continued. 
 
 Magique. 
 
 1 . It proceeds from the enquiry of forms. 
 
 2. Natural magique is defective. 
 
 3. Different senses of the word magique. 
 
 1st. The true tense which is, " the sci- 
 ence that deduceth the knowledge of 
 hidden forms to effects and opera- 
 tions." 
 
 2d. The counterfeit sense is., " the credu- 
 lous tradition of sympathies and anti- 
 pathies, and of hidden and specific 
 properties, with some experiments, 
 commonly frivolous, strange rather 
 
 for 
 

 -dua aid) i 
 
 for the art of conveyance and dis- 
 guisement than for the thing itself." 
 1. The fable of Ixion is an image 
 of counterfeit magic. 
 
 Ixion, project-ing with him- 
 self to enjoy Juno, the goddess 
 of power, bad copulation with 
 a cloud, of which be begot 
 Centaurs and Cbimceras : so 
 whoever is carried away with 
 a frantic and impotent passion 
 and vaporous conceit to these 
 things, which only through the 
 fumes and clouds of imagina- 
 tion they fancy to themselves to 
 see : instead of substantial ope- 
 rations, they are delivered of 
 nothing but airy hopes, and 
 certain deformed and monstrous 
 apparitions. 
 
 2. The effects of counterfeit ma- 
 gique. 
 
 1. It induces the mind to rest 
 satisfied with fictions : in- 
 stead of investigating truth. 
 
 2. It instils fictions : deluding 
 as dreams. 
 
 3. In sciences relating to the ima- 
 gination : the means and theory 
 are more monstrous than the end. 
 
 Appendices to operative natural philosophy . 
 
 I. ,An inventory of the estate of man, whether 
 from art or nature, adding such inventions as 
 
 are 
 
286 
 
 are now perished ; together with such as are 
 reputed impossible, and near to impossible. 
 2. A calendar of things of the most univer- 
 sal consequence for die invention of other 
 experiments. 
 
 Tiie mariners' needle is of no less lenejit 
 than the invention of sails, iiuy 4^ 
 
 Mat hem atics* s \f_ 
 
 1 . It is an auxiliary science to speculative and 
 operative natural philosophy. 
 
 2. It is placed as a branch of metaphysics,, and 
 the reasons for it. 
 
 3. Mathematics have been more laboured than 
 any other form, from the facility it affords of 
 wandering in generalities. 
 
 4. Division of mathematics : 1st, pure ; 2d, 
 mixed. 
 
 Pure mathematics. 
 
 1. It is that science which relates to quantity 
 abstracted from matter, and physical axioms. 
 
 2. Division of pure mathematics. 
 
 1. Geometry relating to quantity conti- 
 nued. 
 
 2. Arithmetic relating to quantity disse- 
 vered. 
 
 3. Pure mathematics have been laboured with 
 subtilty and industry, though with little ad- 
 dition to Euclid; or little improvement in 
 progressions or equations. 
 
 4. Pure mathematics cure many mental de- 
 fects. 
 
 If tie iv'it be dull, they sharpen it : if too 
 tbey fix it : if too inherent in 
 tbe 
 
tbe sense, tl:ty alstract ii : so thai as tevnit 
 is a game of no use in if self, but of great 
 use ; in respect it maketb a quick eye, and a 
 body ready to put it! elf into all postures ; so 
 in the mathematics, that usetubicb is co la- 
 teral and intervenient is no lest worthy tban 
 tbat which is principal and intended. 
 
 Mired mathematics. 
 
 1 . It hath axioms and portions of physic for a 
 subject 5 and considers quantity as its auxili- 
 ary to enlighten, demonstrate, and actuate 
 them ; as perspective, music, architecture, 
 &c. 
 
 2. They will increase as nature is more dis- 
 closed. 
 
 ^-Observations respecting truth. 
 
 1 . The 'voice of nature "will cry vp truth, 
 tbougb the voice of man should cry it 
 
 ]( $,' And as Alexander Borgia was wont to 
 say, of the expedition of tbe French 
 for Naples, tbat they came with chalk in 
 tbeir bands to mark up their lodgings, and 
 not ivilb weapons to fight; so ive like 
 better tbat entry of truth, -which comes 
 peacejby, ivbere tbe minds of men, ca- 
 pabh to hdge so great a guest, are signed 
 as it were with chalk, tban tbat which 
 comes vjitb pugnacity ', and forcetb itself 
 contentions and controversies. 
 
 HUMAN 
 
288 
 
 HUMAN PHILOSOPHY, OR THE KNOWLEDGE 
 
 OF MAN. 
 
 1. Lord Bacon claims toleration for the opi- 
 nion advanced by him : being, as it were, a 
 trumpeter only : or announcer of sciences. 
 
 Kcupefe -n.tipw.se, 10? AyysAoj, ij $e xai av$p cov. 
 
 Our trumpet doth not summon, and en- 
 courage men to tear and rend one another 
 with contradictions : and, in a civil rage, to 
 bear arms and wage war against them- 
 selves : tut rather that, a peace concluded 
 between them, they may, ivitb joint forces^ 
 direct their strength against nature herself : 
 and take her high tcivers, and dismantle 
 her fortified holds, and thus enlarge the 
 lorders of man's dominion, so far as Al- 
 migby God of bis goodness shall permit. 
 
 2. The knowledge of ourselves deserves to be 
 more accurately investigated : because it 
 touches us more nearly. 
 
 3. The knowledge of man is to man the end of 
 all knowledge : but of nature herself a por- 
 tion only. 
 
 Let all partitions of knowledge le accept" 
 cd rather for lines and veins, than for sec- 
 tions and separations. 
 
 4. Division of the science of human nature. 
 1st. Man as an individual ; or the philosophy 
 of humanity. 2d. Man in society ; or phi- 
 losophy civil. 
 
 MAN 
 
289 
 
 MAN AS AN INDIVIDUAL; OR THE PHILOSOPHY 
 OF HUMANITY. 
 
 1st, Of the undivided nature and state of man : 
 ( , [ #r -of die sympathies and concordances be- 
 tween the body and the mind. Which, sci- 
 ence is divided into, 1st, The knowledge 
 of the person of man; 2dly, The know- 
 ledge of the league bet ween body and mind. 
 
 2dly, Of the divided nature of man. 
 
 The Knowledge of the Person of Man. 
 
 1. Contemplations upon the miseries of man- 
 kind. 
 
 '-^.Contemplations upon the excellencies of 
 mankind. 
 
 1st, This is defective. 
 ^z. Different excellencies. 
 1st, Intellectual. 
 
 C(ssar could dictate at once to 
 
 
 
 jive secretaries. 
 2dly, Moral. 
 
 Tacitus records that a centurion, 
 being commanded by the execu- 
 tioner to stretch forth his neck va- 
 liantly, " I would " said he, " thou 
 u-ould'st strike as valiantly." 
 3. There should be a volume of the greatest 
 excellencies of mind and body, to serve as 
 a calendar of human triumphs, upon the 
 plan of Valerius Maximus and C. Pliny. 
 
 The Knowledge of the League lelween tlie Body 
 and Mind. 
 
 This science is divided into two parts, 
 '1st, Discovery; 2dly. Impression, 
 
 u Discovert/ , 
 
290 
 
 Discovery. 
 
 Discovery is 1st, The art of ascertaining the 
 state of the mind from the appearance of the 
 body: or physiognomy. 2dly, The art of as- 
 certaining the state of the body from the work- 
 ings of the mind : or the exposition of dreams. 
 
 Physiognomy. 
 
 1 . It is the art of ascertaining the state of the 
 mind from the appearance of the body. 
 
 2. Aristotle has laboured physiognomy as far as 
 it relates to the countenance at rest : but not 
 the gestures of the body when in motion. 
 
 3. The knowledge of the gestures of the body 
 in motion is defective, but is of the greatest 
 use : and is comprehensible by art. 
 
 4. The lineaments of the body disclose the ge- 
 ?icral inclinations of the mind : the motions 
 and gestures of the body declare its present 
 dispositions. 
 
 A number of old sullh and crafty persons, 
 whose eyes do divell upon tbe faces undfa- 
 sbions of men, do well k'.ow ibis observation: 
 and can turn it to tbc'ir oiv?i advantage, as 
 being a gj eater fart of their ability and 
 wisdom. 
 
 5. Chlroi ancy is an imposture. 
 
 The exposition of dreams. 
 
 3 . It is the art of discovering the state of the 
 body from the motions of the mind. 
 
 2. This is a subject which has been idly inves- 
 tigated. 
 
 3. The knowledge of interpreting dreams wants 
 the support of a solid base: which is, that 
 
 where 
 
294 
 
 where the same effect is wrought by an in- 
 ward cause, that used to be wrought by an 
 outward cause, that extern act is converted 
 into a dream. 
 
 Impression. 
 
 1. It is the knowledge of the league between 
 mind and body. 
 
 2. The science of impression has not been col- 
 lected into art, but has been handled di- 
 spersedly. 
 
 3. Division of the science of impression : 
 1st, The action of the body on the mind; 
 2dly, The action of the mind on the body. 
 
 The action of the body on the mind. 
 
 1. This has been enquired as a part of medicine: 
 and has insinuated itself into religion or su- 
 perstition. 
 
 2. The doctrine that the body acts on the mind 
 does not derogate from the soul's dignity. 
 
 An infant in the womb suffers with its 
 mother, hut is separable in its season. 
 
 The action of the mind on the body. 
 
 1. Physicians ever consider accidentia animi as 
 of great moment to retard recovery. 
 
 2. The power of the imagination to help as 
 well as hurt, is a subject neglected : though 
 well worthy of enquiry. 
 
 It cannot le concluded that, because there 
 be pestilential airs, able suddenly to kill, 
 therefore there should be sovereign airs to 
 cure. 
 
 3. There should be an enquiry of the seats and 
 
 u 2 domiciles 
 
292 
 
 domiciles which the several faculties of the 
 mind do occupy in the body, and the organs 
 thereof. 
 
 Of the Divided Nature of Man ; or his Parts 
 
 considered Separately. 
 
 This subject is divided into 1st, Knowledge 
 of the body, and 2dly, Knowledge of the mind. 
 
 THE BODY. 
 
 The knowledge relating to man's body is 
 divided into 1st, health j 2dly, beauty ; 3~ly, 
 strength j 4thly, pleasure. 
 
 Health. 
 
 1 . Medicine is a noble art. 
 
 2. Man's body is of all things most capable of 
 remedy, but that remedy most capable of 
 error. 
 
 3. Medicine is, at present, conjectural ; but 
 an art most difficult and most exact. 
 
 4. No natural body is so variously compounded 
 as the body of man : but the soul is the sim- 
 plest of substances. 
 
 1 . The variety in the composition of man's 
 body, is the cause of its being frequently 
 distempered. 
 
 The office of tie physician is to tune 
 tie lyre of man s body, that the harmony 
 ma\ not be discordant. 
 
 The poets did ii-ell to join music and 
 medicine in Apollo. 
 
 2. The variety in the composition of man's 
 body has made the art of medicine more 
 conjectural : and so given scope to error 
 and imposture. 
 
 1. The 
 
293 
 
 1. The lawyer is judged ly the virtue 
 of Ids pleading; the master of a 
 ship ly the directing his course 
 crighl : tut the physician, and, 
 perhaps, the politician, is judged 
 ly the event. 
 
 2. The quack is often prized before 
 the regular physician. 
 
 3 . Physicians often prefer other pur- 
 suits to their own professions, be- 
 cause they rind that mediocrity and 
 excellency in their art makes no 
 difference as to their profit and re- 
 putation. 
 
 The vexations cf sickness, the 
 sweetness of life, the flattery of 
 hope, and (he commendation of 
 friends, make men to depend upon 
 physicians with all their defects. 
 5. All diseases may be subdued. 
 
 1. The subtlety of the understanding has 
 sovereignty over matter, or the form of 
 things. 
 
 2. Men use commonly to take a prospect 
 of nature, as from some high turret, 
 and to view her afar off: and are too 
 much taken up with generalities .- - 
 ifhereas if tJiey would vouchsafe to de- 
 scend and approach nearer to particu- 
 lars, and more exactly and conside- 
 rately look into things themselves, there 
 viig/it f-e made a more true and prnfita- 
 lle comprehension and discovery. 
 
 3. Et 
 
294 
 
 S. Et quoniam variant morbi, varialinms artes, 
 Mille mali species, mille salutis crunt. 
 
 6. Medicine has been more laboured than ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 7. Division of medicine, 1st, The preservation 
 of health ; 2dly, The cure of diseases ; 3dly, 
 The prolongation of life. 
 
 8. Some preliminary observations respecting 
 the prolongation of life. 
 
 The preservation of health. 
 
 1. There are many impertinent treatises on 
 this subject : particularly in attributing too 
 much to the quality of meats : and too little 
 to the quantity. 
 
 2. A variation of fasting and full eating is better 
 than mediocrity for health. 
 
 Mediocrities commonly enervate nature, 
 and make her slothful and impatient, if 
 need should be, of any extremity, excess or 
 indigence. 
 
 3. There is hardly any disposition to a disease 
 \vhich may not be cured by an appropriate 
 exercise. 
 
 Bowling is good against tie weakness of 
 the rims : shooting against the obstruction 
 of the lungs : walking and upright deport- 
 went of the body against the crudities of the 
 stomach. 
 
 The cure of diseases. 
 
 1 . This has been much laboured, but with small 
 profit. 
 
 2. It 
 
295 
 
 2. It comprehends the knowledge of diseases 
 to which man is subject : together with the 
 causes, symptoms, and cure. 
 
 3. Enumeration of some of the deficients as to 
 the cure of diseases. 
 
 First defect : a want of medical reports. 
 Second defect relates to anatomy. 
 
 1st. There has not been sufficient en- 
 quiry into the differences in the struc- 
 ture of different human bodies. 
 
 1 . Tbe difficulty of tbe investigation 
 is tbe caufe of this defect. 
 
 2. tt-^ben tbe mechanical part of tbe 
 frame is defective, it can only be 
 
 remedied by diet and regimen. 
 id, Tliere is a want of observation of 
 the humours and their nestling places : 
 and of the footsteps of diseases in 
 divers bodies. 
 
 3d, The anatomia wvorum may be made 
 with considerable accuracy upon ani- 
 mals. 
 
 Third defect : The want of a work on 
 diseases held incurable. 
 
 Physicians are too basly in judging 
 diseases to be incurable : so that tbe 
 proscriptions of SyUa and tbe triumvirs, 
 are nothing to tbe proscriptions of phy- 
 sicians : ivbo, by their most unjust 
 edicts, deliver over to many men to 
 death. 
 
 Fourth defect .- a neglect to mitigate the 
 pains of death, when hope is no more: 
 and thus to produce a sweet calm dyine;. 
 
 Fifth 
 
296 
 
 Fifth defect : a neglect of acknowledged 
 medicines. 
 
 \. An adherence to acknowledged 
 
 medicines is a reason why quack 
 
 ;.'-.^ y medicines are celebrated for their 
 
 cures. 
 
 2. A work of experimented me- 
 dicines for the cures of particular 
 diseases is wanting. 
 Sixth defect : artificial mineral baths and 
 
 fountains are wanting. 
 Seventh deject : The prescripts in use are 
 too compendious to effect any notable or 
 difficult cure : for it is order, pursuit, 
 sequence, artificial interchange, that 
 are potent and mighty in nature. 
 
 // ivere a strange speech inbicb 
 spoke?i, or spoken oft, should reclaim a 
 man from a 'Vice deeply rooted and in- 
 veterate. 
 
 Eighth defect : the want of a true and 
 active natural philosophy, upon which 
 the science of medicine should be built. 
 
 The prolongation of life. 
 
 1. This science is deficient: and is the most 
 noble of all the sciences relating to man*. 
 
 Although 
 
 * See a Treatise on the Art of Prolonging Life, by 
 Dr. Hufeland, public lecturer at Jena: published 
 a few years since: and which is, in many respects, 
 only an expansion of this tract. The following is 
 
 from his portrait of a man formed for long life. 
 
 " His sense? are good, but not too delicate : his pulse is 
 
 slow 
 
297 
 
 Aitbougb the ivorld to a Christian, tret' 
 veiling to the land of promise, be, as it 
 utre, a wilderness : yet that our shoes and 
 'vestments be less worn aivay tvbile ive so- 
 journ in tbis wilderness, is to be esteemed a 
 gift coming from divine goodness. 
 2. Division of Lord Bacon's observations re- 
 specting the prolongation of life into 1 st, Ad- 
 monitions; 2d, Indications; and 3dly, Pre- 
 cepts. 
 
 Admonitions. 
 
 1 . There is not any valuable treatise on this- 
 subject : but there is a small commentary by 
 Aristotle. 
 
 slow and regular. His stomach is excellent : his appe- 
 tite good, and his digestion easy. The joys of the 
 table are to him of importance (a): they tune his mind 
 to serenity: and his soul partakes in the pleasure, 
 which they communicate. He does not eat merely 
 for the sake of eating : but each meal is an hour of 
 daily festivity. He eats slowly, and has not too much 
 thirst. He is serene, loquacious, active, susceptible 
 of joy, love and hope, but insensible to the impres- 
 sions of the turbulent passions: his passions are never 
 too violent. His anger is rather an useful glow than 
 a fever (). He is fond of employment, particularly of 
 cairn meditation and agreeable speculations : he is a 
 friend to nature and domestic happiness : and has no 
 thirst after honours or riches." 
 
 (a) To be cheerfully disposed at hours of meals is a 
 secret of long lasting. BACON'S ESSAYS. 
 
 (Z-) Hooker's anger is said to have been like a vial of 
 clear water, which, when shook, beads at the top, 
 but instantly subsides, without any soil or sediment of 
 uncharitableness, 
 
 2. The 
 
298 
 
 2. The discourses of physicians on this subject 
 are, at least, nothing worth. 
 
 3. Men must cease to trifle, by thinking they 
 can retard and turn back nature by some pre- 
 cious receipt. 
 
 1. The prolongation of life is a great 
 work, and consists in many kinds of 
 receipts, and of an orderly course and 
 connexion of them. 
 
 2. What never yet was done cannot be 
 now effected, but by means yet never 
 attempted. 
 
 4. It must be carefully observed, that receipts 
 conducing to the prolongation of life maybe 
 injurious to health : and that receipts benefi* 
 cial to health may abridge life. 
 
 Indications. 
 
 1 . Things are preserved two ways, either in 
 their own identity as a fly in omler : or by 
 reparation, either of the whole as in flame: 
 or of a part as In mechanics. 
 
 2. The prolongation of life depends upon 
 I st, The retardation of consumption ; and 
 2dly, The reparation which is either of the 
 v. hole j or the renovation of the parts de- 
 cayed. 
 
 The retardation of consumption. 
 
 3. Consumption is caused, 1st, By depreda- 
 tion of innate spirit ; 2dly, By depredation 
 of ambient air. 
 
 4. Consumption is retarded, 1st, By making 
 the agents less predatory ; 2dly, By making 
 the patients less depredable. 
 
 5. The 
 
299 
 
 5. The spirit is made less predatory, 1st, By 
 condensing it in substance ; 2dly, By dimi- 
 nishing it in quantity ; 3dly, By sweetening 
 and refreshing it with calm delight. 
 
 6. Ambient air is made less predatory, 1st, 
 When it is less heated with the beams of the 
 sun ; or, 2dly, When it is repelled from 
 the body. 
 
 7- The juices of the body are made less depre- 
 ciable, 1st, By being made more indurate ; 
 2dly, By being made more dewy. 
 
 Reparation. 
 
 8. Reparation of the whole frame is effected 
 by aliments : 1 st. By the concoction of the 
 
 inward parts ; 2dly, By excitation of the 
 outward parts ; odly, By preparation of the 
 aliment itself; 4thly, By comforting the 
 last act of assimilation. 
 
 9. The renovation of decayed parts, 1st, By 
 inteneration of the habit of the body; 2dly, 
 By expurgation of the old moisture, and 
 substitution of new moisture. 
 
 Precepts. 
 
 1st. The prolongation of life must be ex- 
 pected from a prescript set diet, rather 
 than from any familiar regimen of food, 
 or the excellency of particular receipts. 
 
 2d. The prolongation of life must be expected 
 rather from working upon the spirits, 
 and from the malacissation or inteneratiou 
 of parts, than from any kinds of aliment 
 or order of diet. 
 
 3d. The malacissation or inteneration of parts 
 
 by 
 
soo 
 
 by outward topics, must be performed, 
 by applications consubstantial, penetrat- 
 ing, and stringent. 
 
 It is not the intention of malacissa- 
 tion by outward topics to nourish parts : 
 but only to render them more capable 
 of nourishment. 
 
 Beauty. 
 
 J . Cleanliness, and the civil beauty of the body 
 was ever esteemed to proceed from a mo- 
 desty of behaviour, and a due reverence in the 
 first place towards God, whose creatures we 
 are : then towards society, wherein we live. : 
 then towards ourselves, whom we ought no 
 less, nay much more to revere, than we do 
 others. 
 
 2. Adulterate decoration by painting and ce- 
 rtitse, is well worthy of the imperfections 
 which attend it ; being neither fine enough 
 to deceive, nor handsome to please, nor 
 wholsome to use. 
 
 IVe read o/" Jesalel that she fainted her 
 Jacc : but there is no sucto report of Eslber 
 ur Judith. 
 
 Strength. 
 
 o 
 
 1 . The science of athletics relates to any point 
 of ability to which the body may be 
 brought : whether, 1st, of activity, or, 2dly, 
 of patience. 
 
 '2. The parts of activity are strength and swift- 
 ness. 
 
 3. Patience relates to hardness against wants, 
 and to the inclurance of pain. 
 
 3 4. All 
 
SOI 
 
 4. All acts of strength are referred to this 
 place. 
 
 5. The philosophy of athletics is not much in- 
 vestigated. 
 
 6. The mediocrity of athletics is for use : the 
 excess for ostentation. 
 
 Pleasure* 
 
 1. The arts of pleasure are either lil eral, which 
 refer to the eye and to the ear : or sensual, 
 which refer to the other senses. 
 3. Sensual pleasures need rather a censor to 
 repress them than a doctor to instruct 
 tli em. 
 
 // las been observed that, wben states 
 "have been in their growth, arts military 
 have flourished : <wben they bave been set" 
 tied and at tbe beigbt, arts liberal : and 
 luben they bave been declining^ arts 'volup- 
 tuary. 
 
 3 . Jocular practices are coupled with arts vo- 
 luptuary. 
 
 THE MIND. 
 
 This subject is divisible into two parts : 
 1st, As to the origin of the mind ; 2dly, As to 
 the faculties of the mind. 
 
 The origin of the mind. 
 
 The mind is either, 1st, Rational, peculiar 
 to man ; or, 2dly, Irrational, common to man 
 with beasts. 
 
 The rational mind. 
 
 I. It is that preccileace of the soul of man 
 
 above 
 
302 
 
 above the soul of beasts : and inspired by the 
 breath of God. 
 
 2. The enquiries respecting it. 
 
 3. This subject may be more diligently en- 
 quired in philosophy than it has been : but 
 is referable to divinity. 
 
 The irrational mind. 
 
 1 . It is that part of the mind which is common 
 to man with beasts. 
 
 2. The knowledge of this part of the mind is 
 deficient. 
 
 This mind has the softness of air to re- 
 ceive impression, with the vigour of fire 
 to embrace action. 
 
 3. The irrational mind is an organ to the in- 
 spired substance or rational mind. 
 
 The faculties of the mind. 
 
 This subject is divisible into, 1st, An enu- 
 meration of the faculties ; 2dly, The vise and 
 object of the faculties. 
 
 Enumeration of the faculties of the mind. 
 
 1. They are understanding : reason: imagina- 
 tion: memory: appetite: will. 
 
 2. The physical origin of the faculties ought to 
 be investigated. 
 
 3. Appendices to this subject are, 1st, Divi- 
 nation, which is either artificial or natural ; 
 and, 2dly, Fascination, both of which have 
 been but slightly investigated. 
 
 Artificial divination. 
 
 4. Artificial divination is a prediction by argu- 
 
 ment, 
 
303 
 
 ment, concluding by signs and tokens : as 
 the astronomer predicts eclipses. 
 
 5. Artificial divination is either, 1st, Rational, 
 when the argument is coupled with a deri- 
 vation of causes ; 2dly, Superstitious, when 
 there is a mere casual coincidence of the 
 event and prediction, as the flights of birds, 
 &c. 
 
 6. Artificial divination is not proper to this 
 place ; but should be referred to the respec- 
 tive sciences in which the prediction is 
 made. 
 
 Natural divination. 
 
 7. It is a prediction from the internal nature 
 of the soul. 
 
 8. Natural divination is either, 1st, Native; 
 or, 2dly, By influxion. 
 
 9. Native divination is grounded on the suppo- 
 sition that the mind, when withdrawn and 
 collected into itself, and not diffused into 
 the organs of the body, hath, from the na- 
 tural power of its own essence, some pre- 
 notion of tilings future as in sleep : ecsta- 
 sies : and propinquity of death, &c. 
 
 10. Native divination is furthered by those ab- 
 stinencies which make the mind retire into 
 itself. 
 
 1 1 . Divination by influxion * is grounded on 
 the supposition that the mind, as a mirror, 
 
 * Query, Whether divination by influxion is not 
 descriptive of the feeling which influences the bene- 
 volent and orderly class of society called Quakers 
 
 takes 
 
304 
 
 takes a secondary kind of illumination from 
 the foreknowledge of God and spirits. 
 
 12. Divination by tnfluxion is also furthered by 
 abstinencies. 
 
 13. Native divination is accompanied with re- 
 pose and quiet : but divination by influxion 
 is moved with a kind of fervency and impa- 
 tience, as it were, of the Deity. 
 
 Fascination. 
 
 14. Fascination is the po\ver and intensive act 
 of the imagination upon the body of an- 
 other. 
 
 15. The opinions of the schools of Paracelsus, 
 and the disciples of pretended natural ma- 
 gic. 
 
 16. The fortifying the imagination is incident 
 to this subject 
 
 17- Attempts to fortify the imagination by ce- 
 remonies are injurious. 
 
 Of voluntary motion. 
 
 18. Enquiries respecting voluntary motion refer 
 
 specially to the inferior soul. 
 lp. Enquiries respecting voluntary motion 
 
 have in general been superficial. 
 
 20. There has not been any enquiry how com- 
 pressions., and dilatations, and agitations of 
 the spirit (which is the spring of motion) 
 move the body. 
 
 Of sense and sensibility. 
 
 2 1 . Enquiries on this head refer to the inferior 
 soul. 
 
 22. This subject has in general been laboured. 
 
 23. Deii- 
 
305 
 
 23. Deficients in this knowledge are, 1st, In 
 not distinguishing between perception and 
 sense ; 2d, In the form of light. 
 
 Of perception and sense. 
 
 24. Perception, or a kind of election in natu- 
 ral bodies to embrace that which is allied to 
 it, and to fly that which is adverse to it j is 
 diffused through the whole of nature. 
 
 The body of a living creature assimilates 
 that -which is good for it, eximetb what is 
 unprofitable. 
 
 25. Defects attending this subject. 
 
 ] st. It is for the most part unhandled. 
 2d. Those who have enquired on this sub- 
 ject have attributed sense to all bodies. 
 
 IVitb them it is a piacular crime to 
 pull off a bough from a tree, lest it should 
 groan and complain as Polydvre d'd. 
 
 26. There should be an enquiry of the differ- 
 ence between sense and perception : by com- 
 paring sensibles with insensibles : and by an 
 examination why many actions of animate 
 bodies are performed without sense. 
 
 27. From the ignorance on this subject, the 
 antient philosophers held that a soul was in- 
 fused into all bodies. 
 
 The form of light. 
 
 28. There have been some enquiries respect- 
 ing the radiations of light : scarcely any re- 
 specting its original. 
 
 x 2$. The 
 
306 
 
 2p. The cause of having neglected to make 
 enquiries is the too early departure from 
 physics, . by having placed perspectives 
 amongst the mathematics. 
 
 30. The treating of light and its causes in phy- 
 sics is commonly superstitious and unphilo- 
 sophical. 
 
 31. Enquiries ought to be made : 
 
 1st. Of things common to all lucid bo- 
 dies : as the sun ; rotten wood ; the 
 putrid scales of fish, &rc. ; certain flies j 
 the eyes of certain living creatures in 
 the dark. 
 
 2d. Why some things take fire : and once 
 thoroughly heated cast forth a light 
 (as metals), others not (as water). 
 
 He who thinks that 'water is an 
 enemy to light, sure was never rowed 
 with oars in a dark night, upon salt 
 waters, and in a hot season : where be 
 might have seen small drops of water, 
 rebounding from the clashing of the 
 cais, to sparkle and cast forth a light. 
 3d. "Why many creatures see in the night. 
 It must needs be that there is a na- 
 tive and inbred light in air, although 
 very feeble and 'weak : yet proportioned 
 to the optics of such creatures. 
 
307 
 
 The use and ol-jccts of the faculties of the 
 mind* 
 
 1 . The knowledge respecting the understar d- 
 ing, and the knowledge respecting the will, 
 are, as it were, twin by birth. 
 
 There is not in ike universal nature of 
 things so intimate a sympathy, as that of 
 truth and goodness. 
 
 Quo inagis rulori fuerit viris doctis, 
 si scientia sint tanquam angeli alati, cu- 
 piditatilus vero tanquam serpentes, qui 
 humi replant : circumgerentes animus, 
 instar speculi sane, sed menstruati. 
 
 2. The understanding produces decrees: the 
 will, actions. 
 
 Sense presents ideas to the imagination : 
 reason judges them : and imagination acts 
 with those which are approved. 
 
 Imagination ever precedes voluntary 
 motion. 
 
 This Janus of imagination is lifront- 
 ed: the face towards reason hath the 
 print of truth : the face towards action 
 hath the print of goodness. 
 
 The mind hath over the body that com- 
 mand which the lord hath over a lond- 
 inan : lut the reason hath over the ima- 
 gination that command which a magis- 
 trate hath over a free citizen, who may 
 also rule in his turn. 
 
 3. Division of the subject. 1. Of the under- 
 standing. 2. Of the will. 
 
 x 2 OF 
 
OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 1. Knowledge respecting the understanding is 
 to most wits the least delightful : and seems 
 but a net of subtlety and spinosity : but it is 
 the key of all other arts. 
 
 Knowledge is pabulum animi: and the 
 nature of men's appetites is as the Israelites' 
 in the desart, who ivcre iveary of manna, 
 and ivould fain have turned ad olios car- 
 nium. 
 
 2. The different intellectual arts are, 1st, In- 
 vention ; 2dly, Judgment ; 3dly, Memory ; 
 4thly, Tradition. 
 
 INVENTION. 
 
 1. Invention is either, 1st, Of arts and sci- 
 ences ; 2dly, Of arguments and speeches. 
 
 INVENTION OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 
 
 1. The art of inventing arts and sciences is 
 wholly deficient. 
 
 This is much such a deficience, as if in 
 making an inventory of the estate of a 
 defunct, it should be set down, of ready 
 money nothing: for as money will fetch 
 all other commodities, so all other arts 
 are purchased by this art. 
 
 2 . Proofs that the art of inventing arts and sci- 
 ences is deficient. 
 
 1st. Neither logicians, nor physicians, 
 nor philosophers, pretend to invent : 
 neither is our form of invention much 
 other than that which brute beasts are 
 capable of : which is a most intentive 
 
 solicitude 
 
309 
 
 solicitude about some one thing, and a 
 perpetual practice thereof: which the 
 necessity of their conservation imposes 
 upon such creatures. 
 
 We are more beholden to a wild 
 goat for surgery : to a nightingale for 
 modulations of music : to tie Ibis for 
 some part of physic : to a pot-lid that 
 Jlf^jj open for artillery : in a word, to 
 dance rather than to logic. 
 
 It is no marvel that the ^Egyptians 
 bad their temples full of the idols of 
 brutes : but almost empty of the idols 
 of men. 
 
 2d. The deficience of the art of inventing 
 arts and sciences is demonstrated by the 
 form of induction- which logic pro- 
 pounds : for the inferring a general po- 
 sition from a nude enumeration of par- 
 ticulars, without an instance contradic- 
 tory, is vicious r nor doth such an 
 induction infer more than a probable 
 conjecture that there is no repugnant 
 particular undiscovered. 
 
 As if Samuel should have rested in 
 those sons of Isbay which were brought 
 before him in the house : and should 
 not have sought David ivbc ivas absent 
 in tbejield. 
 
 3d. If it be granted that the principles of 
 sciences may be rightly inferred from 
 the inductions in use, yet inferior axi- 
 oms cannot safely be deduced from 
 them, by syllogism, in things of nature 
 
 which 
 
310 
 
 which participate of matter : because 
 the subtlety of the operations of nature 
 is far greater than the subtlety of 
 words. 
 
 Many philosophers have held that 
 the knowledge of man extends only 
 to probabilities : frogi doubting the 
 reports of the senses, rather thaa 
 the weakness of the understanding. 
 3. Division of the art of invention of arts and 
 sciences. 1st, From experiments to expe- 
 riments, or Literate Experience ; 2dly, From 
 experiments to axioms, or from axioms to 
 experiments ; that is, Interpretation of Na- 
 ture, or Novum Organum. 
 
 LITERATE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 1. This is not properly an art, but a kind of 
 sap.acity. 
 
 2. This, hunting of Pan, shews the diverse 
 ways of making experiments. 
 
 3. The different modes of making experiments 
 are chierly, 1st, Variation; 2d, Produc- 
 tion; 3d, Translation; 4th, Inversion; 
 5th, Compulsion; 6th, Application; 7th, 
 Copulation ; and, 8th, Chances. 
 
 Variation of an experiment. 
 
 \ . By varying the matter upon which the ex- 
 periment is made. 
 
 T/if making paper is ojily tried in linen, 
 and not in woollen : incision in fruit trees 
 is practised ?arely imi'ild trees: though 
 it is affirmed that an elm grafted upon 
 
311 
 
 tin elm, will produce wonderful shades of 
 leaves. 
 
 The variation in the part of a thing 
 is classed here. 
 
 A slip thrives more when grafted than 
 vuhen planted : may not the seed of an 
 onion inserted into the head of another 
 onion while it is green, thrive more than 
 when sown ? 
 
 2. By varying the efficient of the experiment. 
 
 The sun's rays collected in a turning glass 
 will burn matter: may any degree of 
 warmth le so collected from the moon's 
 rays ? Amber and jet, if rubbed, will at- 
 tract straw; will they have the same effect 
 if warmed at thejire? 
 
 3. By varying the quantity of the experiment. 
 
 One dram of sulphur mingled with half 
 a pound of steel will make it fluid : will an 
 ounce of sulphur dissolve four pounds of 
 steel ? 
 
 Care must be taken not to calculate upon 
 the increase or continuance of the experiment 
 by increasing the bulks : for by quantity the 
 obstinacy of the matter in the patient is more 
 increased, than the activity of the virtue in the 
 agent. 
 
 JEsop's huswife thought that, by doubling 
 her measure of barley, her hen would daily 
 lay her two eggs: her hen grew fat and laid 
 none. 
 
 su ijj'to ^wrfmsj \i 
 
 Production 
 
312 
 
 Production by experiment. 
 1st, By repetition. 
 
 Spirit of wine is made of wine once di- 
 stilled: will a distillation of the spirit of wine 
 increase its strength ? 
 
 Experiment by repetition must be made 
 with caution : for, after a certain progres- 
 sion, nature relapses. 
 2dly, By extension. 
 
 The versor of a mariner s needle applies it- 
 self to tbe pole : does it effect ibis in tie same 
 manner, and upon tbe sjme consequence, by 
 wbicb ccelestial bodies move : tbat is, if tbe 
 needle be placed on tbe south point, will it re- 
 gain its position by moving by tbe west ratber 
 tbaji by tbe east ? 
 
 Translation of an experiment. 
 
 1 . By translation from nature into art. 
 
 Tbe manner of distilling migbt be taken 
 from showers or dew : or from drops adhering 
 to tbe covers of pots of boiling water. 
 
 Men should observe all the workman- 
 ship and the particular workings of nature, 
 and meditate which of these may be trans- 
 ferred to arts. 
 
 2. By translation from one art into a different 
 art. 
 
 Spectacles are invented to belp a weak 
 slgbt : might not an instrument be contrived 
 mbicb, if fastened to tbe ear, would belp tbe 
 deaf? 
 
 Nothing can so much conduce to the 
 drawing down, as it were, from heaven, 
 
 a whole 
 
a whole shower of new and profitable 
 inventions, as this : that the experi- 
 ments of many mechanic arts may 
 come to the knowledge of one man, or 
 some few, who, by mutual conference, 
 :nay whet and sharpen one another : 
 tl-.at so, by tin's, arts may nourish, and, 
 by a communication of rays, inflame 
 one another. 
 
 3. By translation from one art into a different 
 part of the same art. 
 
 If opiates repress the spirits in diseases, 
 
 may they not retard the consumption of tte 
 
 spirits so as to prolong life ? 
 
 Inversion of an experiment. 
 
 It is trying the contrary to that which is ma- 
 nifested by an experiment. 
 
 Take a small bar of iron, and beat it on 
 one end: then set it upiigbt, placing the heated 
 end downwards, and your band on tie other 
 tnd : it will presently burn your band: in- 
 vert the bar, placing the hot end uppermost and 
 your hand upon the part which is downward : 
 you will not fal the heat so soon by many 
 fulses : now if the bar were heated all over, 
 and one end chilled, would the cold sooner 
 fierce downward than upward ? 
 
 Compulsion of an experiment. 
 
 1 . Tt Is the urging an experiment till its virtue 
 is annihilated. 
 
 Burn or macerate a loadstone : or dissolve 
 iron till the attraction between the iron and 
 Jaadstone is gone. 
 
 2. Com- 
 
314 
 
 2. Compulsion of experiments commonly falls 
 not within the limits of Literate Experience, 
 but is referred to the Novnm Organum. 
 
 Application of an experiment. 
 
 It is the translation of an experiment into 
 some other profitable experiment. 
 
 Flesh putrefies sooner in some cellars tban in 
 others ; may not this assist in finding good or 
 bad airs for habitations ? 
 
 Let men awake and perpetually Jix their 
 eyes, one while on the nature of things : another 
 on the application of them to the use and service 
 of mankind. 
 
 Copulation of Experiments. 
 
 1. It is trying the efficacy of united experi- 
 ments, which, when separate, produce the 
 same effect. 
 
 // you desire to have late roses or fruit, 
 pull off the more early luds when they are 
 newly kno'ted : the same is done, if you lay 
 the roots bare until the spring be well come 
 on, and expose them to the open air : join 
 both these practices of putting back germi- 
 nation. 
 
 2. In the copulation of experiments a fallacy 
 may be hid, if the copulation be made of 
 things which work after a different, and,, as 
 it were, a repugnant manner. 
 
 Chances of an experiment. 
 
 1 . It is the trj ing a conclusion, not for that any 
 
 reason, or other experiment, induceth you to 
 
 I it, 
 
315 
 
 it, but only because the like was never at- 
 tempted before. 
 
 2. This is an irrational, and, as it were, a pas- 
 sionate manner of experimenting ; but yet 
 may be the mode of making very useful dis- 
 coveries. 
 
 7 be 'wonders of nature lie out of tie bigb 
 road, and beaten paths : so as ibe 'very ab- 
 surdity of an attempt may sometimes be pro- 
 sperous. 
 
 3 . If reason attend this practice : that is, that it 
 is evident that such an experiment was never 
 yet tried, and yet there is great reason why 
 it should be attempted ; then it is a choice 
 experiment, and searcheth the very bosom 
 of nature. 
 
 4. Let no man be discouraged if the experi- 
 ments which he puts in practice answer not 
 his expectation. 
 
 What succeeds pleaseth more, but what 
 succeeds not, many times informs no less. 
 
 Experiments of light and discovery ought 
 for a time to le much more enquired after 
 than experiments of use and practice. 
 
 NOVUM OKGANUM. 
 
 1. It is the art of interpreting nature by invent- 
 ing from experiments to axioms, or from 
 axioms to experiments. 
 
 2. It is a matter of the highest importance, 
 and is the subject of a separate work. 
 
 INVENTION OF ARGUMENTS. 
 
 1. It is the art of readily producing, out of the 
 knowledge stored in the mind, that which 
 is pertinent to the matter propounded. 
 
 2. It 
 
316 
 
 2. It is more proper!} 7 a reduction into memory, 
 or suggestion with application, than inven- 
 tion. 
 
 We account it a chace as well of deer in 
 an inclosed park, as in a forest at large. 
 
 3. The modes of procuring the ready provision 
 for discourse are, 1st, Preparation - } 2dly, 
 Suggestion. 
 
 Preparation. 
 
 4. It is the framing and. storing up arguments 
 on such tilings as are frequently discussed. 
 
 5. It scarcely deserves to be called knowledge : 
 as it consists rather of diligence, than of ar- 
 tificial erudition. 
 
 Aristotle said, " The Sophists did as if 
 one that professed the art of shoe-making 
 should not teach how to make a shoe : but 
 only exhilit in readiness a numler of shoes, 
 of all fashions and sizes. Yet a man might 
 reply, that if a shoe-maker should have 
 no shoes in his shop, l:ut only work as he 
 is bespoken, he would have iut few cus- 
 tomers. 
 
 Our Saviour, speaking of divine knmv- 
 ledge, says, Every scribe, instructed for 
 the kingdom of heaven, is like a good 
 house-holder that Irings forth loth new and 
 old store. 
 
 Aristotle's advice is, to change a ward' 
 role for a pair of shears. 
 
 6. This subject is more fully Investigated under 
 the head oi rhetoric. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 
217 
 
 Suggestion. 
 
 7. It directs the mind to certain marks, as a 
 means of exciting it to produce knowledge. 
 
 8. Suggestions are either, 1st, General ; or, 
 2dly, Particular. 
 
 General suggestion, 
 
 Q. This is copiously handled in logic. 
 
 10. Its uses are to furnish arguments to dispute 
 probably : to minister to our judgments : to 
 conclude right : and to direct our enqui- 
 ries. 
 
 A faculty of wise interrogating is half of 
 knowledge; for whosoever seeketli, knoweth 
 that u'hich he seekethfar in general no- 
 tion. 
 
 Particular suggestion. 
 
 11. It is the mode of enquiry appropriate to 
 particular subjects and sciences. 
 
 f2. Solid and true arts of invention shoot up 
 and come to maturity with the inventions 
 themselves. 
 
 In going upon a plain, after u'e have 
 gone a part of the way, we have not only 
 gained this, that we have now passed a 
 part of our journey ; but we gain a letter 
 sight of that part ivhich remains. 
 
 13. This subject is deficient ; and is exempli- 
 fied in a particular topic, De gravi et levi. 
 
 1 4. Bacon intends to make a work of particu- 
 lar topics upon some subjects in nature, 
 which are more observable and more ob- 
 scure. 
 
 JUDGMENT. 
 
SIS 
 
 JUDGMENT. 
 
 1. It relates to the nature of proofs and demon- 
 strations. 
 
 2. Preliminary considerations as to the different 
 modes of drawing conclusions, which are, 
 1st, By legitimate induction, which is re- 
 ferred to the Novum Organum ; 2dly, By 
 syllogism. 
 
 OF SYLLOGISM. 
 
 3. Syllogisms are agreeable to the mind, and 
 have been much laboured. 
 
 The mind of man doth wonderfully en- 
 deavour and extremely covet that it may 
 not le pensile: lut that it may light 
 upon something fixed and immoveable : on 
 which, as on a firmament, it may support 
 itself in its swift motions and disquisi- 
 tion's. 
 
 Aristotle endeavours to prove that, in all 
 motions of bodies, there is some point quies- 
 cent : and very elegantly expounds the fable 
 of Atlas, who stood fixed and bare up the 
 heavens from falling, to be meant of the 
 poles of the. world, whereupon the conver- 
 sion is accomplished : In like manner, men 
 do earnestly seek to have some atlas or axis 
 of their cogitations -within themselves, which 
 may, in some measure, moderate the fluctu- 
 ations and wheelings of the understand- 
 ing; -fearing, it may le, the falling of 
 their heaven. 
 
 Men have hastened too fast to set down 
 
 principles of sciences, about which all the 
 
 variety of disputations might turn without 
 
 6 peril : 
 
319 
 
 peril : not knowing that he, who too 
 early fixes on certainties, will conclude in 
 ambiguities : and he that seasonally sus- 
 pends his judgment, shall attain to cer- 
 tainty. 
 
 4. The art of judging by syllogism is the re- 
 duction of propositions to principles by mid- 
 dle terms. 
 
 5. Syllogisms are direct, or ex alsurdo. 
 
 (5. Division of the art of judgment: 1st, The 
 analytic art ; 2dly> The doctrine of elenchs. 
 
 The Analytic Art. 
 
 7. It is for direction. 
 
 8. It sets down the true forms of arguments : 
 from which any variation leads to error. 
 
 Q. There is not any deficience in the analytic 
 art. 
 
 The Doctrine of Elenchs. 
 
 10. The doctrine of elenchs is for caution to 
 detect fallacies which might ensnare the 
 judgment. 
 
 11. Elenchs are, 1st, Of sophisms; 2dly, Of 
 interpretation ; 3dly, Of idols. 
 
 Elenchs of sophisms. 
 
 12. Elenchs of sophisms are to detect the more 
 subtle sort of sophisms. 
 
 The mere gross sorts of fallacies are as 
 the feats of jugglers; which, although we 
 know not how they art done, yet we know 
 ircll it M not as it seems to le. 
 
 13. This subject is not deficient. 
 
 14. The 
 
S2O 
 
 14. The virtuous use of this knowledge is to 
 redargue sophisms : the vicious use is to im- 
 pose captions and contradictions. 
 
 An orator is as the grey bound, tvbo has bis 
 advantage in tbe race : the sophist is as tbt 
 tare, <ud>o has bis advantage in tbe turn. 
 
 Elenchs of interpretation. 
 
 JS. Elenchs of interpretation are the logical 
 investigation of transcendent and adventi- 
 tious conditions of entity. 
 16. This is a sound and material part of know- 
 ledge. 
 
 Common and general notions bave this na- 
 ture, that) in all disputes, tbty every vjbere 
 intervene, so as if they are not, by careful 
 judgment, at Jirst accurately distinguished, 
 tbey may overcloud tbe ivbo/e ligbt of dis- 
 putes, and end tbem in a skirmisb of 'words. 
 
 The erroneous acceptation of words is 
 the sophism of sophisms. 
 VJ . The right use of this knowledge is redar- 
 guition and caution about the acceptation of 
 words. 
 
 38. That part of predicaments touching cau- 
 tions of not confounding and transposing the 
 terms of definitions and divisions, if it were 
 rightly instituted, would be of great use, 
 and might be referred to this place. 
 
 Elenchs of idols. 
 
 3 p. Idols are predispositions to particular opi- 
 nions : and are the profoundest fallacies of 
 the mind of man. 
 
 The 
 
321 
 
 The mind of man, drawn over and clouded 
 tuitb the sable pavilion of the body, is so far 
 from being like a smooth, equal, and char 
 glass, ivhub might sincerely take and reflect 
 the beams of things according to their true 
 incidence, that it is rather like an enchanted 
 glass, full of superstitions, apparitions, and 
 impostures. 
 
 20. Idols are, 1st, From the nature of man in 
 general; 2dly, From the particular nature 
 or situation of individuals ; 3dly, From 
 words; 4th!y, From depraved theories and 
 perverse laws of demonstration. 
 
 21. The three first sorts of idols besiege the 
 mind, and can never be quite extirpated ; but 
 may be avoided by caution. 
 
 Idols from the general nature of man. 
 
 22. The nature of the mind is more affected 
 with affirmatives and actives, than with ne- 
 gatives and privatives. 
 
 The mind of man, if a thing bave been 
 once existent and held good, receives a deeper 
 impression thereof than if the same thing 
 far more often failed and fell out otherwise : 
 lubicb is tbi root, as it were, of all super- 
 stition and vain credulity. 
 
 He answered well to bim that shevatd, 
 blm the great number of pictures of sucb 
 as bad escaped shipwreck, and bad paid 
 their vows : and, being pressed tiitb this 
 interrogative, Wbetbcr be did not now 
 confess the divinity of Neptune? ah- 
 y swered, 
 
322 
 
 szucred, But where arc they painted that 
 are drowned ? 
 
 There is the same reason of all such 
 like superstitions as in astrology, dreams, 
 divinations, &c. 
 
 23. The mind of man presupposes a greater 
 equality and uniformity in nature than in 
 truth there is. 
 
 The mathematicians suppose that, in the 
 heavenly bodies, all is moved hy perfect cir- 
 cles, rejecting spirals. 
 
 In nature there are many things, as it 
 luere, monodica and full of imparity : yet the 
 conceits of men still feign a~:d frame unto 
 themselves relatives, parallels, and con- 
 jugates. 
 
 24. The mind is apt to suppose that man is, as 
 it were, the common measure and mirror or 
 glass of nature : that is, that nature doth the 
 same things that man doth. 
 
 It is -not credible vubit a troop of fictions 
 en ! idols the reduction of the operations of 
 nature to the similitude of human actions 
 bath brought into philosophy. 
 
 J'elleius the Epicurean needed not to have 
 asked ivby God should have adorned the 
 heavens vjiih stars and lights, as if be had 
 been an adite : one that should have set 
 forth some magnificent sbcwes or plays : for 
 if that great workman bad conformed bim- 
 sflf to the imitation of an tedile, he would 
 have ca*t the stars into some pleasant and 
 beautiful \Lwkf, and orders, like the curi- 
 
323 
 
 tur roofs of palaces whereas one can scarce 
 jind, in such an infinite number of stars, a 
 posture in ssu.irt, triangle, or rigbt line. 
 So different a harmony there is between tbe 
 spirit of man, and the spirit of the world. 
 
 Idols from the particular nature or situation of 
 individuals. 
 
 25. They are idols derived from the particular 
 complexion of every individual in respect 
 of mind and of body : as also from edu- 
 cation, custom, and fortuitous events. 
 
 // is an excellent emblem that of Plato's 
 cave : for certainly if a man were continued 
 from bis childhood unto mature age in a grot, 
 or a dark and subterraneous cave, and then 
 sbou'd come suddenly abroad, and sbouLl 
 behold this stately cancpy of heaven, and the 
 furniture of tbe .world : without doubt lie 
 would have many strange and absurd ima- 
 ginaiions come into bis mind, and people bis 
 brain. So in like manner we live in tbe 
 view of heaven, yet our spirits are inclosed 
 in tbe caves of our bodies, complexions and 
 customs, which must needs minister unto us 
 infinite images of errors, and va;n opinions, 
 if they do seldom, and for so short a space, 
 appear above ground, out of their boles, 
 end do not continually live under tbe con- 
 iempiation of nature, in tbe open air. 
 
 Men seek truth in their oujn little world, 
 find not in tbe great and common woild. 
 
 T 2 Idols 
 
324 
 
 Idols from ivords. 
 
 2(3. They are idols which, out of a tacit stipu- 
 lation amongst men, touching the imposition 
 of words and names, have insinuated them- 
 selves into the understanding. 
 
 Words commonly are imposed according 
 to the capacity of the people, and distinguish 
 things by such differences as the vulgar 
 are capab'e of: and, ivben a more precise 
 conception and a more diligent observation 
 would discern and separate things better, 
 the noise of jcpu/ar ivcrds confounds and in* 
 tcrrupti them. 
 
 2/. Definitions consist of words, and are not 
 a sufficient remedy for this disease. 
 
 28. These idols are most troublesome. 
 
 The knowledge of the three first spe- 
 cies of idols is a primary knowledge. 
 
 1 . These idols can never be quite re- 
 moved. 
 
 2. The knowledge of idols cannot be 
 reduced into an art : but serves 
 only as a caution. 
 
 3. This knowledge is defective. 
 
 4. It is referred to the Xovum Or- 
 ganum. 
 
 29. The doctrine of idols native and adventi- 
 tious is defective, and is referred to the No- 
 vum Organum, 
 
 Appendix to the art of judging. 
 
 L'.O. The applications of the different kinds of 
 demonstrations to different subjects. 
 
 We 
 
325 
 
 We do iiot require demonstrations from 
 era tors, or persuasions from mathematicians. 
 
 3 1 . This science is deficient. 
 
 32. The different kinds of proof are, 1st, Ey 
 immediate consent ; 2dly, By induction ; 
 3dly, By syllogism ; 4thly, By demonstra- 
 tion in circle. 
 
 A rigor and curiosity in requiring too se- 
 vere proofs in some things, much more a fa- 
 cility and remission in resting satisfied in 
 slighter proof 1 ;, are to le numbered amongst 
 those prejudices which have been the 
 greatest causes of detriment and impedi- 
 ment to science. 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 1. This subject is divided, 1st, Into the know- 
 ledge of the helps of memory ; and, 2dly, 
 The knowledge of memory itself. 
 
 The knowledge of the helps of memory. 
 
 2. Without the assistance of writing,- memoiy 
 would be too weak for intricate subjects. 
 
 3. A good Digest of common places is an ex- 
 cellent aid to memory : but the mode of 
 common placing is defective. 
 
 The knowledge of memoi-y itself. 
 
 4. This has been but weakly enquired. 
 
 5. Precepts for memory have been exalted for 
 ostentation ; but not for use. 
 
 The mere repetition of a great miml-er 
 rf words, and such tike artifices, are as 
 the tricks of tumllcrs, litjfoons, and jug- 
 glers. 
 
 6. Appendices 
 
326 
 
 6. Appendices on the foundations of the art of 
 memory ; which are, 1st, Prenotion ; 2dly, 
 Emblem. 
 
 7. Prenotion is a limitation of an indefinite 
 seeking of what \ve \vonld remember, by 
 directing us to seek it in a narrow coin- 
 pass. 
 
 8. Emblem is the reduction of intellectual 
 conceptions to sensible images. 
 
 You ivill more tasily remember tbe image 
 of a huntsman pursuing tbe bare : or an 
 apo'becary setting in order bis boxes : or a 
 fedant making a speech :- or a boy reciting 
 verses by beart : or a jester acting upon a 
 stage : than tbe notions of invention, dis- 
 position, elocution, memory, and action. 
 
 TRADITION. 
 
 1. This work on the advancement of learning 
 is as a heap of small dust ; as grains of arts 
 and sciences to which ants may creep and 
 repose themselves ; and so betake them- 
 selves to new studies, and reap a new har- 
 vest. 
 
 2. Tradition is the art of communicating our 
 knowledge. 
 
 3. Division of the subject: 1st, Concerning 
 the organ of speech ; 2dly, Concerning the 
 method of speech : 3dly, Concerning the or- 
 nament of speech. 
 
 THE ORGAN OF SPEECH.. 
 
 4. 1st, In general. 2dly, Grammar. 
 
 Tht 
 
327 
 
 The organ of speech in general. 
 
 5. Whatever may be distinguished into differ- 
 ences, so as to express the variety of our no- 
 tions, may convey our thoughts. 
 
 6. The notes which, without the help of 
 words, signify things, are, 1st, Emllemati- 
 cal of the thing signified, as hieroglyphics 
 and gestures ; and, 2dly, Not emblematical 
 (jf the thing signified. 
 
 7- The antiquity of hieroglyphics. 
 8. Gestures are, as it were, transitory hiero- 
 glyphics. 
 
 Periander, teing consulted how to pre- 
 serve a tt/raiiny, lid the messenger stand 
 still, whilst he, walking in a garden, 
 struck off the tops of all the highest 
 flowers. 
 
 Q. Characters not emblematical of the thing 
 signified are understood by custom, and iu 
 number must be infinite. 
 
 10. The knowledge concerning significant 
 notes without words is defective, and ought 
 not to be despised. 
 
 Grammar. 
 
 11. The objects of grammar are, 1st, Speech) 
 2d, Writing. 
 
 12. Grammar is an antidote against the confu- 
 sion of tongues. 
 
 13. The use of grammar is small in mother 
 tongues : is greater in foreign living lan- 
 guages : but is greatest in dead languages. 
 
 14. Grammar is, 1st, Literary, for the learn- 
 ing and speaking of languages ; 
 
 2dly, Phi- 
 
328 
 
 2dly, Philosophical Grammar. 
 
 15. Doubts whether there was a treatise on 
 
 philosophical grammar by Caesar. 
 10. It is grammar which enquires the analogy 
 between words and things, or reason : be- 
 sides that interpretation of nature which is 
 subservient to logic. 
 
 IVords are the footsteps of reason : and 
 footsteps do give some indications of the 
 lody. 
 17. Observations. 
 
 1. Plato's hypothesis, that words were not 
 imposed at first, ad placitum, but were 
 significantly derived and deduced from 
 a certain reason and intendment, is cer- 
 tainly ingenious, but seems to be er- 
 roneous. 
 
 2. A grammar shewing in what points 
 every particular language did excel, and 
 in what points it was deficient, would be 
 most valuable. 
 
 Thus, tongues might le enriched and 
 perfected ly mutual intertraffic one 
 ii'it/i another : and a most fair image 
 (if s!j,'cch (like the Venus of dpelles), 
 and a gooJ/y pattern for the true ex- 
 pression of the inward sense of the 
 mind, might f;e drawn from every 
 part u-hich is excellent in every Ian- 
 gunge, 
 
 3. Valuable conjectures touching the na- 
 tural dispositions and customs of people 
 and nations, may be made from their 
 
329 
 
 The Grecians used great liberty in 
 composition of words : the Romans in 
 this paint were severe. May it not 
 be inferred that the Grecians were 
 disposed to study arts, the Romans 
 to manage state affairs? for distinc- 
 tions of arts, for the most part, re- 
 quire composition of words : lui mat- 
 ters and business simple tvords. 
 
 The Hebrews use sofeu' tcords and 
 so unmingled, that a man may plainly 
 perceive by their tongue, that they were 
 a I\ azarite people, and separatefrom 
 other nations. 
 
 Antient languages nvere more full of 
 declensions, cases, conjugations, tenses, 
 and the like : tbe modern, commonly 
 destitute of tbese, do loosely deliver 
 themselves i,i many expressiojis by pre- 
 fzsitions and auxiliary verbs: may it 
 not be conjectured tbat the <ivits of for- 
 mer times ivere far more acute and 
 subtle tban ours are ? 
 18. Philosophical grammar is deficient, 
 ip. Considerations respecting the sweetness and 
 harshness of the sound of words beloru. to 
 grammar: and are, 1st, Measure ; 2dly, 
 Sound ; 3dly, Accent. 
 
 20. The art of metre is deficient : though ex- 
 amples are infinite. 
 
 21. Modem languages are improperly applied 
 to antient metres. 
 
 22. The accents of sentences ought to be ob- 
 served, as well as die accents of words. 
 
 1 Of 
 
330 
 
 Of 
 
 23. Writing is either, 1st, By the common al- 
 phabet ; or, 2dly, By cyphers, upon which 
 men agree between themselves. 
 
 24. From the variation of pronunciation, writ- 
 ing by the common alphabet ought to be ac- 
 cording to the received custom, and accord- 
 ing to the sound of the words. 
 
 Of Cyphers. 
 
 25. There are various sorts of cyphers. 
 
 26. The virtues of cyphers are, 1 st, That they 
 are not laborious to write and read ; 2dly, 
 That they are impossible to decypher j 3dly, 
 That they are without suspicion. 
 
 2~. Of the shifting oft' of examination by two 
 alphabets j the one of true letters, the other 
 of non-significants. 
 23. Of signifying omnia per omnia, which is 
 
 the highest degree of cypher. 
 2t). The art of decyphering is correlative to the 
 art of cyphers. 
 
 In making this globe of sciences, tie lesser 
 islands must not be omitted. 
 
 THE METHOD OF SPEECH. 
 
 30. This, which is the wisdom of tradition, has 
 been improperly classed as a part of logic and 
 of rhetoric. 
 
 31. Different sorts of methods. 
 
 First method, magistral, which teaches ; or 
 an initiative, which insinuates. 
 
 1. Magistral is referred to sciences as they 
 
 now 
 
331 
 
 now are : initiative, to the advance" 
 ment of sciences. 
 2. Initiative delivery is defective. 
 
 He that teaches, teacbts in sucb 
 manner as may best be believed, not 
 as may best be examined : and be that 
 learns, desires rather present satisfac- 
 tion tban enquiry. 
 
 Instruction ought to be imparted 
 into tbe mind of another, in the same 
 method ivberein it was first acquired. 
 
 If you mean only to use the plant, it 
 is no matter for the roots : but if you 
 would remove it into another soil, then 
 take some of tbe root. 
 
 The mathematics afford some sha- 
 dow of initiative delivery. 
 Second method. A revealed, or a concealed 
 method. 
 
 Third method. A methodical deliver}-, or a 
 delivery in aphorisms. 
 
 1 . Delivery by aphorisms is a test of the 
 knowledge of the writer. 
 
 2. Methodical delivery is better to pro- 
 cure consent : worse to generate action. 
 
 3. Aphorisms invite persons to add to 
 knowledge : methodical delivery is a 
 bar to such addition. 
 
 Fourth method. Delivery by assertions with 
 their proofs : or by confutations. 
 
 Delivery by confutations should be used 
 only to remove strong prejudices. 
 
 An army does, not stop to lesiege every 
 
 village : 
 v/cm ' 
 
332 
 
 village : if tie main point le gained, tbe 
 tillages fall in of course.. 
 Fifth method. Accommodation of deliver)', 
 according to the matter which is to be ex- 
 plained. 
 
 Sixth method. Delivery according to the 
 anticipations in the minds of the learners. 
 
 1. Those whose conceits are coincident 
 with popular opinion have nothing to 
 do but to dispute and prove. 
 
 2. Those whose conceits are beyond po- 
 pular opinion have a double labour. 
 1st, That they may be conceived j 2dly > 
 That they may prove. 
 
 3. Science, when not consonant to antici- 
 pations, must be aided by similitudes. 
 
 32. Different parts of method. 1st, The dis- 
 position of the whole work ; or of the argu- 
 ment ot" some book ; 2diy, The limitation of 
 propositions. 
 
 The a;\ -kited h to frame the ivbole build- 
 ing and the stveral beams. 
 
 33. Observations upon propositions being con- 
 vertible : and of their extension and produc- 
 tion. . 
 
 34. In the limitation of '.propositions much 
 must be left to practice. 
 
 35. Of the methou of imposture : by which 
 ignorance assumes the semblance of know- 
 ledge. 
 
 It is like a broker's shop : that lath tie 
 of every thing, but nothing cfivortb. 
 
 TH* 
 
333 
 
 THE ILLUSTRATION OF SPEECH. 
 
 36. Eloquence is, in reality, inferior to wis- 
 dom ; but In popular esteem it is superior to it. 
 
 There is Aaron, be sball be tby speaker, 
 tlou sbiilt be to him as a god. 
 
 37. The deficience in eloquence is rather in 
 some collections than in the art itself. 
 
 38. Rhetoric is svibservient to the imagination, 
 as logic is to the understanding. 
 
 39. The office of rhetoric is to apply the dic- 
 tates of reason to the imagination, for the 
 better moving the appetite and will. 
 
 40. The government of reason is disquieted by 
 the fallacies of arguments : by assiduity of 
 impressions : or by the violence of passions. 
 
 41. The end of logic is to teach a form of 
 reason to detect fallacies of arguments : 
 the end of morality is to compose the pas- 
 sions, that they may fight for reason : the 
 end of rhetoric is to fill the imagination with 
 observations and resemblances which may 
 second reason. 
 
 42. Virtue, if she could be seen, would move 
 great love and affection j and rhetoric paints 
 her to the life. 
 
 43. The custom of the Stoics, who laboured to 
 thrust Virtue upon men by concise and 
 sharp sentences, has been deservedly derided. 
 
 44. When the affections are obedient to the 
 reason, a naked statement is sufficient. 
 
 45. The affections behold present good : rea- 
 son beholds it afar off". 
 
 46. Logic considers natural reason, and is as 
 the fist closed. Rhetoric considers reason 
 
 as 
 
334 
 
 as it exists in popular opinion ; and is as the 
 hand open. 
 
 47. The proofs of logic are fixed : the proofs 
 of rhetoric must vary according to the au- 
 dience. 
 
 Orpheus in sykis, inter Delphinas Arion. 
 
 48. The wisdom of private speech, or the va- 
 riation of the nature of the address according 
 to the audience, is of great importance } and 
 is defective. 
 
 49. There has not been any continuation of the 
 wisdom of Aristotle, in making a collection 
 of the popular signs of good and evil, both 
 simple and comparative. 
 
 50. The detects of Aristotle's collection are, 
 1st, The recital of too few; 2dly, The not 
 annexing the explanations ; 3dly, The sup- 
 posing that their use was only for probation, 
 and not for moving the affections : for many 
 forms of speaking are equal in signification, 
 which are different in impression. 
 
 :,} . Examples of the colours of good and evil. 
 52. There is a deficience of common places, 
 which ondit to be as the seeds of arguments 
 
 ^' V 
 
 for and against every important subject ; ot 
 which numerous instances are annexed. 
 
 o3. There is a deficience in the lesser forms of 
 speech : as prefaces, conclusions, digres- 
 sions, c. of which some instances are an- 
 nexed. 
 
 .54. The nppendices to the art of delivery are, 
 Jst, Tie art critical " t 2dly, Tbe art of in- 
 structioa. 
 
 We 
 
Tie art critical. 
 
 \. An emaculate correction and emended edi- 
 tion of approved authors appertains to the art 
 critical. 
 
 The ras'} diligence of some writers bjs 
 "been very prejudicial, by tbeir substituting 
 in tbe text tbeir own conjectures, for ivords 
 tubicb tbry do not nn 'erst and: so tbat tbe 
 most corrected co t ics are commonly tbe hast 
 correct. 
 
 2. An explanation of authors by commentaries, 
 notes, &c. appertains to this art. 
 
 1. Critics often waive obscure passages ; 
 and dwell, to fastidiousness, upon those 
 which are trifling. 
 
 2. It is much to be wished that an author 
 would annex notes of his own, explana- 
 tory of difficult passages. 
 
 3. A brief censure and judgment of the au- 
 thor's, and a comparison of them with other 
 authors upon the same subject, appertain to 
 this art. 
 
 Tbe art of instruction. 
 
 1. It were soon said, Consult with the schools 
 of the Jesuits ; for there is nothing for the 
 use and practice better than their precepts. 
 
 2. A collegiate education and institution of 
 childhood and youth is highly to be ap- 
 proved. 
 
 3. Youth should beware of abridgments, and 
 too forward maturation of knowledge. 
 
 4. There is soaie indulgence to be given to 
 natural propensities to particular studies. 
 
 5. There 
 
336 
 
 $. There are two ways of forming the mind '. 
 1st, By beginning with easy precepts, and 
 by degrees leading to more difficult - T lidly, 
 By beginning with difficulties, and descend- 
 ing to those which are easy. A wise mix- 
 ture of these methods is of the greatest im- 
 portance. 
 
 6. The application and election of studies ac- 
 cording to the mind to be instructed is a mat- 
 ter of singular judgment and use. 
 
 If a man be bird-witted, that is, quickly 
 carried aivay, and batb not the patient fa- 
 culty of attention, let bun study the mathe- 
 matics ; wherein if tbe <tuit wander, tbe 
 demonstration must be renewed. 
 
 7. There should be a judicious intermission of 
 exercises to prevent the formation of bad 
 habits. 
 
 Observations upon the importance of 
 education. 
 
 OF THE WILL. 
 
 Right reason governs the will : good appa* 
 rent seduces it : the incentives of the will are 
 the affections : the organs and voluntary mo- 
 tions are her ministers. 
 
 Above all tbuigs keep thy beart : for out 
 of it issue tbe actions of life. 
 Writers on this subject have described vir- 
 tue, duty, &c. without pointing out the mode 
 oi attaining them. 
 
 Tbls 
 
537 
 
 This is as if a man zvho professed the art 
 of writing should on.y exhibit fair copies of 
 alphabets and letters joined, 'Without giving 
 any precepts for the carriage of the band 
 and framing of the characters. 
 3. Division of moral philosophy: 1st, The 
 exemplar or image of good ; 2dly, The culture 
 of the mind, that is, the georgics of the mind, 
 
 THE IMAGE OF GOOD, 
 
 1. This doctrine describes, 1st, The kinds of 
 good ; 2dly, The degrees of good. 
 
 2. The questions amongst the antients respect- 
 ing the supreme degree of good, are now, by 
 Christianity, discharged. 
 
 3. There is not any deflcience in enquiries re- 
 specting the kinds or the degrees of good. 
 
 4. The antients are defective in not having ex- 
 amined the springs of moral habits. 
 
 5. Good is either, 1st, Private or individual; 
 or, 2dly, Pullic good. 
 
 6. Public good is more worthy than private 
 good. 
 
 Pompeius Magnus being in a commission 
 for purveyance during a famine at Rome, 
 and being dissuaded by bis friendi from 
 going to sea in tempestuous weather, 
 answered, " Neccsse est ut earn : non ui 
 vivam." 
 
 1 . An active life is to be preferred to a 
 contemplative life. 
 
 Pythagoras, being asked by Hiero 
 
 what he was, answered : If Hif.ro 
 
 were ever at the Olympian games, 
 
 z be 
 
238 
 
 he knew the manner, flat some came 
 to try tbelrfortur.es for tbe frizes : 
 some as merchants to utter their com- 
 modities : some to make good cheer 
 and be merry, and to meet their 
 friends : and some came to look on : 
 and that he was one of them that 
 came to look on : but men should 
 know that, in this theatre of man's 
 life, it is reserved only for God and 
 angels to be lookers on. 
 
 A contemplative life, which does 
 not cast any beam of heat or light 
 upon human society, is not known 
 to divinity. 
 
 2. The ascendancy of public good ter- 
 minates many disputes of the antient 
 philosophers. 
 
 3 . The necessity of advancing the pub- 
 lic good, censures the philosophy 
 of Epictetus, who placed happiness 
 in those things which are in our 
 power, lest we be liable to fortune 
 and disturbance. 
 
 Consalvo shewing his soldiers Na- 
 ples, protested that he 'would rather 
 die ivitb one foot fur-ward, than be 
 secured ly one foot of retreat. 
 
 A mind, conscious of good in- 
 tentions, however succeeding, af- 
 fords more solid and sincere joy, 
 and to nature more agreeable, than 
 all that provision wherewith man 
 may he furnished either for the 
 3 fruition 
 
339 
 
 fruition of his desires, or the repose 
 of his mind. 
 
 4. The necessity of advancing the pub- 
 lic good, censures that philosophy 
 which flies perturbations. 
 
 This philosophy introduces such a 
 health of mind, as ^vas that of 
 Herodicus in lody, who did nothing 
 all his life, lut intend his health. 
 
 ' Sustine,' anarao/*Abstine J 'a>w 
 the commendation of Diogenes. 
 
 It censures the tenderness of some 
 men, who retire too easily from pub- 
 lic life, to avoid indignity : lut the 
 resolution ought not to be sojine, 
 that every thing may catch in it and 
 tear it. 
 
 PRIVATE GOOD. 
 
 /. Private good is, 1st,, Active; 2dly, Passive. 
 
 v,:->UKjrj t .d 
 
 Active private good. 
 
 S. It is the effecting and bringing some desire 
 to issue. 
 
 9. Active private good is preferable to passive. 
 
 Vita sine prnposito languida est. 
 
 10. Active individual good differs from the good 
 of society ; although it is often coincident 
 with it, by the difference of the motive. 
 
 Passive private good. 
 
 11. It is, 1st, Good conservative ; 2dly, Good 
 perfective. 
 
 z 2 Good 
 
340 
 
 ... ^IVi;.f.i *-.\> . v ,</. V (C\ 
 
 Good perfective. 
 
 12. Good perfective is of a higher nature than 
 good conservative. 
 
 1 . Man's approach to a divine nature is 
 the perfection of human nature. 
 
 Ignetis est o'lis vigor, et ccelestis crigo. 
 
 2. A depraved imitation of perfective 
 good by a blind ambition of local ad- 
 vancement is the littleness of human 
 nature. 
 
 // is in ambition as with those who 
 are sick ; who titmlle up and down 
 and shift their places, as if ly a local 
 remove they could oltain rest. 
 
 Good conservative. 
 
 13. It consists in the fruition of that which is 
 agreeable to our natures. 
 
 14. It is the most simple and the lowest sort of 
 good. 
 
 15. Good conservative is of two sorts : 1st, The 
 steadiness of the enjoyment, which consists in 
 tranquillity ; 2dly, The quickness and in- 
 tensitv, which consists in variety. 
 
 16. Whether tranquillity or variety is to be 
 preferred, has been controverted. 
 
 The Sophists said that Socrates's hap- 
 piness (which consisted in peace and tran- 
 quillity of mind) was the happiness of a 
 .\tone: Socrates said, That the Sophists' 
 happiness (which consisted in desiring 
 much and enjoying much) was the hap- 
 piness 
 
541 
 
 piness of one who had the itch, and did no- 
 thing lut itch and scratch. 
 17. Whether human nature may at once retain 
 both tranquillity of the mind, and the ac- 
 tive vigour of fruition, has not been en- 
 quired. 
 
 1 . This decided the true way makes the 
 former enquiry useless. 
 
 We see men so framed as to le ex- 
 tremely affected ivith present plea- 
 sures, without being much troubled at 
 the loss of them. 
 
 2. The doctrines of many philosophers, 
 from their retired mode of living, are too 
 cautionary. 
 
 Let men imitate the tvisdom of 
 jewellers ; u'fto, if (here be in the 
 gem a cloud or ice which may so be 
 ground as not to abate the stone ton 
 much, they remove it ; otherwise they 
 will not meddle, with it: so ought 
 wen to procure serenity, lut not at 
 the erpence of magnanimity . 
 
 PUBLIC GOOD. 
 
 ] 8. It is duty, and relates to a mind well framed 
 
 towards others. 
 
 19. This science is improperly confused with 
 politics. 
 
 As, in architecture, it is one thing to 
 frame the posts, beams, and other parts of 
 an edifice; and another thing to join the 
 parts together : so the doctrine of the con- 
 jugation of men in society differs from 
 
 that 
 
342 
 
 that which males them well affected to 
 society. 
 
 20. Duties are, 1st, Common to every man; 
 2dly, Special duties arising from any profes- 
 sion, vocation, &c. 
 
 21. The duties common to every man have 
 been excellently laboured. 
 
 22. The duties of" men in particular profes- 
 sions, vocations, &c. have been necessarily 
 investigated rather diiFusedly than digested 
 into a science. 
 
 23. Men acquainted with the particular cus- 
 toms of any profession should write on this 
 subject, abstaining from too great commen- 
 dation of their own professions. 
 
 The labours of speculative men, in ac- 
 tive matters, seem, to men of experience, 
 little tetter than Phormios discourses of 
 irar u-hich seemed to Hannibal as dreams 
 and dotage. 
 
 24. A knowledge of the impostures and evils 
 of every profession, is incident to a know- 
 ledge respecting the duties of professions. 
 
 J . The enquiries which exist on this sub- 
 ject are ludicrous rather than serious. 
 '2. A grave treatise on this subject would 
 be one of the best fortifications of inte- 
 grity ; and is deficient. 
 
 As the fable goes of the lasUisk, 
 that if he see a man first the man dies; 
 Int if a mail see him first the basilisk 
 dies : so it is u :ith frauds, impostures 
 and evil arts, if a man discover them 
 ,AVs'/, they lose their power of doing 
 
 hurt : 
 
343 
 
 hurt : hit if they are not seen, they 
 arc dangerous. 
 
 We are much beholden to Ma- 
 chiavel and others, who write what 
 men do, and not what they ought to 
 do : for it is not possible to join ser- 
 pentine wisdom with columbine inno- 
 cency, except men knew exactly all 
 the conditions of the serpent; his 
 baseness, and going upon his l-clly : 
 his volubility , and lubricity ; his envy 
 and sting. 
 
 25. Appertaining to this knowledge of duties, 
 are the duties between husband and wife 5 
 parents and children ; roaster and servant ; 
 the laws of friendship and gratitude ; and 
 the civil bonds of corporations; companies j 
 colleges ; neighbourhood, &c. 
 2(5. The knowledge concerning duties con- 
 siders comparative duties. 
 
 The severe and cruel proceeding ofBrnlus 
 against his sons u>as extolled to the heavens. 
 
 Jnfdir utciuique firent eafata minores. 
 
 Men must pursue things which are just 
 in present, and leave the future to Divine 
 Providence. 
 
 THE CULTURE OF THE MIND. 
 
 1 . An exhibition of the nature of good, ivitbout 
 considering the culture of the 7>iind, is as a 
 statue, beautiful to contemplate, but ivitbout 
 life or motion. 
 
 2. Enquiry 
 
344 
 
 2. Enquiry must be made not only of the 
 nature of virtue, but how it may be at- 
 tained. 
 
 3. The cure of minds belongs to divinity; and 
 morality is her handmaid. 
 
 4. The science of the culture of the mind is 
 deficient. 
 
 5. The dispositions and affections are not 
 within our power : we can only remedy their 
 defects, 
 
 Of men's natures or inherent dispositions. 
 
 6- This subject has been negligently enquired 
 by moralists : by astrologers with some co- 
 lour of truth ; with excess by poets : and 
 most correctly by historians. 
 
 7- A full collection should be made on this 
 subject, both of natural dispositions, and of 
 dispositions from age, health, opulence, &c. 
 
 Enquiries of this nature appertain to 
 moral philosophy : as the hand/ing the 
 diversity of grounds and moulds does to 
 agri' itlture, or the different constitutions 
 <>f the body do to medicine. 
 
 The affections. 
 
 8. The affections are as the diseases of die 
 mind. 
 
 Q. This subject has been investigated by Aris- 
 totle in his Rhetoric ; but improperly omitted 
 in his Ethics : by the Stoics, in definitions 
 rather than descriptions. There are scattered 
 works oil different passions : but the poets 
 
 are 
 
345 
 
 tre the great masters of the different opera- 
 tions of the passions. 
 
 10. The opposition of passions to each other is 
 of great importance, in government of states 
 and of self. 
 
 The regimen of the mind. 
 
 1 1 . Enquiries should be made of custom, ex- 
 ercise, habit, education, friendship, &c. 
 
 Of custom and habit. 
 
 12. Aristotle is wrong in stating generally that 
 those actions which are natural cannot be 
 changed : it is true only in some things, 
 where nature is peremptory. 
 
 The voice by exercise becomes louder: 
 and heat and cold are better indurcd by 
 custom. 
 
 13. Virtues and vices consist in habits. 
 
 14. Precepts for the formation of habits. 
 
 1. Beware that at the first a task be 
 taken neither too high nor too weak. 
 
 2. Practise all things at two seasons : 
 when the mind is best disposed, and 
 when it is worst disposed to it. 
 
 3. Ever bear towards the contrary ex- 
 treme of that to which you are by 
 nature inclined. 
 
 4. The mind is brought to any thing 
 with more sweetness and happiness, 
 if that \vhereunto we pretend be not 
 first in the intention, but tanquam 
 aJiud agendo. 
 
 15. Of 
 
S46 
 
 J5. Of the powers of books and studies upon 
 the mind. 
 
 1. There are many valuable precepts on 
 this subject. 
 
 Aristotle thought young men not 
 Jit auditors of moral philosophy : 
 is it not true also that young men 
 are much less Jit auditors of politics 
 than morality, till they have been 
 thoroughly seasoned with religion, 
 and the knowledge of manners and 
 duties? lest their judgments le cor- 
 rupted, and made apt to think that 
 there are no true and solid moral 
 differences ; lut that all is to le 
 valued according to utility and 
 fortune. 
 
 2. Ought not there to be caution, lest 
 moral instructions make men too pre- 
 cise, arrogant, and incompatible ? 
 
 16. The most elaborate culture of the mind is 
 built on the ground, that the minds of all 
 mortals are at some certain times in a more 
 perfect state ; at other times in a more de- 
 praved state. 
 
 1. The fixation of good times is ef- 
 fected, 1st, By most constant reso- 
 lutions of the mind; and, 2dly, By 
 observances for the purpose of mas- 
 tering the mind. 
 
 2. The obliteration of evil times is ef- 
 fected, 1st, By some kind of re- 
 demption or expiation of what is 
 
 past ; 
 
347 
 
 past ; 2dly, By a new course of life : 
 which belongs to divinity. 
 17. The golden rule of life is, That we make 
 choice of, and propound to ourselves, right 
 ends of life and agreeing to virtue ; and such 
 as may be, in a reasonable sort, within our 
 compass to attain. 
 
 As when a carver makes an image, he 
 shapes only that part whereupon he works : 
 r/.v if it be upo?t the face, that part which 
 shall lie the body is still but a rude stone, till 
 such time as he comes to it ; but contrari- 
 wise when nature makes a floicer or a liv- 
 ing creature, she at once forms rudiments 
 of all the parts : 50, in obtaining virtue 
 ly habit, while a man practises temperance, 
 he does not profit much to fortitude and 
 the like : but when he dedicates and applies 
 himself to good ends, what virtue soever 
 the pursuit towards tJiose ends doth com- 
 mend to him, he is invested with a prece- 
 dent disposition to conform himself thereto. 
 There have been various illustrations of 
 this rule, both by heathens and by Christi- 
 anity. 
 
 Charity is the bond of perfection, and 
 fastens all the virtues together. 
 
 Xenopbon observes, That although all 
 other affections raise tbe mind; yet in 
 raising it they distort by their ecstasies : 
 but love dotb at tbe same instant dilate 
 and compose it. 
 
 IS. Observation upon the utility of these in- 
 vestigations. 
 
 19. There is a kind of sympathy between the 
 good of the mind and the good of die body, 
 
MAN IN SOCIETY. 
 
 1. Of the art of silence, which is deficient. 
 
 Many Grecian philosophers were convened, 
 before the ambassador of a foreign prince ; 
 and every one, according to their several 
 abilities, made some demonstration of bis 
 ivisdom, that so the ambassador might have 
 matter of report touching the admired wis- 
 dom of the Grecians : but amongst these 
 there tvas one, as the story goes, < wbo stood 
 still and uttered nothing in the assembly, 
 insomuch as the ambassador turned to him 
 and said, And ivbat is your gift, that I 
 may report it ? To ivbom the philosopher 
 answered, Report unto your king, that you 
 found one amongst the Grecians <wbo knew 
 bovj to bold bis peace. 
 
 Inlenlum masis afjlciunt non dicta qitam dicta, 
 
 2. Reasons why morals is in some respects 
 more difficult than politics. 
 
 1. Alorals relates to man segregate : poli- 
 tics to men congregate. 
 
 Cuto u>as ivont to say to the Ro- 
 mans, that they ivere like sheep : a 
 man ivere better to drive a fock of 
 them, than one of them : for in ajlock, 
 if you could get but some few to go 
 right, you shall have all the rest fol- 
 low of their on n accord. 
 
349 
 
 2. The object of morals is internal good- 
 ness : politics are content with external 
 goodness. 
 
 3. States are not so suddenly subverted as 
 individuals are. 
 
 In Egypt the seven good year 3 upheld 
 tbe seven lad. 
 
 Civil knowledge has three parts : 1st, Wis- 
 dom of Conversation for comfort against soli- 
 tude ; 2d, Wisdom of Negotiation for assist- 
 ance in business ; 3d, Wisdom of Government 
 for protection against injuries. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 ,4. Wisdom of conversation ought not to be too 
 much affected ; much less despised. 
 
 As action in an orator, although an out- 
 ivard quality, is preferred before many 
 parts grave and intrinsic: so conversation 
 and tbe government thereof, in a man of 
 practical life, finds, if not the most chief, 
 yet a very eminent place. 
 
 5. The sum of behaviour is to retain our own 
 dignity, without interfering with the liberty 
 of others. 
 
 Tbe arrogant man forgets tbe liberty of 
 another: tbe obnoxious man forgets b'u own 
 liberty. 
 
 6. Evils of too much attention to behaviour. 
 
 1 . The danger of affectation. 
 
 2. Waste of time. 
 
 3. Waste 
 
35O 
 
 3. Waste of mind; which may be em- 
 ployed in more solemn meditations. 
 
 4. Aspirers to accomplishments seldom 
 look higher, and make up their lack of 
 wisdom by quantity of compliments. 
 
 5. An over curious observance of decency 
 is an impediment to action. 
 
 Qui observat <ventum -non seminal : 
 et qui considerat nubes nunquam metet. 
 
 7- Behaviour is as tbe garment of the mind, and 
 should have all tbe qualities of a garment: it 
 ought to be in fasbion, not too expensive ; it 
 ougbt to exhibit advantages and conceal de- 
 fects : it ougbt not to be too strait, so as to re- 
 press tbe spirit, and binder its motion in business. 
 
 S. The knowledge of conversation is not defi- 
 cient. 
 
 NEGOTIATION. 
 
 O. This subject is divided into, 1. The Tinotu- 
 ledge of scattered occasions; 2. The know- 
 ledge of the advancement of life. 
 
 10. The knowledge of negotiation has not 
 been investigated according to the dignity of 
 the subject. 
 
 from this root springs that note of 
 dulness, that there is no great concur- 
 rence between learning and practical 
 wisdom. 
 
 THE KNOWLEDGE OF SCATTERED OCCASIONS. 
 
 11. It is the wisdom of business. 
 
 12. There 
 
351 
 
 12. There is no treatise upon the wisdom of 
 business. 
 
 13. This knowledge is not so variable but that 
 it may be reduced to precept. 
 
 14. The proverbs of Solomon contain many 
 most excellent civil precepts ; springing out 
 of the profound secrets of wisdom, and flow- 
 ing over into a large field of variety. 
 
 Examples of a portion of the doctrine 
 concerning dispersed occasions from some 
 parables of Solomon. 
 
 15. Antient fables and parables contain infor- 
 mation on this subject. 
 
 16. A form of writing suitable to this science 
 is observations and discourses upon the his- 
 tories of lives. 
 
 17. The best form is discourses on wise and 
 serious letters. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE OF THE ADVANCEMENT OF LIFE. 
 
 18. Preliminary observations. 
 
 1 . This is the knowledge " silt sapcre ." 
 sapere is to move from die centre to the 
 circumference.- sibi sapere, from the 
 circumference to the centre. 
 
 2. Many are wise for themselves, yet 
 weak for the public. 
 
 The ant is a tuise creature for itself j 
 but hurtful for the garden. 
 
 3. Faber quisque fortunae propriae. 
 
 Livy says of Cato : In this man 
 tbere were such great abilities of tuit 
 and understanding, tbat, into what 
 
 c'imate 
 
352 
 
 climate soever Us nativity lad cast 
 him, be seemed to be able to command a 
 fortune. 
 
 The open declaration of this is 
 impolitic. If It be understood as a 
 spur to industry, rather than as a 
 stirrup to insolence, and rather to 
 beget in men courage and constancy 
 of resolution, than arrogancy and 
 ostentation, it is deservedly ac- 
 counted sound and healthful; and 
 has e-ver been imprinted in the great' 
 est minds so sensibly, as .sometimes 
 they can scarcely dissemble such co- 
 gitations. 
 
 19. The knowledge of the advancement of life 
 is deficient. 
 
 20. The investigation of this subject concerns 
 learning, both in honour and in substance. 
 
 Pragmatical men should know, that 
 Learning is not like some small bird, as the 
 lark, that can mount and sing and please 
 herself, and nothing else; but that she 
 hold.; as well of the baivk, that can soar 
 aloft, and after thai, ivben she sees her 
 tune, can stoop and seize npo,i ber prey. 
 
 It is the right rule of a perfect enquiry, 
 that nothing be found in the globe of matter, 
 that has not a parallel in the crystalline 
 globe, or the intellect. 
 
 21. Learning doth not otherwise esteem the 
 architecture of fortune, but as a Work of an 
 inferior kind. 
 
 Tor tune y 
 
353 
 
 Fortune, as an organ of virtue or merit, 
 deserves her sfeculation and doctrine. 
 "22. Precepts respecting this knowledge are, 
 1st, Principal ; 2d, Scattered. 
 
 Principal Precepts respecting the Architecture of 
 Fo rtunc. 
 
 23. Let a knowledge be acquired of the gene- 
 ral nature, and of the particular motives by 
 which those with whom we have to deal are 
 actuated. 
 
 Counsel in tie heart of man is like deep 
 water : but a wise man will draw it out. 
 
 24. The knowledge of men is disclosed par- 
 ticularly, 1st, By their faces and counte- 
 nances ; 2d, By words ; 3d, By deeds : 
 4 tli, By their nature ; 5th, By their ends; 
 6th, By the relations of others. 
 
 The faces. 
 
 15. There are certain subtle motions and la- 
 bours of the eyes, face, looks, and gesture, 
 which are as the gates of the mind : much 
 reliance cannot be placed on the general com- 
 posure of the face. 
 
 IFbrds. 
 
 26. They are full of flatter)' and uncertainty, 
 
 27. Modes in which words disclose character. 
 
 1st, When sudden: 
 
 vino tortus et t'ra, 
 
 2d, From affections of different descrip- 
 tions. 
 
 3d, When eviscerated by a counter dissi- 
 mulation. 
 
 2 A Deeds 
 
S54 
 
 Deeds. 
 
 28. They are the surest pledges of men's 
 minds. 
 
 2p. Deeds are not to be trusted without a dili- 
 gent consideration of their magnitude and 
 nature. 
 
 The natures and ends of men. 
 
 30. This is the surest key to unlock men's 
 
 minds. 
 
 :H. The weakest men are best interpreted by 
 their natures : the wisest and more reserved 
 by their ends. 
 
 I; is a frequent error with wise men, to 
 measure others ly the model of their oivn. 
 abilities : they therefore often shoot aver 
 the ?nark. 
 
 32. Princes are best interpreted by their na- 
 tures : private persons by their ends. 
 
 33. The information touching the ends and na- 
 tures of men is to be taken comparatively, 
 viz. what affection predominates. 
 
 The reports of others. 
 ;<4. Weaknesses and faults are best learnt from 
 
 enemies. 
 :-5. Virtues and abilities are best learnt from. 
 
 friends. 
 36'. Customs and times are best learnt from 
 
 servants. 
 3/. Cogitations and opinions are be=t learnt 
 
 from intimate confi.ler.ts. 
 
355 
 
 39. The judgment of superiors is uncertain. 
 
 40. General modes of acquiring a knowledge 
 of others. 
 
 1. A general acquaintance with men who 
 know the world. 
 
 2. A discreet temper and mediocrity, both 
 in speech and silence : more frequently 
 using liberty: but secrecy where it 
 imports. 
 
 3. A watchful and present wit, to pro- 
 mote the main matter in hand, and yet to 
 observe other incidental circumstances. 
 
 Forwardness of disposition should be 
 repressed. 
 
 4 1 . The variety of knowledge of persons and 
 actions, tends to inform us how to make a 
 judicious choice of the actions we under- 
 take : and of the persons whose advice and 
 assistance we use. 
 
 Of the knoivledge of ourselves. 
 
 42. The knowledge of ourselves should be 
 more and more frequently laboured than the 
 knowledge of others. 
 
 He u'ho vieii's his face in a glass, soon 
 forgets the image. 
 
 43. A man ought to take an exact estimate of 
 his merits and defects : estimating these with 
 the inostj those \\\\h the least. 
 
 2 A 1 
 
356 
 
 iftfp A 
 
 Particular considerations respecting the know- 
 ledge of a man's self. 
 
 44. Every man should consider how his con- 
 stitution and temper sort with the times : 
 that, if consonant, he may give himself li- 
 berty ; if dissonant, he may restrain him- 
 self. 
 
 Tiberius was never seen in public. 
 Augustus lived ever in men's eyes. 
 
 45. Every man should consider how his nature 
 agrees with the professions and -courses of 
 life which are in esteem and use: that, if he 
 have not yet determined what race to run, 
 lie may chuse that which is most agreeable 
 to his natural disposition : but if he is en- 
 gaged in a condition of life, to which by 
 nature he is not fit, he may quit it at the 
 first opportunity ; and take another more 
 suitable. 
 
 46. Every man should consider his equals and 
 rivals, whom it is likely he may have con- 
 currents and competitors, that he may take 
 that course of life where there is the greatest 
 solitude of able men ; and himself likely to 
 be most eminent. 
 
 Julius Caesar was at first a pleader; 
 1-ut his competitors were Cicero and Hor- 
 tt'nsins. He lid a long farewell to civil 
 great ti ess, and betook himself to arms} 
 where his only competitor was Pompey. 
 4/. In the choice of friends arid dependencies, 
 a man should consult those who are suitable 
 to his own nature and dispositions. 
 
 48. A 
 
357 
 
 48. A man should be cautious how he suffers 
 himself to be guided by examples ; without 
 well considering the difference between his 
 own nature, and the nature of his pattern. 
 
 Pompey was wont often to say, Sylta 
 potuit, ego non potero ? wherein he was 
 much deceived, Sylla being fierce, violent, 
 and, pressing the fact ; Pompey solemn, 
 reverencing laws, and directing all to ma- 
 jesty and fame. 
 
 The art oj revealing a man's self. 
 
 49. A man must consult with himself, how he 
 may aptly and wisely reveal himself, and 
 become flexible to all occasions. 
 
 50. From the art of revealing a man's self, the 
 less able man is often esteemed before the 
 more able. 
 
 51. The setting forth a man's self requires some 
 art ; lest it turn to arrogance. 
 
 This vanity seems rather a vice in mo- 
 rals than in politics. 
 
 52. The dexterous ostentation of a man's self 
 by making his virtues apparent, as arising 
 from any subject in agitation, greatly adds to 
 his reputation. 
 
 53. It is the duty of wise virtue to prevent 
 herself from being undervalued. 
 
 54. The causes of the undervaluing of merit 
 are, 
 
 1st, When a man obtrudes his services. 
 2dly, When a man in the beginning 
 wastes his abilities. 
 
 3dlv, The 
 
358 
 
 3dly, The being too suddenly elated 
 with the applauses attendant on vir- 
 tue. 
 
 Ben-are Jest you seem unac~ 
 quaintcd with great matters ; ly 
 being thus pleased with small. 
 
 The art of covering defects. 
 
 55. The covering defects is of no less import- 
 ance than a dexterous ostentation of virtues. 
 
 5tx Defects are concealed : 1st, By caution j 
 2dlyj By colour j 3dly, By confidence. 
 
 1. Caution is the avoiding that for 
 which we are not proper. 
 
 2. Colour is the covering defects under 
 their neighbouring virtue : thus, dul- 
 ness must procure the character of 
 gravity. 
 
 3. Confidence, which is the most impu- 
 dent but most effectual mode of co- 
 vering defects, and is, 1st, Professing 
 to despise what is unattainable j 
 2dly, Facing out defects by praising 
 his defects, and undervaluing his 
 merits. 
 
 :*/. A man should not lay open his character 
 by too much good nature, but rather hi all 
 tilings show some sparkles and edge of a 
 free and generous spirit, which carries with 
 it as well a sting as honey. 
 
 Of 
 
3S9 
 
 . .,' ;,.;.<. . 
 
 Of the declaring a imm's self. 
 
 53. This is different from the revealing a man's 
 self; for it refers not to abilities or weak- 
 nesses, but to actions. 
 
 59. Nothing is more politic than a wise and 
 discreet mediocrity in the disclosing or se- 
 creting intentions touching particular actions. 
 
 t>O. The mind should be made pliant and obe- 
 dient to occasions. 
 
 1. Certain grave solemn wits, which 
 must be like themselves, and cannot 
 makfe departure, have commonly 
 more dignity than felicity. 
 
 2. In some it is nature to be inflexible; 
 in others it is custom. 
 
 Nothing is more politic than to 
 make the wheel of our mind concen- 
 tric with the wheel of fortune. 
 
 SCATTERED PRECEPTS OF THE ADVANCE- 
 MENT OF LIFE. 
 
 1. The architect of his own fortune should 
 rightly use his rule : that is, he should form 
 his mind to judge of the value of things, and 
 to prosecute the same substantially, and not 
 superficially. 
 
 1. The logical part of men's minds /\ 
 often good; lut the mathematical 
 part nothing trvrth : that is, they 
 I'anju'Jfft ivell of the intjde of atiain- 
 
 injf 
 
860 
 
 ing any end; lut cannot estimate the 
 value of the end itself. 
 2. The architect of his fortune should 
 consider the order in which he should 
 attain objects. 
 
 1st, The mind should be a- 
 
 mended. 
 2dly, Wealth and means should 
 
 be attained. 
 
 3dly, Fame and reputation should 
 be acquired. 
 
 7 here are certain tid$s of 
 reputation, which must be 
 taken at the flood. It is a 
 hard matter to play, an after 
 game of reputation. 
 4thly, Honours should be sought. 
 The order of things 
 should be observed ; the 
 order of time imports not. 
 <>2. The architect of his own fortune must not, 
 upon a greatness and confidence of mind, 
 engage in too arduous matter ; nor row 
 against the stream. 
 
 Fa/is accede deis que. 
 
 ti.'3. The architect of his own fortune must not 
 always expect occasions, but must sometimes 
 provoke them. 
 
 1 . This does not vary from the last 
 precept. 
 
 2. A healthy mind should be able both 
 to plan and to execute. 
 
 64. The 
 
S61 
 
 64. The architect of his own fortune mast not 
 embrace matters which occupy too much 
 time, 
 
 Sedfugit inttrea : fugit irreparaHle tempjis. 
 
 65. The architect of his fortune should imitate 
 nature : which does nothing in vain. 
 
 66. The architect of his own fortune should 
 not engage in any plan, without reserving a 
 power to retreat. 
 
 67. The architect of his own fortune should re- 
 member Bias's precept, " So love a man as 
 thou mayst become an enemy ; so hate a maa 
 as thou mayst become his friend." 
 
 This should be used for caution, not for 
 perJidiGUsness. 
 
 68. Fortunes may be obtained by diligence,, 
 without this foresight. 
 
 Of vitious modes of advancement of life, 
 
 69. Different precepts enumerated. 
 
 70. The number of bad precepts is greater 
 than die number of good ; and they lead to 
 fortune. 
 
 It is in life as in ways, the shortest way 
 is commonly the foulest ; and surely the 
 fairer way is not much about. 
 
 The map of fortune ought to be accom- 
 panied icith the general map of the world : 
 that All is vanity and vexation of spirit. 
 
 Being tvithout well being is a curse : and 
 the greater the being, the greater the curse. 
 
 He conceives wicked thoughts, travails 
 
 great 
 
362 
 
 great with mischief', and brings forth de- 
 lusive vanity. 
 
 The. Sabbathless aspiring to fortune neg- 
 lects God. 
 
 It is to small purpose to lave an erected 
 face towards heaven, and a groveling spirit 
 upon earth ; eating dust as doth the serpent. 
 
 7 1 . The having recourse to vitious practices, 
 cannot be tolerated by the intended good 
 ends. 
 
 72. Fortune, like a woman, if too much wooed, 
 is the farther oft". 
 
 73. Divinity points upwards to the kingdom of 
 God t philosophy inwards to the goods of the 
 mind : and says the rest shall be supplied, 
 or no way prejudiced by their absence. 
 
 WISDOM OF GOVERNMENT. 
 
 1. The science of government relates to, 1st, 
 That a kingdom be preserved ; 2dly, That 
 it become happy and flourishing j 3dly, That 
 it may be extended. 
 
 2. The art of enlarging an empire is the only 
 part of the science of government which is 
 deficient. 
 
 3. Of the different sorts of statesmen. 
 
 4. The requisites for greatness of a kingdom : 
 
 1 st, A stout and warlike disposition of 
 people. 
 
 Walled fawns; stored arsenals, 
 
 and armories ; goodly races of horses ; 
 
 cbaristi 
 
363 
 
 dariots of war; elephants; ord- 
 nance, artillery and tie like : all 
 ibis is but a sheep in a lions skin> 
 except tie breed and disposition of the 
 people be 'warlike. 
 
 The state wbicb trusts to merce- 
 nary forces may spread its feathers, 
 far a time, beyond the compass of his 
 nest, hut he 'will mew them soon, 
 after. 
 2d, The nation must not be overbur- 
 
 thened with taxes. 
 
 3d, The nobility and grandees must not 
 multiply too fast : for this makes the 
 commons base and heartless. 
 
 If you leave your studdles too 
 thick, you will never have ckax 
 underwood. 
 
 1 . The devise of Henry VII. to 
 make farms and houses of 
 husbandry of a standard. 
 
 2. The great retinues of noble- 
 men conduce to a martial 
 race, 
 
 4th, The number of natural subjects to 
 the state, should bear a sufficient 
 proportion for the over-topping the 
 stronger subjects. 
 
 The trunk of Nebuchadnezzar's 
 tree should be large enough to bear 
 the branches and houghs. 
 
 1 . States should be liberal of na- 
 turalization. 
 
 2. Colonization is beneficial. 
 
 5th, Se- 
 
S64 
 
 5th, Sedentary and within-door me- 
 chanical arts, that require rather the 
 finger than the arm, are contrary to a 
 military disposition. 
 
 1. The employment in Sparta, 
 Athens, and Rome, of slaves 
 about the manufactures was be- 
 neficial to them. 
 
 2. In Christian countries aliens 
 should be manufacturers. 
 
 3. The natives should be tillers of 
 ground, free servants, and la- 
 bourers in strong and manly arts. 
 
 6th, A nation should profess arms as its 
 
 glory. 
 
 7th, A nation aspiring to greatness 
 
 should have such laws and customs 
 
 as may readily afford pretences for 
 
 taking arms. 
 
 8th, A just and honourable war is the 
 
 wholesome exercise of a kingdom. 
 9th, A nation should have the com- 
 mand of the sea. 
 
 Tins is the cliff dowry of Great 
 Britain. 
 
 I Oth, More glory and honour were re- 
 rlecteJ upon military men amongst 
 the antients than by the moderns. 
 
 The triumphs of tbe antients ivere 
 of such glorious lustre and blaze in 
 tbe eyes of tbe 'world, as ivere able to 
 create afire in the most frozen breasts. 
 5. It is in the power of princes to add ampli- 
 tude and greatness to their kingdoms. 
 
 OF 
 
S65 
 
 OF UNIVERSAL JUSTICE, OR THE FOUNTAINS 
 OF LAW. 
 
 J. This science is deficient. 
 
 2. Statesmen are the proper persons to write 
 on universal justice : being neither too 
 cramped as practical lawyers ; or too theore- 
 tical as philosophers. 
 
 3. Example of a treatise on universal justice. 
 
 Lex bona cerueri possit, qua: sit intima- 
 tione certa : pracepto justa : executions 
 commoda : cum forma politics congrua, et 
 gcnerans <virtutem in subditis. 
 
 This ivbole Work is not much unlike those 
 sounds ivbicb musicians make while tbey are tu- 
 ning tbeir instruments : ivbicb is barsb and un- 
 pleasing to bear, but is a cause ivby ibe music 
 is sweeter afterwards. 
 
 Observations upon our noble prospects of the 
 progress of knowledge : from the height of 
 men's wits : from the excellent monuments of 
 antient writers, which, as so many great lights, 
 shine before us : from die art of printing: 
 from the travers'd bosom of the ocean and of 
 the world : from the additions to natural his- 
 tory : from the leisure wherewith the civilised 
 world abounds : from the consumption and 
 
 exinanition 
 
SG6 
 
 exinanition of all that can be imagined or said 
 in controversies of religion, which for so long 
 a time had taken up so many wits, and diverted 
 them from the studies of other sciences : and 
 lastly, from the inseparable property which at- 
 tends time itself, which is ever more and more 
 to disclose truih. 
 
 OF REVEALED RELIGION. 
 
 1.. It is the Sabbath and Port of all men's la- 
 bours and peregrinations. 
 
 Appendices of Theology. 
 
 2. These appendices relate not to the matter of 
 divinity : but to the manner of treating it. 
 
 Tbc Prerogative of God. 
 
 3. The prerogative of God extends to man's 
 reason as well as his will. 
 
 4. Sacred theology, including various parts of 
 the law moral, must be deduced from the 
 Oracles of God. 
 
 i. The right use of human reason, in matters 
 spiritual, is spacious. 
 
 The Christian faith holds a golden me- 
 diocrity between ibe law of the Heathens, 
 tuhicb bad no constant belief or confession : 
 and the laiv of Mahomet, where all dis- 
 ' int-r.iiftfd. 
 
 C. The 
 
367 
 
 6. The use of reason in religious matters is, 
 '1st, In the explanation of mysteries : where 
 the mind must be dilated to the mystery, 
 and the mystery not contracted to the mind : 
 '2dly, In inferences derived from thence. 
 
 7. The excesses of reason in religious matters 
 are, 1st, The making unseemly enquiries 
 into the manner of the mystery ; 2dly, The 
 attributing equal authority to derivations and 
 to principles. 
 
 8. A treatise on the limits and use of reason in 
 spiritual matters is a great desideratum. 
 
 This opiate medicine ivould not only quiet 
 and lay asleep tbe vanity of airy speculations j. 
 tut not a litth calm and mitigate the furies 
 and rage of controversies, 'vabifb raise fac- 
 tions in the' cburcb. 
 
 t). A work on the degrees of unity in the city oF 
 God is a great desideratum. 
 
 Tbe coat of our Saviour was entire nvitb- 
 out seam : but tbe garment of tbe cburcb 
 tuas of divers colours. 
 
 10. There are two modes of interpreting the 
 Scriptures : 1st, Methodical ; which has 
 generated scholastical theology 5 2dly, At 
 large. 
 
 11. The extremes of the interpretation of 
 scripture at large are, 1st, The presupposing 
 such a perfection in scriptures, that all phi- 
 losophy ought to be deduced from it : which 
 is seeking tie dead amongst tbe living ; 2dly, 
 The expounding scriptures in the same man- 
 ner as human writings are expounded. 
 
 12. A 
 
363 
 
 12. A work is much wanted, upon a sound 
 collection of emendations upon particular 
 texts : not dilating into common places j or 
 hunting after controversies : or reduced into 
 method : but scattered. 
 
 Thus have we made, as it were, a small 
 globe of the Intellectual World. 
 
 FINIS- 
 
 R. TAYLOR and Co. Printers, 
 
X-223/2 
 
UCSOUT 
 
 HERN REGIONAL 
 
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