'ANBAED WOEKfi 
 
 LI SHED BY 
 
 Kfc,. litiou [1880], with a Supplcmer .C ipwards of 4600 Ne^Vi 
 
 U 
 
 and Meanings. 
 
 5. The Orthography is based a jg 
 possible on Fixed Principles. In c; ^ 
 of doubt an alternative spdling is" 
 
 WEBSTER’S DIfITIONARY 
 
 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 Note. — The only authorized Editions of this' Dictionary 
 those here described: no others 'published in En(^ 
 
 contain the Derivations and Etymological Notes of\ 
 Mahn, who devoted several years to this portion of the 
 See page 4. 
 
 WEBSTER’S GUINEA DICTIONARY ^ 
 
 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Thoroughly revised arl 
 proved by Chatjncey A. Goodeich, D.D., LL.D., and Noah P< 
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 The pecuhar features of this volume, which render it perhaps the most 
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 2. Accuracy of Definition.— In this 
 
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 were most valuable, in correcting the faulty 
 and redundant definitions of Dr.'Johnson, 
 which had previously been almost univer¬ 
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 Ksq., the Rev. Chauncey Goodrich, Prof. 
 
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 with the assistance and under the super¬ 
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 3. Scientific and Technical Terms.— 
 
 In order to secure the utmost completeness 
 and accuracy of definition, this department 
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 4. Etymology.— The eminent philo¬ 
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 7. The Illustrative Citation .? 
 
 labour has been spared to embof 
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 9. The Illustrations, whii.h excee^j 
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 A Pronouncing Vocabulary of Greek 
 
 and Latin Proper Names. By Professor 
 ’Fhacher, of Yale College. 
 
 An Etymological Vocabulary of Mo¬ 
 dem Geographical Names. By the Rev. 
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 By J. Thomas, MJ). 
 
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 (or nick-names), and their equivalents in 
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 A Dictionary of Quotations. Selected 
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 Containing all Words, Phrases, Proverbs, 
 and Colloquial Expressions from the 
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 A New Biographical Dictionary of 
 
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 cheapest Dictionary ever published, as it is confessedly one cf the best. The intro- 
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 it History of the English Lan- 
 
 By Professor James Hadley. 
 |Work shows the Philological Rela- 
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 )rogres8 and influence of the causes 
 have brought it to its present con- 
 
 t 
 
 [pies of Pronunciation, By 
 
 )r Goodrich and W. A Wheeler, 
 Including a Synopsis of Words 
 [■ently pronounced by different au- 
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 )rt Treatise on Orthography. 
 
 ITHTJR W. Wright. Including a 
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 )lanatory and Pronouncii^ 
 
 ?nlary of the Names of Noted Fio 
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 5LER, M.A This Work includes not 
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 [ythological and Mythical names, 
 
 , referring to the Angelology and De- 
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 its valuable Work may also be had 
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ST AND ABB WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 WEBSTER’S DICTIONARV., 
 
 From the Quabtebly Eevibw, OcL 1873. 
 
 Seventy years passed before Johnson was followed by Webber, ac 
 American writer, who faced the task of the English Dictionary (with a 
 full appreciation of its requirements, leading to better practical refeults.” 
 
 • • • •. 
 
 “ His laborious comparison of twenty languages, though nev( 
 lished, bore fruit in his own mind, and his training placed him 
 knowledge and judgment far in advance of Johnson as a phil< 
 Webster’s ‘ American Dictionary of the English Language ’ wai 
 lished in 1828, and of course appeared at once in England, 
 successive re-editing has as yet kejpt it in th^ highest •place as a pr\ 
 Dictionary,^ 
 
 “ The acceptance of an American Dictionary in England h{ 
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 “The good average business-like character of Webster’s Dicti| 
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 Professor Goodrich’s edition of 1847 is not much more than ei 
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 “ The American revised Webster’s Dictionary of 1864, pnblis 
 America and England, is of an altogether higher order than the 
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 names of Drs. Goodrich and Porter, but inasmuch as its es} 
 provement is in the etymological department, the care of whiJ 
 committed to Dr. Mahn, of Berlin, we prefer to describe it in si 
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 Professors Whitney and Dana, aided in the task of compil 
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 simple careful style^ and the derivations are assigned with the 
 good modem authorities.” 
 
 “ On the whole, the Webster-Mahn Dictionary as it stands, ii| 
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 *** For List of Bohx’s Libraries see the end of the Volume 
 
W O R K S 
 
 017 
 
 LORD BACON, 
 
 

• 1 
 
 
 y / 
 // 
 
 
 
 Van. SoTPfT. 
 
 FK^WCaS EACOl!^« 
 
 VIS COUNT SI A1BA2T. 
 
 i 
 
 
 OBi 1626 
 
THE 
 
 MORAL AND HISTORICAL 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 LORD BACON, 
 
 INCLUDING HIS 
 
 % 
 
 ESSAYS, APOPHTHEGMS, WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS, 
 NEW ATLANTIS, AND LIFE OF 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY DISSERTATION AND NOTES. 
 
 EY 
 
 JOSEPH DEVEY, M.A. 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1877. 
 
LONDON ; 
 
 PRINTED Bi* VTILLTAM CLO\rES AND SONS, STAMFORD STR^rP 
 AND CHARING CROSS, 
 
1 
 
 i Oi 
 
 0 1 3-^'- 
 / 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 
 
 WRITINGS OF BACON ... Page ix 
 
 r- 
 
 IXi 
 
 
 b 
 
 '1 
 
 > 
 
 00 
 
 < - 
 
 i 
 
 ESSAYS; ob, Counsels Civil and Mobal. 
 
 I.—Of Truth ... 
 
 II.—Of Death ... 
 
 III. —Of Unity in Religion ... .. «« 
 
 IV. —Of Revenge .. 
 
 V.—Of Adversity .. .. f - 
 
 y I.—Of Simulation and DissmuLATiON 
 VII.—Of Parents and Children 
 VIII.—Of MxVrriage and Single Life ... 
 
 IX.—Of Envy 
 
 —Of Love .. .. •» •• •• •' 
 
 XI.—Of Great Place 
 XII.—Of Boldness .. 
 
 XIII. —Of Goodness, and Goodness of Nature 
 
 XIV. —Of Nobility .. 
 
 XV.—Of Seditions and Troubles . 
 
 XVI.—Of Atheism .. 
 
 VII.—Of Superstition 
 
 \r 
 
 uK . 
 
 
 N.A^III.—Of 1 RAVEL .. .. •• .. •• •• 
 
 XIX. —Of Empire 
 XX.— Of Counsel .. 
 
 I^^XI.—Of Delats .. .» •• .» .. .. 
 
 XXII. —Of Cunning .. 
 
 ^ XXIIT. —Of Wisdom for a Man’s Self.. 
 
 XXIV. — Of Innovations 
 XXV. —Of Dispatch .. 
 
 XXVI. —Of Seeming Wise .. 
 
 XXVII. —Of Friendship 
 XXVIII. —Of Expense .. 
 
 XXIX. —Of the True Greatness of Kingdoms and 
 Estates 
 
 1 
 4 
 6 
 12 
 13 
 
 15^— 
 
 18 
 
 19, 
 
 21 . 
 
 26 
 
 28 
 
 31 
 
 33 
 
 86 
 
 38 
 
 45 
 
 49 
 
 50 
 53 
 
 58 X 
 
 63 
 
 64 
 68 
 
 69 
 
 70 
 
 72 
 
 73 
 80 
 
 81 
 
 -X 
 
 
 J 
 
Y1 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XXX.—Of PtEGiMEN OF Health.. Page 90 
 
 XXXI.—Of Suspicion .. .. .. .. 92 
 
 XXXII.—Of Discoukse .. .. . . . . 93 
 
 XXXIII.—Of Plantations .. ... .. 95 
 
 XXXrV.—O f Eiches ., .. .. 98 
 
 XXXV.—Of Prophecies .. ., • ... 101 
 
 XXX^VI.—Of Ambition .. .. .. .. .. 104 
 
 XXXVII.—Of Masques and Triumphs .. .. 106 
 
 XXXVIII.—Of Nature in Men .. .. . . 108 
 
 XXXIX.—Of Custom and Education .. .. 109 
 
 XL.—Of Fortune.. 111 
 
 XLI.—Of Usury .. .. .. ... 113 
 
 XLIl.—O f Youth and Age .. ... II7 
 
 XLIII.—Of Beauty. ... ... 119 
 
 XLIV.—Of Deformity .. ... 120 
 
 XLY.—Of Building- .. .. ... ... ... .. 121 
 
 , XLVI.—Of Gardens .. .. ... ... 125 
 
 /CXLYII.—Of Negotiating .. .. . . ... . . 131 
 
 XLVIII.—Of Followers and Friends .. _. .. 132 
 
 XLIX.—Of Suitors .. ... ... . . 134 
 
 L.—Of Studies ... . . ..136 
 
 LI.—Of Faction .. .. .. .. ... 137 
 
 LII.—Of Ceremonies and Eespects .. ... ... 139 
 
 LIII.—Of Praise ... 140 
 
 LIV.—Of Yain Glory . ... ... 142 
 
 LY.—Of Honour and Eeputation .. .. .. 144 
 
 LYI.—Of Judicature ... ... 146 
 
 LYII.—Of Anger.. .. 150 
 
 LYIII.—Of Yicissitude of Things.. ., .. 152 
 
 A Fragment of an Essay of Fame ' .. ... ,. ... 157 
 
 On Death .. ... ... ... ... 159 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS ... 
 
 164 
 
 OENAMENTA EATIONALIA : or Elegant Sentences .. 191 
 
 SHOET NOTES FOE CIYIL CONYEESATION ... .. 198 
 
 THE WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS; a Series op 
 
 Mythological Fables. 
 
 Preface .. ... .. ... ... .. 200 
 
 I. —Cassandra, or Divination. Explained of too 
 
 ree and unseasonable Advice .. .. .. 203 
 
 II. —Typhon, or a Eebel. Explained of Eebellion .. 204 
 
 HI. —The Cyclops, or the IMinisters of Terror. 
 
 Explained of base Co urt Office: s .. . . ., 206 
 
 lY.—N arcissus, or Self-love -.. 207 
 
 Y. —The Eiver Styx, or Leagues. Explained of 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 Isecessity, in the Oaths or Solemn Leagues of 
 Princes .. .. .. Page 208 
 
 VI.—Pan, OR Nature. Explained of Natural Philosophy 20? 
 
 VII.—Perseus, or War. Explained of the Preparation 
 
 and Conduct necessary to War .. .. .. 21G 
 
 VIII.—Endymion, or a Favourite. Explained of Court 
 
 Favourites .. ... .. .. ..219 
 
 IX.—The Sister of the Giants, or Fame. Explained 
 
 of Public Detraction ... . . .. .. 220 
 
 X. —Acteon and Pentheus, or a Curious Man. Ex¬ 
 
 plained of Curiosity, or Prying into the Secrets 
 of Princes and Divine Mysteries .. .. .. 221 
 
 XI. —Orpheus, or Philosophy. Explained of Natural 
 
 and Moral Philosophy .. .. .. 222 
 
 XI]..—CcELUii, OR Beginnings. * Explained of the Crea¬ 
 tion, or Origin of all Things .. .. .. 225 
 
 XIII. —Proteus, or Matter. Explained of Matter and 
 
 its Changes .. .. .. .. .. .. 227 
 
 XIV. —;Memnon, or a Youth too forward. Explained 
 
 of the fatal Precipitancy of Youth .. . . 228 
 
 XY. - -Tythonus, or Satiety. Explained of Predominant 
 
 Passions ... .. .. .. .. ... 229 
 
 XVI.—Juno’s Suitor, or Baseness. Explainc-d of Sub¬ 
 mission and Abjection .. .. .. ... 230 
 
 XVIT.'—Cupid, or an Atom. Explained of the Corpus¬ 
 cular Philosophy .. ... .. .. ... ib, 
 
 XVIII.—Diomed, or Zeal. Explained of Persecution, or 
 
 Zeal for Eeligion ... ... ... ... 233 
 
 XIX.—D^dalus, or Mechanical Skill. Explained of 
 
 Arts and Artists in Kingdoms and States ... 233 
 
 XX.—Ericthonius, or Imposture. Explained of the Im¬ 
 proper Use of Force in Natural Philosophy ... 233 
 
 XXI.—Deucalion, or Eestitution. Explained of a 
 
 Useful Hint in Natural Philosophy ... ... 239 
 
 XXII.—Nemesis, or the Vicissitude of Things. Ex¬ 
 plained of the Eeverses of Fortune .. ib, 
 
 XXIII.—Achelous, or Battle. Explained of War by 
 
 Invasion ... ... .. .. ... 241 
 
 XXIV".—Dionysus, OR Bacchus. Explained of the Passions 242 
 XXV^.—Atalanta and Hippomenes, or Gain. Explained 
 
 of the Contest betwixt Art and Nature ... . .. 245 
 
 XXVI.—Prometheus, or the State of Man. Explained 
 of an Over-ruling Providence, and of Human 
 Nature .. .. ... .. ... ... 247 
 
 XXVII.—Icarus and Scylla and Charybdis, or the 
 Middle Way. Explained of Mediocrity in 
 Natural and Moral Philosophy .. .. ... 25G 
 
 XXVIII.—Sphinx, OR Science. Explained of the Sciences 253 
 X X IX.—Proserpine, or Spirit. Explained of the Spirit 
 
 included in Natural Bodies ... ... 231 
 
CONTE^TTS. 
 
 • e • 
 
 Till 
 
 XXX, —Metis, or Counsel. Explained of Princes and 
 
 tlieir Council .. .. .. .. Pa/je 2G4 
 
 XXXI. —The Sirens, or Pleasures. Explained of Men's 
 
 Passion for Pleasures .. 205 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS 
 
 
 
 
 
 209 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH.. 
 
 
 
 
 
 307 
 
 HENKY THE EIGHTH .. 
 
 $-4 
 
 
 
 •-4 
 
 479 
 
 QUEEN EIIZABETH ... 
 
 
 
 
 
 480 
 
 HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES 
 
 • -t 
 
 
 
 
 493 
 
 HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN 
 
 
 
 
 
 495 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR ... 
 
 
 
 
 • • 
 
 499 
 
 AUGUSTUS C^SAR 
 
 
 
 ^-4 
 
 
 504 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 The present volume contains all the historical works of 
 I Lord Bacon, and the principal of his moral works; only a few 
 ^ antiquated pieces being omitted, which are no longer read. 
 
 A companion volume is in immediate preparation (for the 
 ! Scientific Library), comprising a comijlete translation of the 
 I nine books of De Augmentis Scientiarum, not hitherto given 
 i' in any edition of his works, and the Novum Organmn; 
 I both fully illustrated with notes. If these two volumes meet 
 with that success to which their contents entitle them, it is 
 ^ proposed to collect the remaining portions of Lord Bacon’s 
 Philosopliical and Miscellaneous works into a third'volume, 
 that the series may embrace all the waitings of that philo¬ 
 sopher which have outlived moderu discovery, and are likely 
 continuously to interest the attention of mankind, 
 
 H. G. B. 
 
 LondoUj Nov, 1852. 
 

INTKOBUCTION, 
 
 <r 
 
 BIOGEAPHICAL AND CEITICAL. 
 
 { 
 
 Among the great spirits whose claim to undisputed empire over 
 , men’s thoughts has been ratified by the concurrent testimony of 
 , ages and nations, Lord Bacon stands deservedly pre-eminent. 
 
 If he does not occupy the foremost place, his pretensions are as 
 ’ high and legitimate as any of his competitors*. The question is 
 , not, however, one of degree, but of kind, and consequently will 
 be decided according to the estimation in which men are inclined 
 to hold difierent objects. If ideal philosophy be regarded, 
 and the application of the rational faculty to objects of moral 
 ' speculation, the palm must be awarded to Socrates and Plato. If 
 ' the art of mental analysis be considered, and the power of dis- 
 j tinctly looking into the human mind, and tracing out the various 
 ' laws which produce and control its phenomena, we must as 
 readily admit the pretensions of Aristotle. But should we direct 
 our views to physical science, the creation of material arts and the 
 extension of man’s power over nature, we shall be compelled to 
 grace Bacon’s temples with the proudest wreath of glory. Despite 
 the splendid attempts of Plato and Aristotle to explain everything, 
 the result proved that their empire was bounded by the confines 
 f of the material universe. The arts and discoveries of the Athe¬ 
 nian sages, splendid as tliey are in the spiritual world, and even 
 potent to liberate the soul from the tyranny of the passions, still 
 stop here. They might be exercised in a cloister, a desert, or 
 in a dungeon, as they were exercised under the despotism of the 
 most degraded of the Eoman emperors, mthout teaching man 
 any other art than that of patience under calamities, and that of 
 , stringing together the speculative truths proposed by science or 
 revelation. These advantages were, doubtless, important in 
 their day, but they failed to disclose one physical truth, to 
 protect the civilized world from the incursion of savages, or 
 rescue mankind from barbarism. Bacon, though not the first 
 to detect this lacune in philosophy, was the first to bring to its 
 I removal the adventurous genius of the Stagyrite, and to ex¬ 
 plore the mines of physical phenomena with the searching keen- 
 ■ ness that his predecessor manifested in analyzing the law of the 
 j reasoning faculty, Thought and language adjusted themselves 
 I 5 2 
 
 I 
 
INTRODUCTION’. 
 
 • • 
 
 XU 
 
 to the pursuit,—new ideas were evolved, and a practical method 
 instituted of applying the inductive syllogism to the interpreta¬ 
 tion of nature. 
 
 If Bacon discovered no great law himself, he not only 
 propounded the system by which all might be reached, but 
 gave hints which enabled his successors to light at once on the 
 lurking-place of the discovery, and roused mankind with heart- 
 stirring appeals to pursue the only legitimate track of natural 
 science. If a Newton was required to exemplify the utility of 
 Bacon’s Organon, by a series of splendid discoveries, a Plato 
 was also needed to exhibit the highest triumphs of the reasoning 
 faculty before its laws could be detected by the keen glance of the 
 Stagyrite; and notwithstanding that both the ancient and the 
 modern philosopher have had their share of detractors, mankind 
 have been wonderfully concurrent in paying fealty to each as the 
 great arbiters of the destinies of their species. The influence of 
 the Stagyrite extends over a waste of two thousand years, through 
 which, with some knocks from those who ought to have been his 
 greatest friends, and with damaging support from that school 
 whose descendants have proved his mortal enemies, he has gene¬ 
 rally contrived to mould the minds of those who sway the world. 
 The intellect of Bacon has only impressed itself upon two centu¬ 
 ries, and yet so unanimous has been the verdict of mankind, and 
 so astounding the discoveries which have resulted from his 
 method, that his fame may be pronounced to stand upon as 
 firm a basis as that of Aristotle. Not an age passes wherein 
 the inquiries which he continues to excite and direct do not lead 
 to some practical result, either in the diminution of human evil, or 
 in the increase of man’s power and enjoyment; and so rapid has 
 been the stride of scientific improvement since his day, that men 
 now justly regard that state of learning which the scholastics 
 surveyed with raptures of admiration, as the mere infancy of 
 knowledge. 
 
 But Bacon was not only the high priest of nature, he was also 
 the Lord Chancellor of England, and notwithstanding that some 
 of his actions in relation to this office will occasionally awaken the 
 censure of the reader, there are traits and performances which must 
 challenge his applause, and transmit his name with lustre to pos-' 
 terity. The eloquence and searching analysis he displayed in phi¬ 
 losophy followed him to the bar. His legal arguments, of which 
 that on Perpetuities may be taken as a type, are among the most 
 masterly ever heard in Westminster Hall. His history of the 
 Alienation Office may be pronounced worthy of Hale, while his 
 dissertation on the courts of equity certainly throws the more 
 popular treatise of Grotius into the shade. The question of law 
 reform, so popular in our day, was first raised by him, and advo¬ 
 cated in a speech of reasoning eloquence which at once secured 
 
IXTRODUCTION. 
 
 xm 
 
 him the favour of the Commons ; and tliough his exhortations 
 were unheeded till the Barebones Parliament thought that 
 lawyers might be dispensed with altogether, and though they 
 have been neglected from the Eestoration till our own times, it 
 r must be borne in mind that the reforms already effected have been 
 mainly directed by his councils, and that in carrying out that wide 
 measure of chancery reform, on which all parties are now bent, 
 f he is our safest guide. Though the son of a lord-keeper, and the 
 nephew of a prime minister, he had, like all aspiring legists, to 
 I fight his way up to the highest posts of his profession by merit 
 alone; nor does it appear that his official kinsmen ever opened 
 their lips, or stretched out their hand, except to push him back, 
 or asperse his fame. 
 
 ^ Whether, then, we consider moral admonitions, the highest 
 philosophical achievements, practical civil wisdom, or the most 
 splendid Tegal and forensic talents, the life and works of Lord 
 Bacon stand if not alone in the world, at least without their 
 , rival in modern annals.^ The characters of ordinary thinkers 
 may be duly estimated when the generation with which their 
 [ infiuence ends has passed away, but the merits of those who 
 have given an immutable direction to the resistless tide of human 
 reason, and fashioned the channel through which it is destined to 
 flow, can only be fully appreciated after centuries have tested 
 the result. High as Bacon’s name now stands, every succeeding 
 age must increase its elevation, and centuries roll away before 
 it can be said to be graced with its final trophies. 
 
 Francis Bacon was born at York House,f in the Strand, on 
 the 22nd January, (old style) 1560. His father. Sir Nicholas 
 Bacon, one of the greatest ornaments of Elizabeth’s adminis¬ 
 tration, and, lord-keeper of the great seal, contributed by his 
 practical foresight to raise England to a height in European 
 councils which has only been realized by the strongest govern¬ 
 ments of later times. His mother, Ann Cook, the daughter of 
 Edward the Sixth’s tutor, was skilled in the Latin and Greek 
 
 * To the universality of this panegyric, Burke, who borrowed from him 
 his sagest political obseiwations, bears testimony: ^^Who is there that, 
 
 I upon hearing the name of Lord Bacon, does not instantly recognise every- 
 ^ tMng of genius the most profound, everything of literatm’e the most exten¬ 
 sive, everything of discovery the most penetrating, everjiihing of observation 
 on human life the most distinguishing and refined? All these must be 
 instantly recognised, for they are all inseparably associated with the name 
 of Lord Verulam.”—Speech on the Impeachment of Warren Hastings. 
 
 ’Y York House was so named from ha\'ing been inhabited by the arch- 
 f bishop of York in the reign of Queen Mary. It was situated on the banks 
 of the Thames, at the bottom of Buckingham-street, Strand. The only 
 , vestige of it now remaining is its fine water-gate, built by Inigo Jones. A 
 view of the old house is preseiwed in that emfious and interesting repository 
 Wilkinson’s I<ondina lUustrata. 
 
XIV” 
 
 INTRODUCTIOIT. 
 
 tong^J83, which ladies were then accustomed to learn, owing to 
 the dearth of modern literature; and also possessed such facility 
 in French and Italian as to pronounce and translate those lan¬ 
 guages with ease and correctness. There can be little doubt that 
 jBacon, like many other great men, inherited a targe portion of 
 his abilities from his mother, and that she, as the lord-keeper’s 
 time was absorbed by more pressing duties, mostly contributed 
 to fashion the infant stream of his thoughts, and give them a 
 healthy direction. Of his younger days, nothing more is re¬ 
 corded than his breaking open the drums and trumpets his nurses 
 bought him, to explore the locality of the sound; his leaving 
 the ordinary field sports, to discover the cause of an echo in 
 a neighbouring vault, and his sprightly answers to Queen 
 Elizabeth, who used to stroke his head and call him her little 
 lord-keeper. “It is certain,” says Macaulay, “that at at twelve 
 years old he busied himself with very ingenious spec*ulations on 
 the art of legerdemain; a subject which, as Dugald Stewart has 
 most justly observed, merits much more attention from philoso¬ 
 phers than it has ever received.” 
 
 In the latter end of his thirteenth year he was entered at 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, but it does not appear that he ever 
 felt at home in what are, or ought to be, the haUs of science. His 
 tutor, Whitgift, afterwards archbishop of Canterbury, never 
 thought him worthy of a remark in his writings. Doubtless, 
 Bacon placed too high a value on being well with his age, to 
 make an open onslaught on the institutions and the men whom 
 it regarded with veneration; but it requires no great sagacity 
 to discern in his remarks on cloistered learning, his opiaion of 
 alma-mater, and its sister university. He deplored, as we de¬ 
 plore now, and are making some attempts to remedy, the absence 
 of scientific studies in the British universities; and covertly 
 described the philosophy expounded within their^ walls, as so 
 much spider thread spun out of the brain of the scholastics, ad¬ 
 mirable for its fineness, but without any use or purpose in nature. 
 From his wrangling with Aristotle, whose logic he unaccountably 
 deemed diametrically opposed to his own, there is no doubt 
 that he experienced some hard knocks at the university; and that, 
 like Swift, Goldsmith, Gibbon, and Adam Smith, he was treated 
 as too stubborn and erratic for a systematic course of study, 
 and left pretty much to follow the bent of his own inclination. 
 Having kept only eight terms. Bacon quitted the university 
 without a degree, and being intended by his father for the poli¬ 
 tical profession, was intrusted to the care of Sir Amy as Paulet, 
 the queen’s ambassador at Paris, and occasionally employed by 
 him in offices of trust for the crown. After visiting the chief 
 provinces of France he settled in Poictiers, and devoted threo 
 years of that period of life which is most averse to reflection, to 
 
HTTRODUCTIOIT. 
 
 XV 
 
 gtudy, and retirement. To this sojourn we owe not only his 
 Essays, and the Notes on the State of Europe, which display the 
 rising sagacity of the veteran statesman, but all the graces of 
 style and manner which so distinguish him from his contem¬ 
 poraries. 
 
 While Bacon was engaged in his studies he received news 
 (Feb. 20, 1579,) of his father’s death. Like Philip of Arragon, 
 Sir Nicholas Bacon perished from the effects of civility. The 
 pohteness of a servant, who would not presume to close a window 
 before which his master had fallen asleep, killed him. Bacon 
 hastened home, but found his eldest brother in possession of the 
 patrimonial estate, with nothing left for himself but a slender 
 fifth portion, totally inadequate to the maintenance of his station 
 in society. After many futile apphcations to his uncle, the lord- 
 treasurer Burleigh, for political employment, he entered Gray’s 
 Inn in his twentieth year, resolved to scale the heights of power 
 by the more arduous but surer path of law. For ten or eleven 
 succeeding years, he rarely suffered either amusement or litera 
 ture to disturb the tenor of his professional duties, and seems 
 to have fully mastered the common law, and familiarised his mind 
 with every branch of jurisprudence. About this period he published 
 a draft of his philosophical notions, under the title of Temjporis 
 partum maximum, (The Greatest Birth of Time;) which, however, 
 dropped stiU-born from the press, the world only knowing of 
 its existence through a paragraph in one of his letters to Father 
 Fulgentio: nor does it appear that the copies which he scattered 
 among his friends did him any further service than to single him 
 out as a rash speculatist. Bacon, emboldened by his high talents 
 and the claims of his family on the crown, continued to ply the 
 Cecils with solicitations, but without any other result than testy 
 refusals and lectures on his arrogance and presumption. The 
 lord-treasurer, though a man of cool judgment and calculating 
 foresight, had no regard for intellectual merit, and thought 
 even one hundred pounds too handsome a gratuity for Spenser’s 
 
 Fairy Queen,” which he termed a foolish old song. Had he 
 been childless, the same reason would have led him to bring 
 forward, which now impelled him to push back, his illustrious kins¬ 
 man ; but he had a son, and being resolved to make the premier¬ 
 ship hereditary in his family, thought no means beneath him to 
 blast Bacon’s legal reputation. Elizabeth was told that the son 
 of the late lord-keeper was a superficial legist and a rash philo¬ 
 sophical dreamer; and the unlucky Temj^oris partum maximum 
 was doubtless adduced in proof of the allegation, that Bacon 
 was more calculated to perplex than to promote the despatch of 
 civil business. The philosopher, however, was persevering, and 
 stoically impervious to repulse. Burleigh, at last wearied out, gave 
 him the registrar of the Star Chamber in reversion; but the 
 
XTl 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 place not falling due till after tlie lapse of twenty years, Bacon 
 complained that “ it was like another man’s fair ground fattening 
 upon his house, which might reviye his prospects, but did not fill 
 his barns.”* 
 
 In 1593 he sat for Middlesex, and delivered his maiden 
 speech in favour of law reform. The praises which followed 
 BO intoxicated him, that in the ensuing debate on the sub¬ 
 sidy, he broke out into a fiaming oration against the court, 
 denouncing the claim as extravagant, and dwelling with pathetic 
 sympathy on the miseries which such exactions must cause 
 among the country gentry, who would be constrained to sell 
 their plate and brass pans to meet the demands of the crown. 
 Bacon carried his motion for an inquiry, and struck all the cour¬ 
 tiers with horror and amazement. The queen, highly incensed, 
 desired it to be intimated to the delinquent, that he must never 
 more expect favour or promotion. The spirit of the rising 
 patriot was cowed; with bated breath, he whispered expressions 
 of repentance and amendment, and never afterwards played 
 the patriot further than was consistent with his interest at 
 court. 
 
 Egerton, the Attorney-General, being soon after elevated to 
 the Bolls, and Coke becoming the chief law officer of the crown, 
 the solicitor’s place fell vacant, and opened to Bacon a path to 
 the highest professional honours. He evidently thought this the 
 great crisis of his life, and spared no pains to secure the golden 
 prize which leads to the guardianship of the royal conscience. 
 His unlucky speech, and the jealousy of the Cecils, lay in his 
 path, and to remove these obstacles he had to show deference to 
 men he hated, and pay dutiful obedience to all the wishes of the 
 crown. After soliciting lord-keeper Puckering and the Cecils to 
 use their influence, he resolved to take a bold step, and address 
 the queen, who, however, recalled his unlucky subsidy speech, 
 an his philosophical predilections as fatal to his claims. But 
 Bacon did not give up the battle. The talents of Essex were 
 immediately put in requisition to obtain the solicitor’s place, but' 
 the o^ueen could ill brook the rising popularity of the favourite, 
 and was too glad to avail herself of an occasion to cross his 
 views. Essex, however, had an inkling that a man of such 
 splendid abilities failed only through the weakness of his patron, 
 and begged of him, in language dictated by spontaneous gene¬ 
 rosity, to accept some recompense for the time he had mis¬ 
 spent in courting the favour of a declining patron. “ I shall 
 die if I do not somewhat to your fortune; you shall not deny to 
 accept a piece of land which I will bestow upon you.” After a 
 decent resistance. Bacon yielded, and was enfeoned of land at 
 
 * Letter to Burloigh. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 xvn 
 
 Twickenliam, which he afterwards sold for £1,800, a great sum 
 in those days.* 
 
 Bacon now resolved to disprove the insinuations which had 
 been uttered by Burleigh, with respect to his legal attainments, 
 and wrote a treatise upon the elements and use of common 
 law, applying the inductive mode of reasoning to jurispru¬ 
 dence in ascending to the platform of rules and maxims through 
 the gradual collection of particulars. The publication of his 
 Essays followed, and carried his name at once into the mouth 
 of the public. His philosophical genius, and the force of his 
 language, gave him a greater advantage even than his learning, 
 while his keen perception of the true and beautiful and his 
 analytic powers have made him the marvel, delight, and despair 
 of succeeding essayists.f 
 
 These endeavours, successful as they were, do not appear to 
 have gained him much practice. Or to have placed him beyond 
 the necessity of compounding with his creditors. Authorship 
 brought in nothing but fame in those days. To rid himself of 
 embarrassments, so irksome to a man of genius, he resolved to 
 make a bold attempt to retrieve his affairs by marriage. Lady 
 Hatton, the eldest daughter of Sir Thomas Cecil, and early 
 relict of the son of Chancellor Hatton, was the beauty at whose 
 shrine Bacon ventured to offer up his first vows. But the rich 
 widow had unfortunately possessed herself of a copy of Bacon’s 
 Essays, and finding therein love described as an ignoble passion, 
 fit only for base and petulant natures, she ascribed his profes¬ 
 sions of attachment rather to her money than to her person, and 
 rejected his suit. The disappointment was the more severely felt 
 as the youug lady capitulated to a rival, his sworn antagonist, Sir 
 
 * This land was Twickenham Park, which stretched along the banks of 
 the Thames from Richmond-bridge (then only a ferrj’) to Isleworth, and 
 extended probably to the pathway now called Isleworth-lane, opposite 
 Marble-hiU. Lord Bacon’s house was pulled down many years since, and 
 no vestige of it is said to remain ; w^’e believe, however, that traces of it are 
 still discernible on the site of Little St. Margaret’s, known in the vicinity 
 as Lord Cavendish’s house. This fine tract of land (several hundred acres), 
 which, in Bacon’s time, appears to have had only his own house upon it, 
 is now covered with villas, including Lord Kilmorrey’s new and magnificent 
 mansion, “ St. Margaret’s,” built nearly on the site of the old mansion of 
 that name, lately pifiled down. The land alone would now be worth moro 
 than £100,000. 
 
 + In Bacon’s Essays the superiority of his genius appears to the 
 greatest advantage ; the novelty and depth of his reflections often receiving 
 a strong relief from the triteness of the subject. The volume may be read 
 from beginning to end in a few hoius, and yet after the twentieth perusal 
 one seldom fails to remark in it something overlooked before. This, indeed, 
 is a characteristic of all Bacon’s writings, and is only to be accounted for 
 by the mexhaustible aliment they furnish to our own thoughts, and the 
 sympathetic activity they impart to our torpid faculties .”—Dugald Steicaif. 
 
Kvili INTRODUCTIOIT. 
 
 Edward Coke, a crabbed old lawyer, with six children, and stricken 
 with infirmities. 
 
 The energy with which Bacon now devoted himself to his 
 profession enabled him to place his legal reputation beyond the 
 reach of calumny by his celebrated argument on perpetuities, 
 which he afterwards fashioned into a reading on the Statute of 
 Uses, and delivered as double reader in Gray’s Inn. This tract, 
 lias imparted to the law of real property the undeviating exact¬ 
 ness it has since preserved, reconciling life-interests with perpe¬ 
 tuities and providing facilities for the transfer of land, w^hile it 
 secures the stability of families so necessary in a fixed monarchy. 
 
 These legal triumphs conspired, with the death of Lord Bur¬ 
 leigh, to raise his credit with Queen Elizabeth, who was a visitor at 
 Twickenham when the earl who conferred that domain on Bacon 
 returned from his unfortunate expedition to Ireland. As he, in 
 addition to the other misfortunes of the campaign, had quitted 
 the army without her Majesty’s permission, the queen appeared 
 indignant, and named a commission, in which Bacon was retained 
 as council extraordinary for the crown, to examine the unfortu¬ 
 nate earl on the various misdemeanors which truth or jealousy 
 imputed to him. In these proceedings Bacon seems at first 
 to have played the part of a prudent friend, in striving to efiect 
 a reconciliation between Elizabeth and her favourite ; but his 
 endeavours on both sides were misconstrued, and rewarded with 
 suspicions of double-dealing and treachery. ‘‘ The earl looked on 
 him as a spy of the queen, the queen as a creature of the earl.” 
 
 The reconciliation,” says Macaulay, which Bacon had 
 laboured to efiect appeared utterly hopeless. A thousand signs, 
 legible to eyes far less keen than his, announced that the fall of 
 his patron was at hand. He shaped his course accordingly. 
 When Essex was brought before the Council to answer for his 
 conduct in Ireland, Bacon after a faint attempt to excuse him¬ 
 self from taking part against his friend, submitted to the Queen’s 
 pleasure, and appeared at the bar in support of the charges. 
 But a darker scene was behind. The unliappy young nobleman, 
 made reckless by despair, ventured on a rash and criminal enter¬ 
 prise, which brought on him the highest penalty of the law.” 
 When the nation loudly resented the fall of the unfortunate earl. 
 Bacon, at the command of the queen, justified his execution in a 
 pamphlet; but posterity has never entirely forgiven his ingrati¬ 
 tude, or his apologists succeeded in finding a sufficient excuse 
 for it. 
 
 The queen did not long survive her favourite, and the atten¬ 
 tion of both her courtiers and statesmen began to be directed 
 towards the Scottish king. Bacon was determined not to be 
 lost among the crowd, and we find him busily employed in 
 soliciting James and his courtiers. After despatching letters to 
 
r^TRODUCTIOX. 
 
 XIX 
 
 two of the more important, he resolved to address Jamcs him¬ 
 self, and thus hit off his nature to’ the life. High and 
 mighty sovereign Lord. It is observed by some upon a place in 
 the Canticles, ego sum Jios Campum et lilium convalliumi that 
 a dispart, it is uot said : Ego sum jios horti et lilium montium, 
 because the majesty of that person is not inclosed for a few, nor 
 appropriated to the great.’' Excusing his freedom of approach, 
 with this quibble, he then proceeds to veil his own claims under 
 those of his kindi*ed, and concludes with *•' sacrificing himself as 
 a bumt-offering to the king.” 
 
 Bacon was kindly received, and soon found that his prospects 
 were by no means diminished by the death of the queen. As 
 soon as James had domesticated himself at Whitehall, he began 
 to lavish titles and honours with so wide a profusion that there 
 hardly remained ary other mark of distinction than that of 
 having escaped them. The public were amazed and confused 
 with the heap of new titles, and books were announced under¬ 
 taking to help weaker memories to a knowledge of the nobility. 
 Bacon requested to be knighted in a batch of three hundred, 
 who were about to receive that dignity. Just at this period 
 he was offering his heart to the daughter of a rich alderman, 
 and intimated to Cecil that the concession of his request would 
 expedite the match, and release him from the anomalous posi¬ 
 tion of being the only untitled lawyer on his mess at G-ray’s- 
 Inn. His wish was gratified, and Miss Barnham immediately 
 became Lady Bacon. 
 
 His first appearance under the new reign was as one of 
 the counsel for the Crown on the trial of Sir Walter Baleigh, 
 arising out of the conspiracy to place Lady Arabella Stewart on 
 the throne. He was not, however, permitted by Coke, who was 
 extremely jealous of his powers, either to examine the witnesses 
 or address the jury. But bemg returned for Ipswich in James’s 
 first parliament, he raised his crest, and made himself popular 
 with the country party by advocating a moderate redress of 
 grievances, while he obtaiued the favour of the king by sup¬ 
 porting his pet plan of a union with Scotland. In the autumn 
 of the year, he paid a visit to his friend. Sir Henry Savillc, 
 provost of Eton, and on his return, addressed a letter to him 
 on the subject of education, inclosing a tract entitled, ‘‘Helps 
 to the Intellectual Powers,” which pointed out new methods of 
 fortifying the memory, and assisting the rationalistic faculty. 
 Soon after he proposed to write a “ History of England,” and 
 sought to move the king to assist him in the undertaking by 
 writing a tract, “On the Greatness of the Kingdom of Great 
 Britain.” Contemporaneously with these efforts, he prosecuted 
 his treatise “ On the Advancement of Learning,” which appeared 
 the following year and immediately placed his name among the 
 
XX 
 
 n^TTRODUCrriOl:?’. 
 
 first writers of tlie age. In tliis work lie reviewed the state of 
 the sciences, pointed out the obstacles which had obstructed 
 their progress, and suggested sage and practical hints for their 
 entire renovation. The eloquent wisdom he displayed in this 
 survey had a marvellous effect in reviving a zeal for science in 
 every part of Europe, and in enlarging the domain of know¬ 
 ledge ; so that if CsRsar’s compliment to Cicero be worth any¬ 
 thing, in extending the limits of human wit he obtained a glory 
 greater than that of enlarging the boundaries of the Eoman 
 world. The elevation of Coke, in 1607, to the justiceship of 
 the Common Pleas, opened a passage for Bacon to the sohcitor’s 
 place. 
 
 In the mean time Bacon went steadily on with his philoso¬ 
 phical labours. He published his “ Cogitata et Visa,” which he 
 afterwards expanded into the “ Novum Organum,” the most 
 wonderful effort of analogical wit ever exhibited. Had Bacon 
 written nothing else, this work would have been sufficient to 
 clothe him with imperishable renown. He likewise pubhshed 
 his “ Sapientia Yeterum,” and a new and greatly enlarged edition 
 of his Essays. But with his foot on the ladder of promotion 
 Bacon was not the man to stand still, and he wrote to James, 
 with a view to extort a promise of the attorney’s place when it 
 should fall due. The chief-justiceship of the King’s Bench soon 
 after becoming vacant. Bacon infiuenced the king to thrust the 
 office on Coke and remove Hobart to the Common Pleas; that 
 he might secure the attorneyship. The manoeuvre was success¬ 
 ful ; the men moved as the wires were drawn, and Bacon became 
 the head legal adviser of the Crown. The king created him 
 privy counsellor, which caused him to resign his private practice, 
 and give a free rein to his speculative studies. The “ Novum 
 Organum” was prosecuted with renewed zeal, and a proposition 
 appeared from his pen touching the amendment of the civil law. 
 In his scheme he does not venture to codify the common law, 
 but to reform the statute-book, and extract from the jumble of 
 reports a series of sound and consistent decisions. He not only 
 wrote valuable treatises to explain and improve the law of Eng¬ 
 land, but induced the king to appoint reporters, who should 
 authoritatively print such decisions of the courts as were useful, 
 and guard against the publication of crude and contradictory 
 cases. 
 
 In 1617, Bacon, who had previously been appointed chan¬ 
 cellor to the duchy of Cornwall, became lord keeper. The 
 philosopher is rather degraded than elevated by the trappings 
 of civic pomp, yet history condescends to relate, as something 
 accessory to his honour, how he rode between the lord high 
 chancellor and lord of the privy seal, preceded by his mace- 
 bearer and purse-bearer, and followed by a long line of judges, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 xxi 
 
 to the ceremony of his installation. He entered with alacrity 
 on the duties of his new office, cleared out all the arrears 
 of Chancery after a month’s sitting, and wrote to the king 
 and Buckingham, who were in Edinburgh endeavouring to 
 persuade the Scots into episcopacy, to apprise them what a 
 vigilant servant they had at Westminster. Coke, who in the 
 mean time had been dismissed, displayed now as much astute¬ 
 ness as his rival in reconstructing his fortunes. He had the 
 sagacity to foresee that the daughter he had by his second wife 
 Lady Hatton, the heir of her mother’s broad estates, would not 
 be unacceptable to the needy Sir John Yilliers, one of the 
 brothers of the duke of Buckingham, and accordingly pushed 
 the match with all the energy of his character. Lady Hatton, 
 who had separated from her husband, opposed his projects, and 
 ran away with her daughter to a place of concealment near 
 Hampton Court. Coke, with a band of dependants, fled to the 
 rescue with the same alacrity as he had posted off to Theobald’s 
 to seize Somerset, and carried off the young lady in triumph. 
 Bacon grew alarmed at the prospect of the marriage bringing 
 his rival again into favour, and determined no engine should 
 remain unemployed to defeat it. He even deigned to forget 
 the rejection of his flrst love, and opened a correspondence with 
 Lady Hatton. Yellverton, the attorney-general, was instructed 
 to file an information against Coke in the Star Chamber, and the 
 king was importuned with letters designed to show how disastrous 
 the union would be to his interests, in which communications 
 Bacon so far forgot himself as to deal out sarcasms against 
 Buckingham. The king, and, we need not add, the favourite, 
 were enraged. James wrote his chancellor stinging letters of 
 rebuke, and Bacon’s eyes were open to the fact that his posses¬ 
 sion of the great seal depended on a look of Buckingham. He 
 at once abandoned his opposition to the match, and bemoaned 
 his error for proceeding in the matter without consulting the 
 royal wishes. 
 
 The breach, however, was not repaired without making the 
 lord keeper sensible of the bondage into which he had fallen. 
 Buckingham had a host of needy relatives to provide for. The 
 king’s finances were never in a fiourishing state, and to satisfy 
 their clamours and supply his own extravagances, he fell upon 
 the old device of patents and monopolies. These were certain 
 charters granted under the great seal, enabling a few individuals 
 to retain the manufacture of particular articles of trade in 
 their own hands, and arming them with exorbitant powers to 
 break open and ransack any house in which they suspected 
 an illicit manufactory to be carried on. In Elizabeth’s reign, 
 such powers had been extensively exercised, but the enormities 
 to which they led raised such an outcry in the nation as 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 xxii 
 
 alarmed the queen, and compelled her to revoke the charters. 
 Since that time Bacon had manifested some respect for the feel¬ 
 ings of the people, and even declaimed against this mode of 
 plundering them in his advice’* to Buckingham; he no^ found 
 it necessary to stultify his own lessons, and that at the command 
 of his pupil. As fast as the ingenuity of the favourite could 
 devise patents, Bacon hurried them under the great seal of 
 England, and a band of monopolists was armed with warrants 
 to rob the public, in consideration of handing over to Bucking¬ 
 ham a share of the pillage. The people’s sense of justice was 
 outraged by an attempt to pass on plated copper-wire for sil¬ 
 ver lace at more than the ordinary price, and an outcry was 
 immediately raised against Sir John Yilliers, Sir Giles Monpes- 
 son—supposed to be the original of Massenger’s Sir Giles 
 Overreach,—and Sir Erancis Monpesson,—^his Justice Greedy, 
 —who were the principals in this nefarious transaction. James 
 referred the case to the decision of his chancellor, who, after a 
 decent delay, pronounced the patent to be decidedly beneficial, 
 on the ground of affording employment to the poor. 
 
 At this period Bacon was employing his leisure in elaborating 
 a work which was destined to reform the sciences, and introduce 
 anew era in philosophy. In 1620, appeared the “Novum Or- 
 ganum,” which had formed the subject of his contemplations for 
 forty-five years, and showed the world that Aristotle might find 
 a rival in the chancellor of Great Britain. Never did voice break 
 so portentously on mankind. The tongues of the Peripatetics 
 were silenced, the babblers of the Academy hushed, and the rising 
 sect of alchemists crouched in the presence of their master. As 
 the supreme legislator of science, he had the universe for his 
 book and the world for his auditory, and enraptured foreign 
 countries with the wisdom of his decisions, while he instructed 
 his own. 
 
 “ Without any disparagement to the admirable treatise ‘ De 
 Augmentis,”’ says Macaulay, “we may say that, in our judg¬ 
 ment, Bacon’s greatest performance is the first book of the 
 ‘Novum Organum.’ All the peculiarities of his extraordinary 
 mind are found there in the lughest perfection. Every part of 
 the book blazes with wit, but with wit which is employed only 
 to illustrate and decorate truth. No book ever made so great a 
 revolution in the mode of thinking, overthrew so many preju¬ 
 dices, introduced so many new opinions.” 
 
 Bacon was now at the height of his prosperity. York House 
 was fitted up for his town residence, in a style of grandeur un¬ 
 known in his father’s days, and Ben Jonson has done exquisite 
 justice to the champagne fetes and the oratory of the owner. In 
 addition to his villa at Eew, he erected a private retreat at Gor- 
 hambury, at the cost of £10,000; where he used to entertain 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 xxiii 
 
 Hobbes and a few choice spirits of the time. From thence he 
 was called, not unwillingly, to attend the king’s court at Theo¬ 
 bald’s, where he was raised to the peerage under the title of 
 Viscount St. Alban’s, Buckingham and Carew supporting his 
 robe of state, and Lord Wentworth bearing his coronet. Three 
 days after, the parliament assembled which was to convict him. 
 
 The attention of the new House of Commons was first directed 
 to the copper lace business, in which the abuses were so enor¬ 
 mous, as to excite a fearful crusade against monopolies and pro¬ 
 jectors. Humours also were set afloat about corruption in high 
 places; disappointed suitors in Chancery came forth to assail the 
 integrity of the chancellor. The fathers of Pym and Hampden 
 were not to be deterred, by the splendour of the philosopher, 
 from prying into the character of the judge. One Aubrey said 
 he had been advised to give £100 to the chancellor, to expedite 
 matters, and yet after many delays. Bacon had delivered a killing 
 decree against him. Egerton, another petitioner, averred that 
 to procure his favour, he had been induced to present him with 
 £400, under colour of a gratuity for certain services Bacon had 
 rendered him when attorney-general, notwithstanding which he 
 got an adverse award. One charge brought many more, until the 
 list became so lengthy, as to make an impeachment a matter of 
 course. Coke had gone through the forms of a reconciliation 
 with Bacon, but finding a seat at the privy council board without 
 office or emolument rather dull work, set the inquiry afoot, and 
 though he declined, through motives of decency, to be the chair¬ 
 man of the committee, he directed its councils, and fashioned 
 the instrument which was to lay his rival at his feet. 
 
 Bacon does not seem to have been at first aware of the im¬ 
 pending danger, thinking himself too highly perched in the king’s 
 favour to be struck down by a hand so vulgar as Coke’s, and 
 that the worst that could happen would be a dissolution. The 
 king, however, was led by other councils. Williams, the shrewd 
 dean of Westminster, who had impressed Buckingham with a 
 favourable opinion of his sagacity, represented the danger in 
 which the court stood of being swept away by the indiscrimi- 
 nating tide of patriotism, unless some great victim was sacri-. 
 ficed, and justice dealt out to the herd of minor agents. ‘‘ Swim, 
 with the stream,” said Williams, “ and you cannot be drowned. 
 Leave Bacon to his fate, send Sir John Villiers on an embassy, 
 and throw overboard Monpesson and Michael as baits to decoy 
 the whales from following a sinking ship.” The chancellor was 
 left to read the adoption of this advice in the uncivil air of 
 the dependants of the court, and when his suspicions were con¬ 
 firmed by an interview with the king and his minion, he 
 adjourned the House of Lords, and betook himself to his bed. 
 
 Tho blow soon fell. He was impeached before the lords for 
 
XXIV 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 bribery and corruption, in tlie Higb Court of Chancerj^ on 
 twenty-three separate counts. By the advice of the king, he 
 dictated a vague confession of his guilt to^be laid before the 
 lords, by the heir apparent, in which he admitted tliat his con¬ 
 science upbraided him with sufficient matter for impeachment, 
 but begged their lordships to remember there were vitia tern- 
 'poris as well as vitia hominis, and entreated them to accept 
 jiis resignation of the great seal as a sufficient expiation of his 
 errors. The peers, however, demanded a particular answer to 
 each count of the impeachment, and communicated to him the 
 formal articles of charge, with the proofs in support of each to 
 that end. Bacon’s confession was complete. He subscribed to 
 each of the charges, admitting the receipt of the illegal sums 
 from his suitors, though qualifying them in some instances as 
 new year’s gifts, or gratuities for past services. The king dared 
 not interpose, and final judgment was not long delayed. He 
 was sentenced to pay a fine of £40,000, to be imprisoned in the 
 Tower during the king’s pleasure, declared incapable of holding 
 any public office, place, or employment, and forbid to come 
 within verge of the court.* 
 
 After one night’s confinement in the Tower he was released, 
 and consigned to his gloomy mansion in the country. Here 
 he resolved to dedicate his retirement to literature, and 
 begged of James to direct his mind to any undertaking that 
 might add lustre to his reign. The history of Henry YII. was 
 pointed out by the monarch as a work worthy of his pen. Bacon 
 gives us a very graphic and complete view of the principal com¬ 
 motions which disturbed his reign. If he circumstantially details 
 the pompous embassies and empty speeches of the period, it is 
 because history consisted hardly of anything else, the people 
 in those times allowing themselves to be treated like cattle, and 
 permitting princes to decide their highest destinies with infan¬ 
 tine simplicity. The character of the age is, notwithstanding, 
 drawn out by Bacon in vivid colours, and the grouping of the 
 incidents shows that, had the times conspired, he lacked not the 
 capacity to rival Hume or Bobertson in the highest department 
 of their art. The king, who evidently thought more about this 
 book than the “Novum Organon,” which he declared surpassed 
 his comprehension, condescended to correct the MSS., and 
 allowed Bacon to come to town, with a view to expedite its 
 coarse through the press. This work was immediate!}^ followed 
 up by his “ History of Life and Death,” with an enlarged edition 
 of his Essays, and many of his minor pieces. The following year 
 he expanded the “Treatise on the Advancement of Learning’* 
 into nine books, preserving the first book of the original as pre* 
 
 * This venality has been elaborately palliated and defended by Montag’i, 
 as part and parcel of the condition of the times. 
 
INTRODUCnON. 
 
 XX7 
 
 liminary to Lis design, and amplifying the matter of the second 
 into eight. 
 
 Bacon, however, from his little retreat at Gorhambury, made 
 small account of impressing his mind upon his living country¬ 
 men; his eye rested upon Europe and posterity. The fate 
 of Chaucer haunted him: he thought that modern languages 
 would play the bankrupt with books, and that if he did not 
 inshrine his thoughts in a dead language, his name would 
 never travel abroad, and would positively die out among his own 
 countrymen in the next generation. With the assistance of Her¬ 
 bert, Playfair, and some add of Ben Jonson, he gave his new 
 treatise, together with his Essays and many of his minor pieces, 
 a Latin dress; but on contrasting those works with the “Hovum 
 Organon,” originally written by himself in Latin, it does not 
 appear that he was much indebted to the attainments of his 
 translators. 
 
 Bacon, though he followed the pursuits, had not learned to 
 adopt the simple tastes of the philosopher. He gave up York 
 House and its splendid .uxuries with a pang, but retained the 
 greater part of his retinue, and refused to allow one tree of the 
 Gorhambury woods to be felled, even to satisfy the demands of 
 his clamorous creditors. When urged to part with some of the 
 more ostensible fineries of his household, ‘‘ Ho,” replied the philo¬ 
 sopher, with indignation, “ I will not be stripped of my feathers.” 
 He even entertained hopes of resuming his seat in the Lords, if 
 not on the woolsack, and did not scruple, in his letters to James, 
 to pervert history, with a view to establish similar cases of rein¬ 
 tegration. “ Demosthenes,” says Bacon, in one of these commu¬ 
 nications, was banished for bribery of the highest nature, yet 
 was recalled with honour; Marcus Lucius was condemned for 
 exactions, yet afterwards made consul and censor; Seneca was 
 banished for divers corruptions, yet was afterwards restored, 
 and an instrument in the memorable Quinquenium Heronis.” 
 
 Williams, however, who had succeeded him as Lord Keeper, 
 dreading the gigantic power of the suppliant in opposition, was 
 not idle in multiplying reasons for allowing Bacon to decay 
 among his books, and Buckingham had found agents quite as 
 useful to his purpose as the philosopher of Gorhambury. 
 
 After the lapse of three or four years the public feeling 
 against Bacon subsided, and his works had made so favourable 
 an impression upon all classes of society, that the king thought 
 he might with safety cancel the remaining portion of his sentence, 
 and again open to him the avenues of public life. He requited 
 this favour by writing two party pamphlets for the royal favour¬ 
 ite, Buckingham, one entitled “ Some Considerations touching a 
 War with Spain,” in which Bacon strives to excite the nation to 
 make an unjustifiable attack upon an unofiending ally; the other. 
 
 c 
 
XXVI 
 
 INTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 caiied Advertisement toucliing an Holy War,’* was neither 
 more nor less than a dialogue on the lawfulness of propagating 
 religion by the sword. The king certainly had his hands full in 
 trying to extirpate heresies, reconcile schisms, and reform man¬ 
 ners ; but our author was inclined to think a war might bo 
 ' undertaken at the same time. 
 
 Had nature not interposed, but left the actors to perform their 
 several parts with the same vigour, there is little doubt that 
 Bacon would have climbed back to the woolsack. But a year 
 sufficed to push James off the scene, and when parliament met 
 to hail the advent of a new monarch. Bacon was too enfeebled 
 by premature decay to attend the royal summons. About six¬ 
 teen months before, when able to tread with firm step the avenues 
 of the court, a writ requesting his attendance in the upper house, 
 to consult circa ardua regni, would have revived his declining 
 spirits, How, no longer capable of playing a part, he flung 
 the document with an air of contempt on his table, exclaiming, 
 
 I have done with such vanities.” He survived the king only 
 one year; but true to his beloved restoration of the sciences, he 
 contmued to the end to devote every moment rescued from 
 positive sickness to the elaboration of the structure. With re¬ 
 markable economy of time, he reserved the easiest portion of his 
 labour for the employment of his latter days, and died in its 
 execution. As the collection of mere empirical facts, which form 
 only the unfashioned materials of natural science, could bring 
 him no honour, the toil of his closing years must be regarded 
 as the offspring of pure benevolence. The dry collocation of a 
 heap of phenomena could not but be distasteful to a scholar, but 
 all who presented themselves to build up the sciences aspired to 
 be architects; and Bacon said the work could not advance 
 unless some consented to become the stonemasons of the rest. 
 With the true humility of greatness he descended to the task, 
 and sacrificed his own importance for the welfare of his species. 
 It struck him, when examining the subject of antiseptics, that 
 snow might preserve flesh from corruption, and he resolved to 
 try the experiment. One frosty morning, in the spring of 1626, 
 he alighted at Highgate, and proceeded to stuff a fowl which he 
 had bought at a neighbouring cottage, with snow that he gathered 
 from the ground. At the end of the operation he felt in his 
 limbs a sudden chill, and was obliged to retire to the earl of 
 Arundel’s house hard by, where he met with nourishing cor¬ 
 dials, dutiful attendants, and a damp bed. The last few lines 
 he scrawled were directed to the owner of the mansion, whose 
 incautions hospitality hastened his end, in which he compares 
 himself to the elder Pliny, who lost his life in exploring the 
 mouth of Vesuvius, and describes the experiment as succeeding 
 
 excellently well,” which caused his death. A fever imme- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 xxvii 
 
 diately ensued, attended witli a defluxion in tlie breast. He 
 lingered only a week, expiring on the morning of Easter-day 
 in the sixty-sixth year of his age. 
 
 He was buried in St. Michael’s church, St. Albans, by the 
 side of his mother. A monument was soon after erected to his 
 memory by his secretary. Sir Thomas Meantys, which represents 
 him in a sitting posture, with an inscription, which strangely 
 
 S arodies the sublime opening of the instauration, ‘‘ Eranciscus 
 ►aeon, Baro de Yerulam, St. Albani Yiccomes. . . . Sicsedebat.” 
 A stranger standing over the grave of the great regenerator of 
 physical science, might fairly expect to be entertained with 
 something better than a pun upon one of the most striking 
 passages in his writings. 
 
 His wife, who brought him no issue, died in 1646; a divorce 
 had separated them since his fall. 
 
 Though Bacon was constantly attended by a chaplain and a 
 secretary, who appear to have been fully impressed with his 
 intellectual greatness, no chronicle has come down to us either 
 of his private habits, his ingenious sayings, or his social -vurtues. 
 E-awley has indeed written a vague panegyric, which he called a 
 life, but the colour is so indiscriminately laid on, and some of 
 the incidents so perverted, that doubt may be entertained as to 
 the fidelity of even the leading features. Bacon was invested 
 with mighty intellectual endowments, which struggled to find 
 vent as much by impressing themselves on his own age as 
 overturning the philosophical systems of antiquity. His mmd 
 was pre-eminently of a strong objective character, could see 
 nothing except through the senses, and was disposed with his 
 age, which had given to spiritual supremacy a second fall, to 
 undervalue everything which did not contribute to physical en¬ 
 joyment or tangible glory. The same impulse which led him 
 to build up the natural sciences on their true foundations, led 
 him also to mistake the false glitter of the world for something 
 real, and to think that his elevation could not be complete, 
 unless the baubles of state were as much at his command as 
 the laws of nature. It is true that the condition of the times 
 offer some excuse for him; and his legal treatises, the settle¬ 
 ment of the law of real property, his attempts at law reform, and 
 many of his judicial and political acts, show a nature naturally 
 obeying the impulse of reason and conscience; while the unim¬ 
 peachable blamelessness of his private life, and the calm earnest¬ 
 ness of his moral lessons, prove that he only needed a purer atmo¬ 
 sphere, and more civilized times, to act with all the dignity of the 
 sage, and speak with the unadulterated eloquence of an Augustan 
 classic. 
 
 It is one of the most striking proofs of the original goodness 
 cf Bacon’s nature, that he never tyrannised over his inferiors, 
 
 c 2 
 
XXYUl 
 
 JXTKODUCTIOK 
 
 or treated tliem unkindly; nor did he allow his severe habits of 
 study, or even his reverses, to sour his disposition. His nature 
 ■was abhorrent of avarice, the most degrading of human passions. 
 He enriched himself only to lavish his bounties on others, and 
 to invest his household with an air of splendid magnificence. 
 Selfish distinctions of meum and tuum, so jealously observed by 
 little minds, were hardly impressed upon his noble nature, and 
 he showed as much readiness to dispense gifts as to accept them. 
 With him splendour did not extend to luxurious gratification, or 
 unfit him for acts of benevolence. At table he was exceedingly 
 temperate, and satisfied himself with the simplest food. The 
 needy never left his mansion unrelieved, and his purse was ever 
 open to promote the charitable objects of the benevolent. It is 
 impossible that such a character should not make us forget his 
 vices, and pay tribute to his virtues, as well as his genius. 
 
 Of his habits of study we know nothing, except that they were 
 severe. All the long vacations, and such hours as he at other 
 times could steal from his official labours, were passed with his 
 books; and there is little doubt that he made notes of everything 
 important that he read, and distributed his papers under the 
 several heads of human knowledge. Ho author, however, was 
 less indebted to books for his general views than Bacon, and he 
 seems rather to have turned them over as models of style, 
 and as afibrding materials for illustration, than to instruct 
 himself. If we were asked to adduce any didactic author, 
 whose thoughts sprang directly out of his own intellect, we 
 should instance Lord Bacon. Of the ancients, Tacitus appears 
 to have been his favourite, and the frequent perusal of that 
 author has left its marks in the laconic terseness of his style and 
 his lucid glimpses into human nature: he was not a strong 
 Grecian, and considerable doubt may be entertained whether he 
 read any book in that language after quitting the university. All 
 his citations from the Attic writers are from the Latin text, 
 excejDt one solitary line of Homer. 
 
 Bacon was regarded as one of the foremost writers and 
 speakers of his day, and both friends and enemies have left 
 unqualified testimony of his varied abilities. Baleigh, who was 
 no mean judge, characterized Lord Salisbury as a great speaker 
 but a bad writer. Lord Northampton as a great writer but a 
 bad speaker, but Lord Bacon as excelling equally in speaking 
 and writing. Ben Jonson, after sketching the features of a per¬ 
 fect orator, applies them to Bacon; but his colours are no 
 doubt heightened by the warmth of personal friendship. His 
 fame had gained him friends in foreign parts, and many distin¬ 
 guished strangers paid personal homage to him as a philosopher. 
 When the Marquis d’Effiat brought into England the Princess 
 Henrietta Maria, wife to Charles I., he went to visit Bacon, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 who, being in bed, received him with the curtains drawn: 
 “You resemble the angels,” said the minister to the philoso¬ 
 pher ; “ we hear those beings continually talked of, we believe 
 them superior to mankind, and we never have the consolation 
 to see them.” Much of his contemporaneous fame, however, is 
 to be ascribed to his public position, which first drew the atten¬ 
 tion of a frivolous age to his works. Had he not inhabited a 
 princely mansion in the Strand, and kept a plentiful table at 
 Gorhanibury, Ben Jonson, instead of lauding him, might have 
 censured with Hume, and Hobbes have been as niggardly of 
 praise as Bayle. It was the possession of the great seal that 
 made it fashionable to read what few could understand, pushed 
 his works into circulation during an unlettered age, and gave 
 him Europe for an auditory. 
 
 All his thoughts were engrossed by pursuits, the glory and 
 advantage of which were to be reaped when he was in his grave. 
 To carry his plans to as high a state of perfection as was com¬ 
 patible with the shortness of human life, he denied himself the re¬ 
 laxation afibrded by social pleasures, and came only at intervals 
 into the arena of ordinary life. His constitution, originally delicate^ 
 was rendered still more so by study, and during sudden changes 
 of the atmosphere, he became affected with extreme dizziness, 
 which often caused him to swoon. This gave rise to his chap¬ 
 lain’s astrological fiction tliat he was seized with a sudden faint¬ 
 ing fit, at every eclipse of the moon. He imagined that he could 
 add many years to his life by systematic doses of nitre, and took 
 about three grains in weak broth every morning for thii’ty 
 years. He also placed great faith in the efficacy of macerated 
 rhubarb, to carry off the grosser humours of the body with¬ 
 out the inconveniences of perspiration, and swallowed an occa¬ 
 sional draught before his meals. In his youth, his appearance 
 is said to have been singularly frank and engaging, but his 
 features were much furrowed and darkened by the contests of 
 political life, and the misfortunes of his later years. His severe 
 habits of study early impressed upon him the marks of age, bent 
 his shoulders, and gave him the stooping gait of a philosopher. 
 His stature was of the middle size, with features rather oblong 
 than round. His forehead was spacious and open, his eye lively 
 and penetrating, and his whole aspect venerably pleasing; so 
 that the beholder was insensibly drawn to love, before he knew 
 how much reason there was to admire him. In this respect we 
 may apply to him what Tacitus says of Agricola, “Bonum virum 
 facile crederes, magnum libenter.” 
 
 The characteristics of the Baconian philosophy are the in¬ 
 troduction- of the empiric element into every department of 
 science, the stripping it of that crudeness which had previously 
 rendered it repulsive, and investing it with those scientific views 
 
, XXX 
 
 INTKODUCTION. 
 
 and methods which enable it to reveal the structure of the 
 moral, social, and physical world, and the springs by which 
 their several phenomena are produced; and the application of 
 this knowledge to the increase of human enjoyment and per¬ 
 fectibility. Bacon’s mind was strongly objective, and the first 
 exercise of its powers appears directed to seize with tenacity on 
 external facts, and from the appearances which they presented, 
 without any reference to the innate faculties, to reason out the 
 laws which controlled or produced them. He saw nature and 
 society in a perpetual flow about him,—states falling and rising, 
 —new languages growing in refinement,—old dropping into de¬ 
 suetude,—fashions and manners changing with governments, and 
 new feelings and sensibilities clinging round the advent of a new 
 creed. The world of nature presented to his mind phenomena 
 as striking as the world of man. The change of the seasons, the 
 tides of the ocean, the alternation of day and night, the motion 
 of the planets, the perpetual renovation and decay of species, and 
 the diversified combination of different substances and qualities, 
 were all mysteries which he was as anxious to unveil as the 
 phenomena of society, but to none of which the ancient philo¬ 
 sophies presented him with any direct solution. ISTo one had 
 previously attempted from a com-parison of the effects of different 
 governments, or of different courses of training, to conclude 
 what system of law or education was the most adapted to per¬ 
 fect society, and to lead man’s nature to its highest develop¬ 
 ment. No one before Bacon had asked himself by what process 
 has civilization attained its present aspect, what are the elements 
 that enter into its structure, how can the good be fostered, and 
 the bad eliminated; or had attempted to evolve from these specu¬ 
 lations the general principles that conspire to work the decline 
 or the renovation of nations. The empiric element had been 
 almost as completely abandoned in the field of nature. Aristotle 
 appears to have been the only Greek philosopher that troubled 
 himself about collecting facts, and making them the basis of his 
 physical inquiries. Yet his rationalistic bias prevented him from 
 exercising the patient scrutiny necessary to embody their real 
 properties in language, and pursuing, without the admission of 
 any adventitious element, the trains of inference which their action 
 involved. * Some of the ancient physicists had condescended 
 in astronomical researches to regard facts, and were rewarded 
 for their pains with some glimpses of the Newtonian theory of 
 the heavens; but in the general departments of physical science 
 men rushed up to abstract principles, seeking, by a priori deduc¬ 
 tions, without any reference to tangible phenomena, to construct 
 all the furniture of the universe. Bacon was the first to point 
 out effectively the futility of these attempts to limit man’s efforts 
 in physical inquiry to tlie confines of nature, the first to assert 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 the glorious principle, that knowledge must be synonymous 
 with power. The immortal aphorism, Somo natures minister et 
 interjpres, with which he opens the “IS’ovum Organon,” is the 
 epitome of his views, and at one stroke disposes of all the cos¬ 
 mogonies and contentions of the ancients. 
 
 Bacon looked into nature with the same spirit he was disposed 
 to investigate everything else, and which, to us who have been 
 brought up under the light that his system has shed upon the 
 world, it appears incredible that any man should have mistaken. 
 What, he inquired, is the present organization of substances? 
 how far do they invade each other’s confines? by what pro¬ 
 cess do they reach the successive stages of growth and decay ? 
 seeking to evolve by the rigid pursuit of such inquiries, then 
 constituent elements, and the general laws by which they are 
 regulated and controlled. Hence the three great centres round 
 winch his inquiries revolved in every investigation were the 
 latent structure {latens schematismus), or the secret organization 
 of the parts which mould and determiue its appearance: and 
 the latent process {latens processus adj formqm), or the changes 
 which occur in their parts, simultaneous with renovation and 
 decay; and the forms, or the simple constituents, involved in the 
 production of the phenomena, and the laws which regulate their 
 action. Bacon’s idea of the powers which the result of such 
 pursuits would confer upon man, were of the most sanguine de¬ 
 scription, and in some respects have been fully accomphshed. 
 To the apphcationofhis method to physiology we owe those sani- 
 taiy measures which have put society as far out of the reach of 
 plague, as gunpowder has placed it beyond the assault of savages. 
 A thousand diseases, before deemed Incurable, have been pre¬ 
 vented, mitigated, or stayed; the body fortified against physical 
 waste and consumption of strength, and human life prolonged. 
 By examining nature in the manner he pointed out, we have made 
 the ocean reveal the secret of its motions, the planets expound 
 the forces which retain them in their orbits, the rainbow declare 
 the laws of its formation, and the comets announce the periods 
 of their return. Erom the facts we have obtained through his 
 instrumentality, we can weigh the sun and moon as in a balance, 
 compute their respective distances to the greatest nicety, esti¬ 
 mate the speed with which they and all the planets revolve, and 
 correctly ascertain the time which an atom of matter, or a ray 
 of light, falling from their surface, will reach our earth. If 
 the inhabitants of Jupiter are similarly circumstanced to our¬ 
 selves, but have had no Bacon among them, it is very possible 
 we know more about the fluctuations of their atmosphere, and 
 the motion of their satellites, than they know themselves. 
 Directed by the spirit of his method, we transmit thought 
 across seas and continents with the same speed and faeilit\’ tliat 
 
XXXil 
 
 INTKODUCTION. 
 
 \\Q communicate it by speecli; we sail against wind and tide, and 
 rusk through the air with the velocity of an arrow. We can soar 
 with the bird to the skies, or explore with fish the bottom of 
 the ocean; we can conduct the lightning innocuous to the ground, 
 and arrest the progress of the watery column on the wave ! 
 
 But splendid as have been the results of his method, Bacon, if 
 alive now, would only consider these as gleams of the dawn of 
 that day whose bright effulgence he had anticipated. To obtain 
 a knowledge of the laws of nature which should enable men to 
 overcome natural obstacles, and annihilate time and space, may 
 fairly be deemed insignificant to him who sought to fathom the 
 entire process of her changes, and to make her render up all her 
 secrets, that he might reverse the order and the times of her pro¬ 
 ductions ; perform that frequently which she performs rarely; 
 accomplish with few things what she produces with many; crowd 
 into one spot the productions of different climates and nations, 
 and effect in a moment the transmutations of seasons and ages. 
 He viewed nature much in the same light as Pythagoras, and 
 the exposition of the doctrine of the Samian in the last book of 
 the Metamorphoses does not transcend Bacon’s belief in the fiux 
 of physical nature. 
 
 Nee species sua ciiique manet: Eerumque novatrix 
 Ex alus alias reparat natiira figxiras. 
 
 Nec perit in tanto quicquam (mihi credite) mundo, 
 
 Sed variat, faciemque novat: nasciquo vocatur 
 Incipere esse aliud, quam quod fuit ante : morique, 
 
 Desinere illud idem : cum sint hue forsitan ilia, 
 
 Heec translata illuc, summa tamen omnia constant.” 
 
 Ovid, Metam. lib. xv. 252 9. 
 
 If he knew and could command the constituent elements by 
 which such transformations were produced, as his forms imported, 
 he might fairly rival the divinities of Ovid in power over exter¬ 
 nal nature. He could not see why, by availing himself of such 
 kno\^ ledge he should not eliminate the old nature of any body, 
 and invest it with new ; why he should not transmute glass into 
 stone, bones into earth, leaves into wood, invest tin with all 
 the properties of gold, and charcoal with the qualities of the 
 diamond.* To avert summer droughts or autumnal rains were 
 
 e. g. Si quis argento cupiat superiiiducere flavum colorem am’i, aut 
 augmentum ponderis (servatis legibu&materise) aut lapidi alicui non diaphano 
 diaphancitatem aut vitris tenacitatem, aut corpori alicui non vegitabili 
 vegitationem ; videndum est, quale quis preceptum aut deductionem potis- 
 simum sibi dari exoptet. ” He then proceeds to give the rules of this trans¬ 
 mutation :—^^Primum intuetur corpus, ut turmam sive conjugationem 
 naturarum simpheium, ut in auro h?ec convenirent ; quod sit flavum; 
 quod sit ponderosum, ad pqndus tale; quod sit maUeabile aut ductile, ad 
 extensionem talem ; quod non fiat volatile, nec deperdat de quanto suo 
 ner iguem ; quod fluat fluore tali ; q\iod separetur et sohatui* modis 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 XXXLU 
 
 trifles with Bacon. He sought to hurl the thunderbolt with 
 Jupiter, to command the storm with Juno, to create heat and 
 manufacture metals with Yulcan, to pour golden fruits on the 
 earth with Ceres, and arrest the plague with ApoUo. AU those 
 powers, the exercise of any one of which the ancients thought suffi¬ 
 cient to occupy the life of a deity. Bacon sought to unite in his 
 single grasp, and bend to the iron mandate of his will.^ We 
 were to have spring fruits and autumnal blossoms, December 
 roses and June icicles. The wines of Picardy were to be manu¬ 
 factured in the cellars of London, and the aromatic odours of the 
 south regale the drawing-rooms of St. James. JS'ature was to be 
 startled with the production of new species of plants and beasts, 
 Rich harvests to spring up without seed; and the creation of 
 beasts, birds, and fish, even out of the earth’s slime, to crown the 
 triumph of man. 
 
 It is needless to say that were such results achieved, man 
 would be a god upon earth, and nothing could be wanting to 
 paradisal felicity but the gift of immortality. Could man claim 
 every element as his own, — sport in the deep like a nereid, 
 and explore the heavens like a bird; could he direct the 
 lightning and the shower, call up the winds, and awaken 
 the storm at his pleasure; could he arrest blight and disease, 
 and command harvests and fruits to spring out of the earth 
 where, when, and how he pleased ; such a thing as social misery 
 could not exist, and the only limit to human power and enjoy¬ 
 ment would simply be the restrictive law designed to mark out 
 the boundaries of individual action, and make the hberty of the 
 one consistent with the happiness of the many. That we shall 
 arrive at such a golden period is the opinion of many; that we 
 are progressing in the direction of some of its landmarks, cannot 
 be denied by any one who contrasts the state of physical science 
 in the present century, with its low condition in Bacon’s time. 
 We •see no reason why he who can control the thunderbolt, 
 should not direct the cloud where to discharge its treasures; why 
 the mind which has unlocked the arcana of the heavens should 
 not wring from the earth some of its latent secrets; why he who 
 explores the air in a frail parachute, should not exchange his 
 paper boat for wings, and tread with the eagle the blue vault of 
 heaven. At least such achievements seem less visionary to us 
 
 talibus; et similiter de cseteris naturis quae in auro concm'runt. Itaquo 
 hujusmodi axioma rem deducit ex formis naturarum simplicimn. Nam 
 qui foraias et modes novit superinducendi flavi, ponderis, ductilis, fixi, 
 fiuoris, solutionem, et sic de reliquis et eorum graduationes et modos; 
 ndebit et cmnbit, ut ista confungi possint in aliquo coipore, unde se quater 
 transformatio in aurum.”—Nov. Org. ii. 4 and 5. 
 
 * For a corroboration of these views we refer the reader, once for all, 
 to Bacon’s own statement in the description of Solomon’s- house, at the 
 end of the New Atlantis. 
 
xxxiv 
 
 INTKODUCTION. 
 
 tlian the triumphs of the present age would have been regarded 
 by a very recent ancestry. Had a denizen even of the eighteenth 
 century been asked whether it was more likely that steam-car¬ 
 riages should be invented than tliat man should fly, he would 
 undoubtedly have pronounced for the wings. It seems far more 
 practicable to soar above seas and continents,* than to sail 
 against wind and tide, or to make mere vapour transport vast 
 crowds through space with the speed of a bird. Sage men may 
 regard the transmutation of metals as the dreams of idle alchem¬ 
 ists ; but how would the philosophers of the last generation have 
 scouted the man who promised to turn old rags into sugar, starch 
 into honey, and sawdust into a substitute for flour. We are sur¬ 
 rounded with a world of phenomena, forming the distinct sciences 
 unknown in Bacon’s day, which only await a philosopher who 
 will investigate them in his spirit, to render up a crowd of facts 
 which will work as great a revolution in society as the modern 
 achievements of chemistry and mechanics. Electricity, magne¬ 
 tism, and galvanism are to us precisely what optics and astro¬ 
 nomy were to Bacon; and we doubt not that, as these pheno¬ 
 mena relate more particularly to terrestrial objects, they are big 
 with results destined to enlarge man’s power over nature, and to 
 lay bare many secrets whicli veil the conflnes of the spiritual 
 world. When we survey the discoveries of the last two centuries, 
 we certainly have no reason to complain of the slowness of the 
 progress, or, to despair with the Greeks and Bomans, of further 
 advance, and retrace our steps to avoid the languor of monotony.'^ 
 The new acquisitions in knowledge and power over nature, exceed 
 each other in importance : classes of empirical facts are gradually 
 raising the subjects they involve to the rank of exact sciences j 
 and as these are perfected by the restless tide of human reason, 
 other phenomena of a more startling character succeed. The 
 law of the Baconian physics is progi’ess. The goal of one gene¬ 
 ration becomes the starting-post of the next: what is wondered 
 at as the witchcraft of to-day, becomes the craft and profession of 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Bacon no doubt intended, as his words import, to investigate 
 the moral sciences in a similar spirit, but he seems to have been 
 impressed with too gloomy an idea of the depravity of the will to 
 indulge in glowing pictures of social felicity. Of course the only 
 state of society that could bear any contrast to the results of 
 physical inquiries pursued after his method, would be a charm¬ 
 ing millennium, in which every community moved under the 
 impulse of reason and justice, and each of their component mem- 
 
 * Paterculus, speaking of tke old civilization, says :—Quod summo studio 
 petitum est, ascendit in summum, difficilisque in perfecto mora est; and 
 tken concludes, that society seeing fiirther advance impossible, fell into 
 dissoluteness. 
 
INTKODUCTIOX. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 bers possessed th.e sanctuary of the heart undefiled, and a breast 
 gloTdng with in-bom honour. 
 
 Bacon held forth no such prospects. He had only to look 
 within to be convinced of the delusion. Even with regard to 
 what Comte calls sociology, it is not probable that the completest 
 knowledge of the different processes involved in the production 
 of individual stages of civilization, or in the generation of the 
 various phases of mental growth, could have invested man 
 with any other power than that of removing obstacles to the 
 regular development of his social endowments. There are some 
 things which time and a disciplined train of habits and customs 
 only can accomphsh. A nation is not rendered martial or 
 commercial in an age, though it know all the steps, and have at 
 its disposition all the means that concur to the adoption of that 
 character. Chaucer could trace the gradations through which 
 the ancient languages passed from barbarism to elegance, with¬ 
 out being able to improve his own. If we knew the process 
 involved in the generation of every link of mental capacity, from 
 a child speculating on bubbles to a Hewton weighing worlds, the 
 result could invest us with no other power than that of assisting 
 nature by an adequate system of education. In casting the horo¬ 
 scope of the future, or tiacing with certain hand the progress of 
 civilization, who shall account for the appearance of such men 
 as Dante and Shakespeare, who have created a language; of 
 Cromwell and Luther, who have revolutionized emphes; of Hew- 
 ton and Archimedes, who have introduced a new element into 
 science. 
 
 Bacon thought hi^ method quite as applicable to the phenomena 
 of the social world as to physical nature, and determined to 
 apply it to every subject which fell under liis consideration. The 
 empiric element had been totally neglected by the Greek 
 sages, who found the world too young to give them facts in suff- 
 cient abundance to invest them with a scientific character. Bacon’s 
 penetrating mind saw at a glance the lacunes which had been 
 left in learning through the neglect of this essential constituent 
 of all knowledge; and deeming their existence rendered the en¬ 
 tire fabric insecure,.resolved on a grand restoration of all the 
 sciences. 
 
 The plan of his Ixstaueatio ]Magxa was on a scale of epic gran¬ 
 deur. The creative fancy of Dante or Milton never called up more 
 gorgeous images than those suggested by Bacon’s design, and 
 we question much whether their worlds surpass his in affording 
 scope for the imagination. His view extended over all time; 
 penetrated into the. circumstances under which each science had 
 arisen, and the motives for which it was pursued; traced the 
 illusions which ha.d led the greatest intellects to misinterpret the 
 facts which nature put into their hands ; and distinctly saw the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 xxxvi 
 
 action of the causes which had rendered physical inquiries 
 stationary and unproductive, and the moral sciences incomplete. 
 With the wand of a superior intelligence, he pointed out the 
 boundaries of human knowledge; mapped out and circumam¬ 
 bulated its different provinces; crumbled into dust the fragile 
 systems which reason had erected on false foundations ; showed 
 what part of its labours might stand after the rubbish had been 
 cleared away; and put into the hands of the human race the only 
 method by which they could build themselves an abiding habita¬ 
 tion.^ His mind brooded over all nature, and making her tri¬ 
 partite kingdom tributary to the undertaking, opened the 
 only quarries whence the materials for the reconstruction of 
 the physical sciences, decayed and corroded' to the founda¬ 
 tions, could be drawn.f He next designed to exhibit all 
 the laws and methods of inference employed in the pro¬ 
 duction of real knowledge; and erect the intricate scaffold¬ 
 ing by means of which every science might be raised from 
 the foundations of empiricism. From the basis of particulars, 
 the mind was to be carried up to intermediary axioms, 
 and thence to universal laws, which were to comprehend in 
 their statement every subordinate degree of generality, and 
 to unfold to the gaze of the spectator the order of the universe, 
 as exhibited to angelic intelligences. From this, the highest plat¬ 
 form of human vision, the mind might dart its glance through the 
 corresponding series of inverted reasonings from generals to par¬ 
 ticulars, by which these laws and axioms are traced back to 
 their remote consequences, and all particular propositions deduced 
 from them,—as well those by whose immediate consideration it 
 rose to its elevation as those of which it had no previous know- 
 ledge.J Then were to arise the stately temples of science, with 
 their proud parapets and decorated pediments, in all their 
 breadth of light and harmony of proportion, revealing the glories 
 of the universe to man amidst long vistas of receding columns, 
 and glimpses of internal splendour! § 
 
 * The two first pai* * * § ts of the Instaui’atio Magna, viz. the partition of the 
 sciences, and the Novum Organon. 
 
 T The third part, Sylva Sylvarum, or Natural History. 
 
 X The fourth part of the Instauration, Scala Intellectus, or ladder of the 
 understanding, which he did not live to execute. 
 
 § The fifth and sixth part, Prodromi, or Anticipations of the Second Phi¬ 
 losophy ; and Scientia Activa, or the Second Philosophy itself. The sciences 
 are destined to undergo constant enlargement, as new phenomena perpe¬ 
 tually present themselves for elaboration. Bacon calls these new additions, 
 while in an unfinished state, prodromi, or anticipations of the second 
 philosophy. The primary philosophy he designed to consist of a series of 
 general principles, which are comprised in the action of the imiversal laws. 
 Thus, the dicta de omni et nullo and ^^two things which are equal to a third 
 thing, are equal to each other,” being involved in the inferences of icgic and 
 geometry, would form a part of the-primary philosophy. 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 
 Such was the glorious vision which Bacon saw in prospect, 
 and in part laboured to realize. If on descending into a minute 
 survey of his views, some false notions, and crude generaliza¬ 
 tions present themselves, we must remember the age in which 
 he lived, and find an excuse for him in the almost super¬ 
 human obstacles which then obstructed the march of the 
 physical sciences. Society in the sixteenth century was but 
 slowly emerging from civil barbarism: human reason, for 
 two thousand years, had been pent up within the region 
 of ethics and school-divinity; and the first men who had 
 ventured to lead it out into the broad field of nature, were 
 either imprisoned for heresy or burnt for witchcraft. Bamus 
 expiated his opposition to Aristotle with his blood. Yanini 
 and Giordano Bruno were burnt as atheists. Telesius 
 and Campanella were hunted about from city to city like 
 wild beasts; Galileo was imprisoned by the Inquisition at 
 Borne, and Descartes persecuted by the Protestant tribunals 
 of Holland.^ Every attempt to advance the Aristotelian 
 physics which had remained stationary since the days of 
 the Lyceum, had ended on every side in expatriation, im¬ 
 prisonment, or death. It was an age of violent fluctuation 
 and change. The struggle waged between the two philo¬ 
 sophies was, to a great degree, embittered by the strife be¬ 
 tween the two creeds; reason and faith alternately invaded 
 each other’s province, and the voice of truth was lost in the 
 clamour of their followers. The modern languages, occupying 
 a transitory position between barbarism and refinement, re¬ 
 flected the turbulent features of the times, and defeated every 
 attempt at subtile reasoning or refined analysis in which they 
 became the instrument. The stream of learning which the 
 recent sacking of Constantinople had suddenly turned upon 
 Europe, perplexed and bewildered men’s minds, unfixing, like 
 a gush of light suddenly let in upon a darkened vision, the true 
 relations of things, and investing shadows with the appearance 
 of reahties. The human soul was stirred from its depths. Men 
 suddenly found themselves in the midst of treasures, which, 
 however they might admire, they were unable to appreciate; 
 and the anomalous position awakened new trains of thought, 
 for which their language afforded no adequate expression. If 
 the wisest of mortals should lay the foundations of a new philo¬ 
 sophy during such a disturbed epoch, it would be but denying 
 
 * We do not agree with the cant that represents the former of these as 
 martyrs to philosophy. They did not content themselves with reforming 
 science, but supposing that the social and ecclesiastical institutions of the 
 ei)och stood in need of hke seiwice, began to assail princes and bishops 
 \rtth the same virulence as Aristotle and the schoolmen. These dignitaries, 
 in answering their logic by another kind of weapon, were simply providing 
 for their own safety and the general peace of their subjects. 
 
INTIIODUCTION. 
 
 XXXViii 
 
 him attributes above humanity, to ascribe to his Tvork the defects 
 of his situation. 
 
 The Instauratio Magna, it must be admitted, is deficient 
 in method. Bacon could not penetrate at once to the essen¬ 
 tial attributes of things, and divide them according to their 
 distinguishing difference. It does not appear to have oc¬ 
 curred to him that in the production of every creation of 
 intellect, memory, imagination, and reason harmoniously con¬ 
 cur, and that it is impossible to achieve the slightest triumph 
 of genius without calling into simultaneous action the agency 
 of these faculties, and blending their variegated resources in 
 the elaboration of thought. Memory and reason are the woof 
 and the warp of the intellectual tissue; and no such thing 
 as consecutive judgment can be produced if they perform 
 their functions apart, and refuse to interlace their resources. 
 Of course each of the triune faculties will more or less prepon¬ 
 derate according to the nature of the subject in which they are 
 engaged. Imagination plays an inferior part to memory in the 
 historian, as reason to imagination in the philosopher, but still in 
 due subordination to the severe canons of judgment which sits 
 as the controlling umpire in every grand operation of genius. 
 Imagination may be more exercised by the poet who creates, 
 than by the historian who narrates; but the thought vrill not 
 be entertained for a moment, that memory is the presiding 
 faculty in the historian, and imagination in the fabulist. In pro¬ 
 portion as men are endowed with these faculties, they require the 
 augmentation of the power, which weighs and balances facts, 
 refines images, and gives to the shadows which their memory 
 or fancy calls up, a graphic and life-breathing motion. If all 
 the ordinary men of our day were j)i’Ovided with prodigious 
 memories, without any increase of the rationalistic faculty, the 
 number of diners-out with a ready stock of composed matter on 
 subjects pohtical, religious, scientific, and legendary, might be 
 increased, but history could not be benefited by the addition of 
 a single page worth the reading. Men would become so many 
 parrots; the world would certainly retrograde, and the rationalistic 
 element, which now tolerably manages to keep up with every 
 man’s accumulation of facts, would be entirely overpowered by 
 a deluge of useless particularities. Imagination stands in the 
 same relation to the poet as memory to the historian ; and if all 
 men were blessed with the command of ideality which Dante 
 and Milton enjoyed, without a proportionate influx of judgment 
 and memory, we might have an endless flood of legends, but 
 not one epic. So strict is the union of these three powers, even 
 in productions of opposite tendencies, that it may be doubted 
 whether imagination is not as necessary to the geometrician who 
 invents, as to the poet who creates; and whether memory may 
 
lOTKODUCTlON. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 not play a more distinguished part in the productions of the phi¬ 
 losopher than of the historian. 
 
 The human mind for nearly two thousand years, had been 
 lulled into an entire forgetfulness of objective facts, during all 
 that period regarding the Aristotelian physics as the hignest 
 fruits that reason - could reap from scientific inquiry ; and it re¬ 
 quired a man of Bacon’s breadth of capacity aiJid spirit-stirring 
 eloquence, to throw all the energy of his nature into the oppo¬ 
 site element, and by showing how the splendid treasures it con¬ 
 tained might be reaped, and the errors of the Greeks retrieved, 
 to awaken the world from its slumbers, and set it on the road of 
 physical discovery. If his nomenclature was logically incorrect, 
 the empirical views out of which it arose gave men’s minds, 
 perverted by speculative reasoning, a strong objective bent. If 
 his scientific method was defective, it led men to abandon 
 pure rationalistic inquiry, which had produced all the fruit it was 
 capable of yielding,.and to explore the fields of nature, where 
 treasures undreamt of lay concealed. If he placed the end of 
 philosophy in the discovery of visionary and chimerical objects, 
 the pursuit led men to the detection of the laws of phenomena, 
 which has already tripled man’s power over nature, and en¬ 
 riched the intellect with the possession of a new world.— 
 Science can afibrd to overlook errors which balanced the one¬ 
 sided tendencies of the human mind, turned the vessel aside 
 from a barren coast, and shot it right into the harbour of dis¬ 
 covery. The triumph to which his spirit led, rectified the 
 mistakes with which it was accompanied, and left mankind 
 notliing to gather from the mine of nature which he opened, 
 but the pure ore of truth. His fervent appeals stfil thunder 
 ill the ear of every generation, irrespective of creed or nation ; 
 while the trains of light which they leave behind them stimu¬ 
 late every succeeding race to renewed efibrts in the path 
 of discovery. The human mind had never been so profoundly 
 stirred since the times of Archimedes and Aristotle, as on 
 the day when this mighty magician spake: the wheels of sci¬ 
 ence, which had stood stfil for two thousand years, impelled by 
 his breath, began to move, and the spirit of Europe was evoked 
 on all sides to impart to them accelerated velocity. Pascal and 
 Torricelli, guided by his rules, established the properties of air, 
 and Hewton, in the spirit of his method, and directed by his 
 hints, threw back the curtain of the heavens, revealed the laws 
 of light, explained the phenomena of the tides, and peopled space 
 with worlds! Nurtured in his school, Boyle transformed hydro¬ 
 statics from a loose assemblage of facts into a deductive science: 
 Watt constructed the steam-engine, ^hich has annihilated space 
 and economized the labour of millions ; and Eranklin rivalled the 
 glories of the ancient Prometheus, in snatching the electric fire 
 
xl 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 from heaven! Human reason, unshackled and independent,- 
 took her bent from his hands; and learned societies in every 
 part of Europe,—on the banks of the Wolga, the Po, and the 
 Danube,—either rose up at his name, or reconstructed their plans 
 after his direction. The collective wits of the brightest of 
 European nations,—as little inclined as the Greeks to look out 
 of themselves for excellencies,—have paid homage to him as the 
 Solon of modem science, and founded upon his partition of the 
 sciences an encyclopedia,* which was once the marvel and the 
 . glory of literature. The tribes of every age and nation regard 
 the father of modern philosophy with the reverence and devo¬ 
 tion of children; and so loud and universal has been the acclaim, 
 that the testimony of our own epoch falls on the ear like the 
 voice of a child closing the shout of a multitude. He has esta¬ 
 blished a school in metaphysics, which, whatever may be its 
 defects, keeps alive a due attention to facts in a science where 
 they are too apt to be neglected; while nearly %11 the prac¬ 
 tical improvements introduced into education, statesmanship, 
 and social policy, may be traced in a great degree to the philo¬ 
 sophic tone he gave to the introduction of the same element. 
 The politicians and legists, as well as philosophers, moulded 
 by his councils, have placed themselves at the head of their 
 respective sciences in Europe; and the pedantic tyrants and 
 corrupt ministers, before whom he crouched, have been removed 
 by the works which they patronized, and a monarchy ren¬ 
 dered impossible, otherwise than as the personification of the 
 organized will and reason of the nation. The splendid fanes of 
 science, which he only saw in vision, are rising on every side, and 
 from their lofty cupolas man may already catch glimpses of the 
 internal splendour of the universe; and winding round their tur¬ 
 rets, the scala intellectus extends its steps to the skies, and 
 enables men to carry the rule and compass to the boundaries of 
 Creation! Perfected by such triumphs, and fitted to embrace the 
 complete expansion of natural, moral, and intellectual science, 
 the human mind may expect to trace their mutual blendings 
 and intricate ramifications, and behold the day when “ Truth, 
 though now hewn, like the mangled body of Osiris, into a thou¬ 
 sand pieces, and scattered to the four winds of heaven, shall be 
 gathered limb to limb, andjnoulded with every joint and member 
 into an immortal feature of loveliness and perfection.” 
 
 The great French Encyclopaedia, edited by Diderot and D’Alcinbort^ 
 
 arranged upon his scheme of the sciences. 
 

 ESSAYS. 
 
 I.—OF TEUTH. 
 
 What is truth ? said jesting Pilate and would not stay 
 for an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness; 
 and count it a bondage to fix a belief; afiecting free-will in 
 thinking, as well as in acting. And though the sects of 
 philosophers of that kind be gone, yet there remain certain 
 discoursing wits, which are of the same veins, though there 
 be not so much blood in them as was in those of the ancients. 
 But it is not only the difficulty and labour which men take in 
 finding out of truth ; nor again, that v/hen it is found, it 
 imposeth upon men’s thoughts, that doth bring lies in favour; 
 but a natural though corrupt love of the lie itself. One of 
 the later schools^ of the Grecians examineth the matter, and 
 is at a stand to tliink what should be in it, that men 
 should love lies ; where neither they make for pleasure, as 
 with poets ; nor for advantage, as with the merchant, but 
 for the lie’s sake. But I cannot tell: this same truth is a 
 naked and open daylight, that doth not show the masks, and 
 mummeries, and triumphs of the world, half so stately and 
 daintily as candle-lights. Truth may perhaps come to the 
 price of a pearl, that showeth best by day, but it will not 
 rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle, that showeth 
 
 ® He refers to tlie following passage in the Gospel of St. John, 
 xviii. 38 : Pilate saith unto him, l^at is truth ? And when ho 
 had said this, he went out again unto the Jews, and saith unto them, 
 I find in him no fault at all.” 
 
 ^ He probably refers to the ^^Hew Academy,” a sect of Greek phi¬ 
 losophers, one of whose moot questions was, What is tnitli ? ” Upon 
 which they came to the unsatisfactory conclusion that mankind has 
 no criterion by which to form a judgment. 
 
2 
 
 ESSAYS, 
 
 best iu varied lights. A mixture of a lie doth ever add 
 pleasure. Doth any man doubt, that if- tjiere were taken 
 out of men’s minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false 
 valuations, imaginations as one would, and the like, but it 
 would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken 
 things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing 
 to themselves ? One of the fathers, in great severity, called 
 poesy “ vinum dsemonum,” ^ because it filleth the imagination, 
 and yet it is but with the shadow of a lie. But it is not the 
 lie that passeth through the mind, but the lie that sinketh 
 in, and settleth in it, that doth the hurt, such as we spake of 
 before. But howsoever these things ar^ thus in men’s 
 depraved judgments and afiections, yet truth, which only 
 doth judge itself, teacheth, that the inquiry of truth, which 
 is the love-making, or wooing of it, the knowledge of truth, 
 which is the presence of it, and the behef of truth, which is 
 the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature. 
 The flrst creature of God, in the works of the days, was the 
 light of the sense : ^ the last was the light of reason : ® and 
 his sabbath work ever since, is the illumination of his Spirit. 
 First, he breathed light upon the face of the matter, or chao§; 
 then he breathed light into the face of man ; and stiU he 
 breatheth and inspireth light into the face of his chosen. The 
 poet ^ that beautified the sect,? that was otherwise inferior to 
 
 ® ^^Tlie wine of evil spirits.” 
 
 ^ Genesis i. 3 : And God said, Let there be light, and there was 
 light.” 
 
 ® At the moment when ^^The Lord God formed man out of the 
 dust of the ground, and breathed ^into his nostrils the breath of life : 
 and man became a living soul.”—Genesis ii. 7. 
 
 ^ Lucretius, the Homan poet and Epicurean philosopher, is alluded 
 to. 
 
 s He refers to the sect which followed the doctrines of Epicurus. 
 The life of Epicurus himself was pure and abstemious in the extreme. 
 One of his leading tenets was that the aim of all speculation should be 
 to enable men to judge with certainty what course is to be chosen in 
 order to secure health of body and tranquillity of mind. The adoption, 
 however, of the term pleasure,” as denoting this object, has at all 
 periods subjected the Epicurean system to great reproach; which, in 
 fact, is due rather to the conduct of many who, for their own purposes, 
 have taken shelter under the sj^stem in name only, than to the tenets 
 themselves, which did not inculcate libertinism. Epicurus admitted the 
 existence of the Gods, but he deprived them of the characteristics of 
 Divinity either as ci'eators or preservers of the world. 
 
TRUTH. 
 
 3 
 
 the rest, saith yet excellently well :—It is a pleasure to 
 stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea : 
 a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a 
 battle, and the adventures thereof below : but no pleasure is 
 comparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth” 
 (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always 
 clear and serene), and to see the errors, and wanderings, and 
 mists, and tempests, in the vale below so always that this 
 prospect be with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Cer¬ 
 tainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man’s mind move 
 in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the poles of 
 truth. 
 
 To pass from theological and philosophical truth to the 
 truth of civil business ; it will be acknowledged even by 
 those that practise it not, that clear and round dealing is the 
 honour of man’s nature, and tliat mixture of falsehood is like 
 alloy in coin of gold and silver, which may make the metal 
 work the better, but it embaseth it. For these winding and 
 crooked courses are the goings of the serpent ; which goeth 
 basely upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no 
 vice that doth so cover a man with shame as to be found false 
 and perfidious j and therefore Montaigne^ saith prettily, when 
 
 ^ Lord Bacon has either translated this passage of Lucretius from 
 .nemory, or has purposely paraphrased it. The following is the literal 
 translation of the original: ’Tis a pleasant thing, from the shore, to 
 behold the dangers of another upon the mighty ocean, when the winds 
 are lashing the main : not because it is a grateful pleasure for any 
 one to be in misery, but because it is a pleasant thing to see those mis¬ 
 fortunes from which you yourself are free : ’tis also a pleasant thing 
 to behold the mighty contests of warfare, arrayed upon the plains, with- 
 tjut a share in the danger : but nothing is there more delightful than to 
 occupy the elevated temples of the wise, well fortified by tranquil learn¬ 
 ing, whence you may be able to look down upon others, and see them 
 straying in every direction, and wandering in search of the path of 
 life.” 
 
 ^ Michael de Montaigne, the celebrated French Essayist. His Essays 
 embrace a variety of topics, which are treated in a sprightly and enter¬ 
 taining manner, and are replete wdth remarks indicative of strong 
 native good sense. He died in 1592. The following quotation is from 
 the second book of the Essays, c. 18 :—“Lying is a disgraceful vice, 
 and one that Plutarch, an ancient writer, paints in most disgraceful 
 colours, when he says that it is ^affording testimony that one first 
 despises God, and then fears men ; ’ it is not possible more happily to 
 describe its horrible, disgusting, and abandoned nature ; for can we 
 
 u 2 
 
4 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 he inquii’ed the reason why the word of the lie should he 
 such a disgrace, and such an odious charge, saith he, “ If it 
 be well weighed, to say that a man lieth, is as much as to say 
 that he is bra Ye towards God and a coward towai'ds men. 
 Eor a lie faces God, and shrinks from man surely the 
 wickedness of falsehood and breach of faith cannot possibly 
 be so highly expressed, as in that it shall be the last peal to 
 call the judgments of God upon the generations of men : it 
 being foretold, that, when ‘‘Christ crmeth,” he shall not 
 “ find faith upon the earth.’* 
 
 II.—OF DEATH.^ 
 
 Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark ; and as 
 that natimal fear in children is increased with tales, so is the 
 other. Certainly, the contemplation of death, as the wages 
 of sin, and passage to another world, is holy and religious ; 
 but the fear of it, as a tribute due unto nature, is weak. 
 Yet in rehgious meditations there is sometimes mixture of 
 vanity and of superstition. You shall read in some of the 
 friars’ books of mortification, that a man should think with 
 himself, what the pain is, if he have but his finger’s end 
 pressed or tortured j and thereby imagine what the pains of 
 death are, when the whole body is corrupted and dissolved; 
 when many times death passeth with less pain than the 
 tortm'e of a limb; for the most vital parts are not the 
 quickest of sense. And by liim that spake only as a philoso¬ 
 pher, and natural man, it was well said, “ Pompa mortis 
 magis terret, quam mors ipsa.”^ Groans and comuilsions, 
 and a discoloured face, and friends weeping, and blacksand 
 
 imagine anything more vile than to be cowards with regard to men, 
 and brave vdth regard to God ? 
 
 ^ St. Luke xwii. 8 : “Nevertheless, when the Son of man cometh, 
 shall he find faith upon the earth ? ” 
 
 ^ A portion of this Essay is borrowed from the writings of Seneca. 
 See his Letters to Lucilius, B. iv. Ep. 24 and 82. 
 
 ^ ^^The array of the death-bed has more terrors than death itself.” 
 'Jliis quotation is from Seneca. 
 
 ^ He j)robably alludes to the custom of hauging the room in black 
 
DEATH. 
 
 5 
 
 obsequies, and the like, show death terrible. It is worthy 
 the observing, that there is no passion in the mind of man so 
 weak, but it mates and masters the fear of death ; and there¬ 
 fore death is no such terrible enemy when a man hath so 
 many attendants about liim that can win the combat of him. 
 Kevenge triumphs over death; love slights it j honour 
 aspireth to it; grief flieth to it; fear pre-occupateth it; nay, 
 we read, after Otho the emperor had slain himself, pity 
 (which is the tenderest of affections) provoked many to die 
 out of mere compassion to their sovereign, and as the truest 
 sort of followers. I^ay, Seneca adds, niceness and satiety ; 
 
 Cogifca quamdiu eadem feceris ; mori velle, non tantum 
 fortis, aut miser, sed etiam fastidiosus potest.”*^ A man 
 ^vould die, though he were neither valiant nor miserable, only 
 upon a weariness to do the same thing so oft over and over. 
 It is no less worthy to observe, how little alteration in good 
 spirits the approaches of death make : for they appear to be 
 the same men till the last instant. Augustus Csesar died in 
 a compliment; “ Livia, conjugii nostri memor, vive et vale.”® 
 Tiberius in dissimulation, as Tacitus saith of liim, “Jam 
 Tiberium vires et corpus, ' non dissimulatio, deserebant: ” ^ 
 Vespasian in a jest, sitting upon the stool,s “ TJt puto Deus 
 fio Galba ,with a sentence, “Feri, si ex re sit populi 
 Romani,”^ holding forth his neck; Septimus Severus in 
 dispatch, “Adeste, si quid mihi rest at agendum,”^ and the 
 like. Certainly the Stoics^ bestowed too much cost upon 
 
 where the body of the deceased lay, a practice much more usual in 
 Bacon’s time than at the present day. 
 
 ^ Keflect how often you do the same things; a man may wish to 
 die, not only because either he is brave or wretched, but even because he 
 is surfeited with life.” 
 
 • “ Livia, mindful of our union, live on, and fare thee well.” 
 
 ^ ''His bodily strength and vitality were now forsaking Tiberius, 
 but not his duplicity.” 
 
 ^ This was said as a reproof to his flatterers, and in spirit is not 
 unlike the rebuke administered by Canute to his retinue. 
 
 ** "I am become a Divinity, I suppose.” 
 
 * " If it be for the advantage of the Koman people, strike.” i 
 
 ^ “ If aught remains to be done by me, dispatch.” 
 
 These were the followers of‘Zeno, a philosopher of Citium, in 
 Cyprus, who founded the Stoic school, or " School of the Portico,’^ 
 at Athens. The basis of his doctrines was the duty of making virtue the 
 
V 
 
 l2ii9ibA.lL is • 
 
 death, and by their great preparations made it appeal more 
 fearful. Better, saith he, qui finem vitse extremum inter 
 munera ponit naturse.’’^^ It is as na.tural to die as to be 
 born ; and to a little infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as 
 the other. He that dies in an earnest pursuit, is like one 
 that is wounded in hot blood ; who, for the time, scarce feels 
 the hurt; and therefore a mind fixed and bent upon some¬ 
 what that is good, doth avert the dolours of death ; but, 
 above all, believe it, the sweetest canticle is ‘‘Hunc dimittis,”^ 
 when a man hath obtained worthy ends and expectations. 
 Death hath this also, that it openeth the gate to good fame, 
 and extinguisheth envy ; Extinctus amabitur idem.”o 
 
 III.—OF UNITY IN EELIGION. 
 
 Beligion being the chief band of human society, it is a 
 happy thing when itself is well contained within the true 
 band of unity. The quarrels and divisions about religion 
 were evils unknown to the heathen. The reason was, be¬ 
 cause the religion of the heathen consisted rather in rites and 
 
 object of all our researches. According to him, the pleasures of the mind 
 were preferable to those of the body, and his disciples were taught to 
 view with indifference health or sickness, riches or poverty, pain or 
 pleasure. 
 
 “ '‘Who reckons the close of his life among the boons of nature.’^ 
 Lord Bacon here quotes from memory ; the passage is in the tenth 
 Satire of Juvenal, and runs thus :— 
 
 " Fortem posce animum, mortis terrore carentem, 
 
 Qui spatium vitse extremum inter munera ponat 
 Naturse”- 
 
 " Pray for strong resolve, void of the fear of death, that reckons the 
 closing period of life among the boons of nature.” 
 
 “ He alludes to the song of Simeon, to whom the Holy Ghost had 
 revealed “that he should not see death before he had seen the Lord’s 
 Christ.” When he beheld the infant Jesus in the Temple, he took 
 the child in his arms and burst forth into a song of thanksgiving, com¬ 
 mencing, “ Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, accord¬ 
 ing to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.” — St. Luk^ 
 li. 29. 
 
 ° “ When dead, the same person shall be beloved.” 
 
UNITY IN RELIGION. 
 
 I 
 
 ceremonies, than in any constant belief: for you may imagine 
 what kind of faith theirs was, when the chief doctors and 
 fathers of their church were the poets. But the true God 
 hath this attribute, that he is a jealous God ; and therefore 
 liis worship and religion will endure no mixture nor partner. 
 We shall therefore speak a few words concerning the unity 
 of the church ; what are the fruits thereof j what the bounds; 
 and what the means. 
 
 The fiuits of unity (next unto the well-pleasing of God, 
 which is all in all) are two; the one towards those that are 
 without the church, the other towards those that are within. 
 For the former, it is certain, that heresies and schisms are 
 of all others the greatest scandals : yea, more than corrup¬ 
 tion of manners : for as in the natural body a wound or 
 solution of continuity is worse than a corrupt humour, so in 
 the spiritual: so that nothing doth so much keep men out 
 of the church, and drive men out of the church, as breach of 
 unity : and therefore whensoever it cometh to that pass that 
 one saith, “ Ecce in Deserto,”^ another saith, “ Ecce in 
 penetralibus that is, when some men seek Christ in the 
 conventicles of heretics, and others in an outward face of a 
 church, that voice had need continually to sound in men’s 
 ears, ‘‘ nolite exire,”—“ go not out.” The doctor of the 
 Gentiles (the propriety of whose vocation drew him to have 
 a special care of those without) saith, “ If a heathen® come 
 in, and hear you speak with several tongues, will he not say 
 that you are mad*?” and, certainly, it is little better : when 
 atheists and profane ^persons do hear of so many discordant 
 and contrary opinions in religion, it doth avert them from 
 the church, and maketh them to sit down in the chair of 
 the scomers.”^^ It is but a light thing to be vouched in so 
 serious a matter, but yet it expresseth well the deformity. 
 
 * '^Behold, he is in the Desert.”—St. Matthew xxiv. 26. 
 
 Behold, he is in the secret chambers.”—St. Matthew xxiv. 26. 
 
 ® He alludes to 1 Corinthians xiv. 23:—If, therefore, the whole 
 church be come together into one place, and all speak with tongues, 
 and there come in those that are unlearned or unbelievers, will they 
 not say that ye are mad ?” 
 
 ^ Psalm i. 1. Blessed is the man thatwalketh not in the counsel 
 of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the 
 seat of the scornful.” 
 
8 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 There is a master of scoffing that in his catalogue of books 
 of a feigned library sets down this title of a book, The 
 Morris-Dance® of Heretics for, indeed, every sect of them 
 hath a diverse posture, or cringe, by themselves, which can¬ 
 not but move derision in worldlings and depraved politicians, 
 who are apt to contemn holy things. 
 
 As for the finiit towards those that are within, it is peace, 
 which containeth infinite blessings; it establisheth faith; it 
 kindleth charity; the outward peace of the church distilleth 
 into peace of conscience, and it turneth the labours of writing 
 and reading of controversies into treatises of mortification 
 and devotion. 
 
 Concerning the bounds of unity, the true placing of them 
 importeth exceedingly. There appear to be two extremes: 
 for to certain zealots all speech of pacification is odious. Is 
 it peace, Jehu?”—"What hast thou to do with peace? turn 
 thee behind me.”^ Peace is not the matter, but following, 
 and party. Contrariwise, certain Laodiceans s and lukewarm 
 persons think they may accommodate points of religion by 
 middle ways, and taking part of both, and witty reconcile¬ 
 ments, as if they would make an arbitrament between God 
 and man. Both these extremes are to be avoided; which 
 will be done if the league of Christians, penned by our 
 Saviour himself, were in the two cross clauses thereof 
 
 ® This dance, which was originally called the Morisco dance, is sup¬ 
 posed to have been derived from the Moors of Spain ; the dancers 
 in earlier times blackening their faces to resemble Moors. It was 
 probably a corruption of the ancient Pyrrhic dance, which was per¬ 
 formed by men in armour, and which is mentioned as still existing 
 in Greece, in Byron’s ^^Song of the Greek Captive:”— 
 
 You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ”—^ 
 
 Attitude and gesture formed one of the characteristics of the dance. It 
 is still practised in some parts of England. 
 
 ^ 2 Xings ix. 18. 
 
 s He alludes to the words in Revelations, c. iii. v. 14, ^^And 
 unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans write : These things 
 saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of the 
 creation of God; I know thy works, that thou art neither cold ncr 
 hot: I will spue thee out of my mouth.Laodicea was a city of 
 Asia Minor. .St. Paul established the church there which is here 
 referred to. 
 
UNITY IN RELIGION. 
 
 9 
 
 soundly and plainly expounded : He that is not with us, is 
 against us and again, He that is not against us, is with 
 usthat is, if the points fundamental, and of substance in 
 religion, were truly discerned and distinguished from points 
 not merely of faith, but of opinion, order, or good intention. 
 This is a thing may seem to many a matter trivial, and done 
 already j but if it were done less partially, it would be 
 embraced more generally. 
 
 Of this I may give only this advice, according to my small 
 model. Men ought to take heed of rending God’s church by 
 two kinds of controversies; the one is, when the matter of 
 the point controverted is too small and light, not worth the 
 heat and strife about it, kindled only by contradiction; for, 
 as it is noted by one of the fathers, Christ’s coat indeed had 
 no seam, but the church’s vesture was of divers colours 
 whereupon he seith, “ In veste varietas sit, scissura non sit,” ^ 
 they be two things, unity and uniformity; the other is, 
 when the matter of the point controverted is great, but it is 
 driven to an over great subtilty and obscurity, so that it 
 becometh a thing rather ingenious than substantial. A man 
 that is of judgment and understanding shall sometimes heai' 
 ignorant men differ, and know well within himself, that those 
 which so differ mean one thing, and yet they themselves 
 would never agree : and if it come so to pass in that distance 
 of judgment, which is between man and man, shall we not 
 think that God above, that knows the heart, doth not dis¬ 
 cern that fr*ail men, in some of them contradictions, intend 
 the same thing; and accepteth of both ? The nature of such 
 controversies is excellently expressed by St. Paul, in the 
 warning and precept that he giveth concerning the same; 
 ‘‘Devita profanas vocum novitates, et oppositiones falsi nominis 
 scientise.”^ Men create oppositions which are not, and put 
 them into new terms, so fixed as, whereas the meaning ought 
 to govern the term, the term in effect governeth the mean¬ 
 ing. There be also two false peaces, or unities : the one, 
 
 ** St. Matthew xii. 30. 
 
 * the garment there may be many colours, but let there be no 
 rending of it.” 
 
 ^ 'Avoid profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of science falsely 
 so called.”—1 Tim. vi. 20. 
 
10 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 when the peace is gro inded but upon an implicit ignorance > 
 for all colours will agree in the dark : the other, when it in 
 pieced up upon a direct admission of contraries in fundamental 
 points : for truth and falsehood, in such things, are like the 
 iron and clay in the toes of Nebuchadnezzar’s image they 
 may cleave, but they will not incorporate. 
 
 Concerning the means of procuring unity, men must 
 beware that, in the procuring or muniting of religious unity, 
 they do not dissolve and deface the laws of charity and of 
 human society. There be two swords amongst Christians, 
 the spiritual and temporal; and both ha;Ve their due office 
 and place in the maintenance of religion : but we may not 
 take up the third sword, which is Mahomet’s sword,“^ or like 
 unto it: that is, to propagate religion by wars, or by san¬ 
 guinary persecutions to force consciences; except it be in 
 cases of overt scandal, blasphemy, or intermixture of practice 
 against the state; much less to nourish seditions; to autho¬ 
 rize conspiracies and rebellions; to put the sword into the 
 people’s hands, and the like, tending to the subversion of adl 
 government, which is the ordinance of God; for this is but 
 to dash the first table against the second; and so to consider 
 men as Christians, as we forget that they are men. Lucre¬ 
 tius the poet, when he beheld the act of Agamemnon, that 
 could endure the sacrificing of his own daughter, exclaimed : 
 
 Tan turn religio potuit suadere malorum.” “ 
 
 What would he have said, if he had known of the massacre 
 in France,° or the powder treason of England?? He would 
 
 ^ He alludes to the dream of Nebuchadnezzar, significant of the 
 limited duration of his kingdom. See Daniel ii. 33, 41. 
 
 “ Mahomet proselytized by giving to the nations which he conquered 
 the option of the Koran or the sword. 
 
 “ '*To deeds so dreadful could religion prompt.” The poet refers 
 to the sacrifice by Agamemnon, the Grecian leader, of his daughter 
 Iphigenia, with the view of appeasing the wrath of Diana. 
 
 ° He alludes to the massacre of the Huguenots, or Protestants, in 
 France, which took place on St. Bartholomew’s day, August 24, 1572, 
 by the order of Charles IX. and his mother, Catherine de Medici. On 
 this occasion about 60,000 persons perished, including the Admiral De 
 Coligny, one of the most virtuous men that France possessed, and the 
 main stay of the Protestant cause. 
 
 P More generally known as the GunpowderPlot.” 
 
 % 
 
UNITY IN RELIGION. 
 
 11 
 
 have been seven times more epicure and atheist than he was j 
 for as the temporal sword is to be drawn with great circum¬ 
 spection in cases of religion, so it is a thing monstrous to 
 put it into the hands of the common people; let that be left 
 unto the Anabaptists, and other furies. It was great blas¬ 
 phemy, when the devil said, “ I will ascend and be like the 
 Highestbut it is greater blasphemy to personate God, 
 and bring him in saying, “ I will descend, and be like the 
 prince of darkness and what is it better, to make the 
 cause of religion to descend to the cruel and execrable 
 actions of murdering princes, butchery of people and sub¬ 
 version of states and governments 1 Surely this is to bring 
 down the Holy Ghost, instead of the likeness of a dove, in 
 the shape of a vulture or raven; and to set out of the 
 bark of a Christian church a flag of a bark of pirates 
 and assassins; therefore it is most necessary that the 
 church by doctrine and decree, princes by then? sword, 
 and all learnings, both Christian and moral, as by their 
 Mercury rod,^ do damn, and send to hell for ever those facts 
 and opinions tending to the support of the same; as hath 
 been already in good part done. Surely in coimcils concern¬ 
 ing religion, that council of the apostle would be prefixed^ 
 “ Ira hominis non implet justitiam Dei and it was a 
 notable observation of a wise father, and no less ingenuously 
 confessed, that those which held and persuaded pressure of 
 consciences, were commonly interested therein themselves 
 for their own ends. 
 
 ^ Allusion is made to the ^^caduceus,” with which Mercury, the mes¬ 
 senger of the Gods, summoned the souls of the departed to the infernal 
 regions. 
 
 *■ ^‘The wrath of man wcrketh not the righteousness of God.”— 
 James i. 20. 
 
12 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 TV.—OF REYEXGE. 
 
 Revexge is a kind of \\dld justice, wLicli tlie more man’s 
 nature runs to,tlie more ought law to weed it out: for as for 
 the first wrong, it doth but offend the law, but the revenge 
 of that vTTong putteth the law out of office. Certainly, in 
 taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy ; but in 
 passing it over, he is superior ; for it is a prince’s part to 
 pardon : and Solomon, I am sui^e, saith, It is the glory of a 
 man to pass by an offence.” ^ That which' is past is gone and 
 irrevocable, and wise men have enough to do with things 
 present and to come ; therefore they do but trifle vith them¬ 
 selves that labour in past matters. There is no man doth a 
 wrong for the m'ong’s sake, but thereby to purchase himself 
 profit, or pleasure, or honoim, or the like ; therefore why 
 should I be angry with a man for loving liimself better than 
 me ? And if any man should do wrong, merely out of ill- 
 nature, why, yet it is but like the thorn or briar, which 
 prick and scratch, because they can do no other. The most 
 tolerable sort of revenge is for those wrongs which there is 
 no law to remedy ; but then, let a man take heed the re¬ 
 venge be such as there is no law to punish, else a man’s 
 enemy is still beforehand, and it is two for one. Some, when 
 they take revenge, are desirous the party should know 
 whence it cometh: this is the more generous; for the delight 
 seemeth to be not so much in doing the hurt as in making 
 the party repent : but base and crafty cowards are Hke the 
 arrow that flieth in the dark. Cosmus, Duke of Florence,^ 
 had a desperate saying against perfidious or neglecting friends, 
 as if those wrongs were unpardonable. ‘^You shall read,” 
 saith he, ^^that we are commanded to forgive oim enemies; 
 but you never read that we are commanded to forgive our 
 fiiends.” But yet the spirit of Job was in a better tune ; 
 
 Shall we,” saith he, take good at God’s hands, and not be 
 
 * These words as here quoted, are not to be found in the writings of 
 Solomon, though doubtless the sentiment is. 
 
 ^ He alludes to Cosmo de Medici, or Cosmo I., chief of the Republic 
 of Florence, the encourager of literature and the fine arts. 
 
ADVERSITY. 
 
 13 
 
 content to take evil also ^ and so of friends in a proportion. 
 This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge keeps his 
 own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well. 
 Public revenges^ are for the most part fortunate; as that for 
 the death of Csesar for the death of Pertinax ; for the 
 death of Henry the Third of France and many more. 
 But in private revenges it is not so; nay, rather vindictive 
 persons live the life of witches : who, as they are mischievous, 
 so end thev unfortunate. 
 
 V.—OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 It was a liigh speech of Seneca (after the manner of the 
 Stoics), that, “ the good things which belong to prosperity are 
 to be wished, but the good things that belong to adversity 
 are to be admired.” (^^Bona rerum secundarum optabilia^ 
 adversarum mirabilia.”) Certainly, if miracles be the com¬ 
 mand over nature, they appear most in adversity. It is yet 
 a higher speech of his than the other (much too high for a 
 heathen), “ It is true greatness to have in one the frailty of a 
 man, and the security of a God.” (^^Yere magnum habere 
 fragilitatem hominis, securitatem Dei.”) This would have 
 done better in poesy, where transcendencies are more allowed ; 
 and the poets, indeed, have been busy with it; for it is in 
 effect the thing which is figured in that strange fiction of the 
 ancient poets,^ which seemeth not to be without mystery ; 
 
 ^ Job ii. 10—Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall 
 we not receive evil V* 
 
 ^ By public revenges,” he means punishment awarded by the state 
 with the sanction of the laws. 
 
 ® He alludes to the retribution dealt by Augustus and Antony to 
 the murderers of Julius Caesar. It is related by ancient historians, as a 
 singular fact, that not one of them died a natural death. 
 
 ^ Henry III. of France was assassinated in 1599, by Jacques Clement, 
 a Jacobin monk, in the frenzy of fanaticism. Although Clement 
 justly sufibred punishment, the end of this bloodthirsty and bigoted 
 tyrant may be justly deemed a retribution dealt by the hand of an 
 offended Providence ; so truly does the Poet say :— 
 
 -neque enim lex aequior ulla 
 
 Quam necis artifices arte perire sua.” 
 
 Stesichonis, Apollodorus, and others. Lord Bacon makes a similar 
 
14 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 nay, and to have some approach to the state of a Chiistiaii, 
 ^^that Hercules, when he went to unbind Prometheus (by 
 whom human na ture is represented), sailed the length of the 
 great ocean in an earthen pot or pitcher,” lively describing 
 Christian resolution, that saileth in the frail bark of the 
 flesh through the waves of the world. But, to speak in a 
 mean, the virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue of 
 adversity is fortitude, which in morals is the more heroical 
 \drtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament, 
 adversity is the blessing of the Isew, which carrieth the 
 greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of Gnd’s 
 favour. Yet even in the Old Testament, if you listen to 
 David’s harp, you shall hear as many hearse-like airs^ as 
 carols ; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath laboured 
 more in describing the affictions of Job than the felicities of 
 Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; 
 and adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in 
 needleworks and embroideries, it is more pleasing to have a 
 lively work upon a sad and solemn ground, than to have a 
 dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground : judge, 
 therefore, of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of the 
 eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant 
 when they are incensed, or crushed : for prosperity doth best 
 discover vice, but adversity doth best discover \irtue.^ 
 
 reference to this mytli in his treatise On the Wisdom of the Ancients.” 
 
 It is added with great elegance, to console and strengthen the minds of 
 men, that this mighty hero (Hercules) sailed in a cup or * urceus,* in order 
 that they may not too much fear and allege the narrowness of their 
 nature and its frailty; as if it were not capable of such fortitude and 
 constancy ; of which very thing Seneca argued well, when he said, ^ It 
 is a great thing to have at the same time the frailty of a man, and 
 the security of a God.’ ” 
 
 ^ Funereal airs. It must be remembered that many of the Psahns of 
 David were written by him when persecuted by Saul, as also in the tribu¬ 
 lation caused by the wicked conduct of his son Absalom. Some of 
 them, too, though called ^^The Psahns of David,” were really composed 
 by the Jews in their capti\dty at Babylon; as, for instance, the 
 137th Psalm, which so beautifully commences, By the waters of 
 Babylon there we sat down.” One of them is supposed to be the com¬ 
 position of Moses. 
 
 c This fine passage, beginning at Prosperity is the blessing,”—which 
 was not published till 1625, twenty-eight years after the &st Essays, 
 has been quoted by Macaulay, with considerable justice, as a proof that 
 
SIMULATION AND DISSIMULATION. 
 
 15 
 
 VI.—OP SIMULATION AND DISSIMULATION. 
 
 Dissimulation is Liit a faint kind of policy, or wisdom ; 
 for it asketh a strong wit and a strong heart to know when 
 to tell truth, and to do it; therefore it is the weaker sort of 
 politicians that are the great dissemblers. 
 
 Tacitus saith, ^^Livia sorted well with the arts of her 
 husband, and dissimulation of her son; attributing arts or 
 policy to Augustus, and dissimulation to Tiberius and 
 again, when Mucianus encourageth Vespasian to take arms 
 against Yitellius, he saith, We rise not against the piercing 
 judgment of Augustus, nor the extreme caution or closeness 
 of Tiberius.” These properties of arts or policy, and dis¬ 
 simulation or closeness, are indeed habits and faculties several, 
 and to be distinguished ; for if a man have that penetration 
 of judgment as he can discern what things are to be laid 
 open, and what to be secreted, and what to be showed at half- 
 lights, and to whom and when (which indeed are arts of state, 
 and arts of life, as Tacitus well calleth them), to him a habit 
 of dissimulation is a liinderance and a poorness. But if a 
 man cannot attain to that judgment, then it is left to him 
 generally to be close, and a dissembler : for where a man 
 cannot choose or vary in particulars, there it is good to take 
 the safest and wariest way in general, like the going softly, 
 by one that cannot well see. Certainly, the ablest men that 
 ever were, have had all an openness and frankness of dealing, 
 and a name of certainty and veracity : but then they were 
 like horses well managed, for they could tell passing well 
 when to stop or turn ; and at such times when they thought 
 the case indeed required dissimulation, if then they used it, 
 it came to pass that the former oj)inion spread abroad, of 
 their good faith and clearness of deahng, made them almost 
 invisible. 
 
 There be three degrees of this hiding and veiling of a man’s 
 self: the first, closeness, reservation, and secrecy; when a 
 
 the writer’s fancy did not decay with the advance of old age, and 
 that his style in his later years became richer and softer. The learned 
 Critic contrasts this passage with the terse style of the Essay of Studies 
 'Essay 50), which was published in 1597. 
 
16 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 man leavefch. himself without observation; or without hold to 
 be taken, what he is : the second, dissimulation in the nega¬ 
 tive ; when a man lets fall signs and arguments, that he is not 
 that he is: and the third, simulation in the affirmative; when 
 a man industriously and expressly feigns and pretends to be 
 that he is not. 
 
 For the first of these, secrecy, it is indeed the virtue of a 
 confessor ; and assuredly the secret man heareth many con¬ 
 fessions ; for who will open himself to a blab or a babbler ] 
 But if a man be thought secret, it inviteth discovery, as the 
 more close air sucketh in the more open ; and, as in con¬ 
 fession, the revealing is not for worldly use, but for the ease 
 of a man’s heart, so secret men come to the knowledge of 
 many things in that kind; while men rather discharge their 
 minds than impart their minds. In few words, mysteries 
 are due to secrecy. Besides (to say truth), nakedness is un¬ 
 comely, as well in mind as body ; and it addeth no small 
 reverence to men’s manners and actions, if they be not 
 altogether open. As for talkers, and futile persons, they are 
 commonly vain and credulous withal: for he that talketh 
 what he knoweth, will also talk what he knoweth not; 
 therefore set it down, that a habit of secrecy is both politic 
 and moral : and in this part it is good that a man’s face give 
 his tongue leave to speak j for the discoveiy of a man’s self, 
 by the tracts^ of his countenance, is a great weakness and 
 betraying, by how much it is many times more marked and 
 believed than a man’s words. 
 
 For the second, which is dissimulation, it followeth many 
 times upon secrecy by a necessity ; so that he that will be 
 secret must be a Assembler in some degree ; for men are too 
 cunning to suffer a man to keep an indifferent carriage be¬ 
 tween both, and to be secret, without swaying the balance on 
 either side. They will so beset a man with questions, and 
 draw him on, and pick it out of him, that without an absurd 
 silence, he must show an inclination one way; or if he do 
 not, they will gather as much by his silence as by his speech. 
 As for equivocations, or oraculous speeches, they cannot hold 
 out long : so that no man can be secret, except he give him- 
 
 • A word DOW unused, signifying the ^Hraits” or features.” 
 
SIMULATION AND DISSIMULATION. 
 
 17 
 
 self a little scope of dissunulatlon, which is, as it were, but 
 the skirts or train of secrecy. 
 
 But for the third degree, which is simulation and false pro¬ 
 fession, that I hold more culpable, and less politic, except it 
 be in great and rare matters : and, therefore, a general 
 custom of simulation (which is this last degree) is a vice 
 rising either of a natural falseness, or fearfulness, or of a mind 
 that hath some main faults ; which, because a man must 
 needs disguise, it maketh him practise simulation in other 
 things, lest his hand should be out of use. 
 
 The advantages of simulation and dissimulation are three : 
 first, to lay asleep opposition, and to sui’prise; for where a 
 man’s intentions are published, it is an alarum to call up all 
 that are against them : the second is, to reserve to a man’s 
 self a fair retreat ; for if a man engage liimself by a manifest 
 declaration, he must go through, or take a fall: the third is, 
 the better to discover the mind of another ; for to him that 
 opens himself men will hardly show themselves adverse; but 
 will (fair) let him go on, and turn their freedom of speech to 
 freedom of thought; and therefore it is a good shrewd 
 proverb of the Spaniard, ^‘Tell a lie and find a trothas 
 If there were no way of discovery but by simulation. There 
 be also tlrree disadvantages to set it even; the first, that 
 simulation and dissimulation commonly carry with them a 
 show of fearfulness, which, in any business doth spoil the 
 feathers of round flying up to the mark ; the second, that it 
 puzzleth and perplexeth the conceits of many, that, perhaps, 
 would otherwise co-operate with him, and makes a man walk 
 almost alone to his own ends ; the third, and greatest, is, 
 that it depriveth a man of one of the most principal in¬ 
 struments for action, wliich is trust and belief. The best 
 composition and temj)erature is, to have openness in fame 
 and opinion ; secrecy in habit; dissimulation in seasonable 
 use; and a power to feign if there be no remedy. 
 
 ^ A truth. 
 
 C 
 
18 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 Til.—OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 The joys of parents are secret^ and so are their griefs and 
 fears; they cannot utter the one, nor they mil not utter the 
 other. Children sweeten labours, but they make misfortunes 
 more bitter; they increase the cares of life, but they miti¬ 
 gate the remembrance of death. The perpetuity by genera¬ 
 tion is common to beasts; but memory, merit, and noble 
 works, are proper to men : and surely a man shall see the 
 noblest works and foundations have proceeded from childless 
 men, which have sought to express the images of their minds 
 where those of their bodies have failed; so the care of poste¬ 
 rity is most in them that have no posterity. They that are 
 the first raisers of their houses are most indulgent towards 
 their children, beholding them as the continuance, not only 
 of their kind, but of their work; and so botli children and 
 creatures. 
 
 The difference in affection of parents towards their several 
 children is many times unequal, and sometimes unworthy, 
 especially in the mother; as Solomon saith, A wise son 
 rejoiceth the father, but an ungracious son shames the 
 mother.”^ A man shall see, where there is a house full of 
 children, one or two of the eldest respected, and the youngest 
 made wantons but in the midst some that are as it were 
 forgotten, who, many times, nevertheless, prove the best. 
 The illiberality ©f parents, in allowance towards their chil¬ 
 dren, is a harmful error, makes them base, acquaints them 
 with shifts, makes them sort with mean company, and makes 
 them surfeit more when they come to plenty: and, therefore, 
 the proofs is best when men keep their authonty towards 
 their children, but not their purse. Men haYe a foolish 
 manner (both parents, and schoolmasters, and servants), in 
 creating and breeding an emidation betw'‘en brothers during 
 childhood, which many times sorteth to discord when they 
 
 * ProTerbs x. 1 : A wise son maketh a glad father, but a fooiish 
 son is the heaviness of his mother.” 
 
 ^ Petted—spoiled. 
 
 « This word seems here to mean " a plan” or method,” as proved 
 by its results. 
 
MAKRIAGE AND SINGLE LIFE. 
 
 19 
 
 are men, and disturbeth families.^ Tbe Italians make little 
 difference between children and nephews, or near kinsfolk; 
 but so they be of the lump, they care not, though they pass 
 not through their own body ; and, to say truth, in nature it 
 is much a-like matter; insomuch that we see a nephew some¬ 
 times resembleth an uncle or a kinsman, more than his own 
 parent as the blood happens. Let parents choose betimes 
 the vocations and courses they mean their children should 
 take, for then they are most flexible, and let them not too 
 much apply themselves to the disposition of their children, 
 as thinking they will take best to that which they have most 
 mind to. It is true, that if the affection, or aptness of the 
 children be extraordinary, then it is good not to cross it; 
 but generally the precept is good, “ Optimum elige, suave et 
 facile illud faciet consuetude.”®—Younger brothers are com¬ 
 monly fortunate, but seldom or never where the elder are 
 disinherited. 
 
 VIII.—OF MARKIAGE AND SINGLE LIFE. 
 
 He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to 
 fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, 
 either of virtue or mischief. Certainly the best works, and 
 of greatest merit for the public, have proceeded from the 
 unmarried or childless men, which both in affection and 
 means have married and endowed the public. Yet it were 
 great reason that those that have children should have 
 greatest care of future times, unto which they know they 
 must transmit their dearest pledges. Some there are who, 
 though they lead a single life, yet their thoughts do end with 
 themselves, and account future times impertinences; nay, 
 there are some other that account wife and children but as 
 
 ** There is considerable justice in this remark. Children should be 
 taught to do what is right for its own sake, and because it is their 
 duty to do so, and not that they may have the selfish gratification of 
 obtaining the reward which their companions have failed to secure, 
 and of being led to think themselves superior to their companions. 
 When launched upon the world, emulation will be quite sufficiently 
 forced upon them by stern necessity. 
 
 * Select that cov/rse of life which is the most advantageous: 
 habit will soon render it pleasant and easily endured.” 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 bills of charges ; nay more, there are some foolish rich cove¬ 
 tous men, that take a pride in having no children, because 
 they may be thought so much the richer ; for, perhaps they 
 have heard some talk, Such an one is a great rich man,” 
 and another except to it, Yea, but he hath a great charge 
 of children as if it were an abatement to his riches : but 
 the most ordinary cause of a single life is liberty, especially 
 in certain self-pleasing and humorous minds, which are so 
 sensible of every restraint, as they will go near to think their 
 girdles and garters to be bonds and shackles.^ Unmarried 
 men are best friends, best masters, best servants; but not 
 always best subjects, for they are light to run away, and 
 almost all fugitives are of that condition. A single life doth 
 well with churclnnen, for charity will hardly water the 
 ground where it must first fill a pool.^ It is indifferent for 
 judges and magistrates; for if they be facile and corrupt, 
 YOU shall have a servant five times worse than a wife. For 
 soldiers, I find the generals commonly, in their hortatives, 
 put men in mind of their wives and children; and I think 
 the despising of marriage amongst the Timks maketh the 
 vulgar soldier more base. Certainly wife and children are a 
 kind of discipline of humanity; and single men, though they 
 be many times more charitable, because their means are 
 less exhaust, yet, on the other side, they are more cruel and 
 hard-hearted (good to make severe inquisitors), because their 
 tenderness is not so oft called upon. Grave natures, led by 
 custom, and therefore constant, are commonly lovdng hus¬ 
 bands, as was said of Ulysses, ^A^etulam suam pr^etulit im- 
 mortalitati.”*^ Chaste women are often proud and fro ward, 
 as presuming upon the merit of their chastity. It is one of 
 the best bonds, both of chastity and obedience, in the wife, 
 if she tliink her husband wise, which she will never do if she 
 find him jealous. Wives are young men’s mistresses, com¬ 
 panions for middle age, and old men’s nurses, so as a man 
 
 ® His meaning is, that if clergymen have the expenses of a family to 
 support, they will hardly find means for the exercise of benevolence 
 toward their parishioners. 
 
 “ He preferred his aged wife Penelope to immortality.” This 
 was when Ulysses was entreated by the goddess Calypso to give up all 
 thoughts of returning to Ithaca, and to remain with her in the enjoy¬ 
 ment of immortality. 
 
ENVY. 
 
 21 
 
 may have a quarrel® to many when he will: but yet he was 
 reputed one of the wise men that made answer to the ques¬ 
 tion when a man should marry: “ A young man not yet, an 
 elder man not at all.” It is often seen that bad husbands 
 have very good wives; whether it be that it raise bh the price 
 of their husbands’ kindness whjen it comes, or that the wives 
 take a pride in their patience ; but this never fails, if the bad 
 husbands were of their own choosing, against their friends’ 
 consent, for then they will be sure to make good their own 
 folly. 
 
 IX.—OF ENVY. 
 
 There be none of the affections which have been noted to 
 fascinate or bewitch, but love and envy: they both have vehe¬ 
 ment wishes; they frame themselves readily into imaginations 
 and suggestions, and they come easily into the eye* especially 
 upon the presence of the objects which are the points that 
 conduce to fascination, if any such thing there be. We 
 see, likewise, the Scripture calleth envy an evil eye; ^ and 
 the astrologers call the evil influences of the stars evil 
 aspects; so that still there seemeth to be acknowledged, in 
 the act of envy, an ejaculation,-or irradiation of the eye: 
 nay, some have been so curious as to note, that the times, 
 when the stroke or percussion of an envious eye doth most 
 hmi;, are, when the party envied is beheld in glory or 
 triumph; for that sets an edge upon envy: and besides, at 
 such times, the spirits of the person envied do come forth 
 most into the outward parts, and so meet the blow. 
 
 But leaving these curiosities (though not unworthy to be 
 
 ® May have a pretext,” or excuse.” 
 
 • So prevalent in ancient times was the notion of the injurious effects 
 of the eye of envy, that in common parlance the Romans generally 
 used the word prsefiscini,” — without risk of enchantment,” or 
 '•fascination,” when they spoke in high terms of themselves. They 
 supposed that they thereby averted the effects of enchantment produced 
 by the evil eye of any envious person who might at that moment 
 possibly be looking upon them. Lord Bacon probably here alludes to 
 St. Mark vii. 21, 22 ; Out of the heart of men proceedeth — deceit, 
 lasciviousness, an evil eye.” Solomon also speaks of the evil eye, 
 Prov. xxiii. 6, and xxviii. 22. 
 
99 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 tliought on in fit place), we will handle what persons are apt 
 to envy others, v/hat persons are most subject to be envied 
 themselves, and what is the difference between public and 
 private envy. 
 
 A man that hath no virtue in liimself ever envieth virtue 
 in others; for men’s minds will either feed upon their own 
 good, or upon others’ evil; and who wanteth the one will 
 prey upon the other; and whoso is out of hope to attain to 
 another’s virtue, will seek to come at even hand,^ by depress¬ 
 ing another’s fortune. 
 
 A man that is busy and inquisitive is commonly envious; 
 for to know much of other men’s matters cannot be, because 
 all that ado may concern his own estate; therefore it must 
 needs be that he taketh a kind of play-pleasure in looking 
 upon the fortunes of others : neither can he that mindeth 
 but his own business find much matter for envy; for envy 
 is a gadding passion, and walketh the streets, and doth not 
 keep home : ‘‘I^on est curiosus, quin idem sit malevolus.”^^ ’ 
 
 Men of noble birth are noted to be envious towards new 
 men when they rise; for the distance is altered; and it is 
 like a deceit of the eye, that when others come on they think 
 themselves go back. 
 
 Deformed persons and eunuchs, and old men and bastards, 
 are envious : for he that cannot possibly mend his own case, 
 will do what he can to impair another’s; except these de¬ 
 fects light upon a very brave and heroical nature, which 
 thinketh to make his natural wants part of his honour; in 
 that it should be said, “ That a eunuch, or a lame man, did 
 such great matters,” affecting the honour of a miracle : as it 
 was in Parsesthe eunuch, and Agesilaus and Tamerlane,® 
 that were lame men. 
 
 To be even with him. 
 
 There is no person a busy-body but what he is ill-natured too.” 
 This passage is from the Stichus of Plautus. 
 
 ^ Narses superseded Belisarius in the command of the armies of Italy, 
 by the orders of the Emperor Justinian. He defeated Totila, the king 
 of the Goths (who had taken Pome), in a decisive engagement, in which 
 the latter was slain. He governed Italy with consummate ability for 
 thirteen years, when he was ungratefully recalled by Justin the Second, 
 the successor of Justinian. 
 
 ® Tamerkne, or Timour, was a native of Samarcand, of which 
 territory he was elected emperor. He overran Persia, Georgia, Hin- 
 dnstan. and cautured Baiazet, the valiant Sultan of the Turks, at the 
 
mYY. 
 
 23 
 
 The same is the case of men that rise after calamities and 
 misfortunes j for they are as men fallen out ^vith the times, 
 and think other men’s harms a redemption of their m^n suf¬ 
 ferings. 
 
 They that desire to excel in too many matters, out of 
 levity and vain-glory, are ever envious, for they cannot want 
 work: it being impossible, but many, in some one of those 
 things, should surpass them; v,^hich was the chai*acter of 
 Adrian the emperor, that mortally envied poets and painters, 
 and artificers in works, wherein he had a vein to excel. 
 
 Lastly, near kinsfolk and fellows in office, and those that 
 have been bred together, are more apt to envy their equals 
 when they are raised; for it doth upbraid unto them their 
 own fortunes, and pointeth at them, and cometh oftener into 
 their remembrance, and incurreth likewise more into the 
 note^ of others; and envy ev(;r redoubleth from speech and 
 fame. Cain’s envy was the mc>re vile and malignant towards 
 his brother Abel, because when his sacrifice v/as better ac¬ 
 cepted, there was nobody to look on. Thus much for those 
 that are apt to envy. 
 
 Conceriiing those that are more or less subject to envy: 
 First, persons of eminent virtue, when they are advanced, 
 are less envied, for their fortune seemeth but due unto them; 
 and no man envieth the payment of a debt, but rewards and 
 liberality rather. Again, envy is ever joined with the com- 
 parmg of a man’s self; and where there is no comparison, 
 no.envy; and therefore khigs are not envied but by kings. 
 Nevertheless, it is to be noted, that unworthy persons are 
 most envied at their first coming in, and afterwards over¬ 
 come it better; whereas, contrariwise, persons of worth and 
 merit are most envied when their fortune continueth long; 
 for by that time, though their virtue be the same, yet it 
 hath not the same lusti*e; for fresh men grow up that 
 darken it. 
 
 battle of Angora, 1402, whom he is said to have inclosed in a cage 
 of iron. His conquests extended from the Irtish and Volga to the Per¬ 
 sian Gulf, and from the Ganges to the Grecian Archipelago. Whilo 
 preparing for the invasion of China, he died, in the 70th year of his age, 
 A.D. 1405. He was tall and corpulent in person, but was maimed in 
 one hand, and lame on the right side. 
 
 ^ Comes under the observation. 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 
 Persons of noble blood are less envied in tbeir rising; for 
 it seemetb but ricrbt done to tbeir birth : besides, there 
 seemeth not so much added to their fortime j and envy is as 
 the sunbeams, that beat hotter upon a bank or steep rising 
 ground, than upon a flat; and, for the same reason, those 
 that are advanced by degrees are less envied than those that 
 are advanced suddenly, and “ per saltum.”? 
 
 Those that have joined with their honour great travels^ 
 cares, or perils, are less subject to envy; for men think that 
 they earn their honours hardly, and pity them sometimes ; 
 and pity ever healeth envy : wherefore you shall observe, 
 that the more deep and sober sort of politic persons, in their 
 greatness, are ever bemoaning themselves what a life they 
 lead, chanting a quanta patimur not that they feel it so, 
 but only to abate the edge of enYj : but this is to be under¬ 
 stood of business that is laid upon men, and not such as they 
 call unto themselves; for nothing increaseth envy more 
 than an unnecessary and ambitious engrossing of business; 
 and nothing doth extingnish envy more than for a great 
 person to preserve all other inferior officers in their full 
 lights and pre-eminences of their places ; for, by that means, 
 there be so many screens between him and envy. 
 
 'Above all, those are most subject to envy, which cany 
 the greatness of their fortimes in an insolent and proud 
 manner : being never well but while they are showing how 
 great they are, either by outward pomp, or by triumphing 
 over all opposition or competition : whereas wise men will 
 rather do sacriflce to envy, in suflering themselves, some¬ 
 times of purpose, to be crossed and overborne in things that 
 do not much concern them. Notwithstanding so much is 
 true, that the carriage of greatness in a plain and open man¬ 
 ner (so it be without airogancy and vain-glory) doth draw 
 less envy than if it be in a more crafty and cunning fashion ; 
 for in that course a man doth but disavow fortune, and 
 seemeth to be conscious of his o^vn want in worth, and doth 
 but teach others to envy him. 
 
 Lastly, to conclude this part, as we said in the beginning 
 that the act of envy had somewhat in it of vdtchcraft, so 
 there is no other ciue of envy but the cime of witchcraft ; 
 
 s '' By a leap,” i. e. over the heads of others, 
 
 ^ How vast the evils we endure.” 
 
ENVY. 
 
 or 
 
 t-iO 
 
 and that is, to remove the lot (as they call it), and to lay it 
 upon another; for which purpose the wiser soiii of great per¬ 
 sons bring in ever upon the stage somebody upon whom to 
 derive the envy that would come upon themselves; some¬ 
 times upon ministers and servants, sometimes upon colleagues 
 and associates, and the like; and, for that turn, there are 
 never wanting some persons of violent and imdertaking 
 natures, who, so they may have power and business, will take 
 it at any cost. 
 
 Now, to speak of public envy: there is yet some good in 
 public envy, whereas in private there is none; for public 
 envy is as an ostracism,^ that eclipseth men when they grow 
 too great; and therefore it is a bridle also to great ones, to 
 keep them within bounds. 
 
 This envy, being in the Latin word invidia,”^ goeth in 
 the modem languages by the name of discontentment; of 
 which we shall speak in handling sedition. It is a disease 
 in a state like to infection; for as infection spreadeth upon 
 that which is sound, and tainteth it, so, when envy is gotten 
 once into a state, it traduceth even the best actions thereof, 
 and turneth them into an ill odour; and therefore there is 
 little won by intermingling of plausible actions; for that 
 doth argue but a weakness and fear of envy, which hurteth 
 so much the more, as it is likewise usual in infections, which,, 
 if you fear them, you call them upon you. 
 
 This public envy seemeth to beat chiefly upon principal 
 officers or ministers, rather than upon kings and estates 
 themselves. But this is a sure mle, that if the envy upon 
 the minister be great, when the cause of it in him is small ; 
 or if the envy be general in a manner upon all the ministers 
 of an estate, then the envy (though hidden) is truly upon the 
 state itself. And so much of public envy or discontentment, 
 and the difference thereof from private envy, which was 
 handled in the first place. 
 
 We will add this in general, touching the affection of 
 envy, that of all other affections it is the most importune 
 
 ^ He probably alludes to the custom of the Athenians, who frequently 
 ostracised or banished by vote their public men, lest they should become 
 too powerful. 
 
 ^ From ^Mn” and ''video,” — "to look upon ; ” with reference to tho 
 so-called "evil eye” of the envious. 
 
2(j 
 
 ESSAYS, 
 
 and continual; for of otlier affections there is occasion given 
 but now and then; and therefore it was well said, Invidia 
 festos dies non agit for it is ever working upon some or 
 other. And it is also noted, that love and envy do make a 
 man pine, which other affections do not, because they are not 
 so continual. It is also the vilest affection, and the most 
 depraved; for which cause it is the proper attribute of the 
 devil, who is called “ The envious man, that soweth tares 
 amongst the wheat by night as it always cometh to pass 
 that envy worketh subtilely, and in the dark, and to the 
 prejudice of good things, such as is the wheat. 
 
 X.—OF LOVE. 
 
 The stage is more beholding to love than the life of man ; 
 for as to the stage, love is ever matter of comedies, and now 
 and then of tragedies; but in life it doth much mischief, 
 sometimes like a Siren, sometimes hke a Fur^^ You may 
 observe, that amongst all the great and worthy persons 
 (whereof the memory remaineth, either ancient or recent), 
 there is not one that hath been transported to the mad 
 degree of love, which shows that great spirits and great 
 business do keep out this weak passion. You must except, 
 nevertheless, Marcus Antonius, the half partner of the 
 empire of Fome, and Appius Claudius,^ the Decemvir and 
 lawgiver; whereof the former was indeed a voluptuous man, 
 and inordinate; but the latter was an austere and wise man: 
 and therefore it seems (though rarely) that love can find 
 entrance, not only into an open heart, but also into a heart 
 well fortified, if watch be not well kept. It is a poor saying 
 of Epicurus, “ Satis magnum alter alter! theatmm sumus 
 
 1 ‘‘ Envy keeps no holidays.” 
 
 “ See St. Matthew xiii. 25. ^ 
 
 ^ He iniquitonsly attempted to obtain possession of the person of 
 Virginia, who was killed by her father Virginius, to prevent her from 
 falling a victim to his lust. This circumstance caused the fall of the 
 Decemviri at Rome, who had been employed in framing the code of 
 laws afterwards known as The Laws of the Twelve Tables.” They 
 narrowly escaped being burnt alive by the infuriated populace. 
 
 ^ ^AVe are a sufficient theme for contemplation, the one for the 
 
LOVE. 
 
 27 
 
 as if man, made for the contemplation of heiiveii and all 
 noble objects, should do nothing but kneel before a little 
 idol, and make himself subject, though not of the mouth 
 (as beasts are), yet of the eye, which was given him for higher 
 purposes. It is a strange thing to note the excess of this 
 passion, and how it braves the nature and value of things by 
 this, that the speaking in a perpetual hyperbole is comely in 
 nothing but in love; neither is it merely in the phrase ; for 
 whereas it hath been well said, That the arch flatterer, 
 Avith whom all the petty flatterers have intelligence, is a 
 man’s selfcertainly the lover is more; for there was never 
 proud man thought so absurdly well of himself as the lover 
 doth of the person loved; and therefore it was well said, 
 “ That it is impossible to love and to be wise.” Neither doth 
 this weakness appear to others only, and not to the party 
 loved, but to the loved most of all, except the love be reci¬ 
 procal; for it is a true rule, that love is ever rewarded, 
 either with the reciprocal, or with an inward, and secret con¬ 
 tempt ; by how much the more men ought to beware of this 
 passion, which loseth not only other things, but itself. As 
 for the other losses, the poet’s relation^ doth well flgure 
 them : That he that preferred Helena, quitted the gifts of 
 Juno and Pallas; ” for whosoever esteemeth too much of 
 amorous afiection, quitteth both riches and wisdom. This 
 passion hath his floods in the very times of weakness, which 
 are, great prosj)erity and great adversity, though this latter 
 hath been less observed; both which times kindle love, and 
 make it more fervent, and therefore show it to be the child 
 of folly. They do best who, if they cannot but admit love, 
 yet make it keep quarter, and sever it wholly from their 
 
 other.” Pope seems, notwithstanding this censure of Bacon to have 
 been of the same opinion with Epicurus :— 
 
 Know then thyself, presume not God to scan. 
 
 The proper study for mankind is man.” 
 
 j^ssa?/ on Man, Ep. ii. 1, 2. 
 
 Indeed liord Bacon seems to have misunderstood the saying of Epicurus, 
 who did not mean to recommend man as the sole object of the bodily 
 vision, but as the proper theme for mental contemplation. 
 
 ® He refers here to the judgment of Paris, mentioned by Ovid in his 
 Epistles, of the Heroines. 
 
serious affairs and actions of life; for if it clieck once witli 
 business, it troubleth men’s fortunes, and maketh men that 
 they can nowise be true to their own ends. I know not how, 
 but martial men are given to love : I think it is, but as they 
 are given to Avine, for perils commonly ask to be paid in 
 pleasures. There is in man’s nature a secret inclination and 
 motion towards love of others, which, if it be not spent upon 
 some one or a few, doth naturally spread itself towards many, 
 and maketh men become humane and charitable, as it is 
 seen sometimes in friars. Nuptial love maketh mankind, 
 friendly love perfecteth it, but wanton love corrupteth and 
 embaseth it. 
 
 XI.—OF GEEAT PLACE. 
 
 Men in great place are thidce servants—servants of the 
 sovereign or state, servants of fame, and servants of busi¬ 
 ness ; so as they have no freedom, neither in their persons, 
 nor in their actions, nor in their times. It is a strange 
 desire to seek power and to lose liberty; or to seek power 
 over others, and to lose, power over a man’s self. The rising 
 imto place is laborious, and by pains men come to greater 
 pains; and it is sometimes base, and by indignities men 
 come to dignities. The standing is slippery, and the regress 
 is either a downfall, or at least an" eclipse, which is a melan¬ 
 choly thing : “ Cum non sis qui fueris, non esse cur velis 
 vivere.”^ Nay^ retire men cannot when they would, neither 
 will they when it were reason; but are impatient of private¬ 
 ness even in age and sickness, which require the shadow; 
 like old townsmen, that will be still sitting at their street- 
 door, though thereby they offer age to scorn. Certainly 
 great persons had need to borrow other men’s opinions to 
 think themselves happy; for if they judge by their own 
 feeling, they cannot find it: but if they think with them¬ 
 selves what other men think of them, and that other men 
 would fain be as they are, then they are happy as it were 
 
 * Since you are not what you were, there is no reason why you 
 should wish to live.” 
 
GREAT PLACE. 
 
 20 
 
 by report, wlien, perhaps, they find the contrary within; for 
 they are the first that find their own griefs, though they be 
 the last that find their own faults. Certainly men in great 
 fortunes are strangers to themselves, and while they are in 
 the puzzle of business they have no time to tend their health 
 either of body or mind. Illi mors gravis incubat, qui notus 
 nimis omnibus, ignotus moritur sibi.”^ In place there is 
 license to do good and evil j whereof the latter is a curse : 
 for in evil the best condition is not to will, the second not to 
 can. But power to do good is the true and lawful end of 
 aspiring; for good thoughts, though God accept them, yet 
 towards men are little better than good dreams, except they 
 be put in act; and that cannot be without power and place, 
 as the vantage and commanding ground. Merit and good 
 works is the end of man’s motion'; and conscience.of the 
 same is the accomplishment of man’s rest: for if a man can 
 be partaker of God’s theatre, he shall likewise be partaker of 
 God’s rest. ‘^Et conversus Deus, ut aspiceret opera, qua3 
 fecerunt manus suae, vidit quod omnia essent bona nimis;”® 
 and then the Sabbath. 
 
 In the discharge of thy place set before thee the best 
 examples; for imitation is a globe of precepts; and after 
 a time set before thee thine own example; and examine 
 thyself strictly whether thou didst not best at first. Neglect 
 not also the examples of those that have carried them¬ 
 selves ill in the same place; not to set off thyself by 
 taxing their memory, but to direct thyself what to avoid. 
 Reform, therefore, without bravery or scandal of former 
 times and persons ; but yet set it down to thyself, as 
 well to create good precedents as to follow them. Pteduce 
 things to the first institution, and observe wherein and how 
 they have degenerated; but yet ask counsel of both times— 
 of the ancient time what is best, and of the latter time what 
 is fittest. Seek to make thy course regular, that men may 
 know beforehand what they may expect; but be not too 
 positive and peremptory; and express thyself well when 
 
 ^ Death presses heavily upon him, who, well-known to all others, 
 dies unknown to himself.’* 
 
 And God turned to behold the works which his hands had made, 
 and he saw that everything was very good.”—See Gen, i. 31. 
 
30 
 
 KSSAYS. 
 
 thou digressest from thy rule. Preserve the right of thy 
 place, but stir not questions of jurisdiction; and rather 
 assume thy right in silence, and “ de facto,”than voice it 
 with claims and challenges. Preserve likewise the rights of 
 inferior places; and think it more honour to direct in chief 
 than to be busy in all. Embrace and invite helps and 
 advices touching the execution of thy place; and do not 
 drive away such as bring thee information as meddlers, but 
 accept of them in good part. The vices of authority are 
 chiefly four: delays, corruption, roughness, and facility. 
 For delays give easy access; keep times appointed; go 
 through wdth that which is in hand, and interlace not 
 business but of necessity. For corruption, do not only bind 
 thine own hands or thy servant’s hands from taking, but 
 bind the hands of suitors also from ofiering ; for integrity 
 used doth the one j but integrity professed, and with a 
 manifest detestation of bribery, doth the other; and avoid 
 not only the fault, but the suspicion. Whosoever is found 
 variable, and changeth manifestly without manifest cause, 
 giveth suspicion of corruption : therefore, always when thou 
 changest thine opinion or course, profess it plainly, and 
 declare it, together with the reasons that move thee to 
 change, and do npt think to steal it. A servant or a 
 favourite, if he be inward, and no other apparent cause of 
 esteem, is commonly thought but a by-way to close cor¬ 
 ruption. For roughness, it is a needless cause of discontent: 
 severity breedeth fear, but roughness breedeth hate. Even 
 reproofs from authority ought to be grave, and not taunting. 
 As for facility,® it is worse than bribery; for bribes come 
 but now and then; but if importunity or idle respects^ lead 
 a man, he shall never be without; as Solomon saith, “ To 
 respect persons is not good; for such a man will transgress 
 for a piece of bread.” s 
 
 ^ As a matter of course.” 
 
 ® Too great easiness of access. 
 
 ^ Predilections that are undeserved. 
 
 s Proverbs xxviii. 21, The whole passage stands thus in oui 
 version:—He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent. 
 To have respect of persons is not good ; for, for a piece of bread that 
 man will transgress.” 
 
BOLDNESS. 
 
 31 
 
 It i'? most tnie that was anciently spoken ; “ A place 
 showeth the man; and it showeth some to the better and 
 some to the worse Omnium consensu capax imperii, 
 nisi imperasset,”^ saith Tacitus of Galba; but of Vespasian 
 he saith, Solus imperantium, Vespasianus mutatus in 
 melius though the one was meant of sufficiency, the 
 other of manners and affection. It is an assured sign 
 of a worthy and generous spirit, whom honour amends; 
 for honour is, or should be, the place of virtue j and as in 
 nature things move violently to their place, and calmly in 
 their place, so virtue in ambition is violent, in authority 
 settled and calm. All rising to great place is by a winding 
 stair j and if there be factions, it is good to side a man’s self 
 whilst he is in the rising, and to balance himself when he is 
 placed. Use the memory of thy predecessor fairly and 
 tenderly; for if thou dost not, it is’a debt will sui’e be paid 
 when thou art gone. If thou have colleagues, respect them ; 
 and rather call them when they look not for it, than exclude 
 them when they have reason to look to be called. Be not 
 too sensible or too remembering of thy place in conversation 
 and private answers to suitors; but let it rather be said, 
 ‘‘ When he sits in place, he is another man.” 
 
 XII.~OF BOLDNESS. 
 
 It is a trivial grammar-school text, but yet worthy a wise 
 man’s consideration. Question was asked of Demosthenes, 
 what was the chief part of an orator ? he answered. Action : 
 what next?—Action : what next again?—Action. He said 
 it that knew it best, and had by nature himself no advantage 
 in that he commended. A strange thing, that that part of 
 an orator which is but superficial, and rather the virtue of a 
 player, should be placed so high above those other noble 
 
 ^ ''By the consent of all he was fit to govern, if he had not 
 governed.” 
 
 '*Of the emperors, Vespasian alone changed for the better after 
 hia accession'* 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 parts of invention, elocution, and tlie rest; nay almost alone, 
 as if it were all in all. But tlie reason is plain. There is in 
 human nature generally more of the fool than of the wise ; 
 and therefore those faculties by which the foolish part of 
 men’s minds is taken are most potent. Wonderful-like is the 
 case of boldness in civil business ; what first 1 —boldness; 
 what second and third 1 —boldness : and yet boldness is a 
 child of ignorance and baseness, fap inferior to other parts: 
 but, nevertheless, it doth fascinate, and bind hand and foot 
 those that are either shallow in judgment or weak in courage, 
 which are the greatest part; yea, and prevaileth with wise 
 men at weak times ; therefore we see it hath done wonders 
 in popular states, but with senates and princes less p and 
 more, ever upon the first entrance of bold persons into 
 action than soon after; for boldness is an ill keeper of 
 promise. Surely as there are mountebanks for the natural 
 body, so are there moimtebanks for the politic body; men 
 that undertake great cures, and perhaps have been lucky in 
 two or three experiments, but want the groimds of science, 
 and therefore cannot hold out; nay, you shall see a bold 
 fellow many times do Mahomet’s miracle. Mahomet made 
 the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from 
 the top of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law. 
 The people assembled : Mahomet called the hill to come to 
 him again and again ; and when the hill stood still, he was 
 never a whit abashed, but said, If the hill will not come to 
 Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.” So these men, 
 when they have promised great matters and failed most 
 shamefully, yet (if they have the perfection of boldness) they 
 will but dight it over, and make a turn, and no more ado. 
 Certainly to men of gi'eat judgment, bold persons are a sport 
 to behold ; nay, and to the vulgar also boldness hath some¬ 
 what of the ridiculous j for if absurdity be the subject of 
 laughter, doubt you not but great boldness is seldom without 
 some absurdity ; especially it. is a sport to see when a bold 
 fellow is out of countenance, for that puts his face into a 
 most shrunken and wooden posture, as needs it must; for in 
 bashfulness the spiiits do a little go and come ; but with 
 bold men, upon like occasion, they stand at a stay; like a 
 stale at chess, where it is no mate, but yet the game cannot 
 stir : but this last were fitter for a satire than for a serious 
 
GOODNESS, AND GOODNESS OF NATURE. 
 
 33 
 
 observation. Tins is well to be weighed, that boldness is 
 ever blind ; for it seeth not dangers and inconveniences : 
 therefore it is ill in counsel, good in execution ; so that the 
 right use of bold persons is, that they never command in 
 chief, but be seconds and under the direction of others; for 
 in counsel it is good to see dangers, and in execution not 
 to see them except they be very great. 
 
 XIII.—OF GOODNESS, AND GOODNESS OF NATUEE. 
 
 I TAKE goodness in tins sense, the affecting of the weal of 
 men, which is that the Grecians call ^^philantlmopia;” and the 
 word humanity (as it is used) is a little too light to express 
 it. Goodness I call the habit, and goodness of nature the 
 inclination. This, of all virtues and dignities of the mind, is 
 the greatest, being the character of the Deity : and without 
 it man is a busy, mischievous, wretched thing, no better than 
 a kind of vermin. Goodness answers to the theological virtue 
 charity, and admits no excess but error. The desire of power 
 in excess caused the angels to fall tbe desire of knowledge 
 in excess caused man to fall ; but in charity there is no 
 excess, neither can angel or man come in danger by it. The 
 inclination to goodness is imprinted deeply in the nature of 
 man; insomuch, that if it issue not towaixis men, it will 
 take unto other living creatures ; as it is seen in the Turks, 
 a cruel people, who nevertheless are kind to beasts, and give 
 alms to dogs and birds ; insomuch as Busbechius^^ reportetli, 
 
 * It is not improbable that this passage suggested Pope’s beautihil 
 lines in the Assa?/ Man, Ep. i. 125-8. 
 
 ** Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, 
 
 Men would be angels, angels would be gods. 
 
 Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell. 
 
 Aspiring to be angels, men rebel.” 
 
 ^ Auger Gislen Busbec, or Busbequius, a learned traveller, bom 
 at Comines, in Flanders, in 1522. He was employed by the Emperor 
 Ferdinand as ambassador to the Sultan Solyman II. He was after¬ 
 wards ambassador to France, where he died in 1592. His ‘^Letters” 
 relative to his travels in the East, which are written in Latin, contain 
 much interesting information. They were the pocket companion of 
 Gibbon, and are highly praised by him. 
 
 D 
 
84 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 a Cliristian boy in Constantinople bad like to have been 
 stoned for gagging in a waggishness a long-billed fowl.® 
 EiTors, indeed, in this virtue, of goodness or charity, may be 
 committed. The Italians have an ungracious proverb, ‘‘Tanto 
 buon che val nienteSo good, that he is good for nothing 
 and one of the doctors of Italy, Nicholas Machiavel,^ had the 
 confidence to put in writing, almost in plain terms, That 
 the Christian faith had given up good men in prey to those 
 that are tyiunnical and unjustwhich he spake, because, 
 indeed, there was never law, or sect, or opinion did so much 
 magnify goodness as the Christian’ religion doth : therefore, 
 to avoid the scandal and the danger both, it is good to take 
 knowledge of the errors of a habit so excellent. Seek the 
 good of other men, but be not in bondage to their faces or 
 fancies; for that is but facility or softness, which taketh an 
 
 ^ In this instance the stork or crane was probably protected not on 
 the abstract grounds mentioned in the text, but for reasons of state 
 policy and gratitude combined. In Eastern climates the cranes and 
 dogs are far more efficacious than human agency in removing filth and 
 offal, and thereby diminishing the chances of pestilence. Superstition, 
 also, may have formed another motive, as we learn from a letter written 
 from Adrianople by Lady Montagu, in 1718, that storks were '^held 
 there in a sort of religious reverence, because they are supposed to 
 make eveiy winter the' pilgrimage to Mecca. To say truth, they are 
 the happiest subjects under the Turkish government, and are so 
 sensible of their privileges, that they walk the streets without fear, 
 and generally build their nests in the lower parts of the houses. Happy 
 are those whose houses are so distinguished, as the vulgar Turks are 
 perfectly persuaded that they will not be that year attacked either by 
 fire or pestilence.” Storks are still protected by municipal law in Hol¬ 
 land, and roam unmolested about the market-places. 
 
 ^ Nicolo Machiavelli, a Florentine statesman. He wrote Dis¬ 
 courses on the first Decade of Livy,” which were conspicuous for their 
 liberality of sentiment, and just and profound reflections. This work 
 was succeeded by his famous treatise, II Principe,”— The Prince,” 
 his patron, Cassar Borgia, being the model of the perfect prince there 
 described by him. The whole scope of this work is directed to one 
 object—the maintenance of power, however acquired. Though its pre¬ 
 cepts are no doubt based upon the actual practice of the Italian poli¬ 
 ticians of that day, it has been suggested by some writers that the 
 work was a covert exposure of the defonnity of the shocking maxims 
 that it professes to inculcate. The question of his motives has been 
 much discussed, and is still considered open. The word Machiavel- 
 lism ” has, however, been adopted to denote all that is deformed, 
 insincere, and perfidious in politics. He died in great poverty, in 
 the year 1527. 
 
GOODNESS, ANT) GOODNESS OF NATURE. 35 
 
 honest mind prisoner. Neither give thou ^sop’s cock a 
 gem, who would he better pleased and happier if he had had 
 a barley-corn. The example of God teacheth the lesson 
 truly; “He sendeth his rain, and maketh his sun to shine upon 
 the just and the unjust but he doth not rain wealth, nor 
 shine honour and virtues upon men equally : common benefits 
 are to be communicate with all, but peculiar benefits with 
 choice. And beware how in making the portraiture thou 
 breakest the pattern ; for divinity maketh the love of oui'- 
 selves the pattern : the love of our neighbours but the 
 portraiture: “ Sell all thou hast, and give it to the poor, and 
 follow me but sell not all thou hast except thou come and 
 follow me ; that is, except thou have a vocation wherein thou 
 mayest do as much good with little means as with great; 
 for otherwise, in feeding the streams, thou driest the fountain. 
 Neither is there only a habit of goodness directed by right 
 reason ; but there is in some men, even in nature, a disposi¬ 
 tion towards it; as, on the other side, there is a natural 
 malignity: for there be that in their nature do not affect the 
 good of others. The lighter sort of malignity turneth but to 
 a crossness, or frowardness, or aptness to oppose, or difficile¬ 
 ness, or the like; but the deeper sort to envy, and mere 
 mischief. Such men in other men’s calamities, are, as it 
 were, in season, and are ever on the loading part : not so 
 good as the dogs that licked Lazarus’ sores,? but hke flies 
 that are still buzzing upon anything that is raw; misanthropi, 
 that make it their practice to bring men to the bough, and 
 yet have never a tree for the purpose in their gardens, as 
 Timon^ had : such dispositions are the very eiTors of human 
 
 ® St. Matthew v. 5 : “ For he maketh his sun to rise on the evil 
 and on the good, and sendeth ram on the just and on the unjust.” 
 
 ^ This is a portion of our Saviour’s reply to the rich man who asked him 
 what he shoifid do to inherit eternal life : Then Jesus beholding him, 
 loved him, and said unto him. One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell 
 whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt thou have 
 treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.”— 
 St. Mark x. 21. 
 
 f See St. Luke xvi. 21. 
 
 ** Tim on of Athens, as he is generally called (being so styled by 
 Shakspeare in the play which he has founded on his story), was sumamed 
 the “Misanthrope,” from the hatred which he bore to his fellow-men. 
 He was attached to Apemantus, another Athenian of similar character 
 to himself, and he professed to esteem Alcibiades, because he foresaw that 
 
 D 2 
 
3G 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 nature, and yet tliey are tlie fittest timber to make great 
 politics of; like to knee timber, ^ that is good for sliiiDS tliat- 
 ai’e ordained to be tossed, but not for building bouses that 
 sliall stand firm. The parts and signs of goodness are many. 
 If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he 
 is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut 
 off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them : if 
 he be compassionate towards the afflictions of others, it shows 
 that his heart is like the noble tree that is wounded itseff 
 when it gives the balm;^ if he easily pardons and remits 
 offences, it shows that his mind is planted above injuries, so 
 that he cannot be shot : if he be thankful for small benefits, 
 it shows that he weighs men’s minds, and not their trash : 
 but, above all, if he have St. Paul’s perfection, that he would 
 wish to be an anathema^ from Christ for the salvation of his 
 brethren, it shows much of a divine nature, and a kind of 
 conformity 'with Christ himself. 
 
 XIV.—OF NOBILITY. 
 
 W E will speak of nobility first as a portion of an estate, 
 then as a condition of particular persons. A monarchy, 
 where there is no nobility at all, is ever a pure and absolute 
 " t}T:anny, as that of the Turks ; for nobility attempers sove- 
 ' reignty, and draws the eyes of the people somewhat aside 
 
 he would one day bring ruin on his country. Going to the public 
 assembly on one occasion, he mounted the Kostrum, and stated that he 
 had a fig-tree on which many worthy citizens had ended their days by 
 the halter ; that he was going to cut it down for the purpose of build¬ 
 ing on the spot, and therefore recommended all such as were inclined 
 to avail themselves of it before it was too late. 
 
 * A piece of timber that has grown crooked, and has been so cut that 
 the ti unk and branch form an angle. 
 
 Ho probably here refers to the myrrh-tree. Incision is the method 
 usually adopted for extracting the resinous juices of trees : as in the 
 india-rubber and gutta-percha trees. 
 
 ^ votive,” and in the present instance ‘‘avicarious offering.” 
 He alludes to the words of St. Paul in his Second Epistle to Ti¬ 
 mothy ii. 10 : “ Therefore I endure all things for the elecPs sakes, 
 that they may also obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with 
 4 ;demal glory.” 
 
NOBILl'fY. 
 
 37 
 
 from the lijie royal : but for democracies they need it not; 
 and they arc commonly more quiet and less subject to sedition 
 than 'where there are stirps of nobles; for men’s eyes are 
 upon the business, and not upon the persons ; or if upon the 
 persons, it is for the business sake, as fittest, and not for 
 fiags and pedigree. We see the S'svitzers last well, not'with-* 
 standing their diversity of religion and of cantons ; for utility 
 is their bond, and not respects.^ The united provinces of the 
 Low Countries^ in their government excel; for where there 
 is an equality the consultations are more indifierent, and the 
 payments and tiibutes more cheerful. A great and potent 
 nobihty addeth majesty to a monarch, but diminisheth power, 
 and putteth Life and spirit into the people, but presseth their 
 fortune. It is well when nobles are not too great for sove¬ 
 reignty nor for justice ; and yet maintained in that height, 
 as the insolency of inferiors may be broken upon them before 
 it come on too fast upon the majesty of kings. A numerous 
 nobility causeth poverty and inconvenience in a state, for it 
 is a surchai’ge of expense ; and besides, it being of necessity 
 that many of the nobility fall in time to be weak in fortune, 
 it maketh a kind of disproportion between honour and 
 means. 
 
 As for nobility in particular persons, it is a reverend thing 
 to see an ancient castle or building not in decay, or to see 
 a fair timber-tree soimd and perfect; how much more to 
 behold an ancient noble family, which hath stood against the 
 waves and weathers of time ! for new nobility is but the act 
 of power, but ancient nobiKty is the act of time. Those that 
 are first raised to nobility are commonly more virtuous,but 
 less innocent, than their descendants; for there is rarely any 
 rising but by a commixture of good and evil arts ; but it is 
 reason‘d the memory of their virtues remain to their posteiity, 
 and their faults die 'v^ith themselves. Nobility of birth 
 
 * ^^Consideration of,” or ^^predilection for, particular persons.” 
 
 ^ Tlie Low Countries had then recently emancipated themselves fi’om 
 the galling yoke of Spain. They were called the Seven United Pro¬ 
 vinces of the Netherlands. 
 
 This passage may at first sight appear somewhat contradictory ; 
 hut he means to say that those who are first ennobled will commonly be 
 found to be more conspicuous for the prominence of their qualities, both 
 good and bad. 
 
 ^ Consistent with reason and justice. 
 
38 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 commonly abateth industry ; and lie that is not industrioiis> 
 envietb him that is ; besides, noble persons cannot go much 
 higher ; and he that standeth at a stay when others rise, can 
 hardly avoid motions of emy. On the other side, nobility 
 extinguisheth the passive envy from others towards them, 
 because they are in possession of honour. Certainly, kings 
 that have able men of their nobility shall find ease in employ¬ 
 ing them, and a better slide into their business ; for people 
 naturally bend to them as born in some sort to command. 
 
 XV.—OE SEDITIONS AND TROUBLES. 
 
 Shepherds of people had need know the calendars o. 
 tempests in state, which are commonly greatest when things 
 grow to equality; as natural tempests are greatest about 
 the equinoctia,^ and as there are certain hollow blasts of 
 wind and secret swellings of seas before a tempest^ so are 
 there in states :— 
 
 -Ille etiam caecos instare tumultus 
 
 Saepe monet, fraudesque et operta tumescere bella.” ^ 
 
 I • 
 
 Libels and licentious discourses against the state, when they 
 are frequent and open; and in like sort false news, often 
 running up and down, to the disadvantage of the state, and 
 hastily embraced, are amongst the signs of troubles. Virgil, 
 giving the pedigree of Fame, saibh she was sister to the 
 giants :— 
 
 ** Illam Terra parens, ir^ irritata Deorum, 
 
 Extremam (ut perhibent) Coeo Enceladoque sororem \ 
 
 Progenuit.” \ 
 
 As if fames were the relics of seditions past; but they 
 are no less indeed the preludes of seditions to come. How- 
 
 ® The periods of the Equinoxes. 
 
 ^ He often warns, too, that secret revolt is impending, that treachery 
 and open warfare are ready to burst forth.” 
 
 ® ** Mother Earth, exasperated at the wrath of the Deities, produced 
 her, as they tell, a last birth, a sister to the Giants Cceus and 
 Enceladus.” 
 
SEDITIONS AND TROUBLES. 
 
 39 
 
 soever he noteth it right, that seditious tumults and seditious 
 fames differ no more but as brother and sister, masculine 
 and feminine; especially if it come to that, that the best 
 actions of a state, and the most plausible, and which ought 
 to give greatest contentment, are taken in ill sense, and 
 traduced : for that shows the envy gTeat, as Tacitus saith, 
 “Conflata magna invidia, seu bene, seu male, gesta premunt.”^ 
 Neither doth it follow, that because these fames are a sign 
 of troubles, that the suppressing of them with too much 
 severity should be a remedy of troubles; for the despismg 
 of them many times checks them best, and the going about 
 to stop them doth but make a wonder long-lived. Also 
 that kind of obedience, which Tacitus speaketh of, is to be 
 held suspected : Erant in officio, sed tamen qui mallent 
 
 imperantium mandata interpretari, quam exsequi j ” ® dis¬ 
 puting, excusing, cavilling upon mandates and directions, is 
 a kind of shaking off the yoke, and assay of disobedience j 
 especially if in those disputings they which are for the 
 direction speak fearfully and tenderly, and those that are 
 against it audaciously. 
 
 Also, as Machiavel noteth well, when princes, that ought 
 to be common parents, make themselves as a party, and lean 
 to a side; it is, as a boat that is overthrown by uneven 
 weight on the one side; as was well seen in the time of 
 Henry the Third of France ; for first himself entered 
 league^ for the extirpation of the Protestants, and presently 
 after the same league was turned upon liimself: for when 
 tlie authority of princes is made but an accessary to a 
 
 ^ Great public odium once excited, his deeds, whether good or 
 whether bad, cause his downfall.” Bacon has here quoted incorrectly, 
 probably from memory. The words of Tacitus are i^Eist. B. i. C. 7)— 
 ‘Hnviso semel principe, seu bene, seu male, facta premunt,”—^^Ihe 
 ruler once detested, his actions, whether good or whether bad, cause 
 his downfall.” 
 
 * They attended to their duties, but still, as preferring rather to 
 discuss the commands of their rulers, than to obey them.” 
 
 ^ He alludes to the bad policy of Henry the Third of France, who 
 espoused the part of “the League” which was formed by the duke of 
 Guise and other Catholics for the extirpation of the Protestant faith. 
 When too late, he discovered his error, and, finding his own autho¬ 
 rity entirely superseded, he caused the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal 
 Do Lorraine, his brother, to be assassinated. 
 
40 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 cause, and that there be other bands that tie faster than 
 the band of sovereignty, kings begin to be put almost out 
 of possession. 
 
 Also, when discords, and quarrels, and factions, are car¬ 
 ried openly and audaciously, it is a sign the reverence of 
 government is lost; for the motions of the gi'eatest persons 
 in a government ought to be as the motions of the planets 
 •under primum mobile,” s according to the old opinion, 
 wliich is, that every of them is earned swiftly by the highest 
 motion, and softly in their own motion j and therefore, 
 when great ones in their own particular motion move 
 violently, and as Tacitus expresseth it well, “ liberius quam 
 ut imperantium meminissent,”^^ it is a sign the orbs are out 
 of frame : for reverence is that wherewith princes are girt 
 from God, who threateneth the dissolving thereof; ^^Solvam 
 cingula regum.” ^ 
 
 • So when any of the four pillars of government are mainly 
 shaken or weakened (which are religion, justice, counsel, and 
 treasure), men had need to pray for fair weather. But let 
 us pass from tliis part of predictions (concerning which, 
 nevertheless, more light may be taken from that which 
 foUoweth), and let us speak first of the materials of 
 seditious; then of the motives of them; and thirdly of the 
 remedies. 
 
 Concerning the materials of seditions, it is a thing well to 
 be considered; for the surest way to pi'ev^ent seditions (if 
 the times do bear it) is to take away the matter of them; 
 for if there be fuel prepared, it is hard to tell whence the 
 spark shall come that shall set it on fire. The matter of 
 seditions is of two kinds; much poverty and much discon¬ 
 tentment. It is certain, so many overthrown estates, so 
 many votes for troubles. Lucan noteth well the state of 
 "Rome before the civil war :— 
 
 s '*Tlie primary motive power.” He alludes to an imaginary centre 
 of gravitation, or central body, which was supposed to set all the other 
 heavenly bodies in motion. 
 
 ^ “Too freely to remember their own rulers.” 
 
 “I will unloose the girdles of kings.” He probably alludes here to 
 the first verse of the 45th chapter of Xsaiah : “ Thus saith the Lord to 
 his anointed, to Cyrus, whose right hand I have upholden, to subdue 
 nations before him : and I will loose the loins of kings, to open before 
 him the two-leaved gates.’* 
 
SEDITIONS AND TROUBLES. 
 
 41 
 
 “ Hinc usura vorax, rapidumque in tempore foenus, 
 
 Hinc concussa fides, et multis utile bellum.”^ 
 
 This same “multis utile bellum,”^ is an assured and infallibio 
 sign of a state disposed to seditions and troubles ; and if this 
 poverty and broken estate in the better sort be joined with a 
 want and necessity in the mean people, the danger is im¬ 
 minent and great : for the rebellions of the belly are the 
 worst. As for discontentments, they are in the politic body 
 like to humours in the natural, which are apt to gather a 
 preternatural heat and to inflame ; and let no prince measure 
 the danger of them by this, whether they be just or unjust: 
 for that were to imagine people to be too reasonable, who do 
 often spurn at their own good ; nor yet by this, whether the 
 griefs whereupon they rise be in fact great or small; for 
 they are the most dangerous discontentments where the fear 
 is greater than the feeling ; “ Dolendi modus, timendi non 
 item besides, in great oppressions, the same things that 
 provoke the patience, do withal mate^ the courage ; but in * 
 fears it is not so; neither let any prince or state be secure 
 concerning discontentments, because they have been often, or 
 have been long, and yet no peril hath ensued : for as it is 
 true that every vapour or fume doth not turn into a storm, 
 so it is nevertheless true that storms, though they blow over 
 divers times, yet may fall at last; and, as the Spanish pro¬ 
 verb noteth well, “ The cord breaketh at the last by the 
 weakest pull.”® 
 
 The causes and motives of seditions are, innovation in 
 religion, taxes, alteration of laws and customs, breaking of 
 privileges, general oppression, advancement of unworthy 
 persons, strangers, dearths, disbanded soldiers, factions grown 
 desperate ; and whatsoever in offending people joineth and 
 knitteth them in a common cause. 
 
 For the remedies, there may be some general preservatives, 
 whereof we will speak : as for the just cure, it must answer to 
 the particular disease; and so be left to counsel rather than rule. 
 
 ^ “ Hence devouring usury, and interest acciimulating in lapse of 
 lime,—hence shaken credit, and warfare, profitable to the many.’* 
 
 * Warfare profitable to the many.” 
 
 “ ** To grief there is a limit, not so to fear.” 
 
 ** “Check,” or “daunt.” 
 
 ® This is similar to the proverb now in common use; “ ’Tis the last 
 feather that breaks the back of the camel.” 
 
42 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 The first remedy, or prevention, is to remove, by all means 
 possible, that material cause of sedition whereof we spake, 
 which is, want and poverty in the estate :P to which purpose 
 serveth the opening and well-balancing of trade ; the cherish¬ 
 ing of manufactures; the banishing of idleness ; the repressing 
 of waste and excess, by sumptuary laws the improvement 
 and husbanding of the soil; the regulating of prices of things 
 vendible; the moderating of taxes and tributes, and the 
 like. Generally, it is to be foreseen that the population of a 
 kingdom (especially if it be not mown down by wars) do 
 not exceed the stock of the kingdom which should maintain 
 them : neither is the population to be reckoned only by 
 number; for a smaller number, that spend more and earn 
 less, do wear out an estate sooner than a greater number that 
 live lower and gather more : therefore the multiplying of 
 nobility, and other degrees of quality, in an over proportion 
 to the common people, doth speedily bring a state to neces¬ 
 sity j and so doth likewise an overgrown clergy, for they 
 bring nothing to the stock and, in like manner, when more 
 are bred schola,rs than preferments can take off. 
 
 It is likewise to be remembered, that, forasmuch as the 
 increase of any estate must be upon the foreigner® (for what¬ 
 soever is somewhere gotten is somewhere lost), there be but 
 three things which one nation selleth unto another ; the 
 commodity, as nature yieldeth it; the manufacture ; and the 
 vecture, or carriage ; so that, if these three wheels go, wealth 
 will flow as in a spring tide. And it cometh many times to 
 pass, that, materiam superabit opus,” * that the work and 
 carriage is more worth than the material, and enricheth 
 
 \ 
 
 p Tlie state. 
 
 Though sumptuary laws are probably just in theory, they have been 
 found impracticable in any other than infant states. Their principle, 
 liowever, is certainly recognised in such countries as by statutory 
 enactment discountenance gaming. Those who are opposed to such 
 laws upon principle, would do well to look into Bernard Mandeville’a 
 ‘‘ Fable of the Bees,”—or “ Private Vices Public Benefits.” The Ro¬ 
 mans had numerous sumptuary laws, and in the middle ages there were 
 many enactments in this country against excess of expenditure upon 
 wearing apparel and the pleasures of the table. 
 
 He means that they do not add to the capital of the country. 
 
 “ At the expense of foreign countries. 
 
 * '^The workmanship will surpass the material.”—Ovid, Metamorph. 
 
 B. iL 1. 5. 
 
 
SED1T10:^S A^O) TROUBLES. 
 
 43 
 
 a state more : as is notably seen in tbe Low Countrymen, 
 who have the best mines^ above groimcl in the world. 
 
 Above all things, good policy is to be used, that the trea¬ 
 sure and monies in a state be not gathered into few hands ; 
 for, otherwise, a state may have a great stock, and yet starve: 
 and money is like muck,^ not good except it be spread. This 
 is done chiefly by suppressing, or, at least, keeping a strait 
 hand upon the devouring trades of usury, engrossing great 
 pasturages, and the like. 
 
 For removing discontentments, or, at least, the danger of 
 them, there is in every state (as we know) two portions of 
 subjects, the nobles and the commonalty. When one of 
 these is discontent, the danger is not great; for common 
 people are of slow motion, if they be not excited by the 
 greater sort ; and the greater sort are of small strength, 
 except the multitude be apt and ready to move of them¬ 
 selves : then is the danger, when the greater sort do but wait 
 for the troubling of the waters amongst the meaner, that 
 then they may declare themselves. The poets feign that the 
 rest of the gods would have bound Jupiter; which he hearing 
 of, by the counsel of Pallas, sent for Briareus, with his hun¬ 
 dred hands, to come in to his aid : an emblem, no doubt, to 
 show how safe it is for monarchs to make sure of the good¬ 
 will of common people. 
 
 To give moderate liberty for griefs and discontentments to 
 evaporate (so it be without too great insolency or bravery), 
 is a safe way : for he that tiumeth the humours back, and 
 maketh the wound bleed inwards, endangereth malign ulcers 
 and pernicious imposthumations. 
 
 The part of Epimetheusy might well become Prometheus, 
 
 “ He alludes to the manufactures of the Low Countries. 
 
 * Like manure. 
 
 'f The myth of Pandora’s box, which is here referred to, is relatec 
 in the Works and Days ” of Hesiod. 'Epimetheus was the personifica^ 
 tion of ^^Afterthought,” while his brother Prometheus represented ‘‘Fore¬ 
 thought,” or prudence. It was not Epimetheus that opened the box, but 
 Pandora—“ All-gift,” whom, contrary to the advice of his brother, ho 
 had received at the hands of Mercury, and had made his wife. In their 
 house stood a closed jar, which they were forbidden to open. Till her 
 arrival, this had been kept untouched ; but her curiosity prompting her 
 to open the lid, all the evils hitherto unknown to man flew out and 
 spread over the earth, and she only shut it down in time to prevent t-ho* 
 escape of Hope. 
 
14 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 in the case of discontentments, for there is not a better pro¬ 
 vision against them. Epimetheus, when griefs and evils flew 
 abroad, at last shut the lid, and kept Hope in the bottom of 
 the vessel. Certainly, the politic and artificial nourishing and 
 entertaining of hopes, and carrying men from hopes to hopes, 
 is one of the best antidotes against the poison of discontent¬ 
 ments : and it is a certain sign of a wise government and 
 proceeding, when it can hold men’s hearts by hopes, when it 
 cannot by satisfaction; and when it can handle things in such 
 manner as no evil shall appear so peremptory but that it hatli 
 some outlet of hope; which is the less hard to do, because 
 both particular persons and factions are apt enough to flatter 
 themselves, or at least to brave that which the}’" believe not. 
 
 Also the foresight and prevention, that there be no likely 
 or fit head whereunto discontented persons may resort, aiid 
 under whom they may join, is a known, but an excellent 
 point of caution. I understand a fit head to be one that 
 hath greatness and reputation, that hath confidence vdth the 
 discontented party, and upon whom they turn their eyes, and 
 that is thought discontented in his own particular: which 
 kind of persons are either to be won and reconciled to the 
 state, and that in a fast and true manner; or to be fronted 
 with some other of the same party that may oppose them, 
 and so divide the reputation. Generally, the dividing and 
 'breaking of all factions and combinations that are adverse to 
 the state, and setting them at distance, or, at least, distrust 
 amongst themselves, is not one of the worst remedies ; for it 
 is a desperate case, if those that hold with the proceeding of 
 the state be full of discord and faction, and those that are 
 .against it be entire and united. 
 
 I have noted, that some witty and sharp speeches, vdiicli 
 have fallen from princes, have given fire to seditions. Csesar 
 did himself infinite hurt in that sj^eech—Sylla nescivit 
 literas, non potuit dictare for it did utterly cut ofl* that 
 
 * “ Sylla did not know his letters, and so he could not dictate.” 
 This saying is attributed by Suetonius to Julius Caesar. It is a play on 
 the Latin verb ^Mictare,” which means either *‘to dictate,” or ‘^to act 
 the part of Dictator,” according to the context. As this saying was 
 ■ presumed to be a reflection on Sylla’s ignorance, and to imply that by 
 . reason thereof he was unable to maintain his power, it was concluded 
 by the Roman people that Caisar, who was an elegant scholar, feeling 
 
ATHEISM. 
 
 45 
 
 hope which men had entertained, that he ^yould at one time 
 or other give over liis dictatorship. Galb undid Idmself by 
 that speech, ‘‘Legi a se militem, non emi for it put the 
 soldiers out of hope of the donative. Probus, likewise, by 
 that speech, ‘‘Si vixero, non opus erit amplius Pomano imperio 
 militibus a speech of great despair for the soldiers, and 
 many the like. Surely princes had need in tender matters 
 and ticklish times to beware what they say, especially in 
 these short speeches, which fly abroad like darts, and are 
 thought to be shot out of their secret intentions; for as for 
 large discourses, they are flat things, and not so much 
 noted. 
 
 Lastly, let princes, against all events, not be without some 
 great person, one or rather more, of military valour, near 
 unto them, for the repressing of seditions in their beginnings; 
 for without that, there useth to be more trepidation in court 
 upon the first breaking out of troubles than were fit; and 
 the state runneth the danger of that wliich Tacitus saith ; 
 “ Atque is habitus animorum fnit, ut pessimum facinus 
 auderent pauci, plures vellent, omnes paterentur but let 
 such military persons be assured, and well reputed of, rather 
 than factious and popidar ; holding also good correspondence 
 with the other great men in the state, or else the remedy is 
 worse than the disease. 
 
 XVI.—OF ATHEISM. ' 
 
 I HAD rather believe all the fables in the legend,^ and the 
 Talmud,^ and the AJeoran, than that this universal frame is 
 
 himself subject to no such inability, did not intend speedily to yield tlio 
 reins of power. 
 
 * That soldiers were levied by him, not bought.” 
 
 ^ '‘If I live, there shall no longer be need of soldiers in the Homan 
 empire.” 
 
 ® " And such was the state of feeling, that a few dared to perpetrate 
 the worst of crimes ; more wished to do so,—all submitted to it.” 
 
 • He probably alludes to the legends or miraculous stories of the 
 saints,—such as 'walking with their heads off, preaching to the fishes, 
 sailing over the sea on a cloak, &c. &c. 
 
 ** This is the book that contains the Jewish traditions, and the 
 
46 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 without a mind; and, therefore, God never wrought miracle 
 to convince atheism, because his ordinary works comdnce it. 
 It is true, that a little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to 
 atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s minds 
 about to religion ; for while the mind of man looketh upon 
 second causes scattered, it may sometimes rest in them, and 
 go no further; but when it beholdeth the chain of them 
 confederate, and linked togetlier, it must needs fly to Pro¬ 
 vidence and Deity : nay, even that school which is most 
 accused of atheism doth most demonstrate religion : that is, 
 the school of Leucippus,^ and Democritus,^ and Epicurus : 
 for it is a thousand times more credible that four mutable 
 elements, and one immutable fifth essence,^ duly and eter¬ 
 nally placed, need no God, than that an army of infinite 
 small portions, or seeds unplaced, should have produced this 
 order and beauty without a divine marshal. The Scripture 
 saith, The fool hath said in bis heart, there is no God;”g it 
 is not said, The fool hath thought in his heart; ” so as he 
 rather saith it by rote to liimself, as that he would have, 
 than that he can thoroughly believe it, or be persuaded of 
 it j for none deny there is a God, but those for whom it 
 maketh^ that there were no God. It appeareth in nothing 
 more, that atheism is rather in the lip than in the heart of 
 man, than by this, that atheists will ever be talking of that 
 their opinion, as if they fainted in it within themselves, and 
 would be glad to be strengthened by the consent of others; 
 
 Habbinical explanations of the law. It is replete with wonderful 
 narratives. 
 
 ^ This passage not improbably contains the germ of Pope’s famous 
 lines,— 
 
 A little learning is a dangerous thing ; 
 
 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.” 
 
 ^ A Philosopher of Abdera ; the first who taught the system of atoms, 
 which was afterwards more fully developed by Democritus and Epicurus. 
 
 ® He was a disciple of the last-named Philosopher, and held the same 
 principles : he also denied the existence of the soul after death. He is 
 considered to have been the parent of experimental Philosophy, and was 
 the first to teach, what is now confirmed by science, that the Milky Way 
 is an accumulation of stars. 
 
 ^ Spirit. 
 
 ^ Psalm xiv. 1, and liii. 1. 
 
 ^ To whose (seeming) advantage it is; the ynnh being fiither to the 
 ihought. 
 
ATHEISM. 
 
 47 
 
 nay more, you shall have atheists S'crive to get disciples, as 
 it fareth with other sects; and, which is most of all, you 
 -shall have of them that will suffer for atheism, and not 
 recant ; whereas, if they did truly think that there were no 
 such thing as God, why should they trouble themselves? 
 Epicurus is charged, that he did but dissemble for his credit’s 
 sake, when he affirmed there were blessed natures, but such ^ 
 as enjoyed themselves without having respect to the govern¬ 
 ment of the world ; wherein they say he did temporize, 
 though in secret he thought there was no God : but cer¬ 
 tainly he is traduced, for his words are noble and divine : 
 
 Non Deos vulgi negare profanum; sed vulgi opiniones Diis 
 applicare profanum.”^ Plato could have said no more ; and 
 although he had the confidence to deny the administration, 
 he had not the power to deny the nature. The Indians^ 
 of the west have names for their particular gods, though 
 they have no name for God : as if the heathens should have 
 had the names Jupiter, Apollo, Mars, &c., but not the word 
 Deus, which shows that even those barbarous people have 
 the notion, though they have not the latitude and extent 
 of it; so that against atheists the very savages take part 
 with the very subtlest philosophers. The contemplative 
 atheist is rare ; a Diagoras,^ a Bion,®^ a Lucian^ perhaps, and 
 some others ; and yet they seem to be more than they are ; 
 for that all that impugn a received rehgion, or superstition, 
 are, by the adverse part, branded with the name of atheists : 
 but the great atheists indeed are hypocrites, which are ever 
 
 * is not profane to deny the existence of the Deities of the 
 vulgar : but to apply to the Divinities the received notions of the vulgar 
 is profane.” 
 
 ^ He alludes to the native tribes of the continent of America and the 
 West Indies. 
 
 ^ He was an Athenian Philosopher, who from the greatest superstition 
 became an avowed atheist. He was proscribed by the Areiopagus for 
 speaking against the Gods with ridicule and contempt, and is supposed 
 to have died at Corinth. 
 
 “ A Greek Philosopher, a disciple of Theodorus the atheist, to whose 
 opinions he adhered. His life was said to have been profligate, and 
 his death superstitious. 
 
 “ Lucian ridiculed the follies and pretensions of some of the ancient 
 Philosophers; but though the freedom of his style was such as to 
 cause him to be censured for impiety, he hardly deserves the stigma of 
 atheism here cast upon him by the learned author. 
 
48 
 
 ESSAYS, 
 
 V 
 
 handling holy things but without feeling; so as they must 
 needs be cauterized in the end. The causes of atheism are, 
 divisions in religion, if they be many; for any one main 
 division addeth zeal to both sides, but many divisions intro¬ 
 duce atheism: another is, scandal of priests, when it Li 
 come to that which St. Bernard saith, “ Non est jam dicere, 
 ut populus, sic sacerdos; quia nec sic populus, ut sacerdos 
 a third is, custom of profane scoffing in holy matters, which 
 doth by little and little deface the reverence of religion; 
 and lastly, learned times, specially with peace and pros¬ 
 perity ; for troubles and adversities do more bow men s 
 minds to religion. They that deny a God destroy a man’s 
 nobility j for certainly man is of kin to the beasts by his 
 body; and, if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he 
 is a base and ignoble creature. It destroys likewise magna- 
 ' niniity, and the raising of hum.an nature ; for take an ex¬ 
 ample of a dog, and mark what a generosity and courage he 
 i^dll put on when he finds himself maintained by a man, who 
 to him is instead of a God, or melior natura;”P which 
 courage is manifestly such as that creature, without that 
 confidence of a better nature than his o^vn, could never 
 attain. So man, when he resteth and assureth himself upon 
 divine protection and favom*, gathereth a force and faith,, 
 which human nature in itself could not obtain ; therefore, as 
 atheism is in all respects hateful, so in this, that it depriveth 
 human nature of the means to exalt itself above human 
 frailty. As it is in particular persons, so it is in nations : 
 never was there such a state for magnanimity as Rome. 
 Of this state hear what Cicero saith j Quam volumus, licet, 
 Patres conscripti, nos amemus, tamen nec numero Hispanos, 
 nec robore Gallos, nec calliditate Poenos, nec artibus Grsecos, 
 nec denique hoc ipso hujus gentis et terrae domestico nati- 
 voque sensu Italos ipsos et Latinos; sed pietate, ac religione, 
 atque hac una sapientia, quod Deorum immortalium numine. 
 
 ° is not for us now to say, ^Like priest like people,^ for the 
 people are not even so had as the priest.” St.' Bernard, abbot of 
 Clairvaux, preached the second Crusade against the Saracens, and was 
 unsparing in his censures of the sins then prevalent among the Chris¬ 
 tian priesthood. His writings are voluminous, and by some he has 
 been considered as the latest of the Withers of the Church: 
 
 ^ A superior nature.” 
 
SUPERSTITION. 
 
 40 
 
 omnia regi, gubemarique perspeximus, omnes gentes, natio- 
 nesque superavimus.”^ 
 
 XVII.—OF SUPERSTITION. 
 
 It were better to have no opinion of God at all Uiaii such 
 an opinion as is unworthy of him; for the one is unbelief, 
 the other is contumely:^ and certainly superstition is the 
 reproach of the Deity. Plutarch saith well to that purpose. 
 Surely,” saith he, I had rather a great deal men should 
 say there was no such man at all as Plutarch, than that they 
 should say that there was one Plutarch that would eat his cliil- 
 dren'^ as soon as they were bornas the poets speak of 
 Saturn: and, as the contumely is greater towards God, so 
 the danger is greater towards men. Atheism leaves a man 
 to sense, to philosophy, to natural piety, to laws, to reputa¬ 
 tion : all which may be guides to an outward moral virtue, 
 though religion were not; but superstition dismounts all 
 these, and erecteth an absolute monarchy in the minds of 
 men : therefore atheism did never perturb states; for it 
 makes men wary of themselves, as looking no further, and 
 we see the times inclined to atheism (as the time of Augustus 
 Cfesar) were civil times; but superstition hath been the 
 confusion of many states, and bringeth in a new ^^primiim 
 mobile,”that ravisheth all the spheres of government. The 
 master of superstition is the people, and in all superstition 
 wise men follow fools : and arguments are fitted to practice 
 
 T We may admire ourselves, conscript fathers, as much as we please ; 
 still, neither by numbers did we vanquish the Spaniards, nor by bodily 
 strength the Gauls, nor by cunning the Carthaginians, nor through the 
 arts the Greeks, nor, in fine, by the inborn and native good sense of 
 this our nation, and this our race and soil, the Italians and Latina 
 themselves ; but through our devotion and our religious feeling, and 
 this, the sole true wisdom, the having perceived that all things are regu¬ 
 lated and governed by the providence of the immortal Gods, have wo 
 subdued all races and nations.” 
 
 l.^he justice of this position is perhaps somew'hat doubtful. TIio 
 supeistitious man must have some scruples, while he wdio believes not 
 in a God (if there is such a person) needs have none. 
 
 ^ Time was personified in Saturn, and by this story was meant its 
 tendency to destroy whatever it has brought into existence. 
 
 ^ The primary motive power. 
 
 / 
 
 £ 
 
50 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 « 
 
 in a reversed order. It was gravely said by some of tbo 
 prelates in tlie Council of Trent,where the doctrine of the 
 schoolmen bare great sway, that, the schoolmen were like 
 astronomers, which did feign eccentrics® and epicycles,^ and 
 such engines of orbs to saves tho phenomena, though they 
 knew there were no such things; and, in like manner, that 
 the schoolmen had framed a number of subtle and intricate 
 axioms and theorems, to save the practice of the Church. 
 The causes of superstition are, pleasing and sensual rites and 
 ceremonies ; excess of outward and pharisaical holiness j over¬ 
 great reverence of traditions, which cannot but load the 
 Church j the stratagems of prelates for their own ambition 
 and lucre ; the favouring too much of good intentions, which 
 openeth the gate to conceits and novelties ; the taking an 
 aim at divine matters by human, which cannot but breed 
 mixture of imaginations : and, lastly, barbarous times, espe¬ 
 cially joined with calamities and disasters. Superstition, 
 without a veil, is a deformed thing ; for as it addeth defor¬ 
 mity to an ape to be so like a man, so the similitude of 
 superstition to religion makes it the more deformed : and as 
 wholesome meat corrupteth to little worms, so good forms 
 and orders corrupt into a number of petty observances. 
 There is a superstition in avoiding superstition, when men 
 think to do best if they go furthest from the superstition 
 formerly received; therefore care would be had that (as it 
 lareth in ill purgings) the good be not taken away witli 
 the bad, which commonly is done when the people is the 
 reformer. 
 
 XYIII.—OF TIIAYEL. 
 
 Travel, in the younger sort, is a part of education; in the 
 elder, a part of experience. He that tmvelleth into a coun- 
 
 This Council commenced in 1545, and lasted eighteen years, 
 It was convened for the purpose of opposing the rising spirit of Protes¬ 
 tantism, and of discussing and settling the disputed points of the Catholio 
 faith. 
 
 ® Irregular or anomalous movements. 
 
 ^ An epicycle is a smaller circle, whose centre is in the circumference 
 of a greater one. 
 
 To acooimt for. 
 
TRAVEL. 
 
 51 
 
 try, before lie bath some entrance into the language, goeth 
 to school, and not to travel. That-young men travel imder 
 some tutor or grave servant, I allow well; so that he be such a 
 one that hath the language, and hath been in the countiy 
 before; whereby he may be able to tell them what things 
 are worthy to be seen in the country where they go, what 
 acquamtances they are to seek, what exercises or discipline 
 the place yieldeth; for else young men shall go hooded, and 
 look abroad little. It is a strange thing, that in sea voyages, 
 where there is nothing to be seen but sky and sea, men 
 should make diaries; but in land travel, wherein so much 
 is to be observed, for the most part they omit it; as if ^ 
 chance were fitter to be registered than observation : let 
 diaries, therefore, be brought in use. The things to be seen 
 and observ'ed are, the courts of princes, especially when they 
 give audience to ambassadors; the courts of justice, while 
 they sit and hear causes; and so of consistories^ ecclesiastic; 
 the churches and monasteries, with the monuments which 
 are therein extant; the walls and fortifications of cities and 
 towns; and so the havens and harbours, antiquities and 
 imins, libraries, colleges, disputations, and lectures, where any 
 are; shipping and navies; houses and gardens of state and 
 pleasiu'e, near great cities; armories, arsenals, magazines, 
 exchanges, burses, warehouses, exercises of horsemanship, 
 fenciag, training of soldiers, and the like : comedies, such 
 whereunto the better sort of persons do resort; treasuries of 
 jewels and robes; cabinets and rarities; and, to conclude, 
 whatsoever is memorable in the places where they go ; after 
 all which the tutors or servants ought to make diligent 
 inquiiy. As for triumphs, masks, feasts, weddings, funerals, 
 capital executions, and such shows, men need not to be put 
 in mind of them : yet are they not to be neglected. If you 
 will have a young man to put his travel into a little room, 
 and in short time to gather much, this you must do : first, 
 as was said, he must have some entrance into the language 
 before he goeth; then he must have such a servant, or tutor, 
 as knoweth the country, as was likewise said : let him carry 
 with him also some card, or book, describing the country 
 where he travel!eth, which will be a good key to hia inquiiy; 
 
 “ Synods, or councils. 
 E 2 
 
52 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 let him keep also a diary; let him not stay long in one city 
 or town, more or less as the place deserveth, but not long; 
 nay, when he stayeth in one city or town, let him change his 
 lodging from one end and part of the town to another, which 
 is a great adamant of acquaintance; let him sequester him¬ 
 self from the company of his countrymen, and diet in such 
 places where there is good company of the nation where he 
 travelleth: let him, upon his removes from one place to 
 another, procure recommendation to some person of quality 
 residing in the place whither he removeth, that he may use 
 his favour in those things he desireth to see or know; thus 
 he may abridge his travel with much profit. As for the 
 • acquaintance which is to be sought in travel, that which is 
 most of all profitable, is acquaintance with the secretaries 
 and employed men ^ of ambassadors; for so in travelling in 
 one country he shall suck the experience of many: let him 
 also see and visit eminent persons in all kinds, which are of 
 great name abroad, that he may be able to tell how the life 
 agreeth with the fame; for quarrels, they are with care and 
 discretion to be avoided; they are commonly for mistresses, 
 healths,® place, and words; and’ let a man beware how he 
 keepeth company with choleric and quarrelsome persons; for 
 they will engage him into their own quarrels. When a tra¬ 
 veller returneth home, let him not leave the countries where 
 he hath travelled altogether behind him, but maintain a cor¬ 
 respondence by letters with those of his acquaintance which 
 are of most worth; and let his travel appear rather in his 
 discourse than in his apparel or gesture; and in his discourse 
 let him be rather advised in his answers, than forward to 
 tell stories: and let it appear that he doth not change his 
 country manners for those of foreign parts: but only prick 
 in some flowers of that he hath learned abroad into the cus¬ 
 toms of his own country. 
 
 At the present day called attaches.” 
 
 ^ He probably means the refusing to join on the occasion of drinking 
 healths when taking wine. 
 
EMPIRE. 
 
 63 
 
 XIX.— OF EMPIRE. 
 
 It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to 
 desire, and many things to fear ; and yet that commonly is 
 the case of Kings, who being at the highest, want matter of 
 desire,^ which makes their minds more languishing ; and have 
 many representations of perils and shadows, which makes 
 their minds the less clear ; and this is one reason also of that 
 effect which the Scripture speaketh of, “ That the king’s heart 
 is inscrutable for multitude of jealousies, and lack of some 
 predominant desire, that should marshal and put in order all 
 the rest, maketh any man’s heart hard to find or sound. 
 Hen ce it comes likewise, that princes many times make 
 themselves desires, and set their hearts upon toys ; some¬ 
 times upon a building; sometimes upon erecting of an order; 
 sometimes upon the advancing of a person; sometimes upon 
 obtaining excellency in some art, or feat of the hand : as 
 Nero for playing on the harp } Domitian for certainty of 
 the hand with the arTow; Commodus for playing at fence ; ^ 
 Caracalla for driving chariots, and the like. This seemeth 
 incredible unto those that know not the principle, that the 
 mind of man is more cheered and refreshed by profiting in 
 small things than by standing at a stay‘d in great. We see 
 also that Kings that have been for^tunate conquerors in their 
 first years, it being not possible for them to go forward infi¬ 
 nitely, but that they must have some check or arrest in their 
 fortunes, turm in their latter years to be superstitious and 
 melancholy ; as did Alexander the Great, Dioclesian,® and in 
 oirr memory, Charles the Fifth,^ and others ; for he that is 
 used to go forward, and findeth a stop, falleth out of his ovti 
 favour, and is not the thing he was. 
 
 ® Something to create excitement. 
 
 ^ '*The heart of kings is imsearchable.’^—Prov. v. 3. 
 
 ' Commodus fought naked in public as a gladiator, and prided him¬ 
 self on his skill as a swordsman. 
 
 ** Making a stop at, or dwelling too long upon, 
 
 * After a prosperous reign of twenty-one years, Diocleslan abdicated 
 the throne, and retired to a private station, 
 
 * After having reigned thirty-five years, he abdicated the thrones of 
 Spain and Gennany, and passed the tAvo last years of his life in retire¬ 
 ment at St. Just, a convent in Estremadura. 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 54 
 
 To speak now of tke true temper of empire, it is a tiling 
 rare and hard to keep; for both temper and distemper con¬ 
 sist of contraries ; but it is one thing to mingle contraries, 
 another to interchange them. The answer of Apollonius to 
 Vesj^asian is full of excellent instruction. Vespasian asked 
 him, What was j!S.ero’s overthrow?” he answered, ‘^Nero could 
 touch and tune the harp well; but in government sometimes 
 he used to wind the pins too high, sometimes to let them 
 down too low.” And certain it is, that nothing destroyeth 
 authority so much as the unequal and imtimely interchange 
 of jDOwer pressed too far, and relaxed too much. 
 
 This is true, that the wisdom of all these latter times in 
 princes’ affairs is rather fine deliveries, and shiftings of dan¬ 
 gers and mischiefs, when they ai'e near, than solid and 
 grounded courses to keep them aloof: but this is but to try 
 .masteries with fortune ; and let men beware how they 
 neglect and suffer matter of trouble to be prepared. For no 
 man can forbid the spark, nor teU whence it may come. The 
 diff-culties in princes’ business are many and great ; but the 
 greatest difficulty is often in their own mind. For it is com¬ 
 mon with princes (saith Tacitus) to will contradictories; 
 
 Sunt plerumque regum voluntates vehementes, et inter se 
 contrarise for it is the solecism of power to think to 
 command the end, and vet not to endure the mean. 
 
 Kings have to deal with their neighbours, their wives, 
 their children, their prelates or clergy, their nobles, their 
 second nobles or gentlemen, their merchants, their commons, 
 and their men of war; and from all these arise dangers, if 
 care and circumspection be not used. 
 
 First, for their neighbours, there can no general rule be 
 given (the occasions are so variable), save one which ever 
 holdeth ; which is, that princes do keep due sentinel, that 
 none of their neighboui’s do overgrow so (by increase of ter¬ 
 ritory, by embracing of trade, by approaches, or the like), as 
 they become more able to annoy them than they were ; and 
 this is generally the work of standing counsels to foresee and 
 to hinder it. During that triumvirate of kings. King Henry 
 the Eighth of England, Francis the Fhst, King of France,^ 
 
 s desires of monarchs are generally impetuous and conflicting 
 
 among themselves.” 
 
 ^ He was especially the rival of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, and 
 
I PI RE. 
 
 55 
 
 and Cliarles the Fifth, Emperor, there was such a watch kept 
 that none of the three could win a palm of ground, but the 
 other two would straightways balance it, either by confedercv 
 lion, or, if need were, by a war ; and would not in anywise 
 take up peace at interest : and the like was done by that 
 leagne (which Guicciardini ^ saith was the security of Italy), 
 made between Ferdinando, King of Naples, Lorenzius Medi- 
 cis, and Ludovicus Sforza, potentates, the one of Florence, 
 the other of Milan. Neither is the opinion of some of the 
 schoolmen to be received, that a war cannot justly be made, 
 but upon a precedent injury or provocation ; for there is no 
 question, but a just fear of an imminent danger, though there 
 be no blow given, is a lawful cause of a war. 
 
 For their wives, there are cruel examples of them. Livia 
 is infamed^ for the poisoning of her husband j Koxolana, 
 Solyman’s wife,^ was the destruction of that renowned prince, 
 Sultan Mustapha, and otherwise troubled his house and suc¬ 
 cession ; Edward the Second of England’s Queen ^ had the 
 principal hand in the deposing and murder of her husband. 
 
 This kind of danger is then to be feared chiefly when the 
 wives have plots for the raising of their own children, or else 
 that they be advoutresses.^ 
 
 For their children, the tragedies likewise of dangers from 
 them have been many ; and generally the entering of fathers 
 into suspicion of their children hath been ever unfortunate. 
 The destruction of Mustapha (that we named before) was so 
 
 was one of the most distinguished sovereigns that ever ruled over 
 France. 
 
 ^ An eminent historian of Florence. His great work, which is here 
 alluded to, is, ‘‘ The History of Italy during his own Time,” which is 
 considered one of the most valuable productions of that age. 
 
 ^ Spoken badly of. Livia was said to have hastened the death of 
 Augustus, to prepare the accession of her son Tiberius to the throne. 
 
 ^ Solyman the Magnificent was one of the most celebrated of the 
 Ottoman monarchs. He took the Isle of Rhodes from the Knights of 
 St. John. He also subdued Moldavia, Wallachia, and the greatest part 
 of Hungary, and took from the Persians, Georgia and Bagdad. He died 
 A.D. 1566. His wife Roxolana (who was originally a slave called 
 Rosa or Hazathya), with the Pasha Rustan, conspired against the life 
 of his son Mustapha, and by their instigation this distinguished prince 
 was strangled in his father’s presence. 
 
 ® The infamous Isabella of Anjou. 
 
 ^ Adultresses. 
 
56 
 
 KSSATS. 
 
 fatal to Solyman’s lino, as tlie succession of the Turks fvan 
 Soljman until this day is suspected to be untrue, and of 
 strange blood ; for that Selymus the Second was thought to 
 be supposititious.® The destruction of Crispus, a youug 
 prince of rare towardness, by Constantinus the Great, his 
 father, was in like manner fatal to his house; for both Con¬ 
 stantinus and Constance, his sons, died \dolent deaths ; and 
 Constantins, his other son, did little better, who died indeed 
 of sickness, but after that Julianus had taken arms against 
 liim. The destruction of Demetnus,P son to Philip the Second 
 of Macedon, turned upon the father, who died of repentance. 
 
 nd many like examples there are; but few or none where 
 the fathers had good by such distrust, except it were where 
 the sons were up in open arms against them ; as was Selymus 
 the First against Bajazet, and the three sons of Hemy the 
 Second, King of England. 
 
 For their prelates, when they are proud and great, there 
 is also danger from them; as it was in the times of Anselmus^ 
 and Thomas Becket, Archbishops of Canterbury, who with 
 their crosiers did almost try it with the King’s sword; and 
 yet they had to deal with stout and haughty Kings; William 
 Bufus, Henry the First, and Henry the Second. The dangei- 
 is not from that state, but where it hath a dependence of 
 foreign authority ; or where the churchmen come in and are 
 elected, not by the collation of the King, or particular patrons, 
 but by the people. 
 
 For their nobles, to keep them at a distance it is not amiss; 
 but to depress them may make a King more absolute, but less 
 safe, and less able to perform anything that he desires. I 
 have noted it in my History of King Henry the Seventh of 
 England, who depressed his nobility, whereupon it came to 
 pass tliat his times were full of difficulties and troubles ; for 
 tlie nobility, though they continued loyal unto him, yet did 
 
 ® He, however, distinguished himself by taking Cyprus from tho 
 Venetians in the year 1571. 
 
 p He was falsely accused by his brother Perseus of attempting to- 
 dethrone his father, on which he was put to death by the order of 
 Philip, B.C. 180. 
 
 9 Anselm was archbishop of Canterbury in the time of William Rufua 
 and Henry the First. Though his private life was pious and exemplary, 
 through his rigid assertion of the rights of the clergy, he was continually 
 embroiled with his sovereign. Thomas h Becket pursued a similar 
 aoiirse, but with still greater violence. 
 
EMPIRE, 
 
 57 
 
 they not co-operate with him in his business ; so that in 
 effect he was fain to do all things himself. 
 
 For their second nobles, there is not much danger from 
 them, being a body dispersed : they may sometimes discourse 
 high, but that doth little hurt : besides, they are a coimter- 
 poise to the higher nobility, that they grow not too potent ; 
 and, lastly, being the most immediate in authority with the 
 common people, they do best temper popular commotions. 
 
 For their merchants, they are vena porta and if they 
 flourish not, a kingdom may have good limbs, but will have 
 empty veins, and nourish little. Taxes and imposts upon 
 them do seldom good to the King’s revenue, for that which 
 he wins3 in the hundred,* he loseth in the shire; the particular 
 rates being increased, but the total bulk of trading rather 
 decreased. 
 
 For their commons, there is little danger from them, ex¬ 
 cept it be where they have great and potent heads; or where 
 you meddle mth the point of religion, or their customs, 
 or means of life. 
 
 For their men of war,^ it is a dangerous state where they 
 live and remain in a body, and are used to donatives; whereof 
 we see examples in the Janizaries^ and Praetorian bands of 
 E-ome ; but trainings of men, and arming them in several 
 places, and under several commanders, and without donatives, 
 are things of defence, and no danger. 
 
 Princes are like to heavenly bodies, which cause good or 
 evil times; and which have much veneration, but no rest. 
 All precepts concerning Kings are in effect comprehended in 
 those two remembrances, “ Memento quod es homo ;”y and 
 
 Memento quod es Deus,”^ or “ vice Dei the one bridleth 
 their power, and the other their will. 
 
 ' The great vessel that conveys the blood to the liver, after it has 
 been enriched by the absorption of nutriment from the intestines. 
 
 • This is an expression similar to our proverb, Penny-wise and 
 pound-foolish.” 
 
 ‘ A subdivision of the shire. ^ Soldiers. 
 
 * The Janizaries were the body-guards of the Turkish sultans, and 
 enacted the same disgraceful part in making and unmaking monarchs 
 as the mercenary Praetorian guards of the Roman empire, 
 
 ^ ‘^Remember that thou art a man.” 
 
 * ‘‘Remember that thou art a God.’' 
 
 • “ The representative of God.” 
 
58 
 
 ESSAYS, 
 
 XX—OF COUNSEL. 
 
 The greatest trust between man and man is the trust of 
 gi%dDg counsel; for in other confidences men commit the 
 parts of life, tlieir lands, their goods, their children, their 
 credit, some particular afiair; but to such as they make their 
 counsellors they commit the whole : by how much the more 
 they are obliged to all faith and integrity. The wisest princes 
 need not think it any diminution to their greatness, or dero¬ 
 gation to their sufficiency to rely upon counsel. God himself 
 is not without, but hath made it one of the great names of 
 his blessed Son, ^^The Counsellor.”^ Solomon hath pro¬ 
 nounced that, ‘ffin counsel is stability.”^ Things will have 
 their first or second agitation : if they be not tossed upon 
 the arguments of counsel, they will be tossed upon the waves 
 of fortune ; and be full of inconstancy, doing and undoing, 
 like the reeling of a drunken man. Solomon’s son® found 
 the force of counsel, as his father saw the necessity of it : 
 for the beloved kingdom of God was first rent and broken 
 by ill counsel; upon which counsel there are set for our in¬ 
 struction the two marks whereby bad counsel is for ever best 
 discerned, that it was young counsel for the persons, and 
 xiolent counsel for the matter. 
 
 The ancient times do set forth in figure both the incor¬ 
 poration and inseparable conjunction of counsel with Kings, 
 and the wise and politic use of counsel by Kings: the one, 
 in that they say Jupiter did marry Metis, which signifieth 
 counsel; wffiereby they intend that sovereignty is married to 
 counsel; the other, in that which folioweth, which was thus: 
 they say, after Jupiter was married to Metis, she conceived 
 by him and was with child; but Jupiter suffered her not to 
 stay till she brought forth, but eat her up ; whereby he 
 became himself with child, and was delivered of Pallas 
 armed, out of his head. Wliich monstrous fable containeth 
 «a secret of empire, how Kings are to make use of their 
 
 ' ^ Isaiah ix. 6 : His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The 
 mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.’* 
 
 ^ Prov. XX. .18 ; Every purpose is established by counsel: and with 
 good advice make war.” 
 
 The wicked Rehoboam, fi'om whom the ten tribes of Israel revolted 
 and elected Jeroboam their king. See 1 Kings xii. 
 
COUNSEL. CQ 
 
 counsel of state : that first, they ought to refer matters unto 
 them, which is the first begetting or impregnation ; but when 
 ;fchey are elaborate, moulded, and shaped in the womb of their 
 council, and grow ripe and ready to be brought forth, that 
 then they suffer not their council to go through Tvuth the 
 resolution and direction, as if it depended on them ; but take 
 the matter back into their ovtTi hands, and make it appear to 
 the world, that the decrees and final directions (which, be¬ 
 cause they come forth with prudence and power, are resembled 
 to Pallas armed), proceeded from themselves; and not only 
 from their authority, but (the more to add reputation to 
 themselves) from their head and device. 
 
 Let us now speak of the inconveniences of counsel, and of 
 the remedies. The inconveniences that have been noted in 
 calling and using counsel, are three: first, the reveaHng of 
 affairs, whereby they become less secret; secondly, the weak¬ 
 ening of the authority of princes, as if they were less of 
 themselves ; thirdly, the danger of being unfaithfully coun¬ 
 selled, and more for the good of them that counsel than of 
 him that is counselled; for which inconveniences, the doctrine 
 of Italy, and practice of France, in some Kings' times, hath 
 introduced cabinet councils j a remedy worse than the 
 disease.^ 
 
 As to secrecy, princes are not bound to communicate all 
 matters with all counsellors, but may extract and select; 
 neither is it necessary, that he that consulteth what he 
 should do, should declare what he ^vill do; but let princes 
 beware that the unsecreting of their affairs comes not from 
 themselves: and, as for cabinet councils, it may be their 
 motto, Plenus rimarum sum:”® one futile person, that 
 maketh it his glory to tell, mil do more hurt than many, 
 that know it their duty to conceal. It is true there be some 
 affairs which require extreme secrecy, which will hardly go 
 beyond one or two persons besides the King: neither arc 
 those counsels unprosperous ; for, besides the secrecy, they 
 commonly go on constantly in one spirit of direction without 
 distraction : but then it must be a prudent King, such as is 
 
 ^ The political world has not been convinced of the truth of this doc¬ 
 trine of Lord Bacon ; as cabinet councils are now held probably by every 
 sovereign in Europe. 
 
 * I am full of outlets.” 
 
GO 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 able to grind with a liaiid-mill and those inward coun¬ 
 sellors had need also be wise men, and especially true and 
 trusty to the King’s ends; as it was with King Henry the 
 Seventh of England, who in his greatest busmess imparted 
 himself to none, except it vrere to Morton ° and Fox.^ 
 
 For weakening of authority, the fable ^ showeth the 
 remedy : nay, the majesty of Kings is rather exalted than 
 diminished when they are in the chair of council ; neither 
 was there ever prince bereaved of his dependencies by his 
 council, except where there hath been either an over-great- 
 ness in one counsellor, or an over strict combination in 
 divers, which are tilings soon found and holpen.^ 
 
 For the last inconvenience, that men will counsel with an 
 eye to themselves; certainly, non inveniet fidem super 
 terram,”^ is meant of the nature of times,’^^ and not of all 
 particular persons. There be that are in nature faithful and 
 sincere, and plain and direct, not crafty and involved : let 
 princes, above all, draw to themselves such natures. Besides, 
 counsellors are not commonly so united, but that one coun¬ 
 sellor keepeth sentinel over another; so that if any do 
 counsel out of faction or private ends, it commonly comes to 
 the King’s ear : but the best remedy is, if princes know their 
 counsellors, as well as their counsellors know them ; 
 
 ^ Tliat is, without a complicated machinery of government. 
 s Master of the Rolls and privy-councillor under Henry VI., to 
 whose cause he faithfully adhered. Edward IV. promoted him to the 
 Bee of Ely, and made him lord-chancellor. He was elevated to the see 
 of Canterbury by Henry VII., and in 1493 received the Cardinal’s hat. 
 
 ^ Privy-councillor and Keeper of the Privy Seal to Henry VII.; and 
 after enjoying several bishoprics in succession, translated to the see 
 of Winchester. He was an able statesman, and highly valued by Henry 
 VII. On the accession of Henry VIII., his political influence was 
 counteracted by Wolsey; on which he retired to his diocese, and devoted 
 the rest of his life to acts of piety and munificence. 
 
 * Before mentioned, relative to Jupiter and Metis. 
 
 ^ Remedied. 
 
 ^ He shall not find faith upon the earth.” Lord Bacon probably 
 alludes to the words of our Saviour, St. Luke xviii. 8 : “ When the Son 
 of man cometh, shall he find faith upon the earth ? ” 
 
 “ He means to say that this remark was only applicable to a particular 
 time, namely, the coming of Christ. The period of the destruction of 
 Jerusalem was probably referred to. 
 
COUNSEL. 
 
 61 
 
 '*Principi3 est virtus maxima nosse suos.”® 
 
 And on tlie other side, counsellors should not be too specu¬ 
 lative into their sovereign’s person. The tme composition 
 of a counsellor is, rather to be skilful in theii* master’s busi¬ 
 ness than in his nature for then he is like to advise him, 
 and not to feed his humour. It is of singular use to princes 
 if they take the opinions of their council both separately 
 and together; for private opinion is more free, but opinion 
 before others is more reverend. In private, men are more 
 bold in their own humours; and in consort, men are more 
 obnoxiousP to others’ humours; therefore it is good to take 
 both ; and of the inferior sort rather in private, to preserve 
 freedom; of the greater, rather in* consort, to preserve 
 respect. It is in vain for piinces to take counsel concerning 
 matters, if they take no counsel likewise concerning persons; 
 for all matters are as dead images: and the life of the exe¬ 
 cution of affairs resteth in the good choice of persons: 
 neither is it enough to consult concerning persons, secun¬ 
 dum genera,”<1 as in an idea or mathematical description, 
 what the kind and character of the person should be; for 
 the gi'eatest errors are committed, and the most judgment 
 is shown, in the choice of individuals. It was truly said, 
 ‘‘ Optimi consiliarii mortui books will speak plain when 
 coimsellors blanch therefore it is good to be conversant in 
 them, specially the books of such as themselves have been 
 actors upon the stage. 
 
 The councils at this day in most places are but familiar 
 meetings, where matters are rather talked on than debated; 
 and they run too swift to the order or act of council. It 
 were better that in causes of weight the matter were pro¬ 
 pounded one day and not spoken to till the next day; ‘‘ In 
 
 “ ** ’Tis the especial virtue of a prince to know his own men.” 
 
 ® In his disposition, or inclination. 
 
 P Liable to opposition from. 
 
 ^ “According to classes,” or, as we ^nllgarly say, “in the lump.” 
 Lord Bacon means that princes are not, as a matter of course, to tako 
 counsellors merely on the presumption of talent, from their rank and 
 station ; but that, on the contrary, they are to select such as are tiied 
 ijnen, and with regard to whom there can be no mistake. 
 
 ^ “The best counsellors are the dead.” 
 
 • “ Are afraid ” to open their mouths. 
 
32 
 
 . ESSAYS. 
 
 nocte consilium so was it done in tlie commission of 
 unionbetween England and Scotland, which was a grave 
 and orderly assembly. I commend set days for petitions; 
 for both it gives the suitors more certainty for their at¬ 
 tendance, and it frees the meetings for matters of* estate, 
 that they may hoc agere.”^ In choice of committees for 
 lipening business for the council, it is better to choose 
 mdifferent persons, than to make an indifferency by putting 
 in those that are strong on both sides. I commend, also, 
 standing commissions; as for trade, for treasure, for war, for 
 suits, for some provinces ; for where there be divers par¬ 
 ticular councils, and but one council of estate (as it is in 
 Spain), they are, in effect, no more than standing com¬ 
 missions, save that they have greater authority. Let such 
 as are to inform councils out of their particular professions 
 (as lawyers, seamen, mintmen, and the like), be first heard 
 before committees ; and then, as occasion serves, before the 
 coimcil; and let them not come in multitudes, or in a tribu- 
 nitiousy manner; for that is to clamour councils, not to 
 inform them. A long table and a square table, or seats 
 about the walls, seem things of form, but are things of 
 substance; for at a long table a few at the upper end, in 
 effect, sway all the business j but in the other form there is 
 more use of the counsellors’ opinions that sit lower. A King, 
 when he presides in council, let him beware how he opens 
 his own inclination too much in that which he propoundeth; 
 for else counsellors will but take the ’‘vind of him, and 
 instead of giving free counsel, will sing him a song of pla-^ 
 cebo.” 2 
 
 ‘ Ni^ht-time for counsel.’* 
 
 " On the accession of James the Sixth of Scotland to the throne of 
 England in 1603. 
 
 * A phrase much in use with the Eomans, signifying, to attend to 
 the business in hand.” 
 
 y A tribunitial or declamatory manner. 
 
 * I ’1] follow the bent of your humour.” 
 
DELAYS. 
 
 6^ 
 
 XXI.—OF DELAYS. 
 
 Fortune is like tlie market, where many times, if you 
 can stay a little, the price will fall; and again, it is some¬ 
 times like Sibylla’s offer,^ which at first offereth the com¬ 
 modity at full, then consumeth part and part, and still 
 holdeth up the price; for occasion (as it is in the common • 
 v^erse) tumeth a bald noddle^ after she hath presented her 
 locks in front, and no hold taken;” or, at least, turneth the 
 handle of the bottle first to be received, and after the belly, 
 which is hard to clasp. There is surely no greater wisdom 
 than well to time the beginnings and onsets of things. 
 Dangers are no more light, if they once seem light j and 
 more dangers have deceived men than forced them : nay, it 
 were better to meet some dangers half-v^ay, though they 
 come nothing near, than to keep too long a watch upon 
 their approaches; for if a man watch too long, it is odds he 
 will fall asleep. On the other side, to be deceived vnth. toa 
 long shadows (as some have been when the moon was low, 
 and shone on their enemies’ back), and so to shoot off before 
 the time; or to teach dangers to come on by over early 
 buckling towards them, is another extreme. The ripeness 
 or unripeness of the occasion (as we said) must ever be well 
 weighed; and generally it is good to commit the beginnings 
 of all great actions to Argus with his hundred eyes, and the 
 ends to Briareus with his hundred hands; first to watch 
 and then to speed; for the helmet of Pluto, which maketh 
 the poHtic man go invisible, is secrecy in the council, and 
 celerity in the execution; for when things are once come to 
 the execution, there is no secrecy comparable to celerity; 
 like the motion of a bullet in the air, which flieth so swift 
 as it outnms the eye. 
 
 • See the history of Rome nnder the reign of Tarqiiinius Superbus. 
 
 ® Bald head. He alludes to the common Sx'Jkying “ take time by the 
 forelock.’’ 
 
€4 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 XXII.—OF CUNNING. 
 
 We take cunning for a sinister, or crooked wisdom ; and 
 certainly there is great difference between a cunning man 
 and a wise man, not only in point of honesty, but in point of 
 ability. There be that can pack the cards,^ and yet cannot 
 play well; so there are some that are good in canvasses and 
 factions, that are othei’wise weak men. Again, it is one 
 thing to understand persons, and another thing to understand 
 matters ; for many are perfect in men’s humours that are 
 not greatly capable of the real part of business, which is 
 the constitution of one that hath studied men more than 
 books. Such^ men are fitter for practice than for counsel, 
 and they are good but in their own alley : turn them to 
 new men, and they have lost their aim ; so as the old rule, to 
 know a fool from a wise man, Mitte ambos nudos ad ignotos, 
 et videbis,” ^ doth scarce hold for them; and, because these 
 cunning men are like haberdashers^ of small wares, it is not 
 amiss to set forth their shop. 
 
 It is a point of cunning to wait upon^ him with whom 
 you speak with your eye, as the Jesuits give it in precept; 
 for there be many wise men that have secret hearts and 
 transparent countenances : yet this would be done with a 
 demure abasing of your eye sometimes, as the Jesuits also do 
 use. 
 
 Another is, that when you have anything to obtain of 
 present dispatch, you entertain and amuse the party with 
 wdiom you deal with some other discourse, that he be not 
 too much awake to make objections. I knew a counsellor 
 and secretary that never came to Queen Elizabeth of England 
 with bills to sign, but he would always first put her into 
 
 “ Packing the cards is an admirable illustration of the author’s mean' 
 ing. It is a cheating exploit, by which knaves, who perhaps arc 
 inferior players, insure to themselves the certainty of good hands. 
 
 ^ “ Send them both naked among strangers, and then you will see.” 
 
 ® This word is used here in its primitive sense of retail dealers.” If, 
 is said to have been derived from a custom of the Flemings, who first 
 settled in this country in the fourteenth century, stopping the passengers 
 as they passed their shops, and saying to them, Haber das herr ? ” — 
 
 Will you take this, sir ? ” The word is now generally used as sjmony- 
 inous with linen-draper. 
 
 ^ To watch. 
 
CICJKXIKG. 
 
 65 
 
 some discoui’se of estate,® that she might the less mind the 
 biUs. 
 
 The like surprise may be made by moving tilings^ when 
 the party is in haste, and cannot stay to consider advisedly 
 of that is moved. 
 
 If a man would cross a business that he doubts some other 
 would handsomely and effectually move, let him pretend 
 to wish it well, and move it himself, in such sort as may 
 foil it. 
 
 The breaking off in the midst of that, one was about to 
 say, as if he took himself up, breeds a greater appetite in 
 him, with whom you confer, to know more. 
 
 And because it works better when anvthing seemeth to be 
 gotten from you by question than if you offer it of yourself, 
 you may lay a bait for a question, by showing another visage 
 and countenance than you are Vr^ont; to the end, to give 
 occasion for the party to ask what the matter is of the 
 change, as Nehemiah ^ did, “ And I had not before that time 
 been sad before the king.” 
 
 In things that are tender and unpleasing, it is good to 
 break the ice by some whose words are of less weight, and 
 to reserve the more weighty voice to come in as by chance, 
 so that he may be asked the question upon the other’s 
 speech; as Narcissus did, in relating to Claudius the marriage^ 
 of Messalina and Silius. 
 
 In things that a man w^ould not be seen in himself, it is a 
 point of cunning to borrow the name of the world; as to 
 say, “ The world says,” or “ There is a speech abroad.” 
 
 I knew one, that when he wrote a letter, he would put 
 that which was most material in the postscript, as if it had 
 been a by-matter. 
 
 * State. f Discussing matters. 
 
 ^ He refers to tlie occasion when Xehemiah, on presenting the wine, as 
 cupbearer to King Artaxerxes, appeared sorrowful, and on being asked 
 the reason of it, entreated the king to allow Jerusalenc to he rebuilt. 
 Nehemiah ii. 1. 
 
 ^ This can hardly be called a mamage, as at the time of the intrigue 
 Messalina was the wdfe of Claudius : but she forced Cains Silius, of 
 whom she was deeply enamoured, to divorce his own wife, that she her- 
 Felf might enjoy his society. Tlie intrigue was disclosed to Claudius by 
 Narcissus, who w’as his freedman, and the pander to his infamous vices* 
 cn which Silius was put to death. 
 
 P 
 
6G 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 I knew another, that when he came to have speech,^ lie 
 would pass over that that he intended most: and go forth 
 and come back again, and speak of it as of a thing that he 
 ]iad almost forgot. , 
 
 Some procure themselves to be surprised at such times as 
 it is like the party that they work upon will suddenly come 
 upon them, and to be found with a letter in their hand, or 
 doing somewhat which they are not accustomed, to the end 
 "they may be opposed of^ those things which of themselves 
 they are desirous to utter. 
 
 It is a point of cunning to let fall those words in a man’s 
 own name, which he would have another man learn and use, 
 and thereupon take advantage. I knew two that were com¬ 
 petitors for the secretary’s place, in Queen Elizabeth’s time, 
 and yet kept good quarter ^ between themselves, and would 
 confer one mth another upon the business ; and the one of 
 them said, that to be a secretary in the declination of a 
 monarchy was a ticklish thing, and that he did not affect it 
 the other straight caught up those words, and discoursed with 
 divers of his friends, that he had no reason to desire to be 
 secretary in the declination of a monarchy. The first man 
 took hold of it, and found means it was told the queen; who, 
 hearing of a declination of a monarchy, took it so ill, as she 
 would never after hear of the other’s suit. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 There is a cunning, wdiich we in England call the turn¬ 
 ing of the cat in the pan which is, when that which a man 
 says to another, he lays it as if another had said it to him ; 
 arid, to say truth, it is not easy, when such a matter passed 
 between two, to make it appear from which of them it first 
 moved and began. 
 
 It is a way that some men have, to glance and dart at 
 others by justifying themselves by negatives; as to say, 
 
 This I do not; ” as Tigellinus did towards Burrhus, Se 
 non diversas spes, sed incolumitatem imperatoris simpliciter 
 spectare.”^ 
 
 Some have in readiness so many tales and stories, as there 
 
 * To speak in his turn. ^ Be questioned upon. 
 
 ^ Kept on good terms. Desire it. 
 
 “ That he did not have various hopes in view, but solely the safety 
 of the emperor.” Tigellinus was the profligate minister of Nero, and 
 Africanus Burrhus was the chief of the Praetorian guards. 
 
CUKXIXG. 
 
 G7 
 
 IS nothing they would insinuate, but they can wrap it into a 
 tale j® which seiweth both to keep themselves more in guard, 
 and to make others carry it with more pleasure. 
 
 It is a good point of cimning for a man to shape the 
 answer he would have in his own words and propositions ; 
 for it makes the other party stick the less. 
 
 It is strange how long some men will lie in wait to speak 
 somewhat they desire to say; and how far about they will 
 fetch,? and how many other matters they will beat over to 
 come neai' it : it is a thing of great patience, but yet of 
 much use. 
 
 A sudden, bold, and unexpected question doth many times 
 sui’prise a man, and lay him open. like to him, that, having 
 changed his name, and walking in Paul’s,another suddenly 
 came behind him and called liim by his true name, whereat 
 straightways he looked back. 
 
 But these small wares and petty points of cunning are in¬ 
 finite, and it were a good deed to make a list of them; for 
 that notliing doth more hurt in a state than that cunning 
 men pass for wise. 
 
 But certainly some there are that know the resorts’^ and 
 falls® of business that cannot sink into the main of it like 
 a house that hath convenient stairs and entries, but never a 
 fair room: therefore you shall see them find out pretty looses® 
 in the conclusion, but are noways able to examine or debate 
 matters : and yet commonly they take advantage of them 
 inability, and would be thought wits of direction. Some 
 build rather upon the abusing of others, and (as we now say) 
 putting tricks upon them, than upon soimdness of their own 
 proceedings : but Solomon saith, Prudens advertit ad 
 gressus siios : stidtus divert it ad dolos.”^ 
 
 ® As Nathan did when he reproved David for his criminality with 
 Bathsheba. 2 Samuel xii. 
 
 P Use indirect stratagems. 
 
 ^ He alludes to the old Cathedral of St. Paul in London, which, in 
 the sixteenth century, was a common lounge for idlers. 
 
 ' Movements, or springs. ‘ Chances, or rtcissitndes. 
 
 * Enter deeply into. " Faults, or weak points. 
 
 * The wise man gives heed to his own footsteps; the fool tunieth 
 aside to the snare.” No doubt he here alludes to Ecclesiastes xiv. 2, 
 which passage is thus rendered in our version : “The wise man’s eyes 
 
 ^5irc in his head ; but the fool walketh in darkness.” 
 
 F 2 
 
G8 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 XXIII.—OF WISDOM FOR A ]\IAN’S SELF. 
 
 An ant is a wise creature for itself, but it is a slirewd^' 
 tiling in an orchard or garden : and certainly men that are 
 great lovers of themselves waste the pubhc. Divide with 
 reason between self-love and society ; and be so true to thy¬ 
 self as thou be not false to others, specially to thy king and 
 country. It is a poor centre of a man’s actions, himself. It 
 is right earth ; for that only stands fast upon his o^vn centre j ^ 
 whereas all things that have affinity with the heavens, move 
 upon the centre of another, which they benefit. The referring 
 of all to a man’s self, is more tolerable in a sovereign prince, 
 because themselves are not only themselves, but their good 
 and evil is at the peril of the public fortune ; but it is a 
 desperate evil in a servant to a prince, or a citizen in a 
 republic ; for whatsoever afiaii’s jiass such a man’s hands, he 
 crooketh them to his own ends, which must needs be often 
 eccentric to the ends of his master or state : therefore let 
 princes or states choose such servants as have not this mark; 
 except they mean their service should be made but the 
 accessary. That ^vhicli maketh the efiect more pernicious is, 
 that all proportion is lost; it were disproportion enough for 
 the servant’s good to be preferred before the master’s ; but 
 yet it is a greater extreme, when a little good of the servant 
 shall carry things against a great good of the master’s ; and 
 yet that is the case of bad officers, treasurers, ambassadors, 
 generals, and other false and corrupt servants ; w’hich set a 
 bias upon their bowl, of their own petty ends and envies, to 
 the overthrow of then’ master’s great and important afiairs : 
 and, for the most part, the good such servants receive is after 
 the model of their own fortune ; but the hui’t they sell for 
 that good is after the model of their master’s fortune ; and 
 certainly it is the natine of extreme self-lovers, as they vill 
 set a house on fire, an it were but to roast then eggs; and 
 yet these men many times hold credit vfith their masters be- 
 
 * Mischievous. 
 
 It must be remembered that Bacon was not a favoiu'er of the 
 Copemican system. 
 
INl^OVATIONS. 
 
 69 
 
 cause their studj" is but to please them, and profit themselves; 
 and for either respect they will abandon the good of their 
 affairs. 
 
 Wisdom for a man’s self is, in many branches thereof, a 
 depraved thing : it is the wisdom of rats, that will be sure 
 to leave a house somewhat before ib fall : it is the wisdom of 
 the fox, that thrusts out the badger who digged and made 
 room for him : it is the wisdom of crocodiles, that shed tears 
 when they would devour. But that which is specially to be 
 noted, is, that those which (as Cicero says of Pompey) are, 
 “ sui amantes, sine rivali,”® are many times unfortunate; and 
 whereas they have all their times sacrificed to themselves, 
 they become in the end themselves sacrifices to the inconstancy 
 of fortune, whose wings they thought by their self-wisdom 
 to have pinioned. 
 
 XXIV.—OF INNOVATIONS. 
 
 As the births of living creatures at first are ill-shapen, so 
 are all innovations, which are the births of time ; yet not¬ 
 withstanding, as those that first bring honour into their family 
 are commonly more worthy than most that succeed, so the 
 first precedent (if it be good) is seldom attained by imitation; 
 for ill to man’s nature as it stands perverted, hath a natural 
 motion strongest in continuance ; but good, as a forced 
 motion, strongest at first. Surely eveiy medicine^ is am in¬ 
 novation, and he that will not apply new remedies must 
 expect new evils ; for time is tlie greatest innovator ; and if 
 time of course alter things to the worse, and wisdom and 
 counsel shall not alter them to the better, what shall be the 
 end ? It is true, that what is settled by custom, though it 
 be not good, yet at least it is fit; and those things which 
 have long gone together, are, as it were, confederate within 
 themselves whereas new things piece not so well; but, 
 though they help by their utility, yet they trouble by their 
 inconformity : besides, they are like strangers, more admired 
 and less favoured. All this is true, if time stood still: 
 
 * ‘^Lovers of themselves without a rival.’* 
 
 • Remedy. ^ Adapted to each other. 
 
V 
 
 70 ESSAYS. 
 
 which, contrariwise, moveth so round, that a froward re¬ 
 tention of custom is as turbulent a thing as an innovation ; 
 and they that reverence too much old times are but a scorn 
 to the new. It were good, therefore, that men in their inno¬ 
 vations would follow the example of time itself, which indeed 
 innovateth greatly, but quietly, and by degrees scarce to be 
 perceived ; for otherwise, whatsoever is new is unlooked for; 
 and ever it mends some and pairs® other; and he that is 
 holpen, takes it for a fortune, and thanks the time ; and he 
 that is hm*t, for a wrong, and imputeth it to the author. It 
 is good also not to try experiments in states, except the 
 necessity be lu'gent, or the utility evident; and well to be¬ 
 ware that it be the reformation that draweth on the change, 
 and not the desire of change that pretendeth the reformation ; 
 and lastly, that the novelty, though it be not rejected, yet be 
 held for a suspect,^ and, as the Scripture saith, “ That we 
 make a stand upon the ancient way, and then look about us, 
 and discover what is the straight and right way, and so to 
 walk in it.”® 
 
 XXV.—OF DISPATCH. 
 
 Affected dispatch is one of the most dangerous things to 
 business that can be : it is like that which the physicians call 
 predigestion, or hasty digestion, which is sure to fill the body 
 full of crudities, and secret seeds of diseases : therefore 
 measure not dispatch by the times of sitting, but by the 
 advancement of the business : and as in races, it is not the 
 large stride, or high lift, that makes the speed; so in business, 
 the keeping close to the matter, and not taking of it too 
 much at once, procureth dispatch: It is the care of some, 
 only to come off speedily for the time, or to contrive some 
 false periods of business, because they may seem men of 
 dispatch : but it is one thing to abbreviate by contracting,^ 
 
 Injures, or impairs. ^ A thing suspected. 
 
 * He probably alludes to Jeremiah vi. 16: ^'Thus saith the Lord, 
 Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the'old paths, where is the- 
 good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.’' 
 
 * That is, by means of good management. 
 
DISPATCH. 
 
 71 
 
 another by cutting off; and business so handled at several 
 sittings, or meetings, goeth commonly backward and forward 
 in an unsteady manner. I knew a wise man^ that had it for 
 a by-word, when he saw men hasten to a conclusion, Stay a 
 little, that we may make an end the sooner.” 
 
 On the other side, true dispatch is a rich thing ; for time 
 is the measure of business, as money is of wares ; and business 
 is bought at a dear hand where there is small dispatch. The 
 Spartans and Spaniards have been noted to be of small dis¬ 
 patch : “ Mi venga la muerte de Spagna“ Let my death 
 come from Spain;” for then it will be sure to be long in 
 coming. 
 
 Give good hearing to those that give the first information 
 in business, and rather direct them in the beginning, than 
 interrupt them in the continuance of their speeches ; for he 
 that is put out of his o^vm order will go forward and back¬ 
 ward, and be more tedious while he waits upon his memory, 
 than he could have been if he had gone on in his own 
 course ; but sometimes it is seen that the moderator is more 
 troublesome than the actor. 
 
 Iterations are commonly loss of time ; but there is no such 
 gain of time as to iterate often the state of the question; 
 for it chaseth away many a frivolous speech as it is coming 
 forth. Long and curious speeches are as fit for dispatch as 
 a robe, or mantle, with a long train, is for a race. Prefaces, 
 and passages,® and excusations,^ and other speeches of’ re¬ 
 ference to the person, ai'e great wastes of time ; and though 
 they seem to proceed of modesty, they are bravery.® Yet 
 beware of being too material when there is any impediment, 
 or obstruction in men’s wills; for pre-occupation of mind^ 
 ever requireth preface of speech, like a fomentation to make 
 the unguent enter. 
 
 Above all things, order and distribution, and singling out 
 of parts, is the life of dispatch ; so as the distribution be 
 not too subtile : for he that doth not divide will never enter 
 well into business; and he that divideth too much will never 
 
 ** It is supposed that he here alludes to Sir Amyas Paulet, a very 
 able statesman, and the ambassador of Queen Eliza]>eth to the court 
 of France. 
 
 ® Quotations. ^ Apologies.. 
 
 * Boasting. ^ l* 7 ejudloe. 
 
72 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 come out of it clearly. To choose time, is to save time ; and 
 an unseasonable motion is but beating the air. There be 
 three parts of business : the preparation j the debate, or 
 examination ; and the perfection. Whereof, if you look for 
 dispatch, let the middle only be the work of many, and the 
 first and last the work of few. The proceeding, upon some¬ 
 what conceived in writing, doth for the most part facilitate 
 dispatch ; for though it should be wholly rejected, yet that 
 negative is more pregnant of direction than an indefinite, as 
 ashes are more generative than dust. 
 
 XXVI.—OF SEEMIXG WISE. 
 
 It hath been an opinion, that the French are wiser than, 
 they seem, and the Spaniards seem wiser than they are ; but 
 howsoever it be between nations, certainly it is so between 
 man and man; for as the apostle saith of godliness, tiaving 
 a show of godliness, but denying the power^thereof so 
 certainly there are, in points of wisdom and sufficiency, that 
 do notliing or little very solemnly; ^^magno conatu nugas.”^ 
 It is a ridiculous thing, and fit for a satire to persons of 
 judgment, to see what shifts these formalists have, and what 
 prospectives to make superficies to seem body, that hath 
 depth and bulk. Some are so close and reserved, as they 
 will not show their wares but by a dark light, and seem 
 always to keep back somewhat; and when they know within 
 themselves they speak of that they do not well know, would 
 nevertheless seem to others to know of that which they may 
 not well speak. Some help themselves with countenance and 
 gesture, and are wise by signs; as Cicero saith of Piso, that 
 w’hen he answered him he fetched one of his brows up to his 
 forehead, and bent the other down to his chin ; Pespondes, 
 altero ad frontem sublato, altero ad mentum depresso super- 
 cilio; crudelitatem tibi non placere.”^ Some think to bear it 
 by speaking a great word, and being peremptory; and go on, 
 
 • ^ 2 Tim. iii. 5. ^ ^'Trifles with great effort.” 
 
 ^ With one brow raised to your forehead, the other bent downward 
 to your chin, you answei* that cruelty delights you not.” 
 
FKIENDSHIP. 
 
 73 
 
 and take by admittance tbat wbicli they cannot make good. 
 Some, whatsoever is beyond their reach, vdll seem to despise, 
 or make light of it as impertinent or curious: and so would 
 have their ignorance seem judgment. Some are never with' 
 out a difference, and commonly by amusing men with a 
 subtilty, blanch the matter ; of whom A. Gellius saith, “ Ho- 
 minem delirum, qui verborum minutiis rerum frangit pom 
 dera.” ^ Of which kind also Plato, in his Protagoras, bringeth 
 in Prodicus in scorn, and maketh him make a speech that 
 consisteth of distinctions from the beginning to the end. 
 Generally such men, in all deliberations, find ease to be® of 
 the negative side, and affect a credit to object and foretell 
 difficulties; for when propositions are denied, there is an end 
 of them; but if they be allowed, it requii’eth a new work : 
 which false point of wisdom is the bane of business. To 
 conclude, there is no deca 3 dng merchant, or inward beggar,^ 
 hath so many tricks to uphold the credit of their wealth as 
 these empty persons have to maintain the credit of their 
 sufficiency. Seeming wise men may make shift to get 
 opinion; but let no man choose them for employment; for 
 certainly, you were better take for business a man somewhat 
 absurd than over-formal. 
 
 XXVII.—OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 0 
 
 4 
 
 It had been hard for him that spake it to have put more 
 truth and untmth together in few v/ords than in that speech, 
 Wliosoever is delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast or 
 a god : ” ^ for it is most true, that a natural and secret hatred 
 and aversion towards society in any man hath somewhat of 
 the savage beast; but it is most untrue that it should have 
 any character at all of the dhdne nature, except it proceed, 
 
 A foolish man, who fritters away the weight of matters by fine* 
 spun trifling on words.” 
 
 * Find it easier to make difficulties and objections than to originate. 
 One really in insolvent circumstances, though to the world he does 
 
 not appear so. 
 
 * He here quotes from a passage in the Politico'' of Aristotle, book i. 
 He who is unable to mingle in society, or who requires nothing, by 
 
 reason of sufficing for himself, is no part of the state, so that he is either 
 a wild beast or a Divinity.” 
 
74 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire 
 to sequester a man’s self for a higher conversation : such as 
 is found to have been falsely and feignedly in some of the 
 heathen; as Epimenides,^ the Candian; Numa, the Roman ; 
 Empedocles, the Sicilian; and Apollonius of Tyana; and 
 truly and really in divers of the ancient hermits and holy 
 fathers of the Church. But little do men perceive what 
 solitude is, and how far it extendeth; for a crowd is not 
 company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk 
 but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. The Latin 
 adage meeteth with it a little, Magna civitas, magna soli¬ 
 tude because in a great town friends are scattered, so 
 that there is not that fellowship, for the most part, which is 
 in less neighboimhoods : but we may go further, and aflSlrm 
 most truly, that it is a mere and miserable solitude to want 
 true friends, without which the world is but a wilderness; 
 and even in tliis sense also of solitude, whosoever in the 
 frame of his nature and affections is unfit for friendship, he 
 taketh it of the beast, and not from humanity. 
 
 A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and discharge of 
 the fulness and swellings of the heart, which passions of all 
 kinds do cause and induce. We know diseases of stoppings 
 and suffocations are the most dangerous in the body; and it 
 is not much otherwise in the mind; you may take sarza^ to 
 open the liver, steel to open the spleen, fiower of sulphur for 
 the lungs, castoreum® for the brain; but no receipt openetk 
 
 ^ -^Epimenides, a poet of Crete (of which Candia is the modern name), 
 is said by Pliny to have fallen into a sleep which lasted fifty-seven years. 
 He was also said to have lived 299 years. Numa pretended that he w'as 
 instructed in the art of legislation by the divine nymph Egeria, who 
 dwelt in the Arician grove. Empedocles, the Sicilian philosopher, 
 declared himself to be immortal, and to be able to cure all evils : he is 
 said by some to have retired from society that his death might not be 
 known, and to have thrown himself into the crater of Mount ^tna. 
 Apollonius of Tyana, the Pythagorean philosopher, pretended to mira¬ 
 culous powers, and after his death a temple was erected to him at that 
 place. His life is recorded by Philostratus ; and some persons, among 
 whom are Hierocles, Dr. More, in his Mystery of Godliness, and 
 recently Strauss, have not hesitated to compare his miracles with those 
 of our Saviour. 
 
 ^ A great city, a great desert,’^ ^ Sarsaparilla. 
 
 ® A liquid matter of a pungent smell, extracted from a portion of the 
 body of the beaver. 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, 
 joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, coimsels, and whatsoever lieth 
 upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or con¬ 
 fession. 
 
 It is a strange thing to observe how high a rate great 
 kings and monarchs do set upon this fruit of friendship 
 whereof we speak: so great, as they purchase it many times 
 at the hazard of their o'svn safety and greatness : for princes, 
 in regard of the distance of their fortune from that of their 
 subjects and servants, cannot gather this fruit, except (to 
 make themselves capable thereof) they raise some persons to 
 be as it were companions, and almost equals to themselves, 
 which many times sorteth to inconvenience. The modern 
 languages give unto such persons the name of favourites, or 
 privadoes, as if it were matter of grace, or conversation; buu 
 the Homan name attaineth the true use and cause thereof, 
 naming them participes curarum for it is that which 
 tieth the knot: and we see plainly that this hath been done, 
 not by weak and passionate princes only, but by the wisest 
 and most politic that ever reigned, who have oftentimes 
 joined to themselves some of their servants, whom both 
 themselves have called friends, and allowed others likewise 
 to call them in the same manner, using the word which is 
 received between private men. 
 
 L. Sylla, when he commanded Home, raised Pompey (after 
 surnamed the Great) to that height that Pompey vaunted 
 himself for Sylla’s overmatch; for when he had carried the 
 consulship for a friend of his, against the pursuit of Sylla, 
 and that Sylla did a little resent thereat, and began to speak 
 great, Pompey turned upon him again, and in effect bade 
 him be quiet; for that more men adored the sun rising than 
 the sun setting. With Julius Caesar, Decimus Brutus had 
 obtained that interest, as he set him down in his testament 
 for heir in remainder after his nephew; and this was the 
 man that had power with him to draw him forth to his 
 death ; for when Caesar would have discharged the senate, 
 in regard of some ill presages, and specially a dream of Cal- 
 phurnia, this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his 
 chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the senate 
 
 * “ Partakers of cares.” 
 
70 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 till his wife had dreamt a better dream; and it seemeth his 
 favour was so gi’eat, as Antonias, in a letter which is recited 
 verbatim in one of Cicero’s Philippics, calleth liim venefica,” 
 —^^vdtch as if he had enchanted Caesar. Augustus raised 
 Agi’ippa (though of mean birth) to that height, as, when he 
 consulted vdth Maecenas about the marriage of his daughter 
 Julia, Maecenas took the liberty to tell him, that he must 
 either marry his daughter to AgiijDj^a, or take away his life : 
 there was no third w^ay, he had made him so great. With 
 Tibeiius Caesar, Sejanus had ascended to that height, as they 
 two were termed and reckoned as a pair of friends. Tibe¬ 
 rius, in a letter to him, saith, Haec pro amicitia nostra non 
 occultaviand the whole senate dedicated an altar to 
 Friendship, as to a goddess, in respect of the great dearness 
 of friendship between them two. The like, or more, was 
 between Septimius Severus and Plautianus; for he forced 
 his eldest son to marry the daughter of Plautianus, and 
 would often maintain Plautianus in doing affronts to his son ; 
 and did write also, in a letter to the senate, by these words : 
 
 I love the man so well, as I wish he may over-live me.” 
 iSTow, if these princes had been PvS a Trajan, or a Marcus 
 Aimelius, a man might have thought that this had proceeded 
 of an abundant goodness of nature; but being men so vdse,^^ 
 of such strength and severity of mind, and so extreme lovers 
 of themselves, as all these were, it proveth most plainly that 
 they found their own felicity (though as great as ever hap¬ 
 pened to mortal men) but as an half-piece, except they might 
 have a friend to make it entire; and yet, which is more, 
 they were princes that had wives, sons, nephews ; and yet all 
 these could not supply the comfort of friendship. 
 
 It is not to be forgotten what Comineus observeth of his 
 first master, Duke Charles the Hardy,^ namely, that he 
 
 s These things, by reason of onr friendship, I have not concealed 
 from you” 
 
 ^ Such infamous men as Tiberius and Sejanus hardly deserv'e thia 
 commendation. 
 
 * Philip de Comines. 
 
 ^ Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy, the valiant antagonist of 
 Louis XI. of France. De Comines spent his early years at his court, 
 but afterwards passed into the service of Louis XI. This monarch was 
 notorious for his cruelty, treachery, and dissimulation, and had all the 
 bad qualities of his contemporary, Edward IV, of England,‘without any 
 of his redeeming \drtues. 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 77 
 
 would conimunicate liis secrets with none; and least of all, 
 those secrets which troubled hint most. ^Yhereupon he 
 goeth on, and saith, that towards his latter time that close¬ 
 ness did impair and a little perish his understanding. Surely 
 Comineus might have made the same judgment also, if it 
 had pleased him, of his second master, Louis the Eleventh, 
 whose closeness was indeed his tormentor. The parable of 
 Pythagoras is dark, but true, Cor ne edito,”—“ eat not 
 the heart.” ^ Certainly, if a man would give it a hard phrase, 
 those that want friends to open themselves unto are 
 cannibals of their omi hearts ; but one tiling is most ad- 
 mmable (where^vith I will conclude this first fruit of friend¬ 
 ship), which is, that this communicating of a man’s self to , 
 his friend works two contrary efiects; for it redoubleth joys, 
 and cutteth griefs in halves: for there is no man that 
 imparteth his joys to 'his friend, but he joyeth the more; 
 and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he 
 grieveth the less. So that it is, in truth, of ojDeration u^ion 
 a man’s mmd of like virtue as the alchymists used to attri¬ 
 bute to their stone for man’s body, that it worketh all con¬ 
 trary efiects, but still to the good and benefit of nature : 
 but yet, without praying in aid of alchymists, there is a 
 manifest image of this in the ordinary course of nature; for, 
 in bodies, union strengtheneth and cherisheth any natural 
 action ; and, on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any 
 violent impression ; and even so is it of minds. 
 
 The second fruit of friendship is healthfid and sovereign 
 for the understanding, as the first is for the afiections; for 
 friendship maketh indeed a fair day in the afiections from 
 storm and tempests, but it maketh daylight in the under¬ 
 standing, out of darkness and confusion of thoughts : neither 
 is this to be understood only of faithful counsel, which a man 
 receiveth from his friend; but before you come to that, 
 certain it is, that whosoever hath his mind fraught with 
 many thoughts, his wits and understanding do clarify and 
 
 ^ Pythagoras went still further than this, as he forbade his disciples 
 to eat flesh of any kind whatever. See the interesting speech which 
 Ovid attributes to him in the Fifteenth book of the Metamorphoses. 
 Sir Tliomas Browne, in his Pseudodoxia (Browne’s Works, Bohn’s An¬ 
 tiquarian edn., vol. i. p. 27, et seq.), gives some curious explanations 
 of the doctrines of this philosopher. 
 
78 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 break up in the communicating and discoursing with ano¬ 
 ther ; he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he marshalleth 
 them more orderly; he seeth how they look when they are 
 turned into words : finally, he waxeth wiser than himself; 
 and that more by an hour’s discourse than by a day’s medi¬ 
 tation. It was well said by Themistocles to the king of 
 Persia, That speech was like cloth of Arras,opened and 
 put abroad ; whereby the imagery doth appear in figure; 
 whereas in thoughts they lie but as in packs.” Neither is 
 this second fruit of friendship, in opening the understanding, 
 restrained only to such friends as are able to give a man 
 counsel (they indeed are best), but even without that a man 
 learneth of himself, and bringeth his owm thoughts to light, 
 and whetteth his wits as against a stone, which itself cuts 
 not. In a word, a man were better relate himself to a 
 statue or picture, than to sufier his thoughts to pass in 
 smother. 
 
 Add now, to make this second fruit of friendship com¬ 
 plete, that other point which lieth more open, and falleth 
 mthin vulgar observation : which is faithful counsel from a 
 friend. Heraclitus saith w^ell in one of his enigmas, Dry 
 light is ever the bestand certain it is, that the light that 
 a man njceiveth by counsel from another, is drier and purer 
 than that which cometh from his ovm understanding and 
 judgment; which is ever infused and drenched in liis affec¬ 
 tions and customs. So as there is as much difference be¬ 
 tween the counsel that a friend giveth, and that a man 
 giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend 
 and of a flatterer; for there is no such flatterer as is a man’s 
 self, and there is no such remedy against flattery of a man’s 
 self as the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts; the 
 one concerning manners, the other concerning business : for 
 the first, the best preservative to keep the mind in health,ds 
 the faithful admonition of a friend. The calling of a man’s 
 self to a strict account is a medicine sometimes too piercing 
 and corrosive; reading good .books of morality is a little 
 flat and dead ; observing our faults in others is sometimes 
 improper for our case; but the best receipt (best I say to 
 
 “ Tapestry. SpeakiDg hypercritically, Lord Bacon commits an ana¬ 
 chronism here, as Arras did not manufacture tapestry till the middle 
 ages, y 
 
i?iilEXDSHIP. 
 
 79 
 
 work and best to take) is tbe admonition of a friend. It is 
 a strange thing to behold what gi'oss errors and extreme 
 absurdities many (especially of the greater sort) do commit; 
 for want of a friend to tell them of them, to the great 
 damage both of their fame and fortune : for, as St. James 
 saith, they are as men that look sometimes into a glass, 
 and presently forget theii' own shape and faYour.”° As for 
 business, a man may think, if he will, that two eyes see no 
 more than one; or, that a gamester seeth always more than 
 a looker-on; or, that a man in anger is as wise as he that 
 hath said over the four and twenty letters or, that a 
 musket may be shot off as well upon the arm as upon a 
 rest ;P and such other fond and high imaginations, to think 
 himself all in all: but when all is done, the help of good 
 counsel is that which setteth business straight : and if any 
 man think that he will take counsel, but it shall be by pieces j 
 asking counsel in one business of one man, and in another 
 business of another man; it is well (that is to say, better, 
 perhaps, than if he asked none at all); but he runneth two 
 dangers; one, that he shall not be faithfully counselled; for 
 it is a rare thing, except it be from a perfect and entire 
 friend, to have counsel given, but such as shall be bowed and 
 crooked to some ends which he hath that giveth it: the 
 other, that he shall have counsel given, hurtful and imsafe 
 (though with good meaning), and mixed partly of mischief, 
 and partly of remedy; even as if you would call a physician, 
 that is thought good for the cure of the disease you com¬ 
 plain of, but is unacquainted with your body; and, therefore, 
 may put you in a way for a present cime, but overthroweth 
 your health in some other kind, and so cure the disease, and 
 kill the patient: but a friend, that is wholly acquainted with 
 a man’s estate, will beware, by furtheidng any present busi¬ 
 ness, how he dasheth upon other inconvenience; and there¬ 
 fore, rest not upon scattered counsels; they will rather dis¬ 
 tract and mislead, than settle and direct. 
 
 James i. 23. 
 
 ® He alludes to the recommendation which moralists have often given, 
 that a person in anger should go through the alphabet to himself before 
 he allows himself to speak. 
 
 P Ill his day the musket was fixed upon a stand, called the ''rest,” 
 much as the gingals or matchlocks are used in the East at the pro- 
 isent day. 
 
80 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the 
 affections, and support of the judgment), followeth the last 
 fruit, which is like the pomegranate, full of many kernels j I 
 mean aid, and bearing a part in all actions and occasions. 
 Here the best way to represent to life the manifold use of 
 friendsliip, is to cast and see how many things there are 
 which a man cannot do himself; and then it will appear that 
 it was a sparing speech of the ancients to say, that a friend 
 is another liimselffor that a friend is far more than him¬ 
 self. Men have their time, and die many times in desire of 
 some things which they principally take to heart ; the 
 bestowing of a child, the finishing of a work, or the like. If 
 a man have a true friend, he may rest almost secure that the 
 care of those things will continue after him j so that a man 
 liath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A man hath a body^ 
 and that body is confined to a place : but where friendship 
 is, all offices of life are, as it were, granted to him and his 
 deputy ; for he may exercise them by his friend. How 
 many things are there, which a man cannot, mth any face 
 or comeliness, say or do himself h A man can scarce allege 
 his own merits with modesty, much less extol them ; a man 
 cannot sometimes brook to supplicate, or beg, and a number 
 of the like : but all these things are graceful in a friend’s 
 mouth, which are blushing in a man’s own. So again, a 
 man’s person hath many proper relations which he cannot 
 put off, A man cannot speak to his son but as a fatlier; to 
 his wife but as a husband ; to his enemy but upon terms : 
 whereas a friend may speak as the case requires, and not as 
 it sorteth with the person : but to enumerate these things 
 were endless ; I have given the rule, where a man cannot 
 fitly play his own part, if he have not a friend, he may quit 
 the stage. 
 
 o 
 
 XXVIII.—OF EXPENSE. 
 
 Riches are for spending, and spending for honour and 
 good actions j therefore extraordinary expense must bo 
 limited by the worth of the occasion ; for voluntary undoing 
 may be as well for a man’s country as for the kingdom of 
 heaven j but ordinary expense ought to be limited by a 
 
TRUE GREATNESS OF KINGDOMS AND ESTATES. 
 
 81 
 
 man’s estate, and governed vdtli such regard, as it be within 
 his compass ; and not subject to deceit and abuse of servants ; 
 and ordered to the best show, that the bills may be less tlian 
 the estimation abroad. Certainly, if a man will keep but of 
 even hand, his ordinary expenses ought to be but to the half, 
 of his receipts ; and if he think to wax rich, but to the thii'd 
 part. It is no baseness for the greatest to descend and look 
 into their own estate. Some forbear it, not upon negligence 
 alone, but doubting to bring themselves into melancholy, in 
 respect they shall find it broken: but woimds cannot be 
 cured wfithout searching. He that cannot look into his own 
 estate at all, had need both choose well those whom ho 
 employeth, and change them often j for new are more 
 timorous and less subtle. He that can look into his estate 
 but seldom, it behoveth him to turn all to certainties. A 
 man had need, if he be plentiful in some kind of expense, to 
 be as saving again in some other : as if he be plentiful in 
 diet, to be saving in apparel : if he be plentiful in the hall, 
 to be saving in the stable: and the like. For he that is plen¬ 
 tiful in expenses of all kinds will hardly be preserved from 
 decay. In clearing^ of a man’s estate, he may as well hurt 
 himself in being too sudden, as in letting it run on too long ; 
 for hasty selling is commonly as disadvantageable as interest. 
 Besides, he that clears at once will relapse ; for finding him¬ 
 self out of straits, he will revert to his customs : but he that 
 cleareth by degrees induceth a habit of frugality, and gaineth • 
 as well upon his mind as upon his estate. Certainly, who ‘ 
 hath a state to repair, may not despise small things ; and, ' 
 commonly, it is less dishonourable to abridge petty charges 
 than to stoop to petty gettings. A man ought warily to 
 begin charges, which once begun will continue : but in mat¬ 
 ters that return not, he may be more magnificent. 
 
 XXIX.—OF THE TRUE GREATNESS OF KINGDOMS AND 
 
 ESTATES. 
 
 The speech of Themistocles, the Athenian, which was 
 liaughty and arrogant, in taking so much to himself, had 
 
 ■ From debts and incumbrances. 
 
 G 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 oeen a grave and wise observation and censure, applied at 
 large to others. Desired at a feast to touch a lute, he said. 
 He could not fiddle, but yet he coidd make a small town a 
 great city.” These words (holpen a little with a metaphor) 
 may express two difierent abilities in those that deal in 
 business of estate ; for if a true survey be taken of coun¬ 
 sellors and statesmen, there may be found (though rarely) 
 those which can make a small state great, and yet cannot 
 fiddle : as, on the other side, there will be found a great 
 many that can fiddle very cunningly, but yet are so far from 
 being able to make a small state great, as their gift lieth the 
 other way; to bring a great and flourishing estate to ruin 
 and decay. And certainly, those degenerate arts and shifts 
 whereby many counsellors and governors gain both favour 
 ^vith their masters and estimation with the vulgar, deserve 
 no better name than fiddling ; being things rather pleasing 
 for the time, and graceful to themselves only, than tending 
 to the weal and advancement of the state which they serve. 
 There are also (no doubt) counsellors and governors which 
 may be held sufficient, negotiis pares,” ^ able to manage 
 affairs, and to keep them from precipices and manifest incon¬ 
 veniences ; which, nevertheless, are far from the ability to 
 raise and amplify an estate in power, means, and fortune : 
 but be the workmen what they may be, let us speak of the 
 work ; that is, the true greatness of kingdoms and estates, 
 and the means thereof. An argument fit for great and 
 mighty princes to have in their hand; to the end, that 
 neither by over-measuring their forces, they lose themselves 
 in vain enterprises : nor, on the other side, by undervaluing 
 them, they descend to fearful and pusillanimous counsels. 
 
 The greatness of an estate, in bulk and territory, doth fall 
 under measure ; and the greatness of finances and.revenue 
 doth fall under computation. The population may appear 
 by musters ; and the number and greatness of cities and 
 towns by cards and maps ; but yet there is not anything 
 amongst civil affairs more subject to error than the right 
 valuation and true judgment concerning the power and forces 
 of an estate. The kingdom of heaven is compared, not to 
 any great kernel, or nut, but to a gi'ain of mustard-seed ; ^ 
 
 “Equal to business.” 
 
 He alludes to the following passage, St. Matthew xiii. 31 : “An- 
 
TRUE GREATNESS OF KINGDOMS AND ESTATES. 
 
 83 
 
 which is one of the least grains, but hath in it a property 
 and spirit hastily to get up and spread. So are there states 
 great in territory, and yet not apt to enlarge or command; 
 and some that have but a small dimension of stem, and yet 
 apt to be the foundations of great monarchies. 
 
 Walled towns, stored arsenals and armories, goodly races 
 of horse, chariots of war, elephants, ordnance, artillery, and 
 the like ; all this is but a sheep in a lion s skin, except the 
 breed and disposition of the people be stout and warlike. 
 Nay, number itself in armies importeth not much, where 
 the people is of weak courage; for, as Yirgil saith, It 
 never troubles a wolf how many the sheep be.” The army 
 of the Persians in the plains of Arbela was such a vast sea 
 • of people, as it did somewhat astonish the commanders in 
 Alexander s army, who came to him, therefore, and wished 
 him to set upon them by night; but he answered, “ He 
 would not pilfer the victory and the defeat was easy. 
 When Tigranes,® the Armenian, being encamped upon a hill 
 with four hundred thousand men, discovered the army of 
 the Romans, being not above fourteen thousand, marching 
 towards him, he made himself merry with it, and said. 
 
 Yonder men are too many for an ambassage, and too few 
 for a fightbut before the sun set, he foimd them enow to 
 give him the chase with infinite slaughter. Many are the 
 examples of the great odds between number and courage : 
 so that a man may truly make a judgment, that the prin¬ 
 cipal point of greatness in any state is to have a race of 
 military men. Neither is money the sinews of war (as it is 
 trivially said), where the sinews of men’s arms in base 
 and effeminate people are failing: for Solon said well to 
 Croesus (when in ostentation he showed him his gold), Sir, 
 if any other come that hath better iron than you, he will 
 be master of all this gold.” Therefore, let any prince, or 
 state, think soberly of liis forces, except his militia of natives 
 
 be of good and valiant soldiers; and let princes, on the 
 
 % 
 
 other parable put he forth unto thfem, saying, The kingdom of heaven is 
 like to a grain of mustard-seed, which a man took and sowed in his field : 
 which indeed is the least of all seeds; but when it is grown, it is the 
 greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air 
 come and lodge in the branches thereof.” 
 
 ' He was vanquished by LucuUus, and finally submitted! to Pompey. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 other side, that have subjects of martial disj)osition, know 
 their own strength, unless they be otherwise wanting unto 
 themselves. As for mercenary forces (which is the help in 
 this case), all examples shov,r that, whatsoever estate, or 
 prince, doth rest upon tliem, he may spread liis feathers for 
 a time, but he will mew them soon after. 
 
 The blessing of Judah and Issachar^ will never meet; 
 that the same people, or nation, should be both the lion’s 
 whelp and the ass between burdens; neither will it be, that 
 a people overlaid with taxes should ever become valiant and • 
 martial. It is true that taxes, levied by consent of the 
 estate, do abate men’s courage less; as it hath been seen 
 notably in the excises of the Low Countries; and, in some 
 degree, in the subsidies^ of England; for, you must note, 
 that we speak now of the heart, and not of the purse; so 
 that, although the same tribute and tax, laid by consent or 
 by imposing, be all one to the purse, yet it works diversely 
 upon the courage. So that you may conclude, that no 
 people overcharged Avith tribute is fit for empire. 
 
 Let states that aim at greatness take heed how theii* 
 nobility and gentlemen do multiply too fast; for that 
 maketh the common subject grow to be a peasant and base 
 swain, driven out of heaii}, and in effect but the gentleman’s 
 labourer. Even as you may see in coppice woods; if you 
 leave your staddles^ too thick, you shall never have clean 
 underwood, but shrubs and bushes. So in countries, if the 
 gentlemen be f oo many, the commons will be base; and you 
 will bring it to that, that not the hundred poll will be fit 
 for a helmet: especially as to the infantry, which is the 
 nerve of an army; and so there will be great population and 
 little strength. This which I speak of hath been nowhere 
 better seen than by comparing of England and France; 
 whereof England, though far less in territory and population, 
 hath been (nevertheless) an overmatch; in regard the mid- 
 
 ^ He alludes to the prophetic words of Jacob on his death-bed, Gen. 
 
 xlix. 9, 14, 15: Judah is a lion’s whelp-he stooped down, he 
 
 crouched as a lion, and as an old lion-Issachar is a strong ass crouch¬ 
 
 ing down between two burdens : And he saw that rest was good, and the 
 land that it was pleasant; and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became 
 a servant unto tribute.” 
 
 ® Sums of money voluntarily contributed by the people for the use of 
 the sovereign. ^ Young trees. 
 
TRUE GREATJsESS OF KINGDOMS AND ESTATES. 
 
 85 
 
 die people of England make good soldiers, wliicli tlie peasants 
 of France do not: and herein the device of King Hemy the 
 Seventh (whereof I have spoken largely in the history of his 
 life) was profoimd and admirable; in making" farms and 
 houses of husbandry of a standard ; that is, maintained vith 
 such a proportion of land unto them as may breed a subject 
 to live in convenient plenty, and no servile condition; and 
 to keep the plough in the hands of the owners, and not 
 mere hhelings; and thus indeed you shall attain to Yirgil’s 
 chamcter, which he gives to ancient Italy ; 
 
 Terra potens armis atque ubere gieb®.”^' 
 
 Neither is that state (which, for any tiling I know, is 
 almost peculiar to England, and hardly to be foimd anywhere 
 else, except it be, perhaps, in Poland) to be passed over; I 
 mean the state of free servants and attendants upon noble¬ 
 men and gentlemen, which are no ways inferior unto the 
 yeomanry for arms ; and, therefore, out of all question, the 
 splendoim and magnificence, and great retinues, and hospi¬ 
 tality of noblemen and gentlemen received into custom, do 
 much conduce unto martial greatness; whereas, contrariwise, 
 the close and reserved li\ing of noblemen and gentlemen 
 . causeth a penury of military forces. 
 
 By all means it is to be procured that the trunk of 
 Nebuchadnezzar’s 'tree of monarchybe great enough to 
 bear the branches and the boughs ; that is, that the natural 
 subjects of the crown, or state, bear a sufficient proportion 
 to the stranger subjects that they govern; therefore all 
 states that are liberal of natui’alization towards strangers are' 
 fit for empire; for to think that a handful of people can, 
 vdth the gi’eatest courage and policy in the world, embrace 
 too large extent of dominion, it may hold for a time, but it 
 will fail suddenly. The Spai*tans were a nice people in 
 
 A land stroii" in arms and in the richness of the soil.*’ 
 
 o 
 
 ^ He alludes to the di*eam of Nebuchadnezzar, which is mentioned 
 ])aniel iv. 10 : “I saw, and, behold a tree in the midst of the earth, and 
 the height thereof was great. The tree grew, and was strong, and the 
 height thereof reached unto heaven, and the sight thereof to the end of 
 all the earth ; the leaves thereof were fair, and the fiaiit thereof much, 
 and in it was meat for all; the beasts of the field had shadow under it, 
 and the fowls of the heaven dwelt in the boughs thereof, and all flesh 
 was fed of it.” 
 
86 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 point of naturalization; whereby, while they kept their 
 compass, they stood firm; but when they did spread, and 
 their boughs were becoming too great for their stem, they 
 became a windfall upon the sudden. Never any state was, 
 in this point, so open to receive strangers into their body as 
 were the PvOmans ; therefore it sorted with them accordingly, 
 for they grew to the greatest monarchy. Their manner was 
 to grant naturalization (which they called “ jus civitatis”),^^ 
 and to grant it in the highest degree, that is, not only 
 jus commercii,^ jus connubii,^ jus hsereditatis but also, 
 "jus sufiragii,”’^ and " jus honorum;”^ and this not to 
 singular persons alone, but likewise to whole families; yea, 
 to cities, and sometimes to nations. Add to this their 
 custom of plantation of colonies, whereby the Noman plant 
 was removed into the soil of other nations, and, putting both 
 constitutions together, you will say, that it was not the 
 Homans that spread upon the world, but it was the world 
 that spread upon the Homans; and that was the sure way 
 of greatness. I have marvelled sometimes at Spain, how 
 they clasp and contain so large dominions with so few 
 natural Spaniardsbut sure the whole compass of Spain is 
 a very great body of a tree, far above Home and Sparta at 
 the first; and, besides, though they have not had that usage 
 to naturalize liberally, yet they have that which is next to 
 it; that is, to employ, almost indifierently, all nations in 
 their militia of ordinary soldiers; yea, and sometimes in 
 them highest commands; nay, it seemeth at this instant 
 they are sensible of this want of natives; as by the prag¬ 
 matical sanction,P now published, appeareth. 
 
 It is certain, that sedentary and within-door arts, and 
 delicate manufactures (that require rather the finger than 
 the arm), have in their nature a contrariety to a military 
 disposition; and generally all warlike people are a little 
 idle, and love danger better than travail; neither must they 
 
 Right of citizenship.’* * Right of trading.” 
 
 ^ Right of intermarriage.” ^ Right of inheritance.” 
 
 “ Right of sufeage.” ''Right of honours.” 
 
 ° Long since the time of Lord Bacon, as soon as these colonies had 
 arrived at a certain state of maturity, they at different periods revolted 
 from the mother countr 3 \ 
 
 p The laws and ordinances promulgated by the sovereigns of Spain 
 were so called. The term was derived from the Byzantine empire. 
 
TRUE GREATNESS OF KINGDOMS AND ESTATES. 
 
 87 
 
 be too much broken of it, if they shall be preserved in 
 \dgour : therefore it was great advantage in the ancient 
 states of Sparta, Athens, Home, and others, that they 
 had the use of slaves, which commonly did rid those 
 manufactures; but that is abolished, in greatest part, by 
 the Christian law. That which cometh nearest to it is, 
 to leave those arts chiefly to strangers (which, for that pur¬ 
 pose, are the more easily to be received), and to contain the 
 principal bulk of the vulgar natives witliin those three kinds, 
 tillers of the ground, free servants, and handicraftsmen of 
 strong and manly .arts; as smiths, masons, carpenters, <fec., 
 not reckoning professed soldiers. 
 
 But, above all, for empire and greatness, it importeth 
 most, that a nation do profess arms as them principal honour, 
 study, and occupation; for the things which we formerly 
 have spoken of are but habilitations^ towards arms ; and 
 what is habilitation without intention and act ? Romulus, 
 after his death (as they report or feign), sent a present to 
 the Romans, that above all they should intend^ arms, and 
 then they should prove the greatest empire of the world. 
 The fabric of the state of Sparta was wholly (though not 
 wisely) framed and composed to that scope and end; the 
 Persians and Macedonians had it for a flash; ^ the Guuls, 
 Germans, Goths, Saxons, Normans, and others, had it for a 
 time : the Turks have it at this day, though in great decli¬ 
 nation. Of Christian Europe, they that have it are in efiect 
 only the Spaniards : but it is so plain, that every man pro- 
 fiteth in that he most intendeth, that it needeth not to be 
 stood upon : it is enough to point at it; that no nation 
 which doth not directly profess arms, may look to have 
 greatness fall into their mouths; and, on the other side, it is 
 a most certain oracle of time, that those states that continue 
 long in that profession (as the Romans and Turks principally 
 have done) do wonders; and those that have professed arms 
 but for an age have, notwithstanding, commonly attained 
 that greatness in that age which maintained them long after, 
 when their profession and exercise of arms had gro^vn to 
 decav. 
 
 Incident to this point is, for a state to have tliose laws or 
 
 ^ Qualifications. ' Attond to. 
 
 " For a short or transitory period. 
 
88 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 customs which may reach forth unto them just occasions (as 
 may be pretended) of war; for there is that justice im¬ 
 printed in the nature of men, that they enter not upon wars 
 (whereof so many calamities do ensue), but upon some, at the 
 least specious grounds and quarrels. The Turk hath at hand, 
 for cause of war, the propagation of his law or sect, a quarrel 
 that he may always command. The Romans, though they 
 esteemed the extending thp limits of their empire to be gTeat 
 lionour to their generals when it was done, yet they never 
 rested upon that alone to begin a war ; first, therefore, let 
 nations that pretend to greatness have this, that they be 
 sensible of wrongs, either upon borderers, merchants, or 
 politic ministers; and that they sit not too long upon a pro¬ 
 vocation : secondly, let them be pressed ^ and ready to give 
 aids and succours to their confederates ; as it ever was with 
 the Romans ; insomuch, as if the confederate had leagues 
 defensive with divers other states, and, upon invasion offered, 
 did implore their aids severally, yet the Romans would ever 
 be the foremost, and leave it, to none other to have the 
 honour. As for the wars, which were anciently made on the 
 behalf of a kind of party .or tacit conformity of estate, I do 
 not see how they may be well justified : as when the Romans 
 made a war for the liberty of Graecia : or, when the Lacedae¬ 
 monians and Athenians made wars to set up or pull down 
 democracies and oligarchies : or when wars were made by 
 foreigners, under the pretence of justice or protection, to 
 deliver the subjects of others from tyranny and oppression; 
 and the like. Let it suffice, that no estate exjDect to be 
 great, that is not awake upon any just occasion of arming. 
 
 No body can be healthful without exercise, neither natural 
 body nor politic; and, certainly, to a kingdom, or estate, a 
 just and honourable war is the true exercise. A civil war, 
 indeed, is like the heat of a fever ; but a foreign war is like 
 the heat of exercise, and serveth to keep the body in 
 health ; for in a slothful peace, both courages will efieminate 
 and manners corrupt: but howsoever it be for happiness, 
 without all question for greatness, it maketh to be still for 
 the most part in arms j and the strength of a veteran army 
 (though it be a chargeable business), always on foot, is that 
 
 ^ Be in a hurry. 
 
TRUE GREATNESS OF KINGDOMS AND ESTATES. 
 
 89 
 
 wi'iicli commonly givetli tlie law, or at least, the reputation 
 amongst all neighboim states, as may well be seen in Spain,^ 
 wliicli hath had, in one part or other, a veteran army almost 
 continually, now by the space of six-score years. 
 
 To be master of the sea is an abridgment of a monarchy. 
 Cicero, writing to Atticus, of Pompey’s preparation against 
 Caesar, saith, ‘‘ Consilium Pompeii plane Themistocleum est; 
 putat enim, qui mari potitur, eum rerum potiri ; ” ^ and 
 ^vithout doubt, Pompey had tired out Caesar, if upon vain 
 confidence he had not left that way. We see the great 
 effects of battles by sea : the battle of Actium decided the 
 empire of the world; the battle of Lepanto arrested the 
 greatness of the Timk. There be many examples wfiere sea- 
 fights have been final to the war : but this is when princes, 
 or states, have set up their rest upon the battles. But thus 
 much is certain; that he that commands the sea is at great 
 liberty, and may take as much and as little of the war as he 
 will; whereas those that be strongest by land are many times, 
 nevertheless, in great straits. Surely, at this day, with us of 
 Europe the vantage of strength at sea (wliich is one of the 
 principal dowiies of this kingdom of Great Biitain) is great; 
 both because most of the kingdoms of Euro23e are not merely 
 inland, but girt with the sea most part of their comjoass; 
 and because the wealth of both Indies seems, in great part, 
 but an accessary to the command of the seas. 
 
 The wars of latter ages seem to be made in the dark, in 
 respect of the glory and honour which reflected u^ion men 
 from the wars in ancient time. There be now, for martial 
 encoiu’agement, some degrees and orders of chivalry, which, 
 nevertheless, are conferred promiscuously upon soldiers and 
 no soldiers; and some remembrance perhaps ujDon the 
 escutcheon, and some hospitals for maimed soldiers, and such 
 like things ; but in ancient times, the trophies erected upon 
 the place of the victory; the funeral laudatives y and monu- 
 inents for those that died in the wars ; the cro^vns and gar¬ 
 lands personal; the style of emperor wliich the great kings 
 
 ^ It was its immense armaments that in a great measure consumed 
 the vitals of Spain. 
 
 * Pompey’s plan is clearly that of Themistocles ; for he believes that 
 whoever is master of the sea will obtain the supreme power.” 
 
 ^ Encomiums. 
 
00 
 
 ESSAYS, 
 
 of the world after borrowc'd ; the triumphs of the generals 
 upon their return; the great donatives and largesses upon 
 the disbanding of the armies, were things able to inflame all 
 men’s coimages ; but above all, that of the triumph amongst 
 the Homans was not pageants, or gaudery, but one of the 
 wisest and noblest institutions that ever was; for it con¬ 
 tained three things; honour to the general, riches to the 
 treasury out of the spoils, and donatives to the army : but 
 that honour, perhaps, were not fit for monarchies, except ib 
 be in the person of the monarch himself, or his sons ; as it 
 came to pass in the times of the Homan emperors, who did 
 impropriate the actual triumphs to themselves and their sons, 
 for such wars as they did achieve in person, and left only foi 
 wars achieved by subjects, some triumphal garments and 
 ensigns to the general. 
 
 To conclude : no man can by care taking (as the Scripture 
 saith), add a cubit to his stature,” ^ in this little model of a 
 man’s body; but in the great frame of kingdoms and common¬ 
 wealths, it is in the power of princes, or estates, to add 
 amplitude and greatness to their kingdoms ; for by intro¬ 
 ducing such ordinances, constitutions, and customs, as we 
 have now touched, they may sow greatness to their posterity 
 and succession : but these things are commonly not observed, 
 but left to take their chance. 
 
 XXX.—OF EEGIMEN OF HEALTH. 
 
 There is a wisdom in this beyond the rules of physic : a 
 man’s own observation, what he finds good of, and what he 
 finds hurt of, is the best physic to preserve health ; but it is 
 a safer conclusion to say, This agreeth not well with me, 
 therefore I will not continue itthan this, I find no 
 ofience of this, therefore I may use it for strength of 
 nature in youth passeth over many excesses which are owing ^ 
 a man till his age. Discern of the coming on of years, and 
 think not to do the same things still; for age will not bo 
 defied. Beware of sudden change in any great point of diet, 
 
 * St. ^Matthew vi. 27 ; St. Lulce xii. 25. 
 
 ® The effects of which must be felt in old age. 
 
REGIMEN OF HEALTH. 
 
 91 
 
 and, if necessity enforce it, fit the rest to it; for it is a 
 secret both in nature and state, that it is safer to change 
 many things than one. Examine thy customs of diet, sleep 
 exercise, apparel, and the like ; and try, in anything thou 
 shalt judge hurtful, to discontinue it by little and little ; but 
 so, as if thou dost find any inconvenience by the change, 
 thou come back to it again: for it is hard to distinguish that 
 which is generally held good and wholesome, from that which 
 is good particularly,^ and fit for thine own body. To be free- 
 minded and cheerfully disposed at hours of meat, and of sleep, 
 and of exercise, is one of the best precepts of long lasting. 
 As for the passions and studies of the mind, avoid envy, 
 anxious fears, anger fretting inwards, subtle and knotty 
 inquisitions, joys, and exhilarations in excess, sadness not 
 communicated. Entertain hopes, mirth rather than joy, 
 variety of delights, rather than surfeit of them ; wondei 
 and admiration, and therefore novelties ; studies that fill the 
 mind with splendid and illustrious objects; as histories, fables, 
 and contemplations of nature. If you fly physic in health 
 altogether, it* ^vill be too strange for your body when you 
 shall need it; if you make it too familiar, it will work no 
 extraordinary effect when sickness cometh. I commend 
 rather some diet, for certain seasons, than frequent use of 
 physic, except it be grown into a custom ; for those diets 
 alter the body more, and trouble it less. Despise no new 
 accident‘s in your body, but ask opinion‘s of it. In sickness, 
 respect health principally; and in health, action : for those 
 that put their bodies to endure in health, may, in most sick¬ 
 nesses which are not very sharp, be cured only with diet and 
 tendering. Celsus could never have spoken it as a physician, 
 had he not been a wise man withal, when he giveth it for one 
 of the great precepts of health and lasting, that a man do 
 vary and interchange contraries, but with an inclination to 
 the more benign extreme : use fasting and full eating, but 
 rather full eating;® watching and sleep, but rather sleep; 
 sitting and exercise, but rather exercise, and the like : so 
 shall nature be cherished, and yet taught masteries. Physi- 
 
 ^ Of benefit in your individual case. 
 
 ® Any striking change in the constitution. 
 
 ^ Take rnedical advice. 
 
 * Incline rather to fully satisfying your hunger- 
 
92 
 
 clans are some of tliem so pleasing and conformable to the 
 humour of the patient, as they press not the true cure of the 
 disease ; and some other are so regular in proceeding accord¬ 
 ing to art for the disease, as they respect not sufficiently the 
 condition of ‘ the patient. Take one of a middle temper ; or, 
 if it may not be found in one man, combine two of either 
 ;Sort j and forget not to call as well the best acquainted with 
 your body, as the best reputed of for his faculty. 
 
 XXXL^^OF SCTSPICIOX. 
 
 Suspicions amongst thoughts are like bats amongst birds, 
 they ever fly by twilight : certainly they are to be repressed, 
 or at the least well guarded ; for they cloud the mind, they 
 lose friends, and they check with business, whereby business 
 cannot go on currently and constantly : they dispose kings 
 to tyranny, husbands to jealousy, wise men to irresolution 
 and melancholy : they are defects, not in the heart, but in 
 the brain ; for they take place in the stoutest natures, as in 
 the example of Henry YII. of England ; there was not a 
 more suspicious man nor a more stout : and in such a com¬ 
 position they do small hurt; for commonly they are not 
 admitted, but wdth examination, whether they be likely or 
 no ; but in fearful natures they gain gTOund too fast. There 
 is nothing makes a man suspect much, more than to know 
 little j and therefore men should remedy suspicion by pro¬ 
 curing to know more, and not to keep their suspicions in 
 smother. What vfould men have Do they think those they 
 employ and deal with are saints ? Do they not think they 
 Avill have their own ends, and be truer to themselves than to 
 them? Therefore there is no better way to moderate suspicions, 
 than to account upon such suspicions as true, and yet to 
 bridle them as false for so far a man ought to make use of 
 suspicions, as to provide, as if that should be true that he 
 •suspects, yet it may do him no hurt. Suspicions that the 
 mind of itself gathers are but buzzes ; but suspicions that 
 are artificially nourished, and put into men’s heads by the 
 
 ' • To hope the best, but be fiilly prepared for the worst. 
 
DISCOURSE. 93 
 
 tales and whisperings of others, have stings. Certainly, the 
 best mean, to clear the way in this same wood of suspicions, 
 is frankly to communicate them with the party that he sus¬ 
 pects; for thereby he shall be sure to know more of the 
 truth of them than he did before ; and withal shall make 
 that party more circumspect, not to give further cause of 
 suspicion. But this would not be done to men of base 
 natures ; for they, if they find themselves once suspected, 
 will never be true. The Italian says, “Sospetto Hcentia 
 fede as if suspicion did give a passport to faith; but 
 it ought rather to kindle it to discharge itself. 
 
 XXXII.—OF DISCOUESE. 
 
 Some in their discourse desire rather commendation of 
 wit, in being able to hold all arguments,^ than of judgment, 
 in discerning what is true ; as if it were a praise to know 
 what might be said, and not what should be thought. Some 
 have certain common-places 'and themes, wherein they are 
 good, and want variety; which kind of poverty is for the 
 most part tedious, and, when it is once perceived, ridiculous. 
 The honourablest part of talk is to give the occasion and 
 again to moderate and pass to somewhat else; for then a man 
 leads the dance. It is good in discourse, and speech of 
 conversation, to vary, and intermingle speech of the present 
 occasion with arguments, tales with reasons, asking of ques¬ 
 tions wdth telling of opinions, and jest with earnest; for it 
 is a dull thing to tire, and as we say now, to jade anything 
 too far. As for jest, there be certain things which ought to 
 be privileged from it; namely, religion, matters of state, 
 great persons, any man’s present business of importance, and 
 any case that deserveth pity ; yet there be some that think 
 their wits have been asleep, except they dart out somewhat 
 that is piquant, and to the quick ; that is a vein which would 
 be bridled 
 
 ^ '' Suspicion is the passport to faith.” 
 
 • A censure of this nature has been applied by some to Dr. Johnson^ 
 and possibly with some reason, 
 
 ** To start the subject. ® Requires to be bridled. 
 
94 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 ✓ 
 
 '' Parce, puer, stimulis, et fortms utere lorig.”' 
 
 And, generally, men ought to find the difierence between 
 saltness and bitterness. Certainly, he that hath a satirical 
 vein, as he maketh others afraid of his wit, so he had need 
 be afraid of others’ memory. He that questioneth much, 
 shall learn much, and content much ; but especially if he 
 apply his questions to the skill of the persons whom he 
 asketh; for he shall give them occasion to please themselves 
 in speaking, and himself shall continually gather knowledge; 
 but let his questions not be troublesome, for that is fit for a 
 poser; ® and let him be sure to leave other men their turns 
 to speak : nay, if there be any that would reign and take up 
 all the time, let him find means to take them ofi*, and to 
 bring others on, as musicians used to do Avith those that 
 dance too long galliards.^ If you dissemble sometimes your 
 knowledge of that you are thought to know, you shall 
 be thought, another time, to know that you Imow not- 
 Speech of a man’s self ought to be seldom, and well chosen, 
 I knew one was wont to say in scorn, “ He must needs be a 
 wise man, he speaks so much of himselfand there is but 
 one case wherein a man may commend himself with good 
 grace, and that is in commending virtue in another, especially 
 if it be such a virtue whereunto himself pretendeth. Speech 
 of touch s towards others should be sparingly used ; for dis- 
 course ought to be as a field, without coming home to any 
 man. I knew two noblemen, of the west part of England, 
 whereof the one was given to scofi*, but kept ever royal cheer 
 in his house; the other would ask of those that had been at 
 the other’s table, Tell truly, was there never a fiout ^ or dry 
 blow^ given To which the guest would answer, “ Such and 
 such a thing passed.” The lord would say, I thought he 
 would mar a good dinner.” Discretion of speech is more 
 than eloquence; and to speak agreeably to him with whom 
 we deal, is more than to speak,in good words, or in good 
 order. A good continued speech, without a good speech of 
 
 ^ He quotes here from Ovid: ** Boy, spare the whip, and tightly 
 grasp the reins.” * One who tests or examines. 
 
 ^ The Galliard was a light active dance much in fashion in the time 
 of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 s Hits at, or remarka intended to be applied to particular individuals- 
 
 ^ A slight or insult. * A sarcastic remark. 
 
PLANTATIONS. 
 
 95 
 
 interlocution, shows slowness ; and a good reply, or second 
 speech, without a good settled speech, showeth shallowness 
 and weakness. As we see in beasts, that those that arc 
 weakest in the course, are yet nimblest in the turn ; as it is 
 betwixt the greyhound and the hare. To use too many 
 circumstances, ere one come to the matter, is wearisome ; to 
 use none at all, is blunt. 
 
 - XXXIII.—OF PLANTATIONS.'' 
 
 Plantations are amongst ancient, primitive, and heroical 
 works. When the world was young, it begat more children ; 
 but now it is old, it begets fewer : for I may justly account 
 new plantations to be the children of former kingdoms. I 
 like a plantation in a pure soil; that is, where people are not 
 displanted,^ to the end to plant in others ; for e\se it is 
 rather an extirpation than a plantation. Planting of coun¬ 
 tries is like planting of woods ; for you must make account 
 to lose almost twenty years’ profit, and expect your recom¬ 
 pense in the end ; for the principal thing that hath been the 
 destruction of most plantations, hath been the base and hasty 
 drawing of profit in the first years. It is true, speedy profit 
 is not to be neglected, as far as may stand with the good of 
 the plantation, but no farther. It is a shameful and un¬ 
 blessed thing‘s to take the scum of people and wicked con¬ 
 demned men, to be the people with whom you plant; and 
 not only so, but it spoileth the plantation ; for they will ever 
 live like rogues, and not fall to work, but be lazy, and do 
 mischief, and spend victuals, and be quickly weary, and then 
 certify over tc their country to the discredit of the plantation. 
 The people wherewith you plant ought to be gardeners, plough¬ 
 men, labourers, smiths, carpenters, joiners, fishermen, fowders, 
 with some few apothecaries, surgeons, cooks, and bakers. In 
 
 * The old term for Colonies. 
 
 ** He perhaps alludes covertly to the conduct of the Spaniards in 
 extirpating the aboriginal inhabitants of the West India Islands, against 
 which the venerable Las Casas so eloquently but vainly protested. 
 
 ® Of course this censure would not apply to what is primarily and 
 essentially a convict colony ; the object of which is to drain the mother 
 country of its impure superfluities. 
 
96 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 a country of plantation, first look about what kind of victual 
 the country yields of itself to hand : as chestnuts, walnuts, 
 pine-apples, olives, dates, plums, cherries, wild honey, and the 
 like; and make use of them. Then consider what victual, or 
 esculent things there are, which grow speedily, and within 
 the year; as parsnips, carrots, turnips, onions, radish, arti¬ 
 chokes of Jerusalem, maize, and the like : for wheat, barley, 
 and oats, they ask too much labour ; but with pease and 
 beans you may begin, both because they ask less labour, and 
 because they serve for meat as well as for bread ; and of rice 
 likewise cometh a great increase, and it is a kind of meat. 
 Above all, there ought to be brought store of biscuit, oatmeal, 
 flour, meal, and the like, in the beginning, till bread may be 
 had. For beasts, or birds, take chiefly such as are least sub-*" 
 ject to diseases, and multiply fastest; as swine, goats, cocks, 
 hens, turkeys, geese, house-doves, and the like. The victual 
 in plantations ought to be expended almost as in a besieged 
 town ; that is, with certain allowance : and let the main 
 part of the ground employed to gardens or corn, be to a 
 common stock ; and to be laid in, and stored up, and then 
 delivered out in proportion; besides some spots of groimd 
 that any particular person will manure for his own private 
 use. Consider, likewise, what commodities the soil where 
 the plantation is doth naturally yield, that they may some 
 way help to defray the charge of the plantation; so it be 
 not, as was said, to the untimely prejudice of the main busi¬ 
 ness, as it hath fared with tobacco in Virginia.*^ Wood 
 commonly aboundeth but too much ; and therefore timber is 
 fit to be one. If there be iron ore, and streams whereupon 
 to set the mills, ii'on is a brave commodity where wood 
 aboundeth. Making of bay-salt, if the climate be proper 
 for it, would be put in experience : growing silk, likewise, if 
 any be, is a likely commodity: pitch and tar, where store of 
 firs and pines are, will not fail; so drugs and sweet woods, 
 where they are, cannot but yield great profit: soap-ashes, 
 likewise, and other things that may be thought of; but moil® 
 not too much under ground, for the hope of mines is very 
 uncertain, and useth to make the planters lazy in other 
 
 ^ Times have much changed since this was penned : tobacco is now 
 the staple commodity, and the source of ^'the main business” ol 
 Virginia. ' * To labour hard. 
 
FL.U<TATIONS. 
 
 97 
 
 tilings. For government, let it be in the bands of one, 
 assisted with some counsel ; and let them have commission 
 to exercise martial laws, with some limitation ; and above 
 all, let men make that profit of being in the wilderness, as 
 they have God always, and liis service, before them eyes : let 
 not the government of the plantation depend upon too many 
 counsellors and undertakers in the country that planteth, but 
 upon a temperate number ; and let those be rather noblemen 
 •and gentlemen, than merchants ; for they look ever to the 
 nresent gain. Let there be freedoms from custom, till the 
 plantation be of strength; and not only freedom from cus¬ 
 tom, but freedom to carry their commodities where they may 
 make their best of them, except there be some special cause 
 of caution. Cram not in people, by sending too fast company 
 after company ; but rather hearken how they waste, and 
 send supplies proportionably ; but so as the number may 
 live well in the plantation, and not by surcharge be in 
 penury. It hath been a great endangering to the health of 
 some plantations, that they have built along the sea and 
 rivers, in marish^ and unwholesome groimds : therefore, 
 though you begin there, to avoid carriage and other like 
 discommodities, yet build still rather upwards from the 
 streams, than along. It concerneth likemse the health of the 
 plantation, that they have good store of salt with them, that 
 they may use it in their victuals when it shall be necessary. 
 If you plant where savages are, do not only entertain them 
 with trifies and gingles,^ but use them justly and graciously, 
 with sufficient guard nevertheless; and do not win their 
 favour by helping them to invade their enemies, but for their 
 defence it is not amiss ; and send oft of them over to the 
 country that plants, that they may see a better condition 
 than their own, and commend it when they return. When 
 the plantation grows to strength, then it is time to plant 
 with women as well as with men ; that the plantation may 
 spread into generations, and not be ever pieced jfi’om without. 
 It is the sinfullest thing in the world to forsake or destitute 
 a plantation once in forwardness ; for, besides the dishonour, 
 it is the guiltiness of blood of many commiserable person^ 
 
 * Marshy ; from the French TnaraiS; a marsh. 
 
 K Gewgaws, or spangles. 
 
 H 
 
 % 
 
98 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 ✓ 
 
 XXIY.—OF EICHES, 
 
 I CANNOT call riches better than the baggage of virtue j 
 the Koman word is better, impedimentafor as the 
 baggage is to an army, so is riches to virtue; it cannot be 
 spared nor left behind, but it hindereth the march ; yea, 
 and the care of it sometimes loseth or disturbeth the victory: 
 of gi'eat riches there is no real use, except it be in the dis¬ 
 tribution j the rest is but conceit; so saith Solomon, Where 
 much is, there are many to consume it; and what hath the 
 owner but the sight of it with his eyes?”^ The personal 
 fruition in any man cannot reach to feel great riches : there 
 is a custody of them ; or a power of dole and donative of 
 them; or a fame of them; but no solid use to the ovmer. 
 Do you not see what feigned prices are set upon little stones 
 and rarities'? and what works of ostentation are undertaken, 
 because there might seem to be some use of great riches ? 
 But then you will say, they may be of use to buy men out 
 of dangers or troubles; as Solomon saith, Biches are as a 
 strong hold in the imagination of the rich man but this 
 is excellently’ expressed, that it is in imagination, and not 
 always in fact: for, certainly, great riches have sold more 
 men than they have bought out. Seek not proud riches, 
 but such as thou mayest get justly, use soberly, distribute 
 cheerfully, and leave contentedly; yet have no abstract nor 
 friarly contempt of them; but distinguish, as Cicero saith 
 well of Babirius Posthumus, In studio rei amplificandse 
 apparebat, non avaritise prsedam, sed instrumentum bonitati 
 quseri.”^^ Hearken also to Solomon, and beware of hasty 
 gathering of riches : Qui festinat ad divitias, non erit 
 
 insons.”*! The poets feign, that when Plutus (which is 
 
 * He alludes to Ecclesiastes v. 11, the words of which are somewhat 
 varied in our version : When goods increase, they are increased that 
 eat them ; and what good is there to the owners thereof, saving the 
 beholding of them with their eyes ? ” 
 
 ^ '^The rich man’s wealth is his strong city.”—Prov. x. 15 ; xviii. 11. 
 ® In his anxiety to increase his fortune, it was evident that not the 
 gratification of avarice was sought, but the means of doing good.” 
 
 ^ who hastens to riches will not be without guilt.” In our 
 
 version the words are : ^^He that maketh haste to be rich shall not bo 
 innocent.”—Proverbs xxviii. 22. 
 
 
RICHES. 
 
 99 
 
 riches) is sent from Jupiter, he limps, and goes slowly; but 
 when he is sent fi'om Pluto, he runs, and is swift of foot; 
 meaning, that riches gotten by good means and just labour 
 pace slowly ; but when they come by the death of others® 
 (as by the course of inheritance, testaments, and the like), 
 they come tumbling upon a man : but it might be applied 
 likewise to Pluto, taking him for the devil: for when riches 
 come from-the devil (as by fraud and oppression, and unjust 
 means), they come upon speed. The ways .to enrich are 
 many, and most of them foul: parsimony is one of the best, 
 and yet is not innocent; for it withholdeth men from works 
 of liberality and charity. The improvement of the ground 
 is the most natural obtaining of riches; for it is our great 
 mother’s blessing, the earth’s; but it is slow; and yet, 
 where men of great wealth do stoop to husbandry, it multi- 
 plieth riches exceedingly. I knew a nobleman in England 
 that had the greatest audits^ of any man in my time, 
 a great grazier, a great sheep-master, a great timber-man, 
 a great collier, a great corn-master, a great lead-man, and so 
 of iron, and a number of the like points of husbandry ; so as 
 the earth seemed a sea to him in respect of the perpetual 
 importation. It was truly observed by one, “ That himself 
 came very hardly to a little riches, and very easily to great 
 richesfor, when a man’s stock is come to that, that he 
 can expect the prime of markets,^ and overcome those bar¬ 
 gains, which for their greatness are few men’s money, and be 
 partner in the industries of younger men, he cannot but 
 increase mainly. The gains of ordinary trades and vocations 
 are honest, and furtheresd by two things, chiefly: by dili¬ 
 gence, and by a good name for good and fair dealing; but 
 the gains of bargains are of a more doubtful nature, when 
 men shall wait upon others’ necessity : broke by servants 
 and instruments to draw them on ; put off others cunningly 
 that would be better chapmen, and the like ])ractices, which 
 are crafty and naught; as for the chopping of bargains, 
 when a man buys not to hold, but to sell oyer again, that 
 commonly grindeth double, both upon the seller and upon 
 
 ® Pluto being the king of the Infernal regions, or place of departe'J 
 spirits. 
 
 ^ Rent-roll, or account taken of income. 
 
 ^ Wait till prices have risen. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 the buyer. Sharings do gi’eatly enrich, if the hands be 'vrell 
 chosen that are trusted. Usury is the certainest means of 
 gain, though one of the worst; as that whereby a man doth 
 eat liis bread, in sudore vultus alieni;”^i and besides, doth 
 plough upon Sim days : but yet certain thou gh it be, it hath 
 Saws; for that the scriveners and brokers do value unsound 
 men to serve their own timn. The fortune, in being the 
 first in an invention, or in a privilege, d’Oth cause-sometimes 
 a wonderful overgrowth in riches, as it was with the first 
 sugarman^ in the Canaries : therefore, if a man can play 
 the true logician, to have as well judgment as invention, he 
 may do great matters, especially if the times be fit: he that 
 resteth upon gains certain, shall hardly grow to great riches; 
 and he that puts all upon adventimes, doth oftentimes break 
 and come to poverty: it is good, therefore, to guard ad¬ 
 ventures with certainties that may uphold losses. Mono¬ 
 polies, and coemption of wares for resale, where they are 
 not restrained, are great means to enrich; especially if the 
 party h/ve intelligence what things are like to come into 
 request, and so store himself beforehand. Riches gotten by 
 service, though it be of the best rise, yet when they are 
 gotten by flattery, feeding humours, and other servile con¬ 
 ditions, they may be placed amongst the worst. As for 
 fishing for testaments and executorships (as Tacitus saith of 
 Seneca, Testamenta et orbos tanquam indagine capi”),^ it 
 is yet worse, by how much men submit themselves to meaner 
 persons than in service. Believe not much them that seem to 
 despise riches, for they despise them that despair of them; 
 and none worse when they come to them. Be not penny¬ 
 wise ; riches have wings, and sometimes they fly away of 
 themselves, sometimes they must be set flying to bring in 
 more. Men leave their riches either to their kindred, or to 
 the public; and moderate portions prosper best in both. 
 A great state left to an heir, is as a lure to all the birds of 
 prey round about to seize on him, if he be not the better 
 stabbshed in years and judgment: likewise, glorious gifts 
 
 \ ^ the sweat of another’s brow.” He alludes to the words of 
 Genesis iii. 19 : ''In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.” 
 
 * Planter of sugar-canes. 
 
 ^ " Wills and childless persons were caught hy him as though with a 
 hunting-net.” 
 
PKOPIIECIES. 
 
 101 
 
 and foundations are like sacrifices without salt; and out the 
 painted sepulchres of alms, which soon will putrefy and cor¬ 
 rupt inwardly: therefore measure not tliine advancements 
 by quantity, but frame them by measure : and defer not 
 charities till death; for, certainly, if a man weigh it rightly, 
 he that doth so is rather liberal of another man’s than of ills 
 o^vn. 
 
 XXX V —OF PEOPHECIE3. 
 
 I MEAN not to speak of divine prophecies, nor of heathen 
 oracles, nor of natural predictions ; but only of prophecies 
 that have been of certain memory, and from liidden causes. 
 Saith the Pythonissa^ to Saul, To-morrow thou and thy 
 sons shall be with me.” Yirgil hath these verses from 
 Homer:— 
 
 Hie domus ^neae cunctis dominabitur oris, 
 
 Et nati natorum, et qui nascentur ab illis.”^ 
 
 A prophecy as it seems of the Homan empire. Seneca the 
 tragedian hath these verses : 
 
 -Venient annis 
 
 Saecula seris, quibus Oceanus 
 Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens 
 Pateat Tellus, Tiphysque novos 
 Hetegat orbes ; nec sit terris 
 Ultima Thule 
 
 a prophecy of the discovery of America. The daughter of 
 Poly cratesdreamed that Jupiter bathed her father, and 
 
 * Pythoness,’^ used in the sense of witch. He alludes to the witch 
 of Endor, and the words in Samuel xxviii. 19. He is, however, mis¬ 
 taken in attributing these words to the witch ; it was the spirit of 
 Samuel that said, ^‘To-morrow shalt thou and thy sons be v/ith me.” 
 
 ^ ‘^But the house of JEneas shall reign over every shore, both his 
 children’s children, and those who shall spring from them.” 
 
 ^ After the lapse of years, ages will come in which Ocean shall rela x 
 his chains around the world, and a vast continent shall appear, and 
 Tiphys shall explore new regions, and Tliule shall be no longer the 
 utmost verge of earth.” 
 
 He was king of Samos, and was treacherously put to death by 
 Oroetes, the governor of Magnesia, in Asia Minor. His daughter, in 
 consequence of her dream, attempted to dissuade him from visiting 
 Oroetes, but in vain. 
 
102 
 
 ESSAYS, 
 
 Apollo anointed him; and it came to pass that he was 
 crucified in an open place, where the sun made his body run 
 with sweat, and the rain washed it. Philip of Macedon 
 di’eamed he sealed up liis wife’s belly; whereby he did ex¬ 
 pound it, that his wife should be barren; but Aristander 
 the soothsayer told liim his wife was with child, because 
 men do not use to seal vessels that are empty. A phantasm 
 that appeared to M. Brutus in his tent, said to liim, Phi- 
 lippis iteruin me videbis.”® Tiberius said to Galba, Tu 
 quoque, Galba, degustabis imperium.”^ In Vespasian’s time 
 there went a prophecy in the East, that those that should 
 come forth of Judea, should reign over the world; which 
 though it may be was meant of our Saviour, yet Tacitus 
 expounds it of Vespasian. Domitian dreamed, the night 
 belbre he was slain, that a golden head was growing out of 
 the nape of his neck; and indeed the succession that fol¬ 
 lowed liim, for many years, made golden times. Henry the 
 Sixth of England said of Henry the Seventh, when he was 
 a lad, and gave him water, This is the lad that shall enjoy 
 the crown for which we strive.” ViThen I was in France, 
 I heard from one Dr. Pena, that the queen mother,^ who 
 was given to curious arts, caused the king her husband’s 
 nativity to be calculated under a false name; and the 
 astrologer gave a judgment, that he should be killed in a 
 duel j at which the queen laughed, thinking her husband to 
 be above challenges and duels; but he was slain upon a 
 course at tilt, the splinters of the staff of Montgomery going 
 in at his beaver. The trivial prophecy which I heard when 
 I was a child, and Queen Elizabeth was in the flower of her 
 years, was. 
 
 When hempe'is spnnue 
 
 England’s done 
 
 whereby it was generally conceived, that after the princes had 
 reigned which had the principal letters of that word hempe 
 (which were Henry, Edward, Mary, Philip, and Elizabeth), 
 England should come to utter confusion; which thanks be 
 to God, is verified only in the change of the name; for that 
 
 ® ** Tnou shalt see me again at Philippi.” 
 
 ^ ‘^Thou also, Galba, shalt taste of empire.” 
 
 ? Catherine de Medicis, the wife of Henry II. of France, who died 
 from a wound accidentally received in a tournament. 
 
PIlOPlIKCIl'kS. 
 
 103 
 
 the king’s style is now no more of England, but of Britain. 
 There was also another prophecy before the year of eighty- 
 eisht, which I do not well understand. 
 
 There shall he seen upon a day, 
 
 Between the Baugh and the hlay, 
 
 The black fleet of Norway. 
 
 When that that is come and gone, 
 
 England build houses of lime and stone, 
 
 For after vrars shall you have none.” 
 
 It was generally conceived to be meant of the Spanish fleet 
 that came in' eighty-eight: for that the king of Spain’s 
 surname, as they say, is Norway. The prediction of Regio¬ 
 montanus, 
 
 Octogesimus octavus mirabilis annus,”* 
 
 was thought likemse accomplished in the sending of that 
 great fleet, being the greatest in strength, though not in 
 number, of all that ever swam upon the sea. As for Cleon’s 
 dream,^ I think it was a jest j it was, that he was devoured 
 of a long dragon ; and it was expounded of a maker of 
 sausages, that troubled him exceedingly. There are numbers 
 of the like kind; especially if you include dreams, and pre¬ 
 dictions of astrology : but I have set down these few only of 
 certain credit, for example. My judgment is, that they 
 ought all to be despised, and ought to serve but for vdnter 
 talk by the fireside : though when I say despised, I mean ib 
 as for belief; for otherwise, the spreading or publishing of 
 them is in. no sort to be despised, for they have done much 
 mischief; and I see many severe laws made to suppress 
 
 ^ James I. being the first monarch of Great Britain. 
 
 The eighty-eighth will be a wondrous year.” 
 
 ^ Aristophanes, in his Comedy of The Knights, satirizes Cleon, the 
 Athenian demagogue. He introduces a declaration of the oracle that 
 the Eagle of hides (by whom Cleon was meant, his father having been a 
 tanner) should be conquered by a serpent, which Demosthenes, one of 
 the characters in the play, expounds as meaning a maker of sausages. 
 How Lord Bacon could for a moment doubt that this was a mere jest, 
 it is difficult to conjecture. Tlie following is a literal translation of 
 a portion of the jDassage from The Knights (1. 197):—But when a 
 leather eagle with crookea talons shall have seized with its jaws a ser¬ 
 pent, a stupid creature, a drinker of blood, then the tan-pickle of the 
 Paphlagonians is destroyed ; but upon the sellers of sausages the Deity 
 bestows great glory, unless they choose rather to sell sausages.” 
 
104 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 them. That that hath given them grace, and some credit^ 
 consisteth in three things. First, that men mark when they 
 hit, and never mark when they miss as they do, generally^ 
 also of dreams. The second is, that jDrobable conjectures, or ob¬ 
 scure traditions, many times turn themselves into prophecies ; 
 while the nature of man, which coveteth divination, thinks 
 it no peril to foretell that which indeed they do but collect : 
 as that of Seneca’s verse; for so much was then subject to 
 demonstration, that the globe of the earth had great parts 
 beyond the Atlantic, which might be probably conceived 
 not to be all sea: and adding thereto the tradition in Plato’s 
 Timseus, and his Atlanticus,”^ it might encourage one to turn 
 it to a prediction. The third and last (which is the great- 
 one) is, that almost all of them, being infinite in number, 
 have been impostures, and by idle and crafty brains, merely 
 contrived and feigned, after the event past. 
 
 XXXVI.—OF AMBITION. 
 
 Ambition is like choler, which is a humour that maketh 
 men active, earnest, full of alacrity, and stirrmg, if it be not 
 stopped : but if it be stopped, and cannot have its way, it 
 becometh adust,^ and thereby malign and venomous: so ambi¬ 
 tious men, if they find the way open for their rising, and 
 still get forward, they are rather busy than dangerous; but 
 if they be checked in their desires, they become secretly 
 discontent, and look upon men and matters wdth an evil eye, 
 and are best pleased when things go backward ; Avhich is the 
 worst property in a servant of a prince or state : therefore 
 
 ^ This is a very just remark. So-called strange coincidences, and 
 wonderful dreams that are verified, when the point is considered, are 
 really not at all maivellous. We never hear of the 999 dreams that 
 are not verified, but the thousandth that happens to precede its fulfil¬ 
 ment is blazoned by unthinking people as a marvel. It would be a 
 much more wonderful thing if dreams were not occasionally verified. 
 
 “ Under this name he alludes to the Critias of Plato, in which an 
 imaginary ^Herra incognita” is discoursed of under the name of the ^^New 
 Atlantis.” It has been conjectured from this by some, that Plato really 
 did believe in the existence of a continent on the other side of th^ 
 globe. Hot and fiery. 
 
ambition. 
 
 ion 
 
 it is good for princes, if they use ambitious men, to handle it 
 so, as they be still progressive,- and not retrograde; which, 
 because it cannot be without inconvenience, it is good not to 
 use such natures at all; for if they rise not with their 
 service, they will take order to make their service fall with 
 them. But since we have said, it were good not to use men 
 of ambitious natures, except it be upon necessity, it is fit we 
 speak in what cases they are of necessity. Good commanders 
 in the wars must be taken, be they never so ambitious ; for 
 the use of their service dispenseth with the rest: and to 
 take a soldier without ambition, is to pull off his spurs. 
 There is also great use of ambitious men in being screens to 
 princes in matters of danger and envy ; for no man wall take 
 that part except he be like a seeled^ dove, that mounts and 
 mounts, because he cannot see about liim. There is use also 
 of ambitious men in pulling dowoi the greatness of any 
 subject that overtops ; as Tiberius used Macro ^ in the pull¬ 
 ing down of Sejanus. Since, therefore, they must be used 
 in such cases, there resteth to speak how they are to be 
 bridled, that they may be less dangerous. There is less danger 
 of them if they be of mean birth, than if they be noble ; 
 and if they be rather harsh of nature, than gracious and 
 popular ; and if they be rather new raised, than grown 
 cunning and fortified in their greatness. It is counted by 
 some a weakness in princes to have favouiites ; but it is, of 
 all others, the best remedy against ambitious great ones ; for 
 when the w^ay of pleasuring and displeasuring lieth by the 
 favourite, it is impossible any other should be over great. 
 Another means to curb them, is to balance them by others 
 as proud as they : but then there must be some middle coun- 
 .sellors, to keep things steady ; for without that ballast the 
 ship will roll too much. At the least, a prince may animate 
 and inure some meaner persons to be, as it were, scourges to 
 ambitious men. As for the having of them obnoxious to^ 
 
 ruin, if they be of fearful natures, it may do well; but if 
 
 % 
 
 ** With the eyes closed, or blindfolded. 
 
 ® He was a favourite of Tiberius, to whose murder by Nero he was said 
 to have been an accessary. He afterwards prostituted his own wife to 
 Caligula, by whom he -was eventually put to death 
 
 ** Liable to. 
 
106 
 
 - ESSAYS. 
 
 they be stout and daring, it may precipitate their designs, 
 and prove dangerous. As for the pulling of them down, if 
 the affairs require it, and that it may not be done with safety 
 suddenly, the only way is, the interchange continually of * 
 favours and disgraces, w^hereby they may not know what to 
 expect, and be, as it were, in a wood. Of ambitions, it is 
 less harmful the ambition to preyail in great things, than 
 that other to appear in everything; for that breeds confusion,, 
 and mars business : but yet, it is less danger to have an 
 ambitious man stirring in business, than great in dependencies. 
 He that seeketh to be eminent amongst able men, hath a 
 great task; but that is ever good for the public : but he that 
 plots to be the only figure amongst ciphers, is the decay of a 
 whole age. Honour hath three things in it : the vantage 
 ground to do good ; the approach to kings and principal 
 persons j and the raising of a man’s own fortunes. He that 
 hath the best of these intentions, when he aspireth, is an 
 honest man; and that prince that can discern of these 
 intentions in another that aspireth, is a wise prince. Gene¬ 
 rally, let princes and states choose such ministers as are more 
 sensible of duty than of rising, and such as love business 
 rather upon conscience than upon bravery; and let them 
 discern a busy nature, from a willing mind. 
 
 XXXYII.—OF MASQUES AND TEIUMPHS. 
 
 These things are but toys to come amongst such serious 
 observations; but yet, since princes will have such things, it 
 is better they should be graced with elegancy, than daubed 
 with cost. Dancing to song, is a thing of great state and 
 pleasure. I understand it that the song be in quire, placed 
 aloft, and accompanied with some broken music; and the 
 ditty fitted to the device. Acting in song, especially in 
 dialogues, hath an extreme good grace ; I say acting, not 
 dancing (for that is a mean and vulgar thing) ; and the 
 voices of the dialogue would be strong and manly (a base and 
 a tenor j no treble), and the ditty high and tragical, not nice 
 or dainty. Several quires placed one over against another, 
 and taking the voice by catches anthem-wise, give great 
 
MASQUES AND TKIUMPHS. 
 
 107 
 
 pleasure. Tm'ning dances into figure is a cHldisli curiosity ; 
 and generally, let it be noted, tliat those things which I here 
 set down are such as do naturally take the sense, and not 
 respect petty wonderments. It is true, the alterations of 
 scenes, so it be quietly and without noise, are things of great 
 beauty and pleasure ; for they feed and relieve the eye before 
 it be full of the same object. Let the scenes abound mth 
 light, specially coloured and varied ; and let the masquers, 
 or any other that are to come down from the scene, have 
 some motions upon the scene itself before their coming down; 
 for it draws the eye strangely, and makes it with great 
 pleasure to desire to see that, it cannot perfectly discern. 
 Let the songs be loud and cheerful, and not chirpings or 
 pulings : ^ let the music hkewise be sharp and loud, and well 
 placed. The colours that show best by candlelight, are 
 white, carnation, and a kind of sea-water green; and ouches,^ 
 or spangs,^ as they are of no great cost, so they are of most 
 glory. As for rich embroidery, it is lost, and not discerned. 
 Let the suits of the masquers be graceful, and such as become 
 the person when the vizors are off; not after examples of 
 known attires ; Turks, soldiers, mariners, and the like. Let 
 anti-masques^ not be long ; they have been commonly of 
 fools, satyrs, baboons, wild men, antics, beasts, sprites, witches, 
 Ethiopes, pigmies, turquets,® nymphs, rustics, Cupids, statues 
 moving, and the like. As for angels, it is not comical enough 
 to put them in anti-masques : and anything that is hideous, 
 as devils, giants, is, on the other side, as unfit; but chiefly, 
 let the music of them be recreative, and with some strange 
 changes. Some sweet odours suddenly coming forth, without 
 any drops falling, are, in such a company as there is steam 
 and heat, things of great pleasure and refreshment. Double 
 masques, one of men, another of ladies, addeth • state and 
 
 ® Chirpings like the noise of young birds. 
 
 ** Jewels or necklaces. 
 
 ^ Spangles, or O’s of gold or silver. Beckmann says that these were 
 invented in the beginning of the seventeenth century. See Beckmann’s 
 Hist, of Inventions (Bohn’s Stand. Lib.), vol. i. p. 424. 
 
 Or antick-masques, were ridiculous interludes dividing the acts of 
 the more serious masque. These were performed by hired actors, while 
 the masque was played by ladies and gentlemen. The rule was, the 
 characters were to be neither serious nor hideous. The ‘^Comu3”of 
 Milton is an admhable specimen of a masque. * Turks. 
 
108 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 variety ] but all is notbing, except tlie room be kept cleai 
 and neat. 
 
 For justs, and tourneys, and barriers, the glories of tbeni 
 are chiefly in the chariots, wherein the challengers make 
 their entry; especially if they be drawn with strange beasts: 
 as lions, bears, camels, and the like ; or in the devices of 
 their entrance, or in the bravery of their liveries, or in the 
 goodly furniture of their horses and armour. But enough of 
 these toys. 
 
 XXXVIII.-^OF XATUEE IX MEN. 
 
 Nature is often hidden, sometimes overcome, seldom ex¬ 
 tinguished. Force maketh nature more violent in the return ; 
 doctrine and discoiu*se maketh nature less importune ; but 
 custom only doth alter and subdue nature. He that seeketh 
 victory over his nature, let him not set himself too great nor 
 too small tasks; for the first will make him dejected by often 
 failings, and the second will make him a small proceeder, 
 though by often prevailings : and at the first, let him practise 
 with helps, as swimmers do with bladders, or rushes; but, 
 after a time, let him practise with disadvantages, as dancers 
 do with thick shoes ; for it breeds great perfection, if the 
 practice be harder than the use. Where nature is mighty, 
 and therefore the victory hard, the degrees had need be, first 
 to stay and arrest nature in time ; like to him that would 
 say over the four and twenty letters when he was angry j 
 then to go less in quantity : as if one should, in forbearing 
 wine, come from drinking healths to a draught at a meal; 
 and lastly, to discontinue altogether : but if a man have the 
 fortitude and resolution to enfranchise himself at once, that 
 is the best: 
 
 Optimus ille animi vindex Isedentia pectus 
 Vincula qui rupit, dedoluitque semel.”^ 
 
 Neither is the ancient rule amiss, to bend nature as a wand 
 to a contrary extreme, whereby to set it right; understand¬ 
 ing it where the contrary extreme is no vice. Let not a 
 
 • He is the best asserter of the libei'ty of his mind who bursts tha 
 chains that gall his breast, and at the same moment ceases to grieve.” 
 Tliis quotation is from Ovid’s Remedy of Love. 
 
custom: and education. 
 
 109 
 
 man force a liabit upon himself with a perpetual continuance, 
 hut with some intermission : for both the pause reinforceth 
 the new onset; and if a man that is not perfect be ever in 
 practice, he shall as well practise his errors as his abilities, and 
 induce one habit of both ; and there is no means to help this 
 but by seasonable intermissions; but let not a man trust his 
 victory over his nature too far ; for nature will lie buried a 
 great time, and yet revive upon the occasion, or temptation; 
 like as it was with ^sop’s damsel, turned from a cat to a 
 woman, who sat veiy demurely at the board’s end till a 
 mouse ran before her : therefore, let a man either avoid the 
 occasion altogether, or put himself often to it, that he may 
 be little moved ^vith it. A man’s nature is best perceived in 
 privateness, for there is no affectation ; in j^assion, for that 
 putteth a man out of his precepts; and in a new case or ex¬ 
 periment, for there custom leaveth him. They are happy 
 men whose natures sort with their vocations ; otherwise they 
 may say, Multum incola fuit anima mea,”^ when they con¬ 
 verse in those things they do not affect. In studies, whatso¬ 
 ever a man commandeth upon himself, let him set hom*s for it; 
 but whatsoever is agreeable to his nature, let him take no 
 care for any set times; for his thoughts will fly to it of 
 themselves, so as the spaces of other business or studies will 
 suffice. A man’s nature runs either to herbs or weeds; 
 therefore let him seasonably water the one, and destroy the 
 other. 
 
 XXXIX.—OF CUSTOM AND EDUCATION. 
 
 Men’s thoughts are much according to their inclination 
 their discourse and speeches according to their learning and 
 infused opinions; but their deeds are after as they have 
 been accustomed : and, therefore, as Machiavel well noteth 
 (though in an evil-favoured instance), there is no trusting to 
 the force of natiu*e, nor to the bravery of words, except it 
 be corroborate by custom. His instance is, that for the 
 achieving of a desperate conspiracy, a man should not rest 
 
 ^ My soul has long been a sojourner.” 
 
 * ** The wish is father to the thought,” is a proverbial saying of similar 
 meaning. 
 
no 
 
 ASSAYS. 
 
 upon the fierceness of any man’s nature, or his resolute 
 undertakings; but take such a one as hath had his hands 
 formerly in blood; but Machiavel knew not of a Friar 
 Clement, nor a Ravillac,^ nor a Jaureguy,^ nor a Baltazar 
 Gerard;^ yet his rule holdeth still, that nature, nor the 
 engagement of words, are not so forcible as custom. Only 
 superstition is now so well advanced, that men of the first 
 blood are as firm as butchers by occupation ; and votary ° 
 resolution is made equipollent to custom even in matter of 
 blood. In other things, the predominancy of custom is every¬ 
 where visible, insomuch as a man would wonder to hear men 
 profess, protest, engage, give great words, and then do just 
 as they have done before, as if they were dead images and 
 engines, moved only by the wheels of custom. We see also 
 the reign or tyranny of custom, what it is. The Indians^ 
 (I mean the sect of their wise men) lay themselves quietly 
 upon a stack of wood, and so sacrifice themselves by fire : 
 nay, the wives strive to be burned with the corpses of their 
 husbands. The lads of Spai-ta, of ancient time, were wont 
 to be scourged upon the altar of Diana, without so much as 
 quecking.g I remember, in the beginning of Queen Eliza¬ 
 beth's time of England, an Irish rebel condemned, put up 
 a petition to the deputy that he might be hanged in a withe, 
 and not in a halter, because it had been so used with former 
 rebels. There be monks in Russia for penance, that will sit 
 a whole night in a vessel of water, till they be engaged with 
 hard ice. Many examples may be put of the force of cus¬ 
 tom, both upon mind and body : therefore, since custom is 
 the principal magistrate of man’s life, let men by all means 
 endeavour to obtain good customs. Certainly, custom is 
 most perfect when it beginneth in young years : this we call 
 education, which is, in effect, but an early custom. So we 
 
 ^ He murdered Henry IV. of France, in 1610. 
 
 ® Philip II. of Spain having, in 1582, set a price upon the head of 
 William of Nassau, prince of Orange, the leader of the Protestants, 
 Jaureguy attempted to assassinate him, and severely wounded him. 
 
 ^ He assassinated William of Nassau, in 1584. It is supposed that 
 this fanatic meditated the crime for six years. 
 
 « A resolution prompted by a vow of devotion to a particular prin* 
 ciple or creed. 
 
 ^ He alludes to the Hindoos, and the ceremony of Suttee, encouraged 
 by the Brahmins. Flinching, 
 
FORTUNE. 
 
 in 
 
 see, in languages the tongue is more pliant to all expressions 
 and sounds, the joints are more supple to all feats of activity 
 and motions in youth, than afterwards; for it is true, that 
 late learners cannot so well take the ply, except it be in 
 some minds that have not suffered themselves to fix, but 
 have kept themselves open and prepared to receive continual 
 amendment, which is exceeding rare : but if the force of 
 custom, simple and separate, be great, the force of custom, 
 copulate and conjoined and collegiate, is far greater; for 
 there example teacheth, company comforteth, emulation 
 quickeneth, glory raiseth ; so as in such places the force of 
 custom is in his exaltation. Certainly, the great multipli¬ 
 cation of virtues upon human nature resteth upon societies 
 well ordained and disciplined j for commonwealths and good 
 governments do nourish virtue grown, but do not much 
 mend the seeds j but the misery is, that the most effectual 
 means are now applied to the ends least to be desired. 
 
 XL.—OF FOETUNE. 
 
 It cannot be denied, but outward accidents conduce much 
 to fortune ; favour, opportunity, death of others, occasion 
 fitting virtue : but chiefly, the mould of a man’s fortune is 
 in his own hands : “ Faber quisque fortunse sujb,”^ saith the 
 poet j and the most frequent of external causes is, that the 
 folly of one man is the fortune of another ; for no man pros¬ 
 pers so suddenly as by others’ errors. Serpens nisi ser- 
 pentem comederit non fit draco.” ^ Overt and apparent 
 virtues bring forth praise; but there be secret and hidden 
 virtues that bring forth fortune; certain deliveries of a 
 
 ® Every man is the architect of his own fortune.’’ Sallust, in his 
 letters De Eepuhlic^ Ordinandi,” attributes these words to Appius 
 Claudius Caecus, a Koman poet whose works are now lost. Lord Bacon^ 
 in the Latin translation of his Essays, which was made under his super¬ 
 vision, rendered the word ‘^poet” ^^comicus;” by whom he probably 
 meant Plautus, who has this line in his Trinummus” (Act ii. sc. 2): 
 ‘‘Nam sapiens quidem pol ipsus fingit fortunam sibi,” which has tha 
 same meaning, though in somewhat different terras. 
 
 ^ “A serpent, unless it has devoured a serpent, does not become a 
 dragon.” 
 
112 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 man’s self, whicli have no name. The Spanish name, “ di- 
 semboltura,” ® partly expresseth them, when there be not 
 stonds^^ nor restiveness in a man’s nature, but that the 
 wheels of his mind keep way with the wheels of his fortune; 
 for so Livy (after he had aescribed Cato Major in these 
 words, In iilo viro, tantum robur corporis et animi fuit, ut 
 quocunque loco natus esset, fortunam sibi facturus videro- 
 tur),”® falleth upon that that he had versatile ingenium 
 therefore, if a man look sharply and attentively, he shall see 
 Fortune; for though she be blind, yet she is not invisible. 
 The way of Fortune is like the milky way in the sky; which 
 is a meeting, or knot, of a number of small stars, not seen 
 asunder, but giving light together : so are there a number 
 of little and scarce discerned virtues, or rather faculties and 
 customs, that make men fortmiate. The Italians note some 
 of them, such as a man would little think. When they 
 speak of one that cannot do amiss, they will throw in into 
 his other conditions, that he hath Poco di matto and 
 certainly, there be not two more fortunate properties, than 
 to have a little of the fool, and not too much of the honest; 
 therefore extreme lovers of their country, or masters, were 
 never fortunate; neither can they be; for when a man 
 placeth his thoughts without himself, he goeth not his own 
 way. A hasty fortune maketh an enterpriser and remover; 
 (the French hath it better, “ entreprenant,” or remnant”) ; 
 but the exercised fortune maketh the able man. Fortune is 
 to be honoured and respected, and it be but for her 
 daughters. Confidence and Reputation; for those two Feli¬ 
 city breedeth ; the first within a man’s self, the latter in 
 others towards him. All wise men, to decline the envy of 
 their own \drtues, use to ascribe them to Providence and 
 Fortime; for so they may the better assume them : and, 
 besides, it is greatness in a man to be the care of the higher 
 powers. So Caesar said to the pilot in the tempest, ‘^Caesarem 
 
 ® Or desenvoltura,” implying readiness to adapt oneself to cir* , 
 cumstances. ^ Impediments, causes for hesitation. 
 
 * ‘'In that man there was such great strength of body and mind, that 
 in whatever station he had been bom, he seemed as though he should 
 make his fortune.” 
 
 * “A versatile genius.” « “ A little of the fooh” 
 
USITKY. 
 
 113 
 
 portas, et fortunam ejus.”^ So Sylla chose the name of 
 Felix,”^ and not of Magnus and it hath been noted, 
 that those who ascribe openly too much to their own wisdom 
 and policy, end unfortunate. It is written, that Timotheus,^ 
 the Athenian, after he had, in the account he ga\^e to the 
 state of his government, often interlaced this speech, and 
 in this Fortune had no part,” never prospered in anything 
 he undertook afterwards. Certainly there be, whose for¬ 
 tunes are like Homer’s verses, that have a slide and easiness 
 more than the verses of other poets; as Plutarch saith of 
 Timoleon’s fortune in respect of that of Agesilaus or Epami- 
 nondas : and that this should be, no doubt it is much in a 
 man’s self. 
 
 XLI.—OF FSXJEY.^ 
 
 Many have made witty invectives against usury. They 
 say that it is pity the devil should have God’s part, which 
 is the tithe j that the usurer is the gTeatest Sabbath-breaker, 
 because his plough goeth every Sunday; that the usurer is 
 the drone that Ymgil speaketh of: 
 
 Ignavum fucos pecus a praesepibus arcent 
 
 that the usurer breaketh the first law that was made for 
 mankind after the fall, which was, in sudore vultus tui ^ 
 comedes panem tuum;”^^ not, in sudore vultus alien! 
 that usurers should have orange-tawny® bonnets, because . 
 they do Judaize; that it is against nature for money to beget 
 
 ^ Thou earnest Caesar and his fortunes.’* 
 
 ‘ The Fortunate.” He attributed his success to the inteivention of 
 Hercules, to whom he paid especial veneration. 
 
 ^ The Great.” 
 
 ^ A successful Athenian general, the son of Conon, and the friend 
 of Plato. , Fluency or smoothness. 
 
 * Lord Bacon seems to use the word in the general sense of lending 
 money upon interest.” 
 
 ^ Drive from their hives the drones, a lazy race.”—Georgies, b. iv. 
 
 168. 
 
 ^ In the sweat of thy face shalt tliou eat thy bread.”—Gen. iii. 19, 
 
 ^ ^Hn the sweat of the face of another.” 
 
 * In the middle ages the Jews were compelled, by legal enactment, 
 to wear peculiar dresses and colours ; one of these was orange. 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 i;SSATS. 
 
 money, and tlie like. I say tliis only, that usury is a con- 
 cessum propter duritiem cordis for since there must bo 
 borrowing and lending, and men are so hard of heart as they 
 will not lend freely, usury must be permitted. Some others 
 have made suspicious and cunning propositions of banks, 
 discovery of men’s estates, and other inventions j but few 
 have spoken of usiuy usefully. It is good to set before us 
 the incommodities and commodities of usury, that the good 
 may be either weighed out, or culled out; and warily to 
 provide, that, while we make forth to that which is better, 
 we meet not with that which is worse. 
 
 The discommodities of usury are, first, that it makes fewer 
 merchants j for were it not for this lazy trade of usury, 
 money would not lie still, but "would in great part be em¬ 
 ployed upon merchandising, Avhich is the ^^vena porta”s of 
 wealth in a state : the second, that it makes poor merchants; 
 for as a farmer cannot husband his ground so well if he sit 
 at a great rent, so the merchant cannot drive his trade so 
 well, if he sit^ at great usury : the third is incident to the 
 other two; and that is, the decay of customs of kings, or 
 states, which ebb or flow wfith merchandising : the fourth, 
 that it bringeth the treasure of a realm or state into a few 
 hands; for the usm'er being at certainties, and others at 
 imcertainties, at the end of the game most of the money will 
 be in the box; and ever a state flourisheth when wealth is 
 more equally spread : the fifth, that it beats down the price 
 of land ; for the employment of money is chiefly either mer¬ 
 chandising, or purchasing, and usmy waylays both: the 
 sixth, that it doth dull and damp all industries, improve¬ 
 ments, and new inventions, wherein money would be stir¬ 
 ring, if it were not for this slug : the last, that it is the 
 canker and ruin of many men’s estates, which in process of 
 time breeds a public poverty. 
 
 On the other side, the commodities of usury are, first, that 
 howsoever usury in some respect hindereth merchandising, 
 yet in some other it advanceth it; for it is certain that the 
 greatest part of trade is driven by young merchants upon 
 borro^wing at interest; so as if the usurer either call in, or 
 
 ^ “ A concession by reason of hardness of heart.” He alludes to the 
 words in St. Matthew xix. 8. 
 
 s See Note to Essay xix. 
 
 Hold. 
 
USURY. 
 
 115 
 
 keep back his money, there will ensue presently a great 
 stand of trade : the second is, that v/ere it not for this easy 
 borrowing upon interest, men s necessities would draw upon 
 them a most sudden undoing, in that they would be forced 
 to sell their means (be it lands or goods), far under foot, and 
 so, whereas usury doth but gnaw upon them, bad markets 
 would swallow them quite up. As for mortgaging or pawn¬ 
 ing, it will little mend the matter : for either men will not 
 take pawns without use, or if they do, they will look pre¬ 
 cisely for the forfeiture. I remember a cruel moneyed man in 
 the country, that would say, The devil take this usury, it 
 keeps us from forfeitures of mortgages and bonds.” The 
 third and last is, that it is a vanity to conceive that there 
 would be ordinary borrowing mthout profit ; and it is im¬ 
 possible to conceive the number of inconveniences that will 
 ensue, if borrowing be cramped : therefore to speak of the 
 abolishing of usury is idle ; all states have ever had it in one 
 kind or rate, or other; so as that opinion must be sent to 
 Utopia.^ 
 
 To speak now of the reformation and regiement^ of usury, 
 how the discommodities of it may be best avoided, and the 
 comupodities retained. It appears, by the balance of com¬ 
 modities and discommodities of usury, two things are to be 
 reconciled; the one that the tooth of usmy be grinded, that 
 it bite not too much; the other, that there be left open a 
 means to invite moneyed men to lend to the merchants, for 
 the continuing and quickening of trade. This cannot be 
 done, except you introduce two several sorts of usury, a less 
 and a greater; for if you reduce usury to one low rate, it 
 ^vill ease the common borrower, but the merchant ^vill be to 
 seek for money: and it is to be noted, that the trade of mer¬ 
 chandise being the most lucrative, may bear usury at a good 
 rate : other contracts not so. 
 
 To serve both intentions, the way would be briefly thus : 
 that there be two rates of usury; the one free and general 
 for all; the other under license only to certain persons, and 
 in certain jfiaces of merchandising. First, therefore, let 
 usury in general be reduced to five in the hundred, and let 
 that rate be proclaimed to be free and current; and let the 
 
 ^ The imaginary country described in Sir Thomas More’s political 
 romance of that name. ^ Regulation. 
 
 I 2 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 I 
 
 state slint itself out to take any penalty for the same; this 
 will preserve borrowing from any general stop or diyness; 
 this will ease infinite borrowers in the coimtry; this vfill, in 
 good part, raise the price of land, because land purchased at 
 sixteen years’purchase 'svill yield six in the hundred, and 
 somewhat more, whereas tliis rate of interest yields but five: 
 this by like reason will encourage and edge industrious and 
 profitable improvements, because many vfill rather venture 
 in that kind, than take five in the hundred, especially having 
 been used to greater profit. Secondly, let there be certain 
 persons licensed to lend to known merchants upon usury, at 
 a higher rate, and let it be witli the cautions following ; let 
 the rate be, even with the merchant himself, somewhat more 
 easy than that he used formerly to pay; for by that means 
 all borrowers shall have some ease by this reformation, be he 
 merchant, or whosoever; let it be no bank or common stock, 
 but every man be master of his own money; not that I alto¬ 
 gether mislike banks, but they Avill hardly be brooked, in 
 regard of certain suspicions. Let the state be answered,^ 
 some small matter for the license, and the rest left to the 
 lender; for if the abatement be but small, it will no whit 
 discourage the lender; for he, for example, that took before 
 ten or nine in the hundred, Avill sooner descend to eight in 
 the hundred, than give over his trade of usury, and go from 
 certain gains to gains of hazard. Let these licensed lenders 
 be in number indefinite, but restrained to certain principal 
 cities and towns of merchandising; for then they will be 
 hardly able to colour other men’s moneys in the country: so 
 as the license of nine will not suck away the current rate of 
 five; for no man ^vill send his moneys far off, nor put them 
 into unknovui hands. 
 
 If it be objected that this doth in a sort authorize usury, 
 which before was in some places but permissive; the answer 
 is, that it is better to mitigate usury by declaration, than to 
 suffer it to rage by connivance. 
 
 Be paid. 
 
 1 
 
YOUTH AND AOE. 
 
 IIT 
 
 XLII.—OF YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 A. MAN that is young in years may be old in hours, if he 
 have lost no time; but that liappenetli rarely. (Generally, 
 youth is like the first cogitations, not so wise as the second : 
 for there is a youth in thoughts, as well as in ages ; and yet 
 the invention of young men is more lively than that of old, 
 and imaginations stream into their minds better, and, as it 
 were, more divinely. ISTatures that have much heat, and 
 great and violent desires and perturbations, are not ripe for 
 action till they have j^assed the meridian of their years : as it 
 was with J ulius Caesar and Septimius Severus ; of the latter 
 of whom it is said, Juventutem egit erroribus, imo furori- 
 bus plenam;”^ and yet he was the ablest emperor, almost, of 
 all the list; but reposed natures may do well in youth, as it 
 is seen in Augustus Caesar, Cosmus duke of Florence, Gaston 
 de Foix,^ and others. On the other side, heat and vivacity 
 in age is an excellent composition for business. Young men 
 are fitter to invent than to judge, fitter for execution than 
 for counsel, and fitter for new projects than for settled busi¬ 
 ness ; for the experience of age, in things that fall mthin 
 the compass of it, directeth them ; but in new things abuseth 
 them. The errors of vounoj men are the ruin of business : 
 but the errors of aged men amount but to this, that more 
 might have been done, or sooner. 
 
 Young men, in the conduct and mamage of actions, em¬ 
 brace more than they can hold, stir more than they can 
 quiet; fiy to the end, without consideration of the means 
 and degrees; pursue some few principles which they have 
 chanced upon absurdly; care not to innovate, which draws 
 unknown inconveniences ; use extreme remedies at first; and 
 that, which doubleth all errors, will not acknowledge or re¬ 
 tract them, like an unready horse, that will not neither stop 
 nor timn. Men of age object too much, consult too long, 
 adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive busi-' 
 ness home to the full period, but content themselves Avith a 
 
 ® “ Ho passed his youth full of errors, of madness even.” 
 
 He was nephew of Louis XII. of France, and commanded the 
 French armies in Italy against the Spaniards. After a brilliant career, 
 he was killed at the battle of Ilavenna, in 1512, 
 
118 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 mediocrity of success. Certainly it is good to compound 
 employments of both ; for that will be good for the present^ 
 because the virtues of either a^e may correct the defects of 
 both; and good for succession, that young men may be 
 learners, while men in age are actors; and, lastly, good for 
 externe accidents, because authority followeth old men, and 
 favour and popularity youth : but, for the moral part, per¬ 
 haps, youth ^vill have the pre-eminence, as age hath for the 
 politic. A certain rabbin, upon the text, Yoim young men 
 sliall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams,” 
 inferreth that young men are admitted nearer to God than 
 old, because \ision is a clearer revelation than a dream,; and 
 certainly, the more a man drinketh of the world, the more it 
 intoxicateth : and age doth profit rather in the powers of 
 understanding, than in the virtues of the will and-afiections. 
 There be some have an over-early ripeness in their years, 
 which fadeth betimes : these are, first, such as have brittle 
 wits, the edge whereof is soon turned : such as was Hermo- 
 genes^ the rhetorician, whose books are exceeding subtle^ 
 who afterwards waxed stupid : a second sort is of those that 
 have some natural dispositions, which have better grace in 
 youth than in age ; such as is a fluent and luxuriant speech, 
 which becomes youth well, but not age ; so Tully saith of 
 Hortensius, Idem manebat, neque idem decebat: ” ® the 
 third is of such as take too high a strain at the first, and are 
 magnanimous more than tract of years can uphold; as was 
 Scipio Africanus, of whom Livy saith, in effect, “Ultima, 
 primis cedebant.”^ 
 
 ' Joel ii. 28, quoted Acts ii. 17. 
 
 ^ He lived in the second century after Christ, and is said to have 
 lost his memoiy at the age of twenty-five. 
 
 ® ^'He rema-ined the same, but with the advance of years was not so 
 becoming.’* 
 
 ^ The close was unequal to the beginning.” This quotation is 
 not correct; the words are—“Memorabilior prima pars vitae quam 
 postrema fiiit,”—“The first part of his life was more distinguished than 
 the latter.”—Livy, xxxviii. ch, 53. 
 
BEAUTY. 
 
 119 
 
 XLIII.;—OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set; and surely 
 virtue is best in a body that is comely, though not of delicate 
 features ; and that hath rather dignity of presence, than 
 beauty of aspect j neither is it almost seen that very beauti¬ 
 ful persons are otherwise of great virtue; as if nature were 
 rather busy not to err, than in labour to produce excellency; 
 and therefore they prove accomplished, but not of great 
 spirit; and study rather beliaviour, than virtue. But this 
 holds not always : for Augustus Csesar, Titus Vesj)asianus, 
 Philip le Bel of France, Edward the Fourth of England,^ 
 Alcibiades of Athens, Ismael the Sophy of Persia, were all 
 liigh and great spirits, and yet the most beautiful men of 
 their times. In beauty, that of favour, is more than that of 
 colour; and that of decent and gracious motion, more than 
 that of favour.^ That is the best part of beauty, which a 
 picture cannot express; no, nor the first sight of the life. 
 There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness 
 in the proportion. A man cannot tell whether Apelles or 
 Albert Duror were the more trifier ; whereof the one would 
 make a personage by geometrical proportions ; the other, by 
 taking the best parts out of divers faces to make one 
 excellent. Such personages, I think, would please nobody 
 but the painter that made them : not but I think a painter 
 may make a better face than ever was ; but he must do it 
 by a kind of felicity (as a musician that maketh an excellent 
 air in music), and not by rule. A man shall see faces, that, 
 if you Examine them part by part, you shall find never 
 a good ; and yet altogether do well. If it be true that the 
 principal part of beauty is in decent motion, certainly it is 
 no marvel, though persons in years seem many times more 
 amiable; ^^Pulchrorum autumnus pulcher;”^ for no youth 
 can be comely but by pardon,^ and considering the youth as 
 
 » By the context, he would seem to consider great spirit” and 
 
 virtue” as convertible terms. Edward IV., however, has no claim to 
 be considered as a virtuous or magnanimous man, though he possessed 
 great physical courage. ^ Features. 
 
 The autumn of the beautiful is beautiful.” 
 
 ® By making allowances. 
 
120 
 
 EiSSAYS. 
 
 to make up the comeliness. • Beauty is as summer fruits, 
 which are easy to corrupt, and cannot las't j and, for the most 
 part, it makes a dissolute youth, and an age a little out of 
 countenance j but yet certainly again, if it light well, it 
 maketh virtues shine, and vices blush. 
 
 XLIV.—OF DEFORMITY. 
 
 Defokmed persons are commonly even with nature ; for 
 as nature hath done ill by them, so do they by nature, being 
 for the most part (as the Scripture saith), void of natural 
 affection and so they have their revenge of nature. 
 Certainly there is a consent between the body and the mind, 
 and where nature erreth in the one, she ventureth in the 
 other: “Ubi peccat in uno, periclitatur in altero but 
 because there is in man an election, touching the frame of his 
 mind, and a necessity in the frame of his body, the stars of 
 natural inclination are sometimes obscured by the* sun of 
 discipline and virtue ; therefore it is good to consider of 
 deformity, not as a sign vffiich is more deceivable, but as a 
 cause which seldom faileth of the effect. Yv^hosoever hath 
 anything fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath 
 also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself 
 from scorn; therefore, all deformed persons are extreme 
 bold; first, as in their own defence, as being exposed to 
 scorn, but in process of time by a general habit. Also it 
 stirreth in them industry, and especially of this kind, to 
 watch and observe the weakness of others, that they may 
 have somewhat to repay. Again, in their superiors, it 
 quencheth jealousy towards them, as persons that they think 
 they may at pleasure despise : and it layeth their competitors 
 and emulators asleep, as never belieAng they should be in 
 possibility of adYancement till they see them in possession ; 
 so that upon the matter, in a great Avit, deformity is an 
 advantage to^ rising. Kings in ancient times (and at this 
 present in some countries) were wont to put great trust in 
 eunuchs, because they that are envious towards all are more 
 
 » Rom. i. 31 ; 2 Tim. iii. 3. 
 
 b Where she errs in the one, she ventures in the other.” 
 
BUILDING. 
 
 \2l 
 
 oDnoxious and officious towards one ; but yet theii* trust 
 towards them bath rather been as to good spials,^^ and good 
 whisperers, than good magistrates and officers : and much 
 like is the reason of deformed persons. ' Still the groimd is, 
 they will, if they be of spirit, seek to free themselves from 
 scorn : vrhich must be either by virtue or malice; and, there¬ 
 fore, let it not be marvelled, if sometimes they prove excellent 
 persons ; as was Agesilaiis, Zanger the son of Solyman,^ 
 .^sop, Gasca president of Peru; and Socrates may go like¬ 
 wise amongst them, with others. 
 
 XLV.—OF BUILDING. 
 
 Houses are built to live in, and npt to look on ; therefore 
 let use be preferred before uniformity, except where both may 
 be had. Leave the goodly fabrics of houses, for beauty only, 
 to the enchanted palaces of the poets, who build them with 
 small cost. He that builds a fair house upon an ill seat,^ 
 committeth himself to prison : neither do I reckon it an ill 
 seat only where the air is unwholesome, but likewise where 
 the air is unequal; as you shall see many fine seats set upon 
 a knap^ of ground, environed with higher hills round about 
 it, whereby the heat of the sun is pent in, and the wind 
 gathereth as in troughs ; so as you shall have, and that 
 suddenly, as great diversity of heat and cold as if you dwelt 
 in several places. Neither is it ill aii’ only that maketh an 
 ill seat j but ill ways, ill markets, and, il* you vill consult 
 with Momus,^^ ill neighbours. I speak not of many more ; 
 want of water, want of wood, shade, and shelter, want of 
 fruitfulness, and mixture of grounds of several natm*es; 
 want of prospect, want of level grounds, want of places at 
 some near distance for sports of hunting, hawking, and 
 races; too near the sea, too remote ; ha^fing the commodity 
 of navigable rivers, or the discommodity of their overflowing; 
 too far off from gi'eat cities, which may hinder business ; or 
 
 * Spies. , ^ Sohniian tbe Ma^'niflcent, Sultan of the Turks. 
 
 * Site. b KnoU. 
 
 ® Hara a liking for cheerful society. Momus being the God of 
 
 mirth. 
 
122 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 too near them, which lurcheth^ all provisions, and maketh 
 everything dear; where a man hath a great living laid 
 together; and where he is scanted; all which, as it is 
 impossible perhaj^s to find together, so it is good to know 
 them, and think of them, that a man may take as many as 
 he can; and if he have several dwellings, that he sort them 
 so, that what he wantetli in the one he may find in the other. 
 Lucullus answered Pompey well, who, when he saw his 
 stately galleries and rooms so large and lightsome, in one of 
 his houses, said, “ Surely an excellent place for summer, but 
 how do you in winter Lucullus answered, Why, do you 
 not think me as wise as some fowls are, that ever change 
 their abode towards the winter V' 
 
 To pass from the seat to the house itself, we will do as 
 Cicero doth in the orator’s art, who writes books De Oratore, 
 and a book he entitles Orator ; whereof the former delivers 
 the precepts of the art, and the latter the perfection. We 
 will therefore describe a princely palace, making a brief 
 model thereof; for it is strange to see, now in Europe, such 
 huge buildings as the Vatican and Escurial,® and some others 
 be, and yet scarce a very fair room in them. 
 
 First, therefore, I say, you cannot have a perfect palace, 
 except you have two several sides ; a side for the banquet, as 
 is spoken of in the book of Esther,^ and a side for the house¬ 
 hold ; the one for feasts and triumphs, and the other for 
 dwelling. I understand both these sides to be not only 
 returns, but parts of the front j and to be uniform ^vithout, 
 though severally j)artitioned within; and to be on both sides 
 of a great and stately tower in the midst of the front, that 
 as it were joineth them together on either hand. I would 
 have, on the side of the banquet in front, one only goodly 
 room above stairs, of some forty foot high ; and under it a 
 room for a dressing or preparing place, at times of triumphs. 
 On the other side, which is the household side, I wish it 
 divided at the first into a hall and a chapel (^vitli a partition 
 
 ^ Eats up. 
 
 * A vast edifice, about twenty miles from Madrid, founded by 
 Philip II. 
 
 ^ Esth. i. 5 : ‘‘ The king made a feast unto all the people that wero 
 present in Shushan the palace, both unto great and small, seven days, 
 in the court of the garden of the king’s palace.*’ 
 
BUILDING. 
 
 123 
 
 between), both of good state and bigness; and those not to 
 go all the length, but to have at the further end a ^vinter 
 and a summer parloim, both fair; and under these rooms a 
 fair and large cellar sunk under ground; and likewise some 
 privy kitchens, with butteries and j)antries, and the like. As 
 for the tower, I would have it two stories, of eighteen foot 
 high apiece above the two wings; and a goodly leads upon 
 the top, railed with statues interposed; and the same tower 
 to be divided into rooms, as shall be thought fit. The stairs 
 likewise to the upper rooms, let them be upon a fair open 
 newel,s and finely railed in with images of wood cast into a 
 brass colour ; and a very fair landing-place at the top. But 
 this to be, if you do not point any of the lower rooms for a 
 dining-place of servants ; for, othervuse, you shall have the 
 servants’ dinner after your own ; for the steam of it will 
 come up as in a tunnel.^ And so much for the front: only I 
 imderstand the height of the first stairs to be sixteen foot, 
 which is the height of the lower room. 
 
 Beyond this front is there to be a fair court, but three 
 sides of it of a far lower building than the front; and in all 
 the four comers of that court fair staircases, cast into turrets 
 on the outside, and not witliin the row of buildings them¬ 
 selves ; but those towers are not to be of the height of the 
 front, but rather proportionable to the lower building. Let' 
 the court not be paved, for that striketh up a great heat in 
 summer, and much cold in winter : but only some side alleys 
 with a cross, and the quarters to graze, being kept shorn, but 
 not too near shorn. The row of return on the banquet side, 
 let it be all stately galleries : in which galleries let there be 
 three or five fine cupolas in the length of it, placed at equal 
 distance, and fine coloured windows of several works : on the 
 household side, chambers of presence and ordinary enter¬ 
 tainments, with some bed-chambers : and let all three sides 
 be a double house, without thorough lights on the sides, that 
 you may have rooms from the sun, both for forenoon and 
 afternoon. Cast it also, that you may have rooms both for 
 Bummer and winter ; shady for summer, and warm for 
 winter. You shall have sometimes fair houses so full of 
 
 * The cylinder formed by the small end of the steps of winding stairs, 
 
 * The funnel of a chimney 
 
124 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 glass, tliat one cannot tell where to become^ to he out of the 
 sun or cold. For inbowed^ windoAvs, I hold them of good 
 use (in cities, indeed, upright^ do better, in respect of the 
 uniformity toAvards the street); for they be pretty retiring 
 places for conference ; and besides, they keep both the Avind 
 and sun off; for that Avhich Avould strike almost through the 
 room doth scarce pass the AvindoAv : but let them be but feAv, 
 four in the court, on the sides only. 
 
 Beyond this court, let there be an inAvard court, of the 
 same square and height, Avhicli is to be environed Avith the 
 garden on all sides ; and in the inside, cloistered on all sides 
 upon decent and beautiful arches, as high as the first story : 
 on the under story towards the garden, let it be turned to 
 grotto, or place of shade, or estivation ; and only haA^e 
 opening and AvindoAvs toAvards the garden, and be level upon 
 the floor, no AAdiit sunk rmder ground to avoid all dampish¬ 
 ness : and let there be a fountain, or some fair Avork of 
 statues in the midst of this court, and to be paved as the 
 other court was. These buildings to be for privy lodgings on 
 both sides, and the end for ])rivy galleries ; whereof you 
 must foresee that one of them be for an infirmary, if the 
 prince or any special person should be sick, Avith chambers, 
 bed-chamber, “anticamera,”and “recamera,”^ joining to it; 
 this upon the second story. Upon the ground story, a fair 
 gallery, oj^en, upon pillars; and upon the third story, like- 
 Avise an open gallery upon pillars, to take the prospect and 
 freshness of the garden. At both corners of the further side, 
 by Avay of return, let there be two delicate or rich cabinets, 
 daintily paved, richly hanged, glazed Avith crystalline glass, 
 and a rich cupola in the midst; and all other elegancy that 
 can be thought upon. In the uj)per gallery, too, I Avish that 
 there may be, if the place will yield it, some fountains run¬ 
 ning in divers j^laces from the wall, Avith some fine avoidances.° 
 And thus much for the model of the palace ; save that you 
 'must have, before you come to the front, three courts; a 
 green court plain, v/ith a Avail about it; a second court of the 
 same, but more garnished Avith little turrets, or rather 
 
 embellishments, upon the Avail; and a third court, to make a 
 
 * 
 
 ^ Where to go, ^ Bow, or bay, windows. 
 
 ^ Flush with the v^all. "j Antichamber. 
 
 ” Withdrawing-rooina Watercourees. 
 
GARDENS. 
 
 125 
 
 square the front, but not to be built, nor yet enclosed 
 ^yith a naked wall, but enclosed with terraces leaded alofrv 
 and fairly garnished on the three sides ; and cloistered on the 
 inside with pillars, and not with arches below. As for offices, 
 let them stand at distance, with some low galleries to pass 
 from them to the palace itself. 
 
 XLYI.~OF GARDEXS. 
 
 God Almighty first planted a garden ; and, indeed, it is. 
 the purest of human pleasures ; it is the greatest refr’eshment- 
 to the spiiits of man ; without which buildings and palaces 
 ai’e but gross handy-works: and a man shall ever see, that, 
 when ages grow to civility and elegancy, men come to build 
 stately, sooner than to garden finely ; as if gardening were 
 the greater perfection. I do hold it in the royal ordering of 
 gardens, there ought to be gardens for all the months in the 
 year, in which, severally, things of beauty may be then in 
 season. For December, and January, and the latter part of 
 iS^ovember, you must take such things as are green all winter: 
 holly, ivy, bays, juniper, cypress-trees, yew, pineapple-trees;^ 
 fir-trees, rosemary, lavender ; periwinkle, the white, the 
 purple, and the blue; germander, flags, orange-trees, lemon- 
 trees, and myrtles, if they be stoved and sweet marjoram, 
 warm set. There folioweth, for the latter part of January 
 and February, the ruezereon-tree, which then blossoms ; 
 crocus vernus, both the yellow and the grey j primroses, 
 anemones, the early tulip, the hyacintlius oiientalis, chamairis 
 fritellaria. For March, there come violets, especially the 
 single blue, which are the earliest; the yellow daffodil, the 
 daisy, the almond-tree in blossom, the peach-tree in blossom, 
 the cornelian-tree in blossom, sweet-briar. In April follow 
 the double white violet, the wall-flower, the stock-gillifiowev, 
 the cowshp, flower-de-luces, and lilies of all natures ; rose¬ 
 mary-flowers, the tulip, the double peony, the pale daffodil, 
 the French honeysuckle, the cheriy-tree in blossom, the 
 damascene® and plum-trees in blossom, the white thora in 
 
 * Pine-trees. ^ Kept warm in a greenhouse. 
 
 ® The damson, or plum of Damascus. 
 
* 
 
 12 G ESSAYS. 
 
 leaf; the lilac-tree. In May and June come pinks of all 
 sortS; specially the blush-pink ; roses of all kinds, except the 
 musk, which comes later ; honeysuckles, strawberries, bu- 
 gloss, columbine, the French marygold, flos Africanus, cherry- 
 tree in fruit, ribes,^ figs in fruit, rasps, vine-flowers, lavender 
 in flowers, the sweet satyrian, with the white flower ; herba 
 muscaria, lilium convallium, the apple-tree in blossom. In 
 July come gilliflow^ers of all varieties, musk-roses, the lime- 
 tree in blossom, early pears, and plums in fruit, genitings,® 
 codlins. In August come plums of all sorts in fruit, pears, 
 apricots, barberries, filberts, musk-melons, monks-hoods, of 
 all colours. In September come grapes, apples, poppies of all 
 colours, peaches, melocotones,^ nectarines, cornelians,^ war¬ 
 dens,^ quinces. In October, and the beginning of November 
 come services, medlars, bullaces, roses cut or removed to 
 come late, hollyoaks, and such like. These particulars are for 
 the climate of London j but my meaning is perceived, that 
 you may have ver perpetuum,”^ as the place afibrds. 
 
 And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the 
 air (where it comes and goes, like the warbling of music), 
 than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that 
 delight, than to know what be the flowers and plants that do 
 best perfume the air. Loses, damask and red, are fast 
 flowers-j of their smells ; so that you may walk by a whole 
 row of them, and find” notliing of their sweetness; yea, 
 though it be in a morning’s dew. Bays, likewise, yield no 
 smell as they grow, rosemary little, nor sweet marjoram; 
 that which, above all others, yields the sweetest smell in the 
 air, is the violet, especially the white double violet, which 
 comes twice a year, about the middle of April, and about 
 Bartholomew-tide. Next to that is the musk-rose; then the 
 strawberry-leaves dying, with a most excellent cordial smell; 
 then the flower of the vines, it is a little dust like the dust 
 of a bent,^ which grows upon the cluster in the first coming 
 
 Currants. ® An apple that is gathered very early. 
 
 ^ A kind of quince, so called from ^^cotoneum,” or ^^cydonium,” the 
 Latin name of the quince. s The fruit of the cornel-tree. 
 
 ^ Tlie warden was a large pear, so called from its keeping well. 
 Warden-pie was formerly much esteemed in this country. 
 
 - PeiTetual spring. 
 
 j Flowers that do not send forth their smell at any distance. 
 
 A species of grass of the genus argostis. 
 
GARDENS. 
 
 127 
 
 foiiili; then sweet-briar, then wallflowers, wbicb arc very 
 delightful to be set'under a parlour or lower chamber 
 window; then pinks and gilliflowers, specially the matted 
 pink and clove gilliflower ; then the flowers of the lime- 
 tree ; then the honeysuckles, so they be somewhat afar ofl*. 
 Of bean-flowers^ I speak not, because they are field-flowers ; 
 but those which perflime the air most delightfully, not passed 
 by as the rest, but being trodden ujDon and crushed, are 
 three; that is, burnet, Avild thyme, and water-mints; there¬ 
 fore you are to set whole alleys of them, to have the pleasure 
 when you walk or tread. 
 
 For gardens (speaking of those which are indeed prince¬ 
 like, as we haA'e done of buildings), the contents ought not 
 well to be under thirty acres of groimd, and to be divided 
 into three parts; a green in the entrance, a lieath, or desert, 
 in the going forth, and the main garden in the midst, besides 
 alleys on both sides; and I like well, that four acres of 
 ground be assigned to the green, six to the heath, four and 
 four to either side, and twelve to the main garden. The 
 green hath two pleasures : the one, because nothing is more 
 pleasant to the eye than green grass kept finely shorn ; the 
 other, because it will give you a fair alley in the midst, by 
 wliich you may go in front upon a stately hedge, which is to 
 enclose the garden : but because the alley will be long, and 
 in great heat of the year, or day, you ought not to buy the 
 shade in the garden by going in the sun through the green ; 
 therefore you are, of either side tho green, to plant a covert 
 alley, upon carpenter s work, about twelve foot in height, by 
 which you may go in shade into the garden. As for the 
 making of Imots, or figures, with divers coloured earths, that 
 they may lie under the windows of the house on that side 
 which the garden stands, they be but toys ; you may see as 
 good sights many times in tarts. The garden is best to be 
 square, encompassed on all the four sides with a stately arched 
 hedge; the arches to be upon pillars of carpenter’s work, of 
 some ten foot high, and six foot broad, and the spaces between 
 of the same dimension with the breadth of the arch. OA^er 
 the arches let there be an entire hedge of some four foot 
 high, framed also upon carpenter’s work; and upon the upper 
 
 ^ The blossoms of the bean. 
 
i28 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 hedge, over every arch, a little turret, with a belly enough ta^ 
 receive a cage of birds : and over every space between the 
 arches some other little figure, with broad j)lates of round^ 
 coloured glass gilt, for the sun to play upon: but this hedge 
 I intend to be raised ujDon a bank, not steep, but gently 
 slope, of some six foot, set all vfith fiowers. Also I under¬ 
 stand, that this square of the garden should not be the whole 
 breadth of the ground, but to leave on either side gTound 
 enough for diversity of side alleys, unto which the two covert 
 alleys of the green may deliver you but there must be no 
 alleys with hedges at either end of this great enclosure j not 
 at the hither end, for letting^ your prospect upon this 
 fair hedge from the green ; nor at the further end, for 
 letting your prospect from the hedge through the arches 
 upon the heath. 
 
 For the ordering of the ground within the great hedge, I 
 leave it to variety of device; advising, nevertheless, that 
 whatsoever form you cast it into first, it be not too bushy, or 
 full of work ; wFerein I, for my part, do not like images cut 
 out in juniper or other garden stuff; they be for children. 
 Little low hedges, round like welts, with some pretty pyra¬ 
 mids, I like well; and in some places fair columns, upon 
 frames of carpenter’s work. I would also have the alleys 
 spacious and fair. You may have closer alleys upon the side 
 grounds, but none in the main garden. I wish also, in the 
 very middle, a fair mount, with three ascents and alleys, 
 enough for four to walk abreast; which 1 would have to be 
 perfect circles, without any bulwarks or embossments j and 
 the whole mount to be thirty foot high, and some fine ban- 
 queting-house vfitli some chimneys neatly cast, and without 
 too much glass. 
 
 For fountains, they are a great beauty and refreshment; 
 but pools mar all, and make the garden unwholesome, and 
 full of flies and frogs. Fountains I intend to be of two 
 natures j the one that sprinkleth or spouteth Avater : the 
 other a fair receipt of Avater, of some thirty or forty foot 
 square, but Avithout fi.sh, or slime, or mud. For the first, 
 the ornaments of images, gilt or of marble, which are in use, 
 do well : but the main matter is so to convey the water, as it 
 
 tn 
 
 Bring or lead you. 
 
 ® IiApeding. 
 
GARDlilNS. 
 
 129 
 
 never stay, either in the bowls or in the cistern : that the 
 water be never by rest discoloiu’ed, green, or red, or the like, 
 or gather any mossiness or putrefaction; besides that, it is to 
 be cleansed every day by the hand : also some.steps up to it, 
 and some fine pavement about it doth well. As for the 
 other kind of fountain, which we may call a bathing-pool, it 
 may admit much curiosity and beauty, wherewith we will 
 not trouble ourselves : as, that the bottom be finely paved, 
 and with images ; the sides likewise : and with^ embellished 
 with coloured glass, and such things of lustre ; encompassed 
 also with fine rails of low statues : but the main point is the 
 same which we mentioned in the former kind of fountain ; 
 which is, that the water be in perpetual motion, fed by a 
 water higher than the pool, and delivered into it by fair 
 spouts, and then discharged away under ground, by some 
 equality of bores, that it stay little; and for fine devices, of 
 arching water® without spilling, and making it rise in several 
 forms (of feathers, drinking-glasses, canopies, and the like), 
 they be pretty things to look on, but nothing to health and 
 sweetness. 
 
 For the heath, which was the thii*d part of our plot, 
 I ^vish it to be framed as much as may be to a natural 
 wildness. Trees I wotdd have none in it, but some thickets 
 made only of sweet-briar and honeysuckle, and some Avild 
 vine amongst ; and the ground set with violets, strawberries, 
 and primroses ; for these are sweet, and prosper in the shade; 
 and these to be in the heath here and there, not in any 
 order. I like also little heaps, in the nature of mole-hills 
 (such as are in wild heaths), to be set, some with wild thyme, 
 some with pinks, some with germander, that gives a good 
 flower to the eye ; some with periwinkle, some with violets, 
 some with strawberries, some with cowslips, some with 
 daisies, some with red roses, some with Idium convallium,? 
 Rome with sweet-williams red, some with bear’s-foot, and the 
 like low flowers, being withal sweet and sightly; part of 
 which heaps to be with standards of little bushes pricked 
 upon their top, and part without : the standards to be roses, 
 juniper, holly, barberries (but here and there, because of the 
 
 ° CanBing the water to fall in a perfect arch, without any spray ©scap¬ 
 ing from the jet, p Lilies of the valley. 
 
130 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 smell of tlieir blossom), red cuiTants, gooseberries, rosemary, 
 
 bays, sweet-briar, and sucb like : but these standards to be 
 kept with cutting, that they grow not out of course. 
 
 For the side grounds, you are to fill them with variety of 
 alleys, private, to give a full shade; some of them, where¬ 
 soever the sun be. You are to frame some of them likewise 
 for shelter, that when the wind blows sharp, you may walk 
 as in a galleiy : and those alleys must be likewise hedged at 
 both ends, to * keep out the wind ; and these closer alleys 
 must be ever finely gravelled, and no grass, because of going 
 
 wet. In many of these alleys, likewise, you are to set fruit- 
 trees of all sorts, as well upon the walls as in ranges and 
 this should be generally observed, that the borders wherein 
 you plant your fruit-trees be fair, and large, and low, and not 
 steep ; and set with fine flowers, but thin and sparingly, lest 
 they deceive^ the trees. At the end of both the side grounds 
 I would have a mount of some pretty height, leaving the 
 wall of the enclosure breast-high, to look abroad into the 
 fields. 
 
 For the main garden I do not deny but there should be 
 some fair alleys ranged on both sides, with fruit-trees, and 
 some pretty tufts of fruit-trees and arbours with seats, set 
 in some decent order ; but these to be by no means set too 
 thick, but to leave the main garden so as it be not close, but 
 the air open and free. For as for shade, I would have you 
 rest upon the alleys of the side grounds, there to walk, if you 
 be disposed, in the heat of the year or day ; but to make 
 account® that the main garden is for the more temperate 
 parts of the year, and, in the heat of summer for the morn¬ 
 ing and the evening or overcast days. 
 
 For aviaries, I like them not, except they be of that 
 largeness as they may be turfed, and have li\dng plants and 
 bushes set in them ; that the birds may have more scope and 
 natural nestling, and that no foulness appear in the floor of 
 the aviary. So I have made a platform of a princely garden, 
 partly by precept, partly by dra^ving; not a model, but some 
 general lines of it; and in this I have spared for no cost: 
 but it is notliing for great princes, that for the most part, 
 
 ^ In rowfl, *■ Insidiously subtract nourishment from* 
 
 • To consider or expect. 
 
NEGOTIATING. 
 
 131 
 
 taking advice with workmen, with no less cost set their 
 things together, and sometimes add statues and such things, 
 for state and maguificence, but nothing to'the true pleasure 
 of a garden. 
 
 XLVIT.—OF NEGOTIATING. 
 
 It is generally better to deal by speech than by letter; 
 and by the mediation of a third than by a man’s self. 
 Letters are good, when a man would draw an answer by 
 letter back again; or when it may serve for a man’s justifi¬ 
 cation afterwards to produce his own letter ; or where it may 
 be danger to be interrupted, or heard by pieces. To deal in 
 person is good, when a man’s face breedeth regard, as com¬ 
 monly with inferiors; or in tender cases where a man’s eye 
 upon the countenance of him with whom he speaketh, may 
 give him a direction how far to go : and generally where a 
 man will reserve to himself liberty, either to disavow or to 
 expound. In choice of instruments, it is better to choose 
 men of a plainer sort, that are like to do that, that is com* 
 mitted to them, and to report back again faithfully the 
 success, than those that are cunning to contrive out of other 
 men’s business somewhat to grace themselves, and will help 
 the matter in report, for satisfaction sake. Use also such 
 persons as affect^ the business wherein they are employed, 
 for that quickeneth much ; and such as are fit for the matter, 
 as bold men for expostulation, fair-spoken men for persuasion, 
 crafty men for inquiry and observation, fro ward and absurd 
 men for business that doth not well bear out itself Use also 
 such as have been lucky and prevailed before in things 
 wherein you have employed them; for that breeds confidence, 
 and they will strive to maintain their prescription. It is 
 better to sound a person \vith whom one deals afar off, than 
 to fall upon the point at first, except you mean to surprise 
 him by some short question. It is better dealing with men 
 in appetite,^ than with those that are where thGy would be. 
 
 * Love, are pleased with. 
 
 ^ It is more advantageous to deal with men whose desires are not yet 
 satisfied than with those who have gained all they have wished for, and 
 are likely to be proof against inducements. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 Tf a man deal with another upon conditions, the start of first 
 performance is all : wliich a man cannot reasonably demand, 
 except either the nature of the thing be such, wliich must 
 go before : or else a man can persuade the other party, that 
 he shall still need him in some other thing ; or else that he 
 be counted the honester man. All practice is to discover, or 
 to work. Men discover themselves in trust, in passion, at 
 unawares ; and of necessity, Avhen they would have some¬ 
 what done, and cannot find an apt pretext. If you would 
 work any man, you must eitlier know his nature and fashions, 
 and so lead him ; or his ends, and so persuade liim ; or his 
 weakness and disadvantages, and so awe him ; or those that 
 have interest in him, and so govern him. In dealing witli 
 cunning persons, we must ever consider their ends, to in¬ 
 terpret their speeches; and it is good to say little to them, 
 and that which they least look for. In all negotiations of 
 difS-culty, a man may not look to sow and reap at once ; but 
 must prepare business, and so ripen it by degrees. 
 
 XLYIII.—OF FOLLOWERS AND FRIENDS. 
 
 Costly followers are not to be liked; lesb while a man 
 maketh his train longer, he make his wings shorter. I 
 reckon to be costly, not them alone which charge the purse, 
 but which are wearisome and importune in suits. Ordinary 
 followers ought to challenge no higher conditions than coun¬ 
 tenance, recommendation, and protection from wrongs. Fac¬ 
 tious followers are worse to be liked, which follow not upon 
 affection to him with whom they range themselves, but upon 
 discontentment conceived against some other; whereupon 
 commonly ensueth that ill intelligence, that we many times 
 see between great personages. Likewise glorious^ followers, 
 who make themselves as trumpets of the commendation of 
 those they follow, are full of inconvenience, for they taint 
 business through want of secrecy; and they export honour 
 from a man, and make him a return in envy. There is a 
 kind of followers, likewise, which are dangerous, being indeed 
 
 * Ill the sense of the Latin ^^gloriosus, * boastful,” bragging." 
 
FOLLOAVXRS AND FRIENDS. 
 
 135 
 
 espials; wliich. inquire the secrets of the house, and hear 
 tales of them to others; yet such men, many times, are in 
 great favour ; for they are officious, and commonly exchange 
 tales. The following by certain estates'^ of men, answerable 
 to that which a great person himself professeth (as of soldiers 
 to him that hath been employed in the wars, and the like), 
 hath ever been a thing chdl and well taken even in 
 monarchies, so it be without too much pomp or popularity: 
 but the most honourable kind of following, is to be followed 
 as one that apprehendeth to advance virtue and desert in all 
 sorts of persons ; and yet, where there is no eminent odds in 
 sufficiency, it is better to take with the more passable, than 
 with the more able ; and besides, to speak truth in base 
 times, active men are of more use than virtuous. It is true, 
 that in government, it is good to use men of one rank equally: 
 for to countenance some extraordinarilv, is to make them 
 insolent, and the rest discontent; because they may claim a 
 due ; but contrariwise in favour, to use men with much 
 difference and election is good ; for it maketh the persons 
 preferred more thankful, and the rest more officious : because 
 all is of favour. It is good discretion not to make too much 
 of any man at the first ; because one cannot hold out that 
 proportion. To be governed (as w^e call it) by one, is not 
 safe ; for it shows softness,*^ and gives a freedom to scan¬ 
 dal and disreputation; for those that would not censure, 
 or speak ill of a man immediately, will talk more boldly of 
 those that are so great with them, and thereby wound their 
 honour; yet to be distracted with many, is worse ; for it 
 makes men to be of the last impression, and full of change. 
 To.take advice of some few friends is ever honourable ; for 
 lookers-on many times see more than gamesters; and the 
 vale best disco vereth the hill. There is little friendship in 
 the world, and least of all bet^veen equals, which was wont^ 
 
 ** Professions or classes. 
 
 Weakness or indecision of character. 
 
 He probably alludes to the ancient stones of the friendship of 
 Orestes and Pylades, Theseus and Pirithoiis, Damon and Pythias, and 
 others, and the maxims of the anc’ent Philosophers. Aristotle consi¬ 
 ders that equality in circumstances and station is one requisite of 
 friendship. Seneca and Quintus Curtius express the same opinion. It 
 seems hardly probable that Lord Bacon reflected deeply when he penned 
 this passage, for between equals, jealousy, the most insidious of all the 
 
134 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 to be magnified. That that is, is between superior and 
 inferior,® whose fortunes may comprehend the one the other. 
 
 XLIX.—OF SUITORS. 
 
 Many ill matters and projects are undertaken; and private 
 suits do putrefy the public good. Many good matters are 
 undertaken with bad minds; I mean not only corrupt minds, 
 but crafty minds ; that intend not performance. Some 
 embrace suits, which never mean to deal efiectually in them; 
 but if they see there may be life in the matter, by some other 
 mean they will be content to win a thank, or take a second 
 reward, or at least, to make use in the mean time of the 
 suitor’s liopes. Some take hold of suits only for an occasion 
 to cross some other, or to make an information, whereof they 
 could not otherwise have apt pretext, without care what be¬ 
 come of the suit when that turn is served; or, generally, to 
 make other men’s business a kind of entertainment to bring 
 in their own : nay, some undertake suits with a full purpose 
 to let them fall ; to the end to gratify the adverse party, or 
 competitor. Surely there is in some sort a right in every 
 suit ; either a right of equity, if it be a suit of controversy, 
 or a right of desert, if it be a suit of petition. If affection 
 lead a man to favour, the wrong side in justice, let him rather 
 use his countenance to compound the matter than to carry it. 
 If affection lead a man to favour the less worthy in desert, 
 let him do it without depraving^ or disabling the better 
 deserver. In suits which a man doth not well understand, it 
 is good to refer them to some friend of trust and judgment, 
 
 enemies of friendship, has the least chance of originating. Dr. John¬ 
 son says :—Friendship is seldom lasting but between equals, or where 
 the superiority on one side is reduced by some equivalent advantage on 
 the other. Benefits which cannot be repaid, and obligations which 
 cannot be discharged, are not commonly found to increase affection ; 
 they excite gratitude indeed, and heighten veneration, but commonly 
 take away that easy freedom and familiarity of intercourse without 
 which, though there may be fidelity, and zeal, and admiration, there 
 cannot be friendship.”— Rambler^ No. 64. 
 
 ® In such a case, gratitude and admiration exist on the one handy 
 esteem and confidence on the other. 
 
 * Lowering, or humiliating. 
 
SUITORS. 
 
 13o 
 
 tliat may repoi’t whetlier lie may deal in them with honour : 
 •but let him choose well his referendaries,^ for else he may be 
 led by the nose. Suitors are so distasted vnih delays and 
 abuses, that plain dealing in denying to deal in suits at first, 
 and reporting the success barely,and in challenging no more 
 thanks than one hath deserved, is grovui not only honourable 
 but also gracious. In suits of favoim, the first coming ought 
 to take little place so far forth ^ consideration may be had 
 of his trust, that if intelligence of the matter could not 
 otherwise have been had but by liim, advantage be not taken 
 of the note,s but the party left to his other means ; and in 
 some sort recompensed for his discovery. To be ignorant of 
 the value of a suit, is simplicity ; as well as to be ignorant 
 of the right thereof, is want of conscience. Secrecy in suits 
 is a great mean of obtaining; for voicing them to be in for- 
 wai’dness may discourage some kind of suitors j but doth 
 quicken and awake others : but timing of the suit is the 
 principal ; timing I say not only in respect of the person 
 that should grant it, but in respect of those which are like 
 to cross it. Let a man, in the choice of his mean, rather 
 choose the fittest mean, than the greatest mean ; and rather 
 them that deal in certain things, than those that are general. 
 The reparation of a denial is sometimes equal to the first 
 grant, if a man show himself neither dejected nor discontented. 
 
 Iniquum petas, ut asquum feras,” ^ is a good rule, where a 
 man hath strength of favour : biit other^vise a man were 
 better rise in liis suit ; for he that would have ventured at 
 first to have lost the suitor, will not, in the conclusion, lose 
 both the suitor and his own former favour. Nothing is 
 thought so easy a request to a great person, as ] >is letter ; 
 and yet, if it be not in a good cause, it is so much out of his 
 reputation. There are no worse instruments than these 
 general contrivers of suits ; for tliey are but a kind of poison 
 and infection to public proceedings. 
 
 ^ Referees. ^ Disgusted. 
 
 ^ Giving no false colour to the degi’ee of success which has attended 
 the prosecution of the suit. ® To have little effect. 
 
 J To this extent. s Of the information. 
 
 ■** Ask what is exorbitant, that you may obtain what is moderate,” 
 
136 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 L.—OF STUDIES.* ** 
 
 Studies serve for deliglit, for ornament, and for ability. 
 Tlieir chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; 
 for ornament, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judg¬ 
 ment and disjDosition of business ; for expert men can exe¬ 
 cute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one : but the 
 general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs 
 come best from those that are learned. To spend too much 
 time in studies, is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament, 
 is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the 
 humour of a scholar : they perfect nature, and are j^erfected 
 by experience : for natural abilities are like natural plants, 
 that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give 
 forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded 
 in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men. 
 admire them, and Avise men use them; for they teach not 
 their own use; but that is a wisdom without them and 
 above them, Avon by observation. Dead not to contradict 
 and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find 
 talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books 
 are to be tasted, others to be SAvalloAved, and some few to be 
 chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read 
 only in parts; others to be read but not curiously;^ and 
 some fsAv to be read wholly, and Avith diligence and atten¬ 
 tion. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts 
 made of them by ochers; but that would be only in the 
 less important arguments and the meaner sort of books; 
 else distilled books are, like common distilled waters, flashy ° 
 things. Heading maketh a full man; conference a ready 
 man; and AAudting an exact man; and, therefore, if* a man 
 write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer 
 little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, 
 he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he 
 doth not. Histories make men Avise ; poets, Avitty ; the 
 mathematics, subtile; natural philosophy, deep; moral, grave; 
 logic and rhetoric, able to contend; Abeunt studia in 
 
 * This formed the first Essay in the earliest edition of the work. 
 
 ** Attentively. * Yapld ; Avithont taste or spirit 
 
FACTION. 
 
 137 
 
 mores nay, chere is no stand or impediment in tlie wit, 
 but may be wrought out by fit studies : like as diseases of 
 the body may have appropriate exercises; bowling is good 
 for the stone and reins, shooting for the lungs and breast, 
 gentle walking for the stomach, riding for the head and the 
 like; so if a man’s wit be wandering, let him study the 
 mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called 
 away never so little, he must begin again; if his wit be not 
 apt to distinguish or find difference, let him study tho 
 schoolmen; for they are “Cymini sectores.”® If he be not 
 apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove 
 and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers’ cases ; so 
 eveiy defect of the mind may have a special receipt. 
 
 LI.—OF FACTION. 
 
 Many have an opinion not vise, that for a piince to 
 govern his estate, or for a great person to govern his pro¬ 
 ceedings, according to the respect of factions, is a principal 
 part of policy; whereas, contrarivfise, the chiefest wisdom 
 is, either in ordering those things which are genera], and 
 wherein men of several factions do nevei'theless agree, or 
 in dealing with correspondence to particular persons, one by* 
 one : but I say not, that the consideration of factions is to 
 be neglected. Mean men in their risiog must adhere; but 
 great men, that have strength in themselves, were better to 
 maintain themselves indifferent and neutral: yet even in 
 beginners, to adhere so moderately, as he be a man of the 
 one faction, which is most passable with the other, commonly 
 giveth best way. The lower and weaker faction is the firmer 
 in conjunction; and it is often seen, that a few that are stiff, 
 do tire out a great number that are more moderate. When 
 one of the factions is extinguished, the remaining subdi- 
 videth ; as the faction between Lucullus and the rest of the 
 nobles of the senate (which they called optimates”) held 
 
 ^ Studies become habits.” 
 
 ® Splitters of cummin-seeds or, as we now say, splitters of 
 •traws ” or “hairs,” Butler says of Hudibras— 
 
 “ He could distinguish and divide 
 
 A hair ’twixt south and south-west side ” 
 
 1 
 
138 
 
 ASSAYS. 
 
 out a while against the faction of Pom])ey and Caesar; but 
 when the senate’s authority was pulled down, Caesar and 
 Pompey soon after brake. The faction or party of Antonins 
 and Octa\danus Caesar, against Brutus and Cassius, held 
 out likewise for a time; but when Brutus and Cassius were 
 overthrown, then soon after Antonius and Octavianus brake 
 and subdivided. These examples are of wars, but the same 
 holdeth in private factions : and therefore, those that are 
 i 5 econds in factions, do many times, when the faction sub- 
 divideth, prove principals; but many times also they prove 
 oiphers and cashiered; for many a mans strength is in 
 opposition; and when that faileth, he groweth out of use. 
 It is commonly seen, that men once placed, take in with tne 
 contrary faction to that by which they enter ; thinking, 
 belike, that they have the first sure, and now are ready for 
 a new purchase. The traitor in faction lightly goeth away 
 Yrith. it; for when matters have stuck long in balancing, 
 the winning of some one man casteth them,^ and he getteth 
 all the thanks. The even carriage between two factions 
 proceedeth not always of moderation, but of a trueness to a 
 man’s self, ^vith end to make use of both. Certainly, in 
 Italy, they hold it a little suspect in popes, when they have 
 often in their mouth Padre comune and take it to 
 be a sign of one that meaneth to refer all to the greatness of 
 his own house. Kings had need beware how they side 
 themselves, and make themselves as of a faction or party; 
 for leagues within the state are ever pernicious to monar¬ 
 chies ; for they raise an obligation paramount to obligation 
 of sovereignty, and make the king tanquam unus ex no¬ 
 bis as was to be seen in the Leagaie of France. When 
 factions are carried too high and too violently, it is a sign of 
 weakness in princes, and much to the prejudice both of their 
 authority and business. The motions of factions under kings, 
 ought to be like the motions (as the astronomers speak) of 
 the inferior orbs, which may have their proper motions, but 
 yet still are quietly carried by the higher motion of pri- 
 mum. mobile.” 
 
 • Causes one side to preponderate. ^ The common father.” 
 
 - As one of us.” Henry III. of France, favouring the League 
 formed by the Duke of Guise and Cardinal De Lorraine against the 
 Protestants, soon found that through the adoption of that policy he had 
 forfeited the respect of his subjects, ^ See a Note to Essay 15. 
 
CEREMONIES AND RESPECTS. 
 
 139 
 
 LII.—OF CEREMONIES AND RESPECTS. 
 
 He tliat is only real, had need have exceeding great parts 
 of virtue ; as the stone had need to be rich that is set 
 without foil; but if a man mark it well, it is in praise and 
 commendation of men, as it is in gettings and gains: for the 
 proverb is true, ‘‘That light gains make heavy pimses;” for 
 light gains come thick, whereas great come but now and 
 then : so it is true, that small matters win great commenda¬ 
 tion, because they are continually in use and in note: 
 whereas the occasion of any great virtue cometh but on 
 festivals; therefore it doth much add to a man’s reputation, 
 and is (as Queen Isabella^ said) like j)erpetual letters com¬ 
 mendatory, to have good forms; to attain them, it almost 
 sufficeth not to despise them; for so shall a man observe 
 them in others ; and let him trust himself with the rest; 
 for if he labour too much to express them, he shall lose their 
 grace ; which is to be natural and unaffected. Some men’s 
 behaviour is like a verse, wherein every syllable is measured; 
 how can a man comprehend great matters, that breaketh 
 his mind too much to small obsei^^ations ? Not to use cere¬ 
 monies at all, is to teach otliers not to use them again; and 
 so diminisheth respect to himself; especially they be not to 
 be omitted to strangers and formal natures; but the dwelling 
 ujDon them, and exalting them above the moon, is not only 
 tedious, but doth diminish the faith and credit of him that 
 speaks; and, certainly, there is a kind of conveying of effec¬ 
 tual and impiinting })assages amongst compliments, which is 
 of singular use, if a man can hit upon it. Amongst a man’s 
 peers, a man shall be sure of familiarity ; and therefore it is 
 good a little to keep state; amongst a man’s inferiors, one 
 shall be sure of reverence; and therefore it is good a little 
 to be familiar. He that is too much in anything, so that he 
 giveth another occasion of satiety, maketh liimself cheap. 
 To apply one’s self to others, is good; so it be with demon¬ 
 stration, that a man doth it upon regard, and not upon 
 facility. It is a good precept, generally in seconding another, 
 
 • Of Castile. She was the wife of Ferdinand of An^agon, and was 
 the patroness of Columbus. 
 
140 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 "'■’1 
 
 4 , 
 
 yet to add somewhat of one’s own : as if you will grant his 
 opinion, let it be with some distinction ; if you will follow 
 his motion, let it be with condition \ if you allow his counsel, 
 let it be with alleging further reason. Men had need beware 
 how they be too perfect in compliments ; for be they never 
 so sufficient otherwise, their enviers will be sure to give 
 them that attribute, to the disadvantage of their greater vir¬ 
 tues. It is loss also in business to be too full of respects, or 
 to be too curious in observing times and opportunities. 
 Solomon saith, “ He that considerefch the vmid shall not 
 sow, and he that looketh to the clouds shall not reap.”^^ A 
 wise man will make more opportunities than he finds. Men’s 
 behaviour should be like their apparel, not too strait or point 
 device,^ but free for exercise or motion. 
 
 LIII.—OF PEAISE. 
 
 Praise is the reflection of virtue; but it is glass, or 
 body, which giveth the reflection. If it be from the common 
 people, it is commonly false and nought, and rather followeth 
 vain persons than virtuous : for the common people under¬ 
 stand not many excellent virtues : the lowest virtues draw 
 praise from them, the middle virtues work in them asto¬ 
 nishment or admiration; but of the highest virtues they 
 have no sense or perceiving at all; but shows and species 
 virtutibus similes,”^, serve best ^vith them. Certainly, fame 
 is like a river, that beareth up things light and swollen, and 
 drowns things v/eighty and solid; but if persons of quality 
 and judgment concur, then it is (as the Scripture saith), 
 ^ Homen bonum instar unguenti fragrantis it filleth all 
 round about, and will not easily away; for the odours of 
 ointments are more durable than those of flowers. There be 
 
 ^ The v/ords in our version are, He that observeth the wind shall 
 not sow, and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.”—Eccle¬ 
 siastes xi. 4. 
 
 Exact in the extreme. Point-de-vice ’was originally the name of a 
 kind of lace of very fine pattern. 
 
 * ^^Appearances resembling virtues.” 
 
 ^ A good name is like sweet-smelling ointment.” The words in our 
 version are, ‘‘A good name is better than precious ointment.”~Eccle- 
 fiiastea vii. 1. 
 
PRAISE. 
 
 U1 
 
 SO many false points of praise, tliat a man may justly hold it 
 a suspect. Some praises proceed merely of flatter}’-; and if 
 lie be an ordinary flatterer, he will have certain common 
 attributes, which may serve every man ; if he be a cunning 
 flatterer, he will follow the arch-flatterer, which is a man’s 
 self, and wherein a man thinketh best of himself, therein the 
 flatterer will uphold him most: but if he be an impudent 
 flatterer, look wherein a man is conscious to himself that he 
 is most defective, and is most out of countenance in himself, 
 that will the flatterer entitle him to, peiforce, spreta 
 conscientia.” ^ Some praises come of good vdshes and re¬ 
 spects, which is a form due in civility to kings and great 
 persons, ^^laudando praecipere when by telling men what 
 they are, they rej^resent to them what they should be ; some 
 men are praised maliciously to their hui't, thereby to stir 
 envy and jealousy towards them; “ Pessimum genus ini- 
 micorum laudantium j”® insomuch as it was a proverb amongst 
 the Grecians, that, he that was jDraised to his hurt, should 
 liave a push^ rise upon his noseas we say, that a blister 
 will rise upon one’s tongue that tells a lie j certainly, mode¬ 
 rate praise, used with opportunity, and not \mlgar, is that 
 which doth the good. Solomon saith, He that praiseth 
 his fiiend aloud, rising early, it shall be to him no better 
 than a curse.” s Too much magnifying of man or matter doth 
 iiTitate contradiction, and procure envy and scorn. To praise 
 a man’s self cannot be decent, except it be in rare cases; but 
 to praise a man’s office or profession, he may do it with 
 good grace, and with a kind of magnanimity. The cardinals 
 of Rome, which are theologues,^ and friars, and schoolmen, 
 have a phrase of notable contempt and scorn towards civil 
 business; for they call all temporal business of wars, embas- 
 sages, judicature, and other employments, sbirrerie, which is 
 
 ® Disregardiag his ovm conscience.” 
 
 ^ ** To instruct under the form of praise.” 
 
 * The worst kind of enemies are those who flatter.” 
 
 * A pimple filled with “ pus,” or ** purulent matter.” The word is 
 fltill used in the east of England. 
 
 8 The words in our version are, ** He that blesseth his friend with a 
 loud voice, rising early in the morning, it shall be counted a curse to 
 him.”—Proverbs xxvii. 14. 
 
 ^ In other words, to show what we call an esprit de corps^ 
 
 * Theologians. 
 
142 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 iinder-slieriffries, as if they ^vere but matters for under-slierifih 
 and catchpoies ; tliougli many times those under-sherifiries 
 do more good than their high speculations. St. Paul, when 
 he boasts of himself, he doth oft interlace, I speak like a 
 fool but speaking of his calling, he saith, “ Magnificabo 
 apostolatum meum.”^ 
 
 LIV.-OF VAIN GLORY. 
 
 It was prettily devised of ^sop, the fly sat upon the axle- 
 tree of the chariot-wheel, and said, ^‘ What a dust do I raise 1’^ 
 So are there some vain persons, that, whatsoever goeth alone, 
 or moveth upon greater means, if the}/ have never so little 
 hand in it, they think it is they that carry it. They that 
 are glorious must needs be factious; for all bravery® stands 
 upon comparisons. They must needs be violent to make 
 good their own vaunts; neither can they be secret, and 
 therefore not effectual; but according to the French proverb 
 Beaucoup de bruit, ,peu de fruit;”—“much bi*uit,^ little 
 fruit.” Yet, certainly, there is use of this quality in civil 
 affairs : where there is an opinion ^ and fame to be created, 
 either of virtue or greatness, these men are good trumpeters. 
 Again, as Titus Livius noteth, in the case of Antiochus and 
 the ^tolians, there are sometimes great effects of cross lies; 
 as if a man that negotiates between two princes, to draw 
 them to join in a war against the third, doth extol the forces 
 of either of them above measure, the one to the other : and 
 sometimes he that deals between man and man, raiseth his 
 own credit with both, by pretending greater interest than 
 he hath in either; and in these, and the like kinds, it often 
 falls out, that somewhat is produced of nothing; for lies are 
 sufficient to breed opinion, and opinion bidngs on substance. 
 In military commanders and soldiers, vain glory is an essen¬ 
 tial point; for as iron sharpens iron, so by glory, one courage 
 sharpeneth another. In cases of great enterprise upon 
 
 ^ 2 Cor. xi. 23. 
 
 * I will magnify my apostleship.” He alludes to the words in 
 Romans xi. 13—“Inasmuch as I am the apostle of the Gentiles, I mag¬ 
 nify mine office.” ^ Vaunting, or boasting, 
 
 “ Noise. We have a corresponding proverb—“ great cry and littlo 
 wool.” ® A high or good opiniou. 
 
VAIN GLORY. 
 
 143 
 
 cliarge^ and adventui'e, a composition of glorious natures 
 doth put life into business ; and those that are of solid and 
 sober natures, have more of the ballast than of the sail. In 
 fame of learning, the flight vdll be slow without some fea¬ 
 thers of ostentation : ‘^Qui de contemnenda gloria libros 
 scribunt, nomen suum inscribunt.” ® Socrates, Aristotle, 
 Gralen, were men full of ostentation : certainly, vain glory 
 helpeth to perpetuate a man’s memory; and virtue was never 
 so beholden to human nature, as it received its due at the 
 second hand. Neither had the fame of Cicero, Seneca, Pli- 
 nius Secundus,^ borne her age so well if it had not been 
 joined with some vanity in themselves; like unto vamishy 
 that makes ceilings not only shine, but last. But all this 
 while, when I speak of vain glory, I mean not of that pro¬ 
 perty that Tacitus doth attribute to Mucianus, “ Omnium, 
 qu8e dixerat feceratque, arte quadam ostentator :”g for that^ 
 proceeds not of vanity, but of natural magnanimity and dis¬ 
 cretion; and, in some persons, is not only comely, but gTa- 
 cious: for excusations,^ cessions,^ modesty itself, well governed, 
 are but arts of ostentation; and amongst those arts there is 
 none better than that which Plinius Secundus speaketh of, 
 which is to be liberal of praise and commendation to others, 
 in that wherein a man’s self hath any perfection: for, saith 
 Pliny very wittily, “ In commending another, you do yourself 
 right;” for he that you commend is either superior to you in 
 that you commend, or inferior: if he be infeiior, if he be to 
 be commended, you much more; if he be superior, if he be 
 not to be commended, you much less.” Glorious^ men are 
 the scorn of wise men, the admiration of fools, the idols of 
 parasites, and the slaves of their own vaunts. 
 
 ^ By express command. 
 
 ® “Those who write books on despising giory set their names in the 
 title-page.” He quotes from Cicero’s “Tusculanse Disputationes,” b. i. 
 c. 15, whose words are, “ Quid nostri philosophi ? Noune in liis libris 
 ipsis, quos scribunt de contemnendii gloria, sua nomina inscribunt.’* 
 —“What do our philosophers do? Do they not, in those very books 
 which they write on despising glory, set their names in the title-page ?’' 
 
 ^ Pliny the Younger, the nephew of the elder Pliny, the naturalist. 
 
 ^ “ One who set off everything he said and did with a certain skill.” 
 Mucianus was an intriguing general in the times of Otho and Vitellius. 
 
 ^ Namely, the property of which he was sp 3 aking, and not that men¬ 
 tioned by Tacitus. 
 
 ‘ Apologies. ^ Concessions. ^ Boastful. 
 
144 
 
 ESSAY??. 
 
 
 LV.—OF HONOUR AND REPUTATION. 
 
 The winning of honour is hut the revealing of a man’s 
 virtue and worth without disadvantage; for some in their 
 actions do woo and affect honour and reputation; which sort 
 of men are commonly much talked of, but inwardly little 
 admired: and some, contrariwise, darken their virtue in the 
 show of it; so as they be undervalued in opinion. If a man 
 perform that which hath not been attempted before, or 
 attempted and given over, or hath been achieved, but not 
 mth so good circumstance, he shall purchase more honour 
 than by affecting a matter of greater difficulty or virtue, 
 wherein he is but a follower. If a man so temper his actions, 
 as in some one of them he doth content every faction or 
 combination of people, the music will be the fuller. A man 
 is an ill husband of his honour that entereth into any action, 
 the failing wherein may disgrace him more than the carrying 
 of it through can honoiu’ him. Honour that is gained and 
 broken upon another hath the quickest reflection, like dia¬ 
 monds cut with facets; and therefore let a man contend to 
 excel any competitors of his in honour, in outshooting them, 
 if he can, in their own bow. Discreet followers and servants 
 help much to reputation: “ Omnis fama a domesticis ema- 
 nat.”^ Envy, which is the canker of honour, is best extin¬ 
 guished by declaring a man’s self in his ends, rather to seek 
 merit than fame: and by attributing a man’s successes rather 
 to Divine providence and felicity, than to his own virtue or 
 policy. The true marshalling of the degrees of sovereign 
 honour are these: in the first place are “ conditores impe- 
 riorum,”^ founders of states and commonwealths; such as 
 were Homulus, C 3 UTIS, Ciesar, Ottoman,^ Ismael: in the second 
 place are “ legislatores,” lawgivers; which are also called 
 second founders, or perpetui principes,”^ because they govern 
 by their ordinances after they are gone; such were Lycurgus, 
 
 ^ '‘All fame emanates from servants.” 
 
 ** " Founders of empires.” 
 
 ® He alludes to Ottoman, or Othman I., the founder of the dynasty 
 now reigning at Constantinople. From him the Turkish empire received 
 the appellation of "Othoman,” or “Ottoman” Porte. 
 
 ** Perpetual rulers.” 
 
HONOUR AND REPUTATION. 
 
 145 
 
 
 Solon, Justinian, EdgAr,® Alphonsus of Castile the Wise, that 
 made the “ Siete Pai*tidas in the third place are libera- 
 tores,” or Salvatores,” g such as compound the long miseries 
 of civil wars, or deliver their countries from servitude of 
 strangers or tyrants ; as Augustus Caesar, Yespasianus, Aure- 
 lianus, Tbeodoiicus, King Henry the Seventh of England, 
 King Henry the Fourth of France: in the fourth place are 
 
 propagatores,” or “ propugnatores imperii,” ^ such as in 
 honourable wars enlarge their territories, or make noble de¬ 
 fence against invaders; and, in the last place, are “ patres 
 patriae,”^ which reign justly and make the times good 
 wherein they live ; both which last kinds need no examples, 
 they are in such number. Degrees of honour in subjects 
 are, first, pai*ticipes curarum,”^ those upon whom princes 
 do discharge the greatest weight of their afiairs; their right 
 hands, as we call them ; the next are “ duces belli,” ^ great 
 leaders; such as are princes’ lieutenants, and do them nota¬ 
 ble services in the wars : the third are gratiosi,” favourites; 
 Kuch as exceed not this scantling,^^ to be solace to the sove¬ 
 reign, and harmless to the people : and the fourth, negotiis 
 paressuch as have great places under princes, and exe¬ 
 cute them places with sufficiency. There is an honour, like¬ 
 wise, which may be ranked amongst the greatest, which 
 happeneth rarely ; that is, of such as sacrifice themselves to 
 death or danger for the good of their country; as was 
 M. Regulus, and the two Decii. 
 
 * Sumained the Peaceful, who ascended the throne of England 
 A.D. 959. He was eminent as a legislator and a rigid assertor of 
 justice. Hume considers his reign ‘‘one of the most fortunate that we 
 meet with in the ancient English history.” 
 
 ^ Tliese were a general collection of the Spanish laws, made by 
 Alphonso X. of Castile, arranged under their proper titles. The work 
 was commenced by Don Ferdinand, his father, to put an end to the 
 contradictory decisions in the Castilian courts of justice. It was 
 divided into seven parts, whence its name “ Siete Partidas.” It did not, 
 however, become the law of Castile till nearly eighty years after. 
 
 f “Deliverers,” or “preservers.” 
 
 ‘ ^ “ Extenders,” or “defenders of the empire.” 
 
 * “ Fathers of their country.” 
 
 ^ “ Participators in cares.” ^ “ Leaders in war.” 
 
 “ Proportion, dimensions. “ “ Equal to their duties,” 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 LVI.~OF JUDICATURE. 
 
 Judges ouglit to remember that their office is “jus di- 
 cere,”^ and not “jus darej”^ to interpret law, and not to 
 make law, or give law; else will it be like the authority 
 claimed by the Church of Home, which, under pretext of 
 exposition of Scripture, doth not stick to add and alter, and 
 to pronounce that which they do not find, and by show of 
 antiquity to introduce novelty. Judges ought to be more 
 learned than witty, more reverend than plausible, and more 
 advised than confident. Above all things, integrity is their 
 portion and proper virtue. “ Cursed (saith the iaw^) is he 
 that removeth the landmark.” The mislayer of a mere stone 
 is to blame; but it is the unjust judge that is the capital 
 remover of landmarks, when he defineth amiss of lands and 
 property. One foul sentence doth more hurt than many 
 foul examples; for these do but corrupt the stream, the 
 other corrupteth the fountain: so saith Solomon, “ Fons 
 turbatus et vena corrupta est Justus cadens in causa sua 
 coram adversario.”^ The office of judges may have reference 
 unto the parties that sue, unto the advocates that plead, 
 unto the clerks and ministers of justice underneath them, 
 and to the sovereign or state above them. 
 
 First, for the causes or parties that sue. “ There be 
 (saith the Scripture) that turn judgment into wormwood j”® 
 and surely there be, also, that turn it into vinegar; for in¬ 
 justice maketh it bitter, and delays make it sour. The 
 principal duty of a judge is to suppress force and fraud; 
 whereof force is the more pernicious when it is open, and fraud 
 when it is close and disguised. Add thereto contentious 
 suits, which ought to be spewed out, as the surfeit of courts. 
 A judge ought to prepare his way to a just sentence, as God 
 useth to prepare his way, by raising valleys and taking down 
 
 * To expound the law.” ^^To make the law.” 
 
 ® The Mosaic law. He alludes to Deuteronomy xxvii. 17—‘‘ Cursed 
 be he that removeth his neighbour’s landmark.” 
 
 d « A righteous man falling down before the wicked is as a troubled 
 fountain and a corrupt spring.”—Proverbs xxv. 26. 
 
 * Amos V. 7—“Ye who turn judgment to wormwood, and leave of! 
 righteousness in the earth.” 
 
JUDICATURE. 
 
 U7 
 
 hills : so when there appeareth on either side a high hand, 
 violent prosecution, cunning advantages taken, combination, 
 power, great counsel, then is the virtue of a judge seen to 
 make inequality equal; that he may plant lus judgment as 
 upon an even ground. “ Qui fortiter emirngit, elicit sangui- 
 nem and where the wine-press is hard wrought, it yields 
 a harsh wine, that tastes of the gi’ape-stone. Judges must 
 beware of hard constructions, and strained inferences; for 
 there is no worse torture than the torture of laws : espe¬ 
 cially in case of laws penal, they ought to have care that 
 that which was meant for terror be not turned into rigour; 
 and that they bring not upon the people that shower whereof 
 the Scripture speaketh, Pluet super eos laqueos ;”s for 
 penal laws pressed,^ are a shower of snares upon the people ; 
 therefore let penal laws, if they have been sleepei's of long, 
 or if they be grown unfit for the present time, be by wise 
 judges confined in the execution: Judicis officium est, ut 
 res, ita tempora rerum,” (fec.^ In causes of life and death, 
 judges ought (as far as the law permitteth) in justice to 
 remember mercy, and to cast a severe eye upon the example, 
 but a merciful eye upon the person. 
 
 Secondly, for the advocates and counsel that plead. Pa¬ 
 tience j and gravity of hearing is an essential part of justice ; 
 and an overspeaking judge is no well-timed cymbal. It is 
 no grace to a judge first to find that which he might have 
 heard in due time from the bar; or to show quickness of 
 conceit in cutting off evidence or counsel too short, or to 
 prevent information by questions, though pertinent. The 
 ]iarts of a judge in hearing are four : to direct the evidence ; 
 to moderate length, repetition, or impertinency of speech; 
 
 ^ ‘‘He who wrings the nose strongly brings blood.” Proverbs xxx. 
 33—“Surely the churning of mil k bringeth forth butter, and tho 
 wiinging of the nose bringeth forth blood; so the forcing of wrath 
 ^‘ringeth forth strife.” 
 
 ? “ He wiU rain snares upon them.” Psalm xi. 6—“ Upon the 
 wicked he shall rain snares, fire, and brimstone, and an horrible tempest.” 
 
 ^ Strained. 
 
 “ It is the duty of a judge to consider not only the facts but the 
 circumstances of the case.” 
 
 1 Pliny the Younger, Ep. B. 6, E. 2, has the observation—“Patien- 
 tiam . . . quae pars magna justitiae est—“ Patience, which is a great 
 part of justice.” 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 to recapitulate, select, and collate tlie material points of that 
 which hath been said; and to give the rule, or sentence. 
 Whatsoever is above these is too much, and proceedeth 
 either of glory, and willingness to speak, or of impatience to 
 hear, or of shortness of memory, or of want of a staid and 
 equal attention. It is a stmnge thing to see that the bold¬ 
 ness of advocates should prevail with judges; whereas they 
 should imitate God, in whose seat they sit, who represseth 
 the presumptuous, and giveth gi'ace to the modest: but it is 
 more strange, that judges should have noted favourites, 
 which cannot but cause multiplication of fees, and suspicion 
 of by-ways. There is due from the judge to the advocate 
 some commendation and gi'acing, where causes are well 
 handled and fair pleaded, especially towards the side which 
 obtaineth not for that upholds in the client the reputa¬ 
 tion of his counsel, and beats down in him the conceit^ of 
 his cause. There is likewise due to the public a civil repre¬ 
 hension of advocates, where there appeareth cunning counsel, 
 gross neglect, slight information, indiscreet pressing, or an 
 over-bold defence; and let not the counsel at the bar chop™ 
 with the judge, nor wind himself into the handling of the 
 cause anew after the judge hath declared his sentence ; but, 
 on the other side, let not the judge meet the cause half-way, 
 nor give occasion to the party to say, his counsel or proofs 
 were not heard. 
 
 Thii’dly, for that that concerns clerks and ministers. The 
 place of justice is a hallowed place ; and therefore not only 
 the bench but the foot-pace and precincts, and purprise 
 thereof ought to be preserved without scandal ai>d corrup¬ 
 tion j for, certainly, “ Grapes (as the Scripture saith) will 
 not be gathered of thorns or thistles neither can justice 
 yield her fruit with sweetness amongst the briars and bram¬ 
 bles of catching and polling Q clerks and ministei’s. The 
 attendance of courts is subject to four bad instruments: 
 first, certain persons that are sowers of suits, w^hich make 
 the court swell, and the country pine : the second sort is of 
 
 ^ Is not successful. 
 
 * Makes him to feel less confident of the goodness of his cause. 
 
 “ Altercate, or bandy words with the judge. 
 
 ■ St. Matthew vii. 16—Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of 
 thistles ^ ® Plundering. 
 
JUDICATURE. 
 
 149 
 
 those that engage courts in quarrels of jurisdiction, and are 
 not truly amici curiae,”? but parasiti curiae,”^ in puffing a 
 court up beyond her bounds for their own scraps and advan-' 
 tage : the third sort is of those that may be accounted the left 
 hands of courts : persons that are full of nimble and sinister 
 tricks and shifts, whereby they pervert the plain and direct 
 courses of courts, and biing justice into oblique lines and 
 labyrinths : and the fourth is the poller and exacter of fees : 
 which justifies the common resemblance of the courts of 
 justice to the bush, whereunto while the sheep flies for 
 defence in weather, he is sure to lose part of his fleece. On 
 the other side, an ancient clerk, skilful in precedents, wary 
 in proceeding, and understanding in the business of the court, 
 is an excellent finger of a court, and doth many times point 
 the way to the judge himself. 
 
 Fourthly, for that wliich may concern the sovereign and 
 estate. Judges ought, above all, to remember the conclusion 
 of the Roman Twelve Tables,^- ^^Salus populi supremalex 
 and to know that laws, except they be in order to that end, 
 are but things captious, and oracles not well inspired : there¬ 
 fore it is a happy thing in a state, when kings and states do 
 often consult with judges; and again, when judges do often 
 consult with the king and state : the one, when there is 
 matter of law intervenient in business of state; the other, 
 when there is some consideration of state intervenient in 
 matter of law ; for many times the things deduced to judg¬ 
 ment may be ^^meum”^ and ^^tuum,”^ when the reason and 
 consequence thereof may trench to point of estate : I call 
 matter of estate, not only the parts of sovereignty, but 
 whatsoever introduceth any great alteration, or dangerous 
 precedent; or concerneth manifestly any great portion of 
 people ; and let no man weakly conceive that just laws and 
 true policy have any antipathy; for they are like the spirits 
 jmd sinews, that one moves with the other. Let judges also 
 remember, that Solomon’s throne was sujiported by lions’^ on 
 
 Friends of the court. 
 
 q Parasites,” or '^flatterers of the court.” 
 
 * Which were compiled by the Decemvirs. 
 
 • " The safety of the people is the supreme law.” 
 
 » "Mine.” « “Yours.” 
 
 j * He alludes to 1 Kings x. 19, 30 —“The throne had six steps, and 
 ‘ the top of the throne was round behind : and there were stays on either 
 
150 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 both sides : let them be lions, but yet lions under the 
 throne : being circumspect that they do not check or oppose 
 any points of sovereignty. Let not judges also be so ignorant 
 of their own right, as to think there is not left to them, as a 
 principal part of their office, a wise use and application of 
 laws ; for they may remember what the apostle saith of a 
 greater law than theirs : Nos scimus quia lex bona est, 
 inodo quis ea utatur legitime.” y 
 
 LVIL—OF ANGER. 
 
 To seek to extinguish anger utterly is but a bravery® of 
 the Stoics. We have better oracles: ^^Be angry, but sin 
 not : let not the sun go down upon your anger.” ^ Anger 
 must be limited and confined both in race and in time. We 
 will first speak how the natural inclination and habit, “ to be 
 angry,” may be attempered and calmed; secondly, how the 
 particular motions of anger may be repressed, or, at leasts 
 refrained from doing mischief; thirdly, how to raise anger, 
 or appease anger in another. 
 
 For the first, there is no other way but to meditate and 
 ruminate well upon the effects of anger, how it troubles man's 
 life : and the best time to do this, is to look back upon anger 
 when the fit is thoroughly over. Seneca saith well, “ that 
 anger is like ruin, which breaks itself upon that it ffills.” 
 The Scripture exhorteth us “ to possess our souls in 
 patience whosoever is out of patience, is out of posses¬ 
 sion of his soul. Men must not turn bees; 
 
 -“animasque in viilnere ponunt.”^* 
 
 Anger is certainly a kind of baseness ; as it appears well in 
 
 side on the place of the seat, and two lions stood beside the stays. And 
 twelve lions stood there on the one side and on the other upon tho 
 six steps.” The same verses are repeated in 1 Chronicles ix. 18, 19. 
 
 ^ 1 Tim. i. 8—We know that the law is good, if a man use it law¬ 
 fully.” ® A boast. 
 
 ‘’"Ephes. iv. 26. In our version it is thus rendered : “Be ye angry 
 and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” 
 
 ^ “ In your patience possess ye your souls.”—Luke xvi. 19. 
 
 ^ “ And leave their lives in the wound.” The quotation is froiii 
 Virgil’s Georgies, iv. 238. 
 
ANGER. 
 
 151 
 
 the weakness of those subjects in whom it reigns: children, 
 women, old folks, sick folks. Only men must beware that 
 they carry their anger rather with scorn than with fear ; so 
 that they may seem rather to be above the injuiy than below 
 it; v/hich is a thing easily done, if a man will give law to 
 himself in it. 
 
 For the second point, the causes and motives of anger are 
 chiefly three : first, to be too sensible of hurt; for no man 
 is angry that feels not himself hurt j and therefore tender 
 and delicate persons must needs be oft angry, they have so 
 many things to trouble them, which more robust natures 
 have little sense of; the next is, the apprehension and con- 
 struction of the injury offered, to be, in the circumstances 
 thereof, full of contempt: for contempt is that which putteth 
 an edge upon anger, as much, or more, than the hurt itself; 
 and, therefore, when men are ingenious in picking out cir¬ 
 cumstances of contempt, they do kindle their anger much : 
 lastly, opinion of the touch® of a man’s reputation doth 
 multiply and sharpen anger; wherein the remedy is, that a 
 man should have, as Gonsalvo was wont to say, “ Telam 
 honoris crassiorem.”^ But in all refrainings of anger, it is 
 the best remedy to win time, and to make a man’s self 
 believe that the opportunity of his revenge is not yet come; 
 but that he foresees a time for it, and so to still himself in 
 the mean time, and reserve it. 
 
 To contain anger from mischief, though it take hold of a 
 man, there be two things whereof you must have special 
 caution ; the one, of extreme bitterness of words, especially 
 if they be aculeate aud properfor “ communia maledicta”^ 
 are nothing so much ; and again, that in anger a man reveal 
 no secrets ; for that makes him not fit for society ; the other, 
 that you do not peremptorily break off in any business in a 
 fit of anger ; but howsoever you show bitterness, do not 
 act anything that is not revocable. 
 
 For raising and appeasing anger in another, it is done chiefly 
 by choosing of times, when men are frowardest and worst 
 disposed to incense them; again, by gathering (as we touched 
 
 * Susceptibility upon, 
 
 ^ A thicker covering for his honour.” 
 
 * Pointed and peculiarly appropriate to the party attacked. 
 
 ^ Ordinary abuse.” 
 
152 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 before) all tliat you can find out to aggravate tlie contempt : 
 and the two remedies are by the contraries ; the former to 
 take good times, when first to relate to a man an angry 
 business; for the first impression is much ; and the other is, 
 to sever, as* much as may be, the construction of the mjury 
 from the point of contempt j imputing it to misunderstand¬ 
 ing, fear, j^assion, or what you will. 
 
 LVIII.—OF VICISSITUDE OF THINGS. 
 
 SoLOMOiv^ saith, “ There is no new thing upon the earth j”® 
 so that as Plato ^ had an imagination that all knowledge was 
 but remembrance ; so Solomon giveth his sentence, That 
 all novelty is but oblivion j”® whereby you may see, that the 
 river of Lethe runneth as well above ground as below. 
 There is an abstruse astrologer that saith, if it were not for 
 two things that are constant (the one is, that the fixed stars 
 ever stand at like distance one from another, and never come 
 nearer together, nor go further asunder; the other, that the 
 diurnal motion perpetually keepeth time), no individual 
 would last one moment: certain it is, that the matter is in a 
 perpetual flux, and never at a stay. The great winding- 
 sheets that bury all things in oblivion are two; deluges and 
 earthquakes. As for conflagrations and great droughts, they 
 do not merely dispeople, but destroy. Phaeton’s car went 
 but a day ; and the three years’ drought in the time of 
 Ehas,^ was but particular,® and left people alive. As for the 
 
 • Ecclesiastes i. 9, 10—The thing that hath been, it is that which 
 shall be : and that which is done is that which shall be done : and there 
 is no new thing under the sun. Is there anything whereof it may be 
 said. See, this is new ? It hath been already of old time, which waa 
 before us.” ^ In his Phsedo. 
 
 ® Ecclesiastes i. 11—There is no remembrance of former thinga: 
 neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with 
 those that shall come hereafter.” 
 
 1 Kings xvii. 1—And Elijah the Tishbite, who was of tha 
 inhabitants of Gilead, said unto Ahab, As the Lord God of Israel 
 lireth, before whom I stand, there shall not be dew nor rain these years 
 but according to my word.” 1 Kings xviii. 1—And it came to pass 
 after many days, that the word of the Lord came to Elijah, in the third 
 year, saying. Go, show thyself unto Ahab : and I will send rain upon 
 the earth.” ® Confined to a limited space. 
 
VICISSITUDE OF THINGS. 
 
 153 
 
 great burnings by lightnings, which are often in the West 
 Indies,^ they are but narrow but in the other two de¬ 
 structions, by deluge and earthquake, it is further to be 
 noted, that the remnant of people which happen to be 
 reserved, are commonly ignorant and mountainous people, 
 that can give no account of the time past j so that the 
 oblivion is all one as if none had been left. If you consider 
 well of the people of the West Indies, it is very probable 
 that they are a newer, or a younger people than the people 
 of the old world ; and it is much more likely that the 
 destruction that hath heretofore been there, was not by 
 earthquakes (as the Egyptian priest told Solon, concerning 
 the island of Atlantis, that it was swallowed by an earth¬ 
 quake), but rather that it was desolated by a particular 
 deluge ; for earthquakes are seldom in those parts : but on 
 the other side, they have such pouring rivers, as the rivers 
 of Asia, and Africa, and Europe, are but brooks to them. 
 Their Andes, likewise, or mountains, are far higher than 
 those with us ; whereby it seems, that the remnants of 
 generation of men were in such a particular deluge saved. 
 As for the observation that Machiavel hath, that the jealousy 
 of sects doth much extinguish the memory of things ; tra¬ 
 ducing Gregory the Great, that he did what in him lay to 
 extinguish all heathen antiquities; I do not find that those 
 zeals do any great efiects, nor last long ; as it appeared in 
 the succession of Sabinian,^ who did rertve the former 
 antiquities. 
 
 The vicissitude, or mutations, in the superior globe, are no 
 fit matter for this present argument. It may be, Plato’s 
 great year,^ if the world should last so long, would have some 
 effect, not in renewing the state of like individuals (for that 
 is the fume^ of those that conceive the celestial bodies have 
 
 ^ The whole of the continent of America then discovered is included 
 under this name. s Limited. 
 
 , Sabinianus of Volaterra was elected bishop of Rome on the death of 
 Gregory the Great, A.D. 604. He was of an avaricious disposition, and 
 thereby incurred the popular hatred. He died in eighteen months after 
 his election. 
 
 * This Cicero speaks of as the great year of the mathematicians,** 
 ** On the Nature of the Gods,” B. 4, ch. 20. By some it was supposed to 
 occur after a period of 12,954 years, while according to others, it was of 
 25,920 years’ duration. ^ Conceit. 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 ioi 
 
 more accurate influences upon these things below, than 
 indeed they have), but in gross. Comets, out of question, 
 have likewise power and effect over the gross and mass of 
 things; but they are rather gazed, and waited upon^ in their 
 journey, than wisely observed in their efiects ; especially in 
 their respective efiects ; that is, what kind of comet for 
 magnitude, colour, version of the beams, placing in the 
 region of heaven, or lasting, produceth what kind of efiects. 
 
 There is a toy,“ which I have heard, and I would not have 
 it given over, but waited upon a little. They say it is 
 observed in the Low Countries (I know not in what part), 
 that every five and thirty years the same kind and suit of 
 years and weather comes about again ; as great frosts, great 
 wet, great droughts, warm winters, summers with little heat, 
 and the like ; and they call it the prime; it is a thing I do 
 the rather mention, because, computing backwards, I have 
 found some concurrence. 
 
 But to leave these points of nature, and to come to men. 
 The greatest vicissitude of things amongst men, is the vicis¬ 
 situde of sects and religions : for those orbs rule in men’s 
 minds most. The true religion is built upon the rock ; the 
 rest are tossed upon the waves of time. To speak, there¬ 
 fore, of the causes of new sects, and to give some counsel 
 concerning them, as far as the weakness of human judgment 
 can give stay to so great revolutions. 
 
 When the religion formerly received is rent by discords, 
 and when the holiness of the professors of religion is decayed 
 and full of scandal, and withal the times be stupid, ignorant, 
 and barbarous, you may doubt the springing up of a new 
 sect; if then also there should arise any extravagant and 
 strange spirit to make himself author thereof; all wliich 
 points held when Mahomet published liis law. If a new sect 
 have not two properties, fear it not, for it will not spread : 
 the one is the supplanting or the opposing of authority estate 
 iished ; for nothing is more popular than that; the other is, 
 the giving license to pleasures and a voluptuous life : for as 
 for speculative heresies (such as were in ancient times the 
 Arians, and now the Arminians),^ though they work mightily 
 
 * Observed. “ A curious fancy or odd conceit. 
 
 “ The followers of Arminius, or James Harmensen, a celebrated 
 divine of the 16th and 17th centuries. Though called a heresy by 
 
VICISSITUDE OF THINGS. 
 
 155 
 
 upon men’s wits, yet they do not produce any great altera¬ 
 tions in states ; except it be by the help of civil occasions. 
 There be three manner of plantations of new sects : by the 
 power of signs and miracles; by the eloquence and wisdom 
 of speech and persuasion; and by the sword. Tor martyr¬ 
 doms, I reckon them amongst mii’acles, because they seem to 
 exceed the strength of human nature : and I may do the 
 like of superlative and admirable holiness of life. Surely 
 there is no better way to stop the i-ising of new sects and 
 schisms, than to reform abuses ; to compound the smaller 
 differences; to proceed mildly, and not with sanguinary 
 persecutions; and rather to take off the principal authors, 
 by winning and advancing them, than to enrage them by 
 violence and bitterness. 
 
 The changes and vicissitude in wars are many; but chiefly 
 in three things : in the seats or stages of the war, in the 
 weapons, and in the manner of the conduct. Wars, in 
 ancient time, seemed more to move from east to west; for 
 the Persians, Asspians, Arabians, Tartars (which were 
 the invaders), were all eastern people. It is true, the Gauls 
 were w^estern ; but we read but of two incursions of theirs 
 the one to Gallo-Grsecia, the other to Pome : but east and 
 west have no certain points of heaven ; and no more have 
 the wars, either from the east or west, any certainty of 
 observation : but north and south are fixed; and it hath 
 seldom or never been seen that the far southern people have 
 invaded the northern, but contrariwise ; whereby it is mani¬ 
 fest that the northern tract of the world is in nature the 
 more martial region : be it in respect of the stars of that 
 hemisphere,° or of the great continents that are upon the 
 north ; whereas the south part, for aught that is known, is 
 almost all sea ; or (wliich is most apparent) of the cold of 
 the northern parts, which is that which, without aid of dis¬ 
 cipline, doth make the bodies hardest, and the courage 
 warmest. 
 
 Upon the breaking and shivering of a great state and 
 empire, you may be sure to have wars j for great empires,. 
 
 Bacon, his opinions have been for two centuries, and still are, held by a 
 large portion of the Church of England. 
 
 ° A belief in astrology, or at least the influences of the stars, was. 
 almost universal in the time of Bacon. 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 156 
 
 wliile they stand, do enervate and destroy the forces of the 
 natives wliich they have subdued, resting upon their own 
 protecting forces ; and then, when they fail also, all goes to 
 ruin, and they become a prey ; so v^s it in the decay of the 
 Homan empire, and likewise in the empire of Almaigne,P 
 after Charles the Great,^ every bird taking a feather ; and 
 were not unlike to befall to Spain, if it should break. The 
 great accessions and unions of kingdoms do likewise stir up 
 wars : for when a state grows to an over-power, it is like a 
 great flood, that will be sure to overflow; as it hath been 
 seen in the states of Home, Turkey, Spain, and others. Look 
 when the world hath fewest bar]3arous people, but such as 
 commonly will not marry, or generate, except they know • 
 means to live (as it is almost everywhere at tliis day, except 
 Tartary), there is no danger of inundations of people ; but 
 when there be great shoals of peo23le, wliich go on to popu¬ 
 late, without foreseeing means of life and sustentation, it is 
 of necessity that once in an age or two they discharge a por¬ 
 tion of their people upon other nations, which the ancient 
 northern people were wont to do by lot; casting lots what 
 part should stay at home, and what should seek their for¬ 
 tunes. When a warlike state grows soft and effeminate, 
 they may be sure of a war: for commonly such states 
 are grown rich in the time of their degenerating : and so 
 the prey inviteth, and their decay in valour encoimageth a 
 war. 
 
 As for the weapons, it hardly falleth under rule and 
 observation : yet we see even they have returns and vicissi¬ 
 tudes ; for certain it is, that ordnance was known in the 
 oity of the Oxidraces, in India; and was that which the 
 Macedonians’^ called thunder and lightning, and magic ; and 
 it is well known that the use of ordnance hath been in China 
 above two thousand years. The conditions of weapons, and 
 their improvements are, first, the fetching ^ afar off; for that 
 outruns the danger, as it is seen in ordnance and muskets ; 
 secondly, the strength of the jiercussion, wherein likewise 
 ordnance do exceed all arietations,^ and ancient inventions ; 
 the third is, the commodious use of them, as that they may 
 
 P Germany, ' Charlemagne. 
 
 * When led thither by Alexander the Great. • Sticking. 
 
 • Applicatijn of the ^'aries,” or battering-ram. 
 
FAME. 157 
 
 leerre in all weathers, that the carriage may be light and 
 manageable, and the like. 
 
 For the conduct of the war : at the first, men rested 
 extremely upon number ; they did put the wars likewise 
 upon main force and valour, pointing days for pitched fields, 
 and so trying it out upon an even match ; and they were 
 more ignorant in ranging and arraying their battles. After 
 they grew to rest upon number, rather competent than 
 vast, they grew to advantages of place, cunning diversions, 
 and the like, and they grew more skilful in the ordering of 
 their battles. 
 
 In the youth of a state, arms do flourish ; in the middle 
 age of a state, learning ; and then both of them together for 
 a time ; in the declining age of a state, mechanical arts and 
 merchandise. Learning hath its infancy when it is but 
 beginning, and almost childish; then its youth, when it is 
 luxuriant and juvenile ; then its strength of years, when it 
 is solid and reduced ; and, lastly, its old age, when it waxeth 
 dry and exhaust ; but it is not good to look too long upon 
 these turning wheels of vicissitude, lest we become giddy : 
 as for the philology of them, that is but a circle of tales, and 
 therefore not fit for this writing. 
 
 A FKAGMENT OF AN ESSAY OF FAME.* 
 
 » 
 
 The poets make Fame a monster : they describe her in 
 part finely and elegantly, and in part gravely and senten- 
 tiously ; they say. Look how many feathers she hath, so many 
 eyes she hath underneath, so many tongues, so many voices, 
 she Y)ricks up so many ears. 
 
 This is a flouiish ; there follow excellent parables ; as that 
 she gathereth strength in going; that she goeth upon the 
 ground, and yet hideth her head in the clouds ; that in the 
 day-time she sitteth in a watch-tower, and flieth most by 
 night; that she mingleth t hin gs done with things not done; 
 and that she is a terror to great cities; but that which 
 passeth all the rest is, they do recount that the Earth, mother 
 
 • This fragment was found among Lord Bacon’s papers, and pub* 
 lished by Dr. Rawley, 
 
158 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 of the giants that made war against Jupiter, and were by him 
 destroyed, thereupon in anger brought forth Fame ; for 
 certain it is, that rebels, figin^ed by the giants, and seditious 
 fames and libels are but brothers and sisters, .mascubne and 
 feminine ; but now if a man can tame this monster, and 
 bring her to feed at the hand and govern her, and with her 
 fly other ravening fowl, and kill them, it is somewhat worth: 
 but we are infected with the style of the poets. To speak 
 now in a sad and serious manner, there is not in all the 
 politics a place less handled, and more worthy to be handled, 
 than this of fame. We will therefore speak of these points: 
 what are false fames, and what are true fames, and how they 
 may be best discerned ; how fames may be sown and raised; 
 how they may be spread and multiplied ; and how they may 
 be checked and laid dead ; and other things concerning the 
 nature of fame. Fame is of that force, as there is scarcely 
 any great action wherein it hath not a great part, especially 
 in the war. Mucianus undid ViteUius by a fame that he 
 scattered, that Vitellius had in purpose to remove the legions 
 of Syria into Germany, and the legions of Germany into 
 Syria; whereupon the legions of Syria were infinitely in¬ 
 flamed. Julius Caesar took Pompey unprovided, and laid 
 asleep his industry and preparations by a fame that he cun¬ 
 ningly gave out, how Caesar’s own soldiers loved him not; 
 and being wearied with the wars, and laden with the spoils 
 of Gaul, would forsake him as soon as he came into Italy. 
 Li via settled all things for the succession of her son Tiberius, 
 by continually giving out that her husband Augustus was 
 upon recovery and amendment ; and it is a usual thing with 
 the bashaws to conceal the death of the Grand Turk from the 
 janizaries and men of war, to save the sacking of Constanti¬ 
 nople, and other towns, as their manner is. Themistocles 
 made Xerxes, king of Persia, post apace out of Grsecia, by 
 gi^dng out that the Grecians had a purpose to break his 
 bridge of ships wliich he had made athwart Hellespont. 
 There be a thousand such like examples, and the more they 
 Are, the less they need to be repeated, because a man meeteth 
 with them everyw^here : therefore let all wise governors have 
 as great a watch and care over fames, as they have of the 
 actions and designs themselves. 
 
DEATH. 
 
 159 
 
 ON DEATH. 
 
 1. I HAVE often tliought upon death, and I find it the 
 Least of all evils. All that which is past is as a dream ; and 
 he that hopes or depends upon time coming, dreams waking. 
 So much of our life as we have discovered is already dead ; 
 and all those hours which we share, even from the breasts of 
 our mothers, until we return to our grandmother the earth, 
 are part of our dying days, whereof even this is one, and 
 those that succeed are of the same nature, for we die daily; 
 and as others have given place to us, so we must in the end 
 give way to others. 
 
 2. Physicians in the name of death include all sorrow, 
 anguish, disease, calamity, or whatsoever can fall in the life 
 of man, either grievous or unwelcome. But these things are 
 familial unto us, and we suffer them every hour; therefore 
 we die daily, and I am older since I affirmed it. 
 
 3. I know many wise men that fear to die ; for the change 
 is bitter, and flesh would refuse to prove it : besides, the 
 expectation brings terror, and that exceeds the evil. But I 
 do not believe that any man fears to be dead, but only the 
 stroke of death ; and such are my hopes, that if heaven be 
 pleased, and nature renew but my lease for twenty-one years 
 more, without asking longer days, I shall be strong enough 
 to acknowledge without mourning, that I was begotten 
 mortal. Yii-tue walks not in the highway, though she go 
 per alta; this is strength and the blood to virtue, to 
 contemn things that be desired, and to neglect that which is 
 feared. 
 
 4. Why should man be in love with his fetters, though of 
 gold ] Art thou drowned in security ? Then I say thou 
 art perfectly dead. For though thou mo vest, yet thy soul is 
 buried within thee, and thy good angel either forsakes hia 
 guard or sleeps. There is nothing under heaven, saving a 
 true friend (who cannot be counted within the number of 
 movables), unto which my heart doth lean. And this dear 
 freedom hath begotten me this peace, that I mourn not for 
 that end which must be, nor spend one wish to have one 
 minute added to the uncertain date of my years. It was no 
 mean apprehension of Lucian, who says of Menippus, that in 
 
160 
 
 KSSATS, 
 
 his travels through hell, he knew not the kings of the earth from 
 other men but only by their louder cryings and tears, which 
 were fostered in them through the remorseful memoiy of the 
 good days they had seen, and the fruitful havings which they 
 so unwillingly left behind them : he that was weD seated, 
 looked back at his portion, and was loth to forsake his farm; 
 and others, either minding marriages, pleasures, profit, or 
 preferment, desired to be excused from death’s banquet : 
 they had made an appointment with earth, looking at the 
 blessings, not the hand that enlarged them, forgetting how 
 unclothedly they came hither, or with what naked ornaments 
 they were arrayed. 
 
 5, But were we servants of the precept given, and ob¬ 
 servers of the heathens’ rule, memento mori, and not become 
 benighted with this seeming felicity, we should enjoy it as 
 men prepared to lose, and not wind up our thoughts upon so 
 perishing a fortune : he that is not slackly strong (as the 
 servants of pleasure), how can he be found unready to quit 
 the veil and false visage of his perfection ? The soul having 
 shaken off her flesh, doth then set up for herself, and'con¬ 
 temning things that are under, shows what finger liath 
 enforced her; for the souls of idiots are of the same jaece 
 with those of statesmen, but now and then nature is at a 
 fault, and this good guest of ours takes soil in an imperfect 
 body, and so is slackened from showing her wonders, like an 
 excellent musician, which cannot utter himself upon a 
 defective instrument. 
 
 6. But see how I am swerved, and lose my cmu'se, touch¬ 
 ing at the soul that doth least hold action with death, who 
 hath the surest property in this frail act; his style is the end 
 of all flesh, and the beginning of incorruption. 
 
 This ruler of monuments leads men for the most part out 
 of this world with their heels forward, in token that he is 
 contrary to life, which being obtained, sends men headlong 
 into this wretched theatre, where being arrived, theii* first 
 language is that of mourning. Nor in my own thoughts, 
 can I compare men more fitly to anything than to the Indian 
 fig-tree, which, being ripened to his full height, is said to 
 decline his branches down to the earth, whereof she conceives 
 again, and they become roots in their own stock. 
 
 So man, having derived his being from the earth, first lives 
 
DEATH. 
 
 161 
 
 the life of a tree, drawing his nourishment as a plant, and 
 made ripe for death, he tends downwards, and is sowed again 
 in his mother the earth, where he perisheth not, but expects 
 a quickening. 
 
 7. So we see death exempts not a man from being, but 
 only presents an alteration j yet there are some men (I 
 think) that stand otherwise persuaded. Death finds not a 
 worse friend than an alderman, to whose door I never knew 
 him welcome; but he is an importunate guest, and will not 
 be said nay. 
 
 And though they themselves shall affirm that they are not 
 mthin, yet the answ^er will not be taken; and that which 
 heightens their fear is, that they know they are in danger to 
 forfeit their flesh, but are not wise of the payment-day, 
 which sickly uncertainty is the occasion that (for the most 
 part) they step out of this world unfurnished for theii* 
 general account, and being all unprovided, desire yet to hold 
 their gravity, preparing their souls to answer in scarlet. 
 
 Thus I gather, that death is unagreeable to most citizens, 
 because they commonly die intestate ; this being a rule, that 
 when their will is made, they think themselves nearer a 
 grave than before : now they, out of the wisdom of thou¬ 
 sands, think to scare destiny, from which there is no appeal, 
 by not making a Avill, or to live longer by jorotestation of 
 their unwillingness to die. They are for the most part well 
 made in this world (accounting their treasure by legions, as 
 men do de\fils) : their fortune looks toward them, and they 
 are willing to anchor at it, and desire (if it be possible) to 
 put the evil day far ofi* from them, and to adjourn their 
 ungrateful and killing period. 
 
 No, these are not the men which have bespoken death, or 
 whose looks are assured to entertain a thought of him. 
 
 8. Death aiTives gracious only to such as sit in darkness, 
 or lie heavy burthened with grief and irons ; to the poor 
 Christian, that sits bound in the galley; to despairful 
 widows, pensive prisoners, and deposed kings; to them whose 
 fortune runs back, and whose spirits mutiny : unto such death 
 is a redeemer, and the grave a place for retiredness and rest. 
 
 These wait upon the shore of death, and waft unto him to 
 draw near, wishing above all others to see his star, that 
 they might be led to his place; wooing the remorseless 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 sisters to vnnd do^^^l the watch of their life, and to break 
 them off before the hom\ 
 
 9. But death is a doleful messenger to a usurer, and fate 
 untimely cuts their thread j for it is never mentioned by him, 
 but when laimoiu's of war, and civil tumults put him in mind 
 thereof. 
 
 And when many hands are armed, and the peace of a city 
 in disorder, and the foot of the common soldiers sounds an 
 alarm on his stairs, then perhaps such a one (broken in 
 thoughts of his moneys abroad, and cursing the monuments 
 of coin which are in his house) can be content to think of 
 death, and (being hasty of perdition) will perhaps hang 
 himself, lest his throat should be cut ; provided that he may 
 do it in his study, surroimded with wealth, to which his eye 
 sends a faint and languishing salute, even upon the turning 
 off j remembeiing always, that he have time and liberty, by 
 writing, to depute himself as his own heh. 
 
 Bor that is a great jieace to his end, and reconciles him 
 wondeiAdly uj)on the point. 
 
 10. Herein we all daily Avith oimselves, and are without 
 proof of necessity. I am not of those, that dare promise 
 to pine away myself in vain glory, and I hold such to be but 
 feat boldness, and them that dare commit it, to be vain. 
 Yet for my part, I think natme should do me great wrong, 
 if I should be so long in dying, as I was in being bom. 
 
 To speak truth, no man knows the lists of liis own pa¬ 
 tience j nor can divine how able he shall be in his sufferings, 
 till the stonn come (the perfectest virtue being tried in 
 action) : but I would (out of a care to do the best business 
 well) ever keep a guard, and stand upon keeping faith and a 
 good conscience. 
 
 11. And if wishes might find place, I woidd die together, 
 and not my mind often, and my body once; that is, I would 
 prepare for the messengers of death, sickness and affliction, 
 and not wait long, or be attempted by the violence of pain. 
 
 Herein I do not profess myself a Stoic, to hold grief no 
 evil, but opinion, and a thing indifferent. 
 
 But I consent with Caesar, that the suddenest passage 
 is easiest, and there is nothing more awakens our resolve and 
 readiness to die than the quieted conscience, strengthened 
 \dth opinion, that we shall be well spoken of upon earth by 
 
DEATH. 
 
 16a 
 
 those that are just, and of the family of virtue ; the oppo¬ 
 site whereof is a fury to man, and makes even life unsweet. 
 
 Therefore, what is more heavy than evil fame deserved i 
 Or likewise, who can see worse days, than he that yet living 
 doth follow at the funerals of his own reputation ? 
 
 I have laid up many hopes, that I am privileged from 
 that kind of mourning, and could wish the like peace to all 
 those with whom I wage love. 
 
 12. I might say much of the commodities that death can 
 sell a man j but briefly, death is a friend of ours j and he 
 that is not ready to entertain him., is not at home. Whilst 
 I am, my ambition is not to fore-flow the tide ; I have but 
 so to make my interest of it as I may account for it; I 
 would wish nothing but what might better my days, nor 
 desire any greater place than the front of good opinion. I 
 make not love to the continuance of days, but to the good¬ 
 ness of them; nor wish to die, but refer myself to my hour, 
 which the great dispenser of all things hath appointed me ; 
 yet as I am frail, and suffered for the first fault, were it 
 given me to choose, I should not be earnest to see the evening 
 of my age ; that extremity of itself being a disease, and a 
 mere return into infancy : so that if perpetuity of life might 
 be given me, I should think what the Greek poet said, ^^Such 
 an age is a mortal evil.” And since I must needs be dead, I 
 require it may not be done before mine enemies, that I be 
 not stript before I be cold; but before my friends. The 
 night was even now : but that name is lost; it is not now 
 late, but early. Mine eyes begin to discharge their watch, 
 and compound with this fleshly weakness for a time of perpe¬ 
 tual rest; and I shall presently be as happy for a few houiKS, 
 as I had died the first hour I was bom. 
 
 M 2 
 

 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 OMITTING THOSE KNOWN TO BE SPURIOUS, 
 
 Queen Elizabeth, the morrow of her coronation (it being 
 the custom to release prisoners at the inauguration of a 
 prince), went to the chapel; and in the great chamber, one 
 of her courtiers, who was well known to her, either out of 
 his motion, or by the instigation of a wiser man, presented 
 her with a petition ; and before a great number of courtiers, 
 besought her with a loud voice, that now this good time, 
 there might be four or five principal prisoners more released: 
 those were the four evangelists and the apostle St. Paul, who 
 had been long shut up in an unknown tongue, as it were in 
 prison; so as they could not converse with the common 
 people. The queen answered very gravely, that it was best 
 first to inquire of them, whether they would be released 
 or no. 
 
 Queen Ann Bullen, at the time when she was led to be 
 beheaded in the Tower, called one of the king’s privy cham¬ 
 ber to her, and said imto him, Commend me to the king, and 
 tell him, that he hath ever been constant in his course of 
 advancing me j from a private gentlewoman he made me a 
 marchioness; and from a marchioness a queen; and now, 
 that he hath left no higher degree of earthly honour, he 
 intends to crown my innocency with the glory of mar¬ 
 tyrdom.” 
 
 A great officer in Fmnce was in danger to have lost his 
 place ; but his wife by her suit and means-making, made his 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 165 
 
 peace ; whereupon a pleasant fellow said, thr/. lie had been 
 crush’d, but that he saved himself upon his horns. 
 
 When the archduke did raise his siege fi Oin the Grave, 
 the then secretary came to Queen Elizabeth. The queen 
 (liaving first intelligence thereof) said to the secretary, 
 
 Wote you that the archduke is risen from the Grave]” 
 He answered : What, without the trumpet of the arch¬ 
 angel ] ” The queen replied, Yes; without sound of 
 trumpet.” 
 
 The council did make remonstrance unto Queen Elizabeth, 
 of the continual conspiracies against her life ; and namely, that 
 a man was lately taken, who stood ready in a very dangerous 
 and suspicious manner to do the deed : and they showed her 
 the weapon wherewith he thought to have acted it. And 
 therefore they advised her, that she should go less abroach 
 to take the air, weakly attended, as she used. But the 
 queen answered, that she had rather be dead, than put in 
 custody. 
 
 Henry the Fourth of France his queen was young with 
 child; Count Soissons, that had his expectation upon the crown, 
 when it was twice or thrice thought that the queen was wdth 
 child before, said to some of his friends, that it was but with 
 a pillow. This had some ways come to the king’s ear ; who 
 kept it till such time as the queen waxed great: then he 
 called the count of Soissons to him, and said, laying his hand 
 upon the queen’s belly, “Come, cousin, is this a pillow]” 
 The count of Soissons answered, “ Yes, sir, it is a pillow for 
 all France to sleep upon.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was wont to say, upon the commission of 
 sales, that the commissioners used her like strawberry-wives, 
 that layed two or three great strawberries at the mouth of 
 their pot, and all the rest were little ones : so they made her 
 two or three good prizes of the first particulars, but fell 
 straight^vays. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth used to say of her instructions to great 
 officers, that they were like to garments, strait at the first 
 putting on, but did by-and-by wear easy enough. 
 
 A great officer at couH, when my lord of Essex was first 
 in trouble ; and that he, and those that dealt for him, would 
 
166 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS 
 
 talk much of my lord’s friends, and of his enemies, answered 
 to one of them : “ I will tell you, I know but one friend and 
 one enemy my lord hath ; and that one friend is the queen, 
 and that one enemy is himself.” 
 
 The book of deposing King Kichard the Second, and the 
 coming in of Henry the Fourth, supposed to be written by 
 Doctor Hayward, who-was committed to the Tower for it, 
 had much incensed Queen Elizabeth; and she asked Mr. Bacon, 
 being then of her counsel learned, whether there were any 
 treason contained in it ? Who intending to do him a pleasure, 
 and to take off the queen’s bitterness with a merry conceit, 
 answered, Ho, madam, for treason I cannot deliver opinion 
 that there is any, but very much felony the queen appre¬ 
 hending it gladly, asked, how; and wherein ? Mr. Bacon 
 answered, “ Because he had stolen many of his sentences and 
 'conceits out of Cornelius Tacitus.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was dilatory enough in suits, of her own 
 nature; and the lord treasurer Burleigh being a wise man, 
 and ^villing therein to feed her humour, would say to her. 
 
 Madam, you do well to let suiters stay; for I shall tell you, 
 bis dat, qui cito dat; if you grant them speedily, they wiU 
 come again the sooner.” 
 
 Sir Nicholas Bacon, who was keeper of the great seal of 
 England, when Queen Mizabeth, in her progress, came to his 
 house at Gorhambury, and. said to him, My lord, what a 
 little house have you gotten !” answered her, “Madam, my 
 house is well; but it is you that have made me too great for 
 my house.” 
 
 The lord-keeper Sir Nicholas Bacon was asked his opinion 
 by Queen Elizabeth, of one of these monopoly licenses ] 
 And he answered, “Madam, will you have me speak the truth? 
 Licentia omnes deteriores sumus : ”—we are all the worse for 
 licenses. 
 
 My lord of Essex, at the succour of Bouen, made twenty- 
 four knights, which at that time was a great number. Divers 
 of those gentlemen were of weak and small means ; which, 
 when Queen Elizabeth heard, she said, “My lord might have 
 done well to have built his almshouse, before he made his 
 knights.” 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 1G7 
 
 The deputies of the reformed religion, after the massacre 
 which was at Paris upon Saint Bartholomew’s day, treated 
 with the king and queen-mother, and some other of the 
 council, for a peace. Both sides were agreed upon the articles. 
 The question was, upon the security for the performance. 
 After some particulars propounded and rejected, the queen- 
 mother said, ^‘Why, is not the word of a king sufficient secu¬ 
 rity One of the deputies answered, No, by St. Bartho¬ 
 lomew, madam.” 
 
 When peace was renewed with the French in England, 
 divers of the great counsellors were presented from the 
 French with jewels : the Lord Henry Howard, being then 
 earl of Northamj^ton, and a counsellor, was omitted. Where¬ 
 upon the king said to him, ^^My lord, how happens it that you 
 have not a jewel as well as the rest?” My lord answered, 
 according to the fable in ^sop, Non sum gallus, itaque non 
 reperi gemmam.” 
 
 There was a minister deprived for nonconformity, who 
 said to some of his friends, that if they deprived him, it 
 should cost an hundred men’s lives. The party understood 
 it, as if being a turbulent fellow, he would have moved sedi¬ 
 tion, and complained of him ; whereupon being convented 
 and opposed upon that speech, he said his meaning was, that 
 if he lost his benefice, he would practise physic, and then he 
 thought he should kill an hundred men in time. 
 
 Secretary Bourn’s son kept a gentleman’s wife in Shrop¬ 
 shire, who lived from her husband with him; when he v/as 
 weary of her, he caused her husband to be dealt with to take 
 her home, and offered him five hundred pounds for reparation; 
 the gentleman went to Sir H. Sidney, to take his advice upon 
 this offer, telling him, that his wife promised now a new 
 life ; and to tell him truth, five hundred pounds would come 
 well with him. “ By my truth,” said Sir Henry Sidney 
 take her home, and take the money : then whereas other 
 cuckolds wear their horns plain, you may wear yours gilt.” 
 
 When Babelais, the great jester of France, lay on his 
 death-bed, and they gave him the extreme unction, a familiar 
 fiiend of his came to him afterwards, and askesi him how he 
 
168 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 did ? Kabelais answered, Even going my journey, they have 
 greased my boots already.” 
 
 Thales, as he looked upon the stars, fell into the water ; 
 whereupon it was after said, that if he had looked into the 
 water, liq, might have seen the stars; but looking up to the 
 stars, he could not see the water. 
 
 Master Mason, of Trinity College, sent his pupil to another 
 of the fellows, to borrow a book of him, who told him, I am 
 loth to lend my books out of my chamber; but if it please 
 thy tutor to come and read it here, he shall as long 
 as he will.” It was winter, and some-days after the same 
 fellow sent to Mr. Mason to borrow his bellows ; but Mr. 
 Mason said, I am loth to lend my bellows out of my cham¬ 
 ber ; but if thy tutor would come and use it here, he shall as 
 long as he will.” 
 
 In Flanders, by accident, a Flemish tiler fell from the top 
 of a house upon a Spaniard, and killed him, though he 
 escaped himself: the next of the blood prosecuted his death 
 with geat violence, and when he was offered pecuniary re¬ 
 compense, nothing would serve him but lex talionis ; where¬ 
 upon the judge said to him, that if he did urge that sentence, 
 it must be, that he should go up to the top of the house, and 
 then fall down upon the tiler. 
 
 There was a young man in Rome, that was very like 
 Augustus Csesar ; Augustus took knowledge of him, and 
 sent for the man, and asked him, ^AYas your mother never at 
 Rome ?” He answered, R’o, sir, but my father was.” 
 
 Agesilaus, when one told him there was one did excel¬ 
 lently counterfeit a nightingale, and would have had him 
 heard him, said, Why, I have heard the nightingale 
 herself.” 
 
 There was a captain sent to an exploit by his general with 
 forces that were not likely to achieve the enterprise; the 
 captain said to him, “Sir, appoint but half so many.” “Why?” 
 saith the general. The captain answered, “Because it is 
 better few die than more.” 
 
 There was a harbinger who had lodged a gentleman in a 
 very ill room, who expostulated with him somewhat rudely ; 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 169 
 
 blit the harbinger carelessly said, “ You will reap pleasure 
 from it when you are out of it.” 
 
 There is a Spanish adage, ^^Love without end hath no end j” 
 meaning, that if it were begun not upon particular ends it 
 would last. 
 
 A company of scholars going together to catch conies, 
 carried one scholar with them, which had not much more 
 wit than he was born with ; and to him they gave in charge, 
 that if he saw any, he should be silent, for fear of scaring 
 them. But he no sooner espied a company of rabbits before 
 the rest, but he cried aloud, Ecce multi cuniculi,” which in 
 English signifies, behold many conies ; 'which he had no 
 sooner said, but the conies ran to their burrows : and he 
 being checked by them for it, answered, Who the deyil 
 would have thought that the rabbits understood Latin ? ” 
 
 Solon compared the people unto the sea, and orators and 
 counsellors to the winds; for that the sea would be calm and 
 quiet, if the winds did not trouble it. 
 
 A man being very jealous of his wife, insomuch that 
 which way soever she went, he would be prying at her 
 heels ; and she being so gvieved thereat, in plain terms told 
 him, that if he did not for the future leave off his proceed¬ 
 ings in that nature, she would graft such a pair of horns 
 upon his head, that should hinder him from coming out of 
 any door in the house. 
 
 A tinker passing Cheapside with his usual tone, ^^Have you 
 any work for a tinker ? ” An apprentice standing at a door 
 opposite to a pillory there set up, called the tinker, with an 
 intent to put a jest upon him, and told him, that he should 
 do very well if he would stop those two holes in the pillory; 
 to which the tinker answered, that if he would put in his 
 head and ears a while in that pillory, he would bestow both 
 brass and nails upon him to hold him in, and give him his 
 labour into the bargain. 
 
 Whitehead, a grave divine, was much esteemed by Queen 
 Elizabeth, but not preferred, because he was against the 
 government of bishops: he was of a blunt stoical nature ; he 
 came one day to the queen, and the queen happened to say to 
 him, “I like thee the better Wliitehead, because thou livest 
 
170 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 unmaiTied !” He answered, troth, madam, I like you 
 the worse for the same cause.” 
 
 Doctor Laud said, that some hypocrites, and seeming 
 mortified men, that held down their heads like bulrushes, were 
 like the little images that they place in the very bo^ving of the 
 A'aults of churches, that look as if they held up the church, 
 but are but puppets. 
 
 There was a lady of the west country, that gave great enter^ 
 tainment at her house to most of the gallant gentlemen there¬ 
 abouts, and amongst others. Sir Walter Dawleigh was one. 
 This lady, though otherwise a stately dame, was a notable 
 good housewife; and in the morning betimes, she called to 
 one of her maids that looked to the s^vine, and asked, “Are the 
 pigs served Sir Walter Dawleigh’s chamber was fast by 
 the lady’s, so as he heard her; a little before dinner, the 
 lady came down, in great state into the great chamber, which 
 was full of gentlemen; and as soon as Sir Walter Kawleigh 
 set eye upon her, “'jNfadam,” saith he, “are the pigs served?” 
 The lady answered, You know best whether you have had 
 your breakfast.” 
 
 There were fishermen drawing the river at Chelsea : Mr. 
 Bacon came thither by chance in the afternoon, and oftered 
 to buy their draught; they were willing. He asked them 
 what they would take ? They asked thirty shillings. IMr. 
 Bacon offered them ten. They refused it. “Why, then,” saith 
 Mr. Bacon, “ I will be only a looker on.” They drew, and 
 catched nothing. Saith Mr. Bacon, “ Arc not you mad 
 fellows now, that might have had an angel in your purse, to 
 have made merry-withal, and to have warmed you thoroughly, 
 and now you must go home with nothing ? ” “ Ay, but,” saith 
 the fishermen, “we had hope then to make a ])etter gain of it.” 
 Saith Mr. Bacon, “Well, my master, then I’ll tell you, hope 
 is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper.” 
 
 Mr. Bacon, after he had been vehement in parliament 
 against depopulation and inclosures ; and that soon after the 
 queen told him, that she had referred the hearing of IVIi*. 
 ilill’s cause to certain counsellors and judges ; and asked 
 liim how he liked of it ? answered, “ Oh, madam ! my mind 
 is knowai; I am against all inclosures, and especially against 
 inclosed justice.” 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 171 
 
 Wlien Sir Nicholas Bacon, the lord keeper, lived, every 
 room in Gorhambury was served with a pipe of water from 
 the ponds, distant about a mile off. In the lifetime of Mr. 
 Anthony Bacon, the water ceased. After whose death, his 
 lordship coming to the inheritance, could not recover the 
 water without infinite charge j when he was lord chancellor, 
 he built Yerulam House, close by the pond-yard, for a place 
 of privacy, when he was called upon to despatch any urgent 
 business. And being asked, why he built that house there ; 
 his lordship answered, that since he could not carry the water 
 to liis house, he would carry his house to the water. 
 
 Zelim was the first of the Ottomans that did shave his 
 beard, whereas his predecessors wore it long; One of his 
 bashaws asked him, why he altered the custom of his prede¬ 
 cessors ? He answered, “ Because you bashaws may not lead 
 me by the beard, as you did them.” 
 
 Charles, king of Sweden, a great enemy of the Jesuits, 
 when he took any of their colleges, he would hang the old 
 Jesuits, and put the young to his mines, sa3dng, that since 
 they wrought so hard above ground, he would try how they 
 could work under ground. 
 
 In chancery, at one time when the counsel of the parties 
 set forth the boundaries of the land in question, by the plot; 
 and the counsel of one part said, ‘‘We lie on this side, my 
 lord and the counsel of the other part said, “ And we lie 
 on this side the lord chancellor Hatton stood up and said, 
 “ If you lie on both sides, whom will you have me to 
 believe?” 
 
 Sir Thomas More had only daughters at the first, and his 
 wife did ever pray for a boy. At last she had a boy, which 
 being come to man’s estate, proved but simple. Sir Thomas 
 said to his wife, “ Thou prayedst so long for a boy, that he 
 will be a boy as long as he lives.” 
 
 Sir Thomas More, on the day that he was beheaded, had 
 a barber sent to him, because his hair was long ; which was 
 thought, would make him more commiserated with the 
 people. The barber came to him, and asked him, whether 
 he would be pleased to be trimmed ? “ In good faith, honest 
 
 fellow,” saith Sir Thomas, “ the king and I have a suit for my 
 head ; and till the title be cleared, I will do no cost upon it.” 
 
172 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 Mr. Bettenham said, that virtuous men were like some 
 herbs and spices, that give not out their sweet smell till they 
 be broken or crushed. 
 
 There was a painter became a physician, whereupon one 
 said to him, ^^You have done well; for before, the faults of 
 your work were seen, but now they are unseen.” 
 
 There was a gentleman that came to the tilt all in orange- 
 tawny, and ran very ill. The next day he came again all in 
 green, and ran worse. There was one of the lookers-on 
 asked another, ^^What is the reason that this gentleman 
 changeth his colours The other answered, ‘^Sure, because it 
 may be reported, that the gentleman in the green ran worse 
 than the gentleman in the orange-tawny.” 
 
 Sir Thomas More had sent him by a suitor in chancery, two 
 silver flagons. When they were presented by the gentleman’s 
 servant, he said to one of his men, Have him to the 
 cellar, and let him have of my best wine :” and turning to 
 the servant, said, Tell thy master, if he like it, let him 
 not spare it.” 
 
 Michael Angelo, the famous painter, painting in the pope’s 
 chapel the portraiture of hell and damned souls, made one of 
 the damned souls so like a cardinal that was his enemy, as 
 everybody at first sight knew it. Whereupon the cardinal 
 complained to Pope Clement, humbly praying it might be 
 defaced. The pope said to him, ‘^Why, you know very well, 
 I have power to deliver a soul out of purgatory, but not out 
 of hell.” a 
 
 Sir Nicholas Bacon, when a certain nimble-witted coun¬ 
 sellor at the bar, who was forward to speak, did interrupt 
 him often, said unto him, There’s a great difference betvdxt 
 you and me : a pain to me to speak, and a pain to you to 
 hold your peace.” 
 
 The same Sir Nicholas Bacon, upon bills exhibited to dis¬ 
 cover where lands lay, upon proof, that they had a certain 
 quantity of land, but could not set it forth, was wont to say, 
 ''^And if you cannot find your land in the country, how will 
 you have me find it in chancery 
 
 This was not the portrait of a cardinal, but of the pope’s mas^ber of 
 ceremonies. 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 173 
 
 There was a king of Hungary took a bishop in battle, and 
 kept him prisoner ; whereupon the pope writ a monitoiy to 
 him, for that he had broken the privilege of holy church, and 
 taken his son. The king sent an embassage to him, and sent 
 withal the armour wherein the bishop was taken, and this 
 only in writing, “ Yide num haec sit vestis filii tui—Know 
 now whether this be thy son’s coat.^ 
 
 Sir Amyas Pawlet, vrhen he saw too much haste made in 
 any matter, was wont to say, Stay a while, that we may 
 make an end the sooner.” 
 
 A master of the request to Queen Elizabeth had divers 
 times moved for an audience, and been put off. At last he 
 came to the queen in a progress, and had on a new paii’ of 
 boots. The queen, who loved not the smell of new leather, 
 said to him, “ Fie, sloven, thy new boots stink.” Madam,” 
 said he, ^rit is not my new boots that stink, but it is the 
 stale bills that I have kept so long.” 
 
 Queen Isabella of Spain used to say, whosoever hath a 
 good presence, and a good fashion, carries continual letters 
 of recommendation. 
 
 It was said of Augustus, and afterward the like was said 
 of Septimius Seveinis, both which did infinite mischief in 
 their beginnings, and infinite good towards their ends, that 
 they should either have never been born or never died. 
 
 Constantine the Great, in a kind of envy, himself being a 
 great builder, as Trajan likewise was, would call Trajan 
 parietaria,—wall-flower, because his name was upon so many 
 walls. 
 
 Ethelwold, bishop of Winchester, in a famine, sold all the 
 rich vessels and ornaments of the church, to relieve the poor 
 with bread ; and said, There was no reason that the dead 
 temples of God should be sumptuously furnished, and the 
 living temples suffer penury.” 
 
 After a great fight there came to the camp of Gonsalvo, 
 the great captain, a gentleman proudly horsed and armed; 
 
 This reply was not made by a king of Hungary, but sent by Richard 
 Coeur de Lion to the pope, with the breastplate of the bishop of 
 Beauvais, 
 
174 
 
 APOPHTHEGBIS. 
 
 Diego do Mendoza, asked the great captain, Who’s this?** 
 Who answered, It is Saint Erniin, who never appears bat 
 after a storm.” 
 
 There was one that died greatly in debt : when it was re¬ 
 ported in some company, where divers of his creditors 
 casually were, that he was dead : one began to say, “Well, if 
 he be gone, then he hath carried five hundred ducats of mine 
 with him into the other world and another said, “ And 
 two hundred of mineand the third spake of great sums 
 of his. Whereupon, one that was amongst them, said, “I 
 perceive now, that though a man cannot carry any of his own 
 with him into the next world, yet he may carry away that 
 which is another man’s.” 
 
 Bresquet, jester to Francis the First of France, did keep 
 a calendar of fools, wherewith he did use to make the king 
 sport; telling him ever the reason why he put any one into, 
 his calendar. When Charles the Fifth, emperor, upon con¬ 
 fidence of the noble nature of Francis, passed through 
 France, for the appeasing of the rebellion of Gaunt, Bresquet 
 put him into his calendar. The king asked him the cause. 
 He answered, “ Because you have suffered at the hands of 
 Charles the greatest bitterness that ever prince did from 
 another, nevertheless, he would trust his person into your 
 hands.” “ Why, Bresquet,” said the king, “ what wilt thou 
 say, if thou seest him pass back in as great safety, as if he 
 marched through the midst of Spain ]” Saith Bresquet, 
 “ Why then I mil put him out, and put in you.” 
 
 When my lord president of the council came first to be 
 lord treasurer, he complained to my lord chancellor of the 
 troublesomeness of the place, for that the exchequer was so 
 empty. The lord chancellor answered, “ My lord, be of 
 good cheer; for now you shall see the bottom of your business 
 at the first.” 
 
 Babelais tells a tale of one that was very fortunate in 
 compounding difierences. His son undertook the said course, 
 but could never compound any. Whereupon he came to his 
 father, and asked him, what art he had to reconcile dif¬ 
 ferences? He answered, he had no other but this ; to 
 watch when the two parties were much wearied, and their 
 hearts were too great to seek reconcilement at one another’s 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 175 
 
 Jiand; then to be a means betwixt them, and upon no other 
 terms.. After which the son went home, and prospered in 
 the same undertakings. 
 
 Alonso Cartilio was informed by his steward of the great¬ 
 ness of his expense, being such as he could not hold out 
 therewith. The bishop asked him, wherein it chiefly arose ? 
 His steward told him, in the multitude of his servants. 
 The bishop bade him to make him a note of those that were 
 necessary, and those that might be spared. Which he did. 
 And the bishop taking occasion to read it before most of his 
 servants, said to his steward, “Well, let these remain, be¬ 
 cause I have need of them j and these other also, because they 
 have need of me.” 
 
 Mr. Bettenham, reader of Gray’s-Inn, used to say, that 
 riches were like muck j when it lay upon a heap, it gave but 
 a stench and ill odour ; but when it was spread over the 
 ground, then it was cause of much fruit. 
 
 Galba succeeded Nero, and his age being despised, there 
 was much license and confusion in Borne during his empire ; 
 whereujDon a senator said in full senate, it were better to live 
 where nothing is lawful, than where all things are lawful. 
 
 Chilon said, that kings’ friends and favouidtes were like 
 casting counters; that sometimes stood for one, sometimes 
 for ten, sometimes for an hundred.^ 
 
 Diogenes beggiug, as divers philosophers then used, did 
 beg more of a prodigal man than of the rest which were 
 present. Whereupon one said to him, “ See yoim baseness, 
 that when you find a liberal mind, you will take most of 
 him.” “No,” said Diogenes, “but I mean to beg of the rest 
 again.” 
 
 ® This is not the saying of Chilon, but of Orontes, the son-in-law of 
 Artaxcrxes, who having incurred the displeasure of that monarch, is 
 reported to have exclaimed, in the language of Solon : Ka^aTrtp oi rojy 
 apiOfjiTjTiKiov daKTvXoL vvv fiev pypiadagy vvv de fiovada ridevai dvvav- 
 rat* TO avTO Kai tojv (Saaikeijjv (piXovg^ vvv psv to irav dvva<j9aij vvv 
 ds Tov Xax^cTTov. —(Plut. Apophthegms.) It is difficult to know whether 
 to assign to this exclamation of Orontes, or to the famous allusion in 
 the Winter Tale, the origin of the modest expression of Lord Brougham, 
 that the Whigs were all ciphers, and he was the only unit in the cabinet 
 which gave the ciphers their value. 
 
176 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 Tliemistocles, when an ambassador from a mean estate did 
 speak great matters, said to him, Friend, thy words would 
 require a city.” 
 
 Ciesar Borgia, after long division between him and the 
 lords of Bomagna, fell to accord with them. In this accord 
 there was an article, that he should not call them at any time 
 all together in person. The meaning was, that knowing his 
 dangerous nature, if he meant them treason, he might have 
 opportunity to oppress them altogether at once. Never¬ 
 theless, he used such fine art, and fair carriage, that he 
 won their confidence to meet altogether in council at Cini- 
 gaglia, where he murdered them all. This act, when it was 
 related unto Pope Alexander, his father, by a cardinal, as a 
 thing happy, but very perfidious; the pope said, “ It was 
 they that broke their covenant first, in coming all together.” 
 
 Clodius was acquitted by a corrupt jury, that.had palpably 
 taken shares of money before they gave their verdict ; they 
 prayed of the senate a gaiard, that they might do their con¬ 
 sciences, for that Clodius was a very seditious young noble¬ 
 man. Whereupon all the world gave him for condemned. 
 But acquitted he was. Catulus, the next day seeing some 
 of them that had acquitted him together, said to them, 
 
 What made you ask of us a guard ? Were you afraid your 
 money should have been taken from you ? ” 
 
 At the same judgment, Cicero gave in evidence upon oath: 
 and when the jury, which consisted of fifty-seven, had passed 
 against his evidence, one day in the senate Cicero and Clodius 
 being in altercation, Clodius uj)braided him, and said, The 
 jury gave you no credit.” Cicero answered, Five and twenty 
 gave me credit; but there were two and thirty that gave you 
 no credit, for they had their money beforehand.” 
 
 Diogenes having seen that the kingdom of Macedon, which 
 before was contemptible and low, began to come aloft, when 
 he died, was asked how he would be buried ? He answered, 
 “ With my face downward j for within a while the world will 
 be turned upside down, and then I shall lie right.” 
 
 Cato the elder was wont to say, that the Homans were 
 like sheep ; a man could better drive a flock of them, than 
 one of them. 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 177 
 
 TV hen Lycurgus was to reform and alter the state of 
 Sparta ; in consultation, one advised, that it should be re¬ 
 duced to an absolute popular equality : but Lycurgus said to 
 him, Sir, begin it in your own house.” 
 
 Bion, that was an atheist, was showed in a port city, in a 
 temple of Neptune, many tables of pictures of such as had 
 in tempests made their vows to Neptune, and were saved 
 from shipwreck : and was asked, “ How say you now 1 Do 
 you not acknowledge the power of the Gods But saith he, 
 ‘‘ Ay j but where are they painted that have been drowned 
 after their vows ^ ” 
 
 Cicero was at dinner, where there was an ancient lady that 
 spake of her own years, and said, she was but forty years old. 
 One that sate by Cicero sounded him in the ear, and said, 
 “ She talks of forty years old; but she is far more, out of 
 question.” Cicero answered him again, I must believe 
 her; for I have heard her say so many times these ten years.” 
 
 There was a soldier that vaunted before Julius Caesar of 
 the hurts he had received in his face. Julius Caesar, know¬ 
 ing him to be but a coward, told him, “You were best take 
 heed next time you run away, how you look back.” 
 
 Vespasian asked of Apollonius, what was the cause of 
 Nero’s ruin ? Who answered, “ Nero could tune the harp 
 well, but in government he did always wind up the strings 
 too high, or let them down too low.” 
 
 Antisthenes being asked of one, what learning was most 
 necessary for man’s life ? Answered, “To unlearn that which is 
 nought.” 
 
 Diogenes, when mice came about him, as he was eating, 
 said, “ I see, that even Diogenes nourisheth parasites.” 
 
 Heraclitus the obscure said, “The dry light is the best soul 
 meaning, when the faculties intellectual are in vigour, not 
 drenched, or as it were blooded bv the affections. 
 
 One of the philosophers was asked, what a wise man dif¬ 
 fered from a fool ? He answered, “ Send them both naked to 
 those that know them not, and you shall perceive.” 
 
 There was a law made by the Homans against the bribery 
 and extortion of the governors of provinces, Cicero saith, 
 
 X 
 
 
178 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 in a speech of his to the people, that he thought the pro¬ 
 vinces would petition to the state of Rome* to have that law 
 repealed. For,” saith he, before, the governors did bribe 
 and extort, as much as was sufficient for themselves ; but 
 now, they bribe and extort as much, as may be enough, not 
 only for themselves, but for the judges, and jurors, and 
 magistrates.” 
 
 Aristippus sailing in a tempest, showed signs of fear. One 
 of the seamen said to him, in an insulting manner, that 
 are plebeians are not troubled ; you that are a philosopher 
 are afraid.” Aristippus answered, that There is not the 
 like wager upon it, for you to perish and for me.” 
 
 It fell out so, that as Livia went abroad in Rome, there 
 met her naked young men that were sporting in the streets, 
 which Augustus went about severely to punish in them : but 
 Livia spake for them, and said, “ It was no more to chaste 
 women, than so many statues.” 
 
 Philip of Macedon was wished to banish one for speaking 
 ill of him. But Philip answered, Better he speak where 
 we are both known, than where we are both unknown.” 
 
 Lucullus entertained Pompey in one of his magnificent 
 houses j Pompey said, This is a marvellous fair and stately 
 house for the summer ; but methinks it should be very cold 
 for winter.” Lucullus answered, Do you not think me as 
 wise as divers fowls are, to change my habitation in the 
 winter season ?” 
 
 Plato entertained some of his friends at a dinner, and had 
 in the chamber a bed, or couch, neatly and costly furnished. 
 Diogenes came in, and got up upon the bed, and trampled it, 
 saying, “ I trample upon the pride of Plato.” Plato mildly 
 answered, But with greater pride, Diogenes.” 
 
 Pompey being commissioner for sending grain to Rome in 
 time of dearth, when he came to the sea, found it very 
 tempestuous and dangerous, insomuch as those about him 
 advised him by no means to embark ; but Pompey said, It 
 is of necessity that I go, not that I live.” 
 
 Demosthenes was upbraided by jEschines that his speeches 
 did smell of the lamp. But Demosthenes said, Indeed 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 179 
 
 th^re is a great deal of difference between that which you 
 and I do by lamp-light.” 
 
 Demades the orator, in his age, was talkative, and would 
 eat hard : Antipater would say of him, that he was like 
 a sacrifice, that nothing was left of it but the tongue and the 
 paunch. 
 
 .Philo Judaeus saith, that the sense is like the sun ; for 
 the sun seals up the globe of heaven, and opens the globe of 
 earth : so the sense doth obscure heavenly things, and reveals 
 earthly things. 
 
 Alexander, after the battle of Granicum, had very great 
 offers made him by Darius : consulting with his captains 
 concerning them, Parmenio said, Sure I would accept of 
 these offers, if I were as Alexander.” Alexander answered, 
 “ So would I, if I were as Parmenio. ^ 
 
 Augustus Caesar would say, that he wondered that 
 Alexander feared he should want work, having no more 
 worlds to conquer, as if it were not as hard a matter to keep 
 as to conquer. 
 
 Antigonus, when it was told him that the enemy had such 
 voUeys of arrows that they did hide the sun, said, That falls 
 out well, for it is hot weather, and so we shall fight in the 
 shade.” ® 
 
 Cato the elder, being aged, buiied his wfife, and married a 
 young woman. His son came to him, and said, Sir, what 
 have I offended, that you have brought a stepmother into 
 your houseThe old man answered, “Nay, quite con¬ 
 trary, son j thou pleaseth me so well, as I should be glad to 
 have much more sucL” 
 
 Crassus the orator had a fish which* the Romans call 
 Muraena, that he made very tame and fond of him ; the fisli 
 died, and Crassus wept for it. 'One day, falling in conten¬ 
 tion with Domitius in the senate, Domitius said, “ Foolish 
 Crassus, you wept for your Mursena.” Crassus replied, “That’s 
 more than you did for your two wives.” 
 
 ^ It was after the battle of Issus, and during the siege of Tyre, and 
 not immediately after the passage of the Granicns, that this is said to 
 have occurred.— Ed, 
 
 • This was not said by Antigonus, but by a Spartan, previously to 
 the battle of Thermopylae,— Ed. 
 
 N 2 
 
180 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 Philip, Alexander’s father, gave sentence against a pri¬ 
 soner what time he was drowsy, and seemed to give small 
 attention. The prisoner, after sentence was pronounced, 
 said, I appeal.” The king, somewhat stirred, said, “ To 
 whom do you appeal ? ” The prisoner answered, “ From 
 Philip when he gave no ear to Philip when he shall give 
 ear.” 
 
 There was a philosopher that disputed with Adrian the 
 emperor, and did it but weakly. One of his friends that 
 stood by, afterwards said to him, Methinks you were not 
 like yourself last day, in argument with the emperor ; I 
 could have answered better myself.” “ Why,” said the phi¬ 
 losopher, would -you have me contend with him that com¬ 
 mands thirty legions ? 
 
 When Alexander passed into Asia, he gave large donatives 
 to his captains and other principal men of virtue ; insomuch 
 as Parmenio asked him, Sir, what do you keep for yourself P’ 
 He answered, Hope.” 
 
 There was one that found a great mass of money digged 
 under-ground in his grandfather’s house, and being some¬ 
 what doubtful of the case, signified it to the emperor, that 
 he had found such treasure. The emperor made a rescript 
 thus : TJse it.” He writ back again, thab the sum was 
 greater than his state or condition could use. The emperor 
 writ a new rescript, thus : Abuse it.”o 
 
 Julius Csesar, as he passed by, was, by acclamation of some 
 that stood in the way, termed king, to try how the people 
 would take it. The people showed great murmur and dis¬ 
 taste at it. Caesar finding where the wind stood, slighted it, 
 and said, I am not king, but Caesar as if they had mis¬ 
 taken his name: for rex was a surname amongst the 
 Romans, as king is with us. 
 
 When Croesus, for his glory, showed Solon his great 
 treasures of gold, Solon said to him, If another king come 
 that hath better iron than you, he will be master of all this 
 gold.” 
 
 ^ This happened under Augustus Csesar, and not during the reign of 
 Hadrian.— Ed, 
 
 s This happened to the father of Herodes A tticus, and the answer was 
 made by the Emperor Nerva.— Ed, 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 ]81 
 
 Aristippus being reprehended of luxury, by one that was 
 not rich, for that he gave six crovuis for a small fish, an¬ 
 swered, ‘‘Why, what would you have given The other said, 
 “Some twelve pence.” Aristippus said again, “And six 
 crowns is no more with me.” 
 
 Plato reprehended severely a young man for entering into 
 a dissolute house. The young man said to him, “ Why do 
 you reprehend so sharply for so small a matter?” Plato 
 replied, “ But custom is no small matter.” 
 
 Archidamus, king of Lacedaemon, having received from 
 Philip, king of Macedon (after Philip had won the victory 
 of Chaeronea, upon the Athenians), proud letters, writ back 
 to him, that if he measui’ed his own shadow, he would find it 
 no longer than it was before his victory. 
 
 Pyrrhus, w^hen his friends congratulated to him his victory 
 over the Romans, under the conduct of Fabricius, but with 
 great slaughter of his own side, said to them again, “ Yes, 
 but if we have such another victory, we are undone.” 
 
 Plato was wont to say of his master Socrates, that he 
 was like the apothecaries’ gallipots, that had on the out¬ 
 sides apes, owls, and satyrs, but within, precious drugs. 
 
 Alexander sent to Phocion a great present of money. 
 Phocion said to the messenger, “ Why doth the king send to 
 me, and to none else ? ” The messenger answered, “ Because 
 he takes you to be the only good man in Athens.” Phocion 
 replied, “ If he thinks so, pray let him suffer me to be so 
 still.” 
 
 At a banquet, where those that were called the seven * 
 \vise men of Greece were invited by the ambassador of a 
 barbarous king, the ambassador related, that there was a 
 neighbour mightier than his master, picked quarrels vith him, 
 by making impossible demands ; otherwise threatening war ; 
 and now at that present had demanded of him to drink up 
 the sea. Whereimto one of the wise men said, “ I would 
 have liim undertake it.” • “ Why,” said the ambassador, “ how 
 shall he come off?” “Thus,” saith the wise man ; “let the 
 king first stop the rivers wliich mn into the sea, which are 
 no part of the bargain, and then your master will perfoim it.” 
 
 Hanno the Carthaginian was sent commissioner by the 
 
182 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS* 
 
 state, after the second Carthaginian war, to supplicate for 
 peace, and in the end obtained it; yet one of the sharper 
 senators said, ‘‘You have often broken with us the peace, 
 whereunto you have sworn; I pray, by what god 'will you 
 swear h ” Hanno answered, “ By the same gods that punished 
 the former perjury so severely.” 
 
 One of the seven was wont to say, that laws were like 
 cobwebs, where the small flies were caught, and the great 
 brake through.^ 
 
 Levds the Eleventh of France, ha'vdng much abated the 
 greatness and power of the peers, nobility, and coui-t of parlia¬ 
 ment, would say, that he had brought the crown out of ward. 
 
 There was a cowardly Spanish soldier, that in a defeat that 
 the Moors gave, ran away with the foremost. Afterwards, 
 Avhen the army generally fled, this soldier was missing. 
 Whereupon it was said by some, that he was slain. “ No, 
 sure,” saith one, “ he is alive ; for the Moors eat no hare’s 
 flesh.” 
 
 One was saying, that his great-grandfather, and grand¬ 
 father, and father, died at sea. Said another, that heard him, 
 “And I were as you, I would never come at sea.” “ Why,” 
 saith he, “ where did your great-grandfather, and grand¬ 
 father, and father die V' He answered, “ Where, but in their 
 beds?” He answered, “And I were as you, I would never 
 come in bed.” 
 
 There was a dispute, whether great heads or little heads 
 had the better wit ? And one said, “ It must needs be the 
 little j for that it is a maxim, Omne majus continet in se 
 minus. ” 
 
 Sir Thomas More, when the counsel of the party pressed 
 him for a longer day to perform the decree, said, “Take 
 Saint Bamaby’s-day, which is the longest day in the year.” 
 Now, Saint Barnaby’s-day was within a few days following. 
 
 There was an Epicurean vaunted, that divers of other 
 sects of philosophers did after turn ‘Epicureans ; but there 
 was never any Epicureans that tm*ned to any other sect. 
 Whereupon a philosopher, that was of another sect, said, 
 
 ^ This was said by Anacharsis the Scythiaa, and not by a Greek.— 
 
 Fd. 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 183 
 
 the reason was plain, for that cocks may be made capons; 
 l:)ut capons could never be made cocks. 
 
 Chilon would say, that gold was tried with the touchstone, 
 and men with gold. 
 
 Mr. Popham (afterwards Lord Chief Justice Popham), 
 when he was speaker, and the House of Commons had sate 
 long, and done in effect nothing, coming one day to Queen 
 Elizabeth, she said to him, “Now, Mr. Speaker, what hath 
 passed in the Commons House ? ” He answered, “ If it 
 please your Majesty, seven weeks.” 
 
 Themistocles, in his lower fortune, was in love with a 
 young gentleman who scorned him ; but when he grew to 
 his greatness, which was soon after, he sought him : Themis¬ 
 tocles said, “We are both grown wise, but too late.” 
 
 Aristippus was earnest suitor to Dionysius for some grant, 
 who would give no ear to his suit. Aristippus fell at his 
 feet, and then Dionysius granted it. One that stood by said 
 afterwards to Aristippus, “You, a philosopher, and be so 
 base as to throw yourself at the tyrant’s feet to get a suit 1” 
 Aristippus answered, “ The fault is not mine; but the fault 
 is in Dionysius, that carries his ears in his feet. ” 
 
 Solon being asked, whether he had given the Athenians 
 the best laws ? answered, “ The best of those that they 
 would have received.” 
 
 One said to Aristippus, “ ’Tis a strange thing, why men 
 should rather giv^e to the poor, than to philosophers.” He 
 answered, “ Pecause they think themselves may sooner come 
 to be poor, than to be philosophers.” 
 
 Trajan would say of the vain jealousy of princes, that seek 
 to make away those that aspire to their succession, that there 
 was never king that did put to death his successor. 
 
 Alexander used to say of his two friends, Craterus and 
 Hephsestion, that Hephsestion loved Alexander, and Craterus 
 loved the king. 
 
 One of the fathers saith, that there is but this difference 
 between the death of old men and young men-; that old 
 men go to death, and death comes to young men. 
 
 Jason the Thessalian was wont to say, that some things 
 must be done unjustly, that many things may be done justly. 
 
184 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 Demetrius, king of Macedon, would at times retire himself 
 from business, and give himself wholly to pleasures. On one 
 of those his re tilings, giving out that he was sick, his father, 
 Antigonus, came on the sudden to visit liim, and met a fair 
 dainty youth coming out of his chamber. When Antigonus 
 came in, Demetrius said, Sir, the fever left me right now.” 
 Antigonus replied, think it was he that I met at the 
 door.” 
 
 Cato major would say, that wise men leaimed more by fools, 
 than fools by wise men. 
 
 When it was said to Anaxagoras, The Athenians have 
 condemned you to die,” he replied, And nature them.” 
 
 Alexander, when his father wished him to run for the 
 prize of the race of the Olympian games (for he w^as very 
 swift), answered, he w^ould, if he might run with kings. 
 
 Antigonus used often to go disguised, and to listen at the 
 tents of his soldiers; and at a time heard some that spoke 
 very ill of him. Whereupon he opened the tent a little, and 
 said to them, If you would speak ill of me, you should go 
 a little farther off.” 
 
 Aristippus said, that those that studied particular sciences, 
 and neglected philosophy, were like Penelope’s wooers, that 
 made love to the w^aiting-woman. 
 
 The ambassadors of Asia Minor came to Antonius, after he 
 had imposed upon them a double tax, and said plainly to 
 him, that if he would have two tributes in one year, he must 
 give them two seedtimes, and two harvests. 
 
 An orator of Athens said to Demosthenes, ‘^The Athe¬ 
 nians will kill you if they wax mad :” Demosthenes replied. 
 
 And they wdll kill you, if they be in good sense. 
 
 Epictetus used to say, that one of the vulgar, in any ill 
 that happens to him, blames others; a novice in philosophy 
 blames himself; and a philosopher blames neither the one nor 
 the other. 
 
 Cato the eldei', what time many of the Pomans had statues 
 erected in their honour, was asked by one, in a kind of 
 w^onder, why he had none ? He answered, he had much 
 
 This was not said by Demosthenes, but to Demosthenes by Phocioa. 
 —Ed. 
 
■ APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 185 
 
 rather men should ask and wonder why he had no statue, 
 than why he had a statue. 
 
 A cei*tain friend of Sir Thomas More, taking great pains 
 about a book, which he intended to publish (being well con¬ 
 ceited of his own wit, which no man else thought worthy of 
 commendation), brought it to Sir Thomas More to peruse it, 
 and pass his judgment upon it, which he did; and finding 
 nothing therein worthy the press, he said to him, with a 
 grave countenance, that if it were in verse, it would be 
 more worthy. ‘ Upon which words, he went immediately 
 and turned it into verse, and then brought it to Sir Thomas 
 again; who, looking thereon, said soberly, Yes, marry, now 
 it is somewhat; for now it is rhyme; whereas before, it was 
 neither rhyme nor reason.” 
 
 Sii’Henry Wotton used to say, that critics were likebrushers 
 of noblemen’s clothes. 
 
 Phocion the Athenian (a man of great severity, and no 
 ways flexible to the will of the people), one day, when he 
 spake to the people, in one part of his speech, was applauded ; 
 whereupon, he turned to one of his friends, and asked, “ What 
 have I said amiss ? ” 
 
 Diogenes was one day in the market-place, with a candle 
 in his hand, and being asked what he sought ? he said, he 
 sought a man. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was entertained by my Lord Burleigh at 
 Theobalds; and at her going away, my lord obtained of the 
 queen, to make seven knights. They were gentlemen of the 
 country, of my lord’s friends and neighbours. They were 
 placed in a rank, as the queen should pass by the hall j and 
 to win antiquity of knighthood, in order as my lord favoured, 
 though, indeed, the more principal gentlemen were placed 
 lowest. The queen was told of it, and said nothing; but 
 when she went along, she passed them all by, as far as the 
 skreen, as if she had forgot it; and when she came to the 
 skreen, she seemed to take herself with the manner, and said, 
 I had almost forgot what I promised. ” With that she 
 turned back, and knighted the lowest first, and so upward. 
 \Yhereupon Mr. Stanhope, of the privy-chamber, a while after 
 told her, Your Majesty was too fine for my Lord Burleigh.’' 
 
186 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. ' 
 
 Slie answei'ed, I have but fulfilled the Sciipture : the fii’st 
 shall be last, and the last first.” 
 
 Bion was sailing, and there fell out a great tempest, and 
 the mariners that were wicked and dissolute fellows called 
 upon the gods; but Bion said to them, Peace, let them not 
 know you are here.” 
 
 The Turks made an expedition into Persia; and because 
 of the strait jaws of the mountains of Armenia, the 
 bashaw consulted which way they should get in. One that 
 heard the debate said, “ Here’s much ado hoV you shall get 
 in ; but I hear nobody take care how you should get out. ” 
 
 P hili p, king of Macedon, maintained arguments with a 
 musician, in points of his art, somewhat peremptorily; but 
 the musician said to him, God forbid. Sir, your fortune were 
 so hard, that you should know these things better than 
 myself ” 
 
 Pace the fool was not suffered to come at Queen Elizabeth, 
 because of his bitter humour. Yet at one time, some per¬ 
 suaded the queen that he should come to her ; undertaking 
 for him, that he should keep within compass; so he was 
 brought to her, and the queen said, “ Come on. Pace, now we 
 shall hear of our faults. ” Saith Pace, “ I do not use to talk 
 of that that all the town talks of.” 
 
 After the defeat of Cyrus the younger, Ealinus was sent 
 by the king to the Grecians (who had for their part rather 
 victory than otherwise), to command them to yield their 
 arms; which, when it was denied, Ealinus said to Clearchus, 
 ^^Well, then, the king lets you know, that if you remove 
 from the place where you are now encamped, it is war; if 
 you stay, it is truce. What shall I say you will do?” 
 Clearchus answered, “ It pleaseth us, as it pleaseth the king.” 
 ^^'How is that?” saith Ealinus. Saith Clearchus, “If we 
 remove, war ; if we stay, truce :” and so would not disclose 
 Ins purpose. 
 
 Hero was wont to say of his master Seneca, that his style 
 was like mortar without lime. 
 
 A seaman coming before the judges of the Admiralty for 
 admittance into an office of a ship bound for the Indies, was 
 by one of the judges much slighted, as an insufficient person 
 
APOPHTHEGBIS. 
 
 187 
 
 for that office he sought to obtain ; the judge telling him, 
 that he believed he could not saj the }X)ints of his compass. 
 The seaman answered, that he could say them, under favour, 
 better than he could say his Paternoster. The judge replied, 
 that he would wager twenty shillings with him upon that. 
 The seaman taking him up, it came to trial; and the seaman 
 began, and said all the points of his compass very exactly ; 
 the judge likewise said his Paternoster ; and when he had 
 finished it, he required the wager according to agreement, 
 because the seaman was to say his compass better than he 
 his Paternoster, which he had not performed. “ i^ay, I 
 pray sir, hold,” quoth the seaman, the wager is not finished, 
 for I have but half done and so he immediately said his 
 compass backward very exactly ; 'which the judge failing of 
 in his Paternoster, the seaman carried away the prize. 
 
 Sir Pulke Grevil had much and private access to Queen 
 Elizabeth, which he used honourably, and did many men 
 good : yet he 'would say merrily of himself, that he was like 
 Pobin Goodfellow; for when the maids spilt the milk-pans, 
 or kept any racket, they would lay it upon Pobin : so what 
 tales the ladies about the queen told her, or other bad offices 
 that they did, they would put it upon him. 
 
 Cato said, the best way to keep good acts in memory, 
 was to refresh them with new. 
 
 Aristippus said, he took money of his friends, not so 
 much to use it himself, as to teach them how to bestow 
 their money.' 
 
 A strumpet said to Aristippus, that she was with child by 
 liim ; he answered, You know that no more, than if you 
 went through a hedge of thorns, you could say, this thorn 
 pricked me.” 
 
 Democritus said, that truth did lie in the profound pits, 
 and when it was got, it needed much refining. 
 
 Diogenes said of a young man that danced daintily, and 
 'was much commended, The better, the ■worse.” 
 
 Diogenes seeing one that was a bastard casting stones 
 among the people, bade him take heed he hit not his father. 
 
 Plutarch said 'srell, “ It ls otherwise in a commonwealth of 
 
188 
 
 APOPHTHEGAIS. 
 
 men than of bees ; the hive of a city or kingdom is in beat 
 condition, when there is least of noise or buzz in it.” 
 
 The same Plutarch said of men of weak abilities set in 
 great place, that they were like little statues set on great 
 bases, made to appear the less by their advancement. 
 
 He said again, Good fame is like fire : when you have 
 kindled it, you may easily preserve it; but if you once 
 extinguish it, you will not easily kindle it again.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth seeing Sir Edward-in her garden, 
 
 looked out at her window, and asked him in Italian, What 
 does a man think- of when he thinks of nothing ? ” Sir 
 Edward (who had not had the effect of some of the queen’s 
 grants so soon as he had hoped and desired) paused a little, 
 and then made answer, “ Madam, he thinks of a woman’s 
 promise.” The queen shrunk in her head, but was heard to 
 say, ^^Well, Sir Edward, I must not confute you. Anger 
 makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor.” 
 
 When any great officer, ecclesiastical or civil, was to be 
 made, the queen would inquire after the piety, integrity, and 
 learning of the man. And when she was satisfied in these 
 qualifications, she would consider of his personage. And 
 upon such an occasion she pleased once to say to me, “ Bacon, 
 how can the magistrate maintain his authority when the 
 man is despised 
 
 In eighty-eight, when the queen went from Temple-bar 
 along Fleet-street, the lawyers were ranked on one side, and 
 the companies of the city on the other; said Master Bacon 
 to a lawyer that stood next to him, Do but observe the 
 courtiers; if they bow first to the citizens, they are in debt; 
 if first to us, they are in law.” 
 
 A Grecian captain advising the confederates that were 
 united against the Lacedaemonians, toucliing their enterprise, 
 gave opinion, that they should go directly upon Sparta, say¬ 
 ing, that the state of Sj^arta was like rivers; strong when 
 they had run a great way, and weak toward their head. 
 
 One was examined upon certain scandalous words spoken 
 against the king. He confessed them, and said, “ It is true, 
 I spake them, and if the wine had not failed, I had said 
 much more.” 
 
APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 189 
 
 Charles the Bald allowed one, whose name was Scottns, to 
 sit at the table with him for his pleasure. Scottns sate on 
 the other side of the table. One time the king being merry 
 with him, said to him, ^‘What is there between Scot and 
 Sotl” Scottns answered, The table only.” 
 
 There was a marriage made between a widow of great 
 wealth, and a gentleman of great house, that had no estate 
 or means. Jack Roberts said, that marriage was like a 
 black pudding; the one brought blood, and the other brought 
 suet and oatmeal. 
 
 Diogenes was asked in a kind of scorn, What was the 
 matter, that philosophers haunted rich men, and not rich 
 men philosophers ? He answered, “ Because the one knew 
 what they wanted, the other did not.” 
 
 . Demetrius, king of Macedon, had a petition offered him 
 divers times by an old woman, and answered, he had no 
 leisure. Whereupon, the woman said aloud, Why, then, 
 give over to be king.”^ 
 
 When King Edward the Second was amongst his torturers, 
 who hurried him to and fro, that no man should know where 
 he was, they set him down upon a bank ; and one time, the 
 more to disguise his face, shaved him, and washed him with 
 cold water of a ditch by. The king said, Well, yet I will 
 have warm water for my beard ;” and so shed abundance 
 of tears. 
 
 King James was wont to be very earnest with the country 
 gentlemen to go from London to their country houses. And 
 sometimes he would say thus to them: Gentlemen, at 
 London, you are like ships at sea, which show like nothing; 
 but in your country villages, you are like ships in a river, 
 which look like great things.” 
 
 Count Gondomar sent a compliment to my Lord St. Alban, 
 wishing him a good Easter. My lord thanked the messenger, 
 and said, he could not at present requite the count better 
 than in returning him the like ; that he wished his lordship 
 a good Passover, 
 
 ^ This did not happen to Demetrius, but to Philip, king of Macedon. 
 Bacon repeats the anecdote in the first book of the Novum Organum, 
 but without stating any name.— Ed, 
 
190 
 
 APOPHTHEGMS. 
 
 My Lord Chancellor Elsmere, when he had read a petition 
 which he disliked, would say, What, you would have my 
 hand to this now ]” And the party answering, “ Yes ho 
 would say farthei’, ^^Well, so you shall; nay, you shall have 
 both my hands to it.” And so would, with both his hands, 
 tear it in pieces. 
 
 Sir Francis Bacon was wont to say of an angry man who 
 suppressed his passion, that he thought worse than he spoke; 
 and of an angry man that would chide, that he spoke worse 
 than he thought. 
 
 When Mr. Attorney Coke, in the Exchequer, gave high 
 words to Sir Francis Bacon, and stood much upon the higher 
 place. Sir Francis said to him, Mr. Attorney, the less you 
 speak of your own greatness, the more I shall think of it; 
 and the more, the less.” 
 
 Sir Francis Bacon (who was always for modemte counsels), 
 when one was speaking of such a reformation of the Church 
 of England as would in effect make it no church, said thus 
 to him: Sir, the subject we talk of is the eye of England, 
 and if there be a speck or two in the eye, we endeavour to 
 take them off ; but he were a strange oculist who would pull 
 out the eye.” 
 
 The same Sir Francis Bacon was wont to say, that those 
 who left useful studies for useless scholastic speculations, 
 were like the Olympic gamesters, who abstained from neces¬ 
 sary labours, that they might be fit for such as were not so. 
 
 The Lord St. Albans, who was not over-hasty to raise 
 theories, but proceeded slowly by experiments, was wont to 
 say to some philosophers, who would not go his pace, ‘‘ Gen¬ 
 tlemen,' nature is a labyrinth, in which the very haste you 
 move with, will make you lose your way.” 
 
 The same lord, when a gentleman seemed not much to 
 approve of his liberality to his retinue, said to him, Sir, I 
 am all of a piece; if the head be lifted up, the inferior parts 
 of the body must too.” 
 
 The Lord Bacon was wont to commend the advice of the 
 plain old man at Buxton, that sold besoms; a proud, lazy 
 young fellow came to him for a besom upon trust; to whom 
 the old man said, “ Friend, hast thou no money f Borrow of 
 
ELEGANT SENTENCES. 
 
 191 
 
 thy back, and borrow of thy belly, they’ll ne’er ask thee again, 
 I shall be dunning thee every day.” 
 
 Jack Weeks said of a great man (just then dead), who 
 pretended to some religion, but was none of the best livers, 
 ^‘Well, I hope he is in heaven. Eveiy man thinks as he 
 washes; but if he be in heaven, ’twere pity it were known.” 
 
 His lordship, when he had finished this collection of 
 apophthegms, concluded thus : Come, now all is well; they 
 say, he is not a wise man that will lose his friend for ^ wit; 
 but he is less a wise man that will lose his friend for another 
 man’s wit.” 
 
 ORNAMENTA RATION ALIA: 
 
 OE 
 
 ELEGANT SENTENCES. 
 
 Aleator, quanto in arte est melior, tanto est nequior —A 
 gamester, the greater master he is in his art, the worse man 
 he is. 
 
 Arcum,intensio frangit; animum, remissio—Much bending 
 breaks the bow ; much unbending, the mind. 
 
 Bis vincit, qui se vincit in victoria—He conquers twice, 
 who restrains himself in victory. 
 
 Cum vitia prosint, peccat qui recte facit—If vices were 
 profitable, the virtuous man would be the sinner. 
 
 Bene dormit, qui non sentit quod male dormiat—He 
 sleeps well, who is not conscious that he sleeps ill. 
 
 Deliberare utiHa, mora est tutissima—To deliberate about 
 useful things is the safest delay. 
 
 Dolor decrescit, ubi quo crescat non habet—The flood of 
 grief decreaseth, when it can swell no higher. 
 
 Etiam innocentes cogit mentiri dolor—Pain makes even 
 the innocent man a liar. 
 
192 
 
 ELEGANT SENTENCES, 
 
 Etiani celeritas in desiderio, mora est—In desire, swiftness 
 itself is delay. 
 
 Etiam capillus unus habet umbram suam—Even a single 
 hair casts a shadow. 
 
 Eidem qui perdit, quo se servat in reliquum ?—He that 
 has lost his faith, what staff has he left ? 
 
 Formosa facies muta commendatio est—A beautiful face 
 is a silent commendation. 
 
 Fortuna nimium quern fovet, stultum facit—Fortune makes 
 him fool, whom she makes her darling. 
 
 Fortuna obesse nuUi contenta est semel—Fortune is not 
 content to do a man one ill turn. 
 
 Facit gratum fortuna, quern nemo videt—The fortune 
 ‘ which nobody sees makes a man happy and unenvied. 
 
 Heu ! quam miserum est ab illo Isedi, de quo non possis 
 queri—O ! what a miserable thing it is to be injm'ed by 
 those of whom we cannot complain. 
 
 Homo toties moritur quoties amittit suos—A man dies as 
 often as he loses his friends. 
 
 Hseredis fletus sub persona risus est—The tears of an heir 
 are laughter under a mask. 
 
 Jucundum nihil est, nisi quod reficit varietas—Nothing is 
 pleasant which is not spiced vdth variety. 
 
 Invidiam ferre, aut fortis, aux felix potest—He may be 
 envied, who is either courageous or happy. 
 
 In malis sperare bonum, nisi innocens, nemo potest—In 
 adversity, only the virtuous can entertain hope. 
 
 In vindicando, criminosa est celeritas—In revenge, haste 
 is criminal. 
 
 In calamitoso risus etiam injuria est—In misfortune, even 
 to smile is to offend. 
 
 Improbe Neptunum accusat, qui iterum nauftagium facit 
 —He accuseth Neptime unjustly, who incurs shipwreck a 
 second time. 
 
 Multis minatur, qui uni facit injuTiam—He that injui’es 
 one, threatens many. 
 
ELEGANT -SENTENCES. 
 
 193 
 
 Mora omnis ingrata est, sed tacit sapientiam—All delay is 
 unpleasant, but we are tbe wiser for it. 
 
 Mori est felicis antequam mortem invocet—Happy he 
 who dies ere he calls on death. 
 
 Malus ubi bonum se simulat, tunc est pessimus—A bad 
 man is worst when he pretends to be a saint. 
 
 Magno cum periculo custoditur, quod multis placet—Lock 
 and key will scarce keep that secure which pleases every¬ 
 body. 
 
 Male vivunt qui se semper victuros putant—They live ill, 
 who think to live for ever. 
 
 Male secum agit seger, medicum qui hseredem facit—That 
 sick man does ill for himself, who makes his physician liis 
 heir. 
 
 Multos timere debet, quern multi timent—He of whom 
 many are afraid, ought himself to fear many. 
 
 Nulla tarn bona est fortuna, de qua nil possis queri— 
 There’s no fortune so good, but it has its alloy. 
 
 Pars beneficii est quod petitur, si bene neges—That ia 
 half granted which is denied graciously. 
 
 Timidus vocat se cautum, parcum sordidus—The coward 
 calls himself a cautious man; and the miser says, he is 
 frugal. 
 
 O vita ! misero longa, fehci brevis—O life 1 an age to the 
 miserable, a moment to the happy. 
 
 The following are sentences extracted from the writings of 
 Lord Bacon :— 
 
 It is a strange desire which men have, to seek power and 
 lose liberty. 
 
 Children increase the cares of life : but they mitigate the 
 remembrance of death. 
 
 Bound dealing is the honour of man’s nature ; and a mix¬ 
 ture of falsehood is like alloy in gold and silver, wliich may 
 make the metal work the better, but it debaseth it. 
 
 Death openeth the gate to ,good fame, and extinguisheth 
 envy. 
 
 0 
 
191 
 
 ELEGANT SENTENCES. 
 
 Kevenge is a kind of wild justice, whicli tke more a man^s 
 nature runs to, tke more ought law to weed it out. 
 
 He that studieth revenge, keepeth his own wounds gi’een. 
 
 It was a high speech of Seneca (after the manner of the 
 Stoics), that the good things which belong to prosperity are 
 to be wished j but the good things which belong to adversity 
 are to be admired. 
 
 He that cannot see w^ell, let him go softly. 
 
 If a man be thought secret, it inviteth discovery j as the 
 more close air sucketh in the more open. 
 
 Keep your authority w'hoUy from your children, not so 
 your purse. 
 
 Men of noble birth are noted to be envious towards new 
 men when they rise. For the distance is altered ; and it is 
 like a deceit of the eye, that when others come on, they 
 think themselves go back. 
 
 As in nature things move more violently to their place, 
 and calmly in their place : so virtue in ambition is violent; 
 in authority, settled and calm 
 
 Boldness in civil business, is like pronunciation in the 
 orator of Demosthenes ; the first, second, and third thing. 
 
 Boldness is blind : whereof ’tis ill in counsel, but good in 
 execution. For in coimsel it is good to see dangers, in exe¬ 
 cution not to see thern, except they be very great. 
 
 Without goodnature, man is but a better kind of vermin. 
 
 God never wrought miracles to convince atheism, because 
 his ordinary works convince it. 
 
 The great atheists indeed are hypocrites, who are always 
 handling holy things, but without feeling, so as they must 
 needs be cauterized in the end. 
 
 The master of superstition is the people. And in all 
 superstition, wdse men follow^ fools. 
 
 In removing superstitions, care should be had, that (as it 
 fareth in ill purgings) the good be not taken aw^ay with the 
 bad ; which commonly is done, when the people is the 
 physician. 
 
 He that goeth into a country before he hath some entrance 
 into the language, goeth to school, and not to travel 
 
ELEGANT SENTENCES. 
 
 195 
 
 It is a miserable state of mind (and yet it is commonly 
 tlie case of kings) to bave few things to desire, and many 
 to fear. 
 
 Depression of the nobhity may make a king more absolute, 
 but less safe. 
 
 All precepts concerning kings are, in effect, comprehended 
 in these remembrances : Remember thou art a man; remem¬ 
 ber thou art God’s vicegerent.- The one bridleth their power, 
 and the other their will. 
 
 Things will have their first or second agitation. If they 
 be not tossed upon the arguments of counsel, they will be 
 tossed upon the waves of fortune. 
 
 The true composition of a counsellor, is rather to be skilled 
 in his master’s business than his nature ; for then he is like 
 to advise him, and not to feed his humour. 
 
 Fortune sometimes turneth the handle of the bottle, 
 which is easy to be taken hold of; and after the belly, 
 which is hard to grasp. 
 
 Generally it is good to commit the beginning of all great 
 actions to Argus with an hundred eyes; and the ends of 
 them to Briareus with an hundred hands ; first to watch and 
 then to speed. 
 
 There is a great difference betwixt a cunning man and a 
 wise man. There be that can pack the cards, who yet cant 
 play well; they are good in canvasses and factions, aiid yet 
 otherwise mean men. 
 
 Extreme self-lovers will set a man’s house on fire, though 
 it were but to roast their eggs. 
 
 New things, like strangers, are more admired and less 
 favoured. 
 
 It were good that men, in their innovations, would foDow 
 the example of time itself, which indeed innovateth greatly, 
 but quietly, and by degrees scarce to be perceived. 
 
 They that reverence too much old time, are but a scojm to 
 tile new. 
 
 The Spaniards and Spartans have been noted to be of 
 small despatch. Mi venga la muerte de Spagna—Let my 
 
 o 2 
 
ELEGANT SENTENCES. 
 
 death come from Spain ; for then it will be sure to be long 
 a-coming. 
 
 You had better take for business a man somewhat absurd, 
 than over-formal. 
 
 Those who want friends to whom to open their griefe, are 
 cannibals of their own hearts. 
 
 Number itself importeth not much in armies, where the 
 people are of weak courage ; for (as Yirgil says) it never 
 troubles a wolf how many the sheep be. 
 
 Let states, that aim at greatness, take heed how their 
 nobility and gentry multiply too fast. In coppice woods, if 
 you leave your staddles too thick, you shall never have clean 
 underwood, but shrubs and bushes. 
 
 - A civil war is like the heat of a fever ; but a foreign war 
 is like the heat of exercise, and serveth to keep the body in 
 health. 
 
 Suspicions among thoughts are like bats among birds, they 
 ever fly by twilight. 
 
 Ease natures, if they find themselves once suspected, will 
 never be true. 
 
 Men ought to find the difference between saltness and 
 bitterness. Certainly he that hath a satirical vein, as he 
 maketh others afraid of his wit, so he had need be afraid of 
 others’ memory. 
 
 Discretion in speech is more than eloquence. 
 
 Men seem neither well to understand their riches, nor 
 their strength; of the former they believe greater things 
 than they should and of the latter much less. And from 
 hence fatal pillars have bounded the progress of learning. 
 
 Riches are the baggage of virtue ; they cannot be spared 
 nor left behind, but they hinder the march. 
 
 Great riches have sold more men than ever they have 
 bought out. 
 
 He that defers his charity till he is dead, is (if a man 
 weighs it rightly) rather liberal of another man’s, than of 
 his own. 
 
 Ambition is like choler; if he can move, it makes men 
 
ELEGANT SENTENCES. 
 
 m 
 
 active; if it be stopped, it becomes adust, and makes men 
 melancholy. 
 
 To take a soldier without ambition, is to pull off his 
 spurs. 
 
 Some ambitious men seem as screens to princes in matters 
 of danger and envy. For no man will take such parts, 
 except he be like the seel’d dove, that moimts and mounts, 
 because he cannot see about him. 
 
 Princes and states should choose such ministers as are 
 more sensible of duty than rising; and should discern a busy 
 nature from a willing mind. 
 
 A man’s nature runs either to herbs or weeds; therefore 
 let him seasonably water the one, and destroy the other. 
 
 If a man look sharp and attentively, he shall see fortune ^ 
 for though she be blind, she is not invisible. 
 
 Usury^ biingeth the treasure of the realm or state into a 
 few hands : for the usurer being at certainties, and the 
 others at imcertainties ; at the end of the game most of .the 
 money will be in the box. 
 
 Beauty is best in a body that hath rather dignity of 
 presence, than beauty of aspect. The beautiful prove 
 accomplished, but not of great spirit ; and study, for the 
 most part, rather behaviour than virtue. 
 
 The best part of beauty, is that which a picture cannot 
 express. 
 
 He who builds a fair house upon an ill seat, commits 
 himself to prison. 
 
 If you would work on any man, you must either know 
 his nature and fashions, and so lead him; or his ends, and so 
 persuade him ; or his weaknesses and disadvantages, and so 
 awe him; or those that have interest in him, and so govern 
 him. 
 
 Costly followers (among whom we may reckon those who 
 are importunate in suits) are not to be liked ; lest while a 
 man maketh his train longer, he maketh his Artngs shorter. 
 
 Fame is like a river, that beareth up things light and 
 swollen, and drowns things weighty and solid. 
 
198 
 
 SHORT NOTES. 
 
 Seneca saith well, that anger is like rain, that breaks 
 itself upon that it falls. 
 
 Excusations, cessions, modesty itself well governed, are but 
 arts of ostentation. 
 
 High treason is not written in ice ; that when the body 
 relenteth, the impression should go away. 
 
 Tlie best governments are always subject to be like the 
 fairest crystals, when every icicle or grain is seen, which in a 
 fouler stone is never perceived. 
 
 In great place ask counsel of both times : of the ancient 
 time what is best, and of the latter time what is fittest. 
 
 The virtue of prosperity is temperance, of adversity forti¬ 
 tude, wliich in morals is the more heroical virtue. Prospe¬ 
 rity is the blessing of the Old Testament, adversity the 
 blessing of the New, which carrieth the greater benediction 
 and the clearer revelation of God’s favour. 
 
 SHOKT NOTES FOR CIVIL CONVERSATION. 
 
 To deceive men’s expectations generally (with cautel), 
 argueth a staid mind, and unexpected constancy; viz. in 
 matters of fear, anger, sudden joy or grief, and all things 
 which may afiect or alter the mind in public or sudden 
 accidents, or such like. 
 
 It is necessary to use a steadfast countenance, not waving 
 Avith action, as in moving the head or hand too much, which 
 showeth a fantastical light and fickle operation of the spirit, 
 and consequently like mind as gesture : only it is sufficient, 
 Avith leisure, to use a modest action in either. 
 
 In all kinds of speech, either pleasant, graA^e, severe, or 
 ordinary, it is conv'enient to speak leisurely, and rather 
 draAvingly, than hastily ; because hasty speech confounds the 
 memory, and oftentimes (besides unseemliness) drives a man 
 cither to a nonplus or unseemly stammering, harping upon 
 that Avhich should follow ; whereas a slow speech confirmeth 
 the memory, addeth a conceit of wisdom to the hearers, 
 besides a seemliness of speech and countenance. 
 
. SHORT NOTES. 
 
 193 
 
 To desire in discourse to hold all arguments, is ridiculous, 
 wanting true judgment; for in all things no man can be 
 exquisite. 
 
 To have common-places to discourse, and to want variety, 
 is both tedious to the hearers, and shows a shallowness of 
 conceit; therefore it is good to vary, and suit speeches with 
 the present occasions ; and to have a moderation in all our 
 speeches, especially- in jesting, of religion, state, great 
 pei^ons, weighty and important business, poverty, or any¬ 
 thing deserving pity. 
 
 To use many circumstances, ere you come to matter, is 
 wearisome : and to use none at all, is but blunt. 
 
 Bashfulness is a great hinderance to a man, both of 
 uttering his conceit, and understanding what is propounded 
 unto him ; wherefore, it is good to press himself forwards 
 with discretion, both in speech, and company of the better 
 4;ort. 
 
 Usus promptos facit. 
 
THE WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 A SERIES OF MYTHOLOGICAL FABLES.* 
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 The earliest antiquity lies buried in silence and oblivion, excepting^ 
 the remains we have of it in sacred writ. This silence was succeeded 
 by poetical fables, and these, at length, by the wiitings we now enjoy ; 
 so that the concealed and secret learning of the ancients seems separated 
 from the history and knowledge of the following ages by a veil, or par¬ 
 tition-wall of fables, interposing between the things that are lost and 
 those that remain. 
 
 Many may imagine that I am here entering upon a work of fancy, or 
 amusement, and design to use a poetical liberty, in explaining poetical 
 fables. It is true, fables in general are composed of ductile matter, that 
 may be drawn into great variety by a witty talent or an inventive 
 genius, and be delivered of plausible meanings which they never con¬ 
 tained. But this procedure has already been carried to excess; and 
 great numbers, to procure the sanction of antiquity to their own notions 
 and inventions, have miserably wrested and abused the fables of the 
 ancients. 
 
 Nor is this only a late or unfrequent practice, but of ancient date, and 
 common even to this da3^ Thus Chrysippus, like an interpreter of 
 dreams, attributed the opinions of the Stoics to the poets of old and the 
 chemists, at present, more childishly apply the poetical transformations 
 to their experiments of the furnace. And though I have well weighed 
 and considered all this, and thoroughly seen into the levity which the 
 mind indulges for allegories and allusions, yet I cannot but retain a high 
 value for the ancient mythology. And, certainly, it were very injudi- 
 
 * Most of these fables are contained in Ovid’s Metamorphoses and 
 Fasti, and are fully explained in Bohn’s Classical Library translation. 
 
 ^ Varro distributes the ages of the world into three periods ; viz, the 
 unknown, the fabulous, and the historical. Of the former we have no 
 accounts but in Scripture ; for the second we must consult the ancient 
 poets, such as Hesiod, Homer, or those who WTote still earlier, and then 
 again come back to Ovid, who, in his Metamorphoses, seems, in imita¬ 
 tion perhaps of some ancient Greek poet, to have intended a complete 
 collection, or a kind of continued and connected history of the fabulous 
 age, especially with regard to changes, revolutions, or transformations. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 201 
 
 clous to suffer the fondness and licentiousness of a few to detract from 
 the honour of allegory and parable in general. This would be rash, and 
 Almost profane ; for, since religion delights in such shadows and dis¬ 
 guises, to abolish them were, in a manner, to prohibit all intercouRe 
 betwixt things divine and human. ^ 
 
 Upon deliberate consideration, my judgment is, that a concerned 
 instruction and allegory was originally intended in many of the ancient 
 fables. This opinion may, in some respect, be owing to the veneration 
 I have for antiquity, but more to observing that some fables discover a 
 gi'eat and evident similitude, relation, and connection with the thing 
 they signify, as well in the structure of the fable as in the propriety of 
 the names whereby the persons or actors are characterized ; insomuch, 
 that no one could positively deny a sense and meaning to be from the 
 first intended, and purposely shadowed out in them. Eor who can hear 
 that Fame, after the giants were destroyed, sprimg up as their posthu¬ 
 mous sister, and not apply it to the clamour of parties and the seditious 
 rumours which commonly fly about for a time upon the quelling of 
 insurrections ? Or who can read how the giant Typhon cut out and car¬ 
 ried away Jupiter’s sinews—which Mercury afterwards stole and again 
 restored to Jupiter—and not presently observe that this allegory denotes- 
 strong and powerful rebellions, which cut away from kings their sinews,, 
 both of money and authority ; and that the way to have them restored 
 is by lenity, affability, and prudent edicts, which soon reconcile, and as 
 it w’ere steal upon the affections of the subject ? Or who, upon hearing 
 that memorable expedition of the gods against the giants, when the 
 braying of Silenus’s ass greatly contributed in putting the giants to 
 flight, does not clearly conceive that this directly points at the mon¬ 
 strous enterprises of rebellious subjects, which are frequently frustrated 
 and disappointed by vain fears and empty rumours ? 
 
 Again, the conformity and purport of the names is frequently manifest 
 and self-evident. Thus Metis, the wife of Jupiter, plainly signifies 
 counsel ; Typhon, swelling; Pan, universality; Nemesis, revenge, &c. 
 Nor is it a wonder, if sometimes a piece of history or other things are 
 introduced, by way of ornament; or if the times of the action are con¬ 
 founded ; or if part of one fable be tacked to another ; or if the allegory 
 be new turned ; for all this must necessarily happen, as the fables were 
 the inventions of men who lived in different ages and had different 
 views ; some of them being ancient, others more modem ; some having 
 an eye to natural philosophy, and others to morality or civil policy. 
 
 It may pass for a farther indication of a concealed and secret mean¬ 
 ing, that some of these fables are so absurd and idle in their narration 
 as to show and proclaim an allegory, even afar off. A fable that carries 
 probability with it may be supposed invented for pleasure, or in imitation 
 of history; but those that could never be conceived or related in this 
 way must surely have a different use. For example, what a monstrous 
 fiction is this, that Jupiter should take Metis to wife, and as soon as he 
 found her pregnant eat her up, whereby he also conceived, and out of 
 his head brought forth Pallas armed. Certainly no mortal could, but 
 for the sake of the moral it couches, invent such an absurd dream as 
 this, so much out of the road of thought! 
 
 But the argument of most weight with me is this, that many of these 
 
■202 
 
 ■WISDOM OP THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 fables by no means appear to have been invented by’the persons who 
 relate and divulge them, whether Homer, Hesiod, or others; for if I 
 were assm'ed they first flowed from those later times and authors that 
 transmit them to us, I should never expect anything singularly great or 
 noble from such an origin. But w^hoever attentively considers the 
 thing, will find that these frbles are delivered down and related by those 
 writers, not as matters then first invented and proposed^- but as things 
 received and embraced in earlier ages. Besides, as they "are differently 
 related by writers nearly of the same ages, it is easily perceived that the 
 relators drew from the common stock of ancient tradition, and varied 
 but in point of embellishment, which is their own. And this princi¬ 
 pally raises my esteem of these fables, which I receive, not as the pro¬ 
 duct of the age, or invention of the poets, b ut as sacred reUcs, gentle 
 whispers, and the breath of better times, that from the traditions ofmore 
 ancienF'nations came, at length7~ffito the flutes and trumpets of the 
 Greeks. But if any one shall, notwithstanding this, contend that alle- 
 :gories are always adventitious, or imposed upon the ancient fables, and 
 no way native or genuinely contained in them, we might here leave him 
 undisturbed in that gravity of judgment he affects (though we cannot 
 help accounting it somewhat dull and phlegmatic), and if it were worth 
 the trouble, proceed to another kind of argument. 
 
 Men have proposed to answer two different and contrary ends by the 
 use of parable ; for parables serve as well to instruct or illustrate as to 
 wrap up and envelop, so that though, for the present, we drop the con¬ 
 cealed use, and suppose the ancient fables to be vague, undeterminate 
 things, formed for amusement, still the other use must remain, and can 
 never be given up. And every man, of any learning, must readily allow 
 that this method of instructing is grave, sober, or exceedingly useful, 
 and sometimes necessar}’’ in the sciences, as it opens an easy and familiar 
 passage to the hmnan understanding, in all new discoveries that are 
 abstruse and out of the road of vulgar opinions. Hence, in the first 
 ages, when such inventions and conclusions of the human reason as are 
 now trite and common were new and little known, all things abounded 
 with fables, parables, similes, comparisons, and allusions, which were 
 not intended to conceal, but to inform and teach, whilst the minds of 
 men continued rude and unpractised in matters of sub til ty and specula¬ 
 tion, or even impatient, and in a manner uncapable of receiving such 
 things as did not directly fall under and strike the senses. For as 
 hieroglyphics were in use before writing, so were parables in use before 
 arguments. And even to this day, if any man would let new light in 
 upon the human understanding, and conquer prejudice, without raising 
 ■contests, animosities, opposition, or disturbance, he must still go in 
 the same path, and have recourse to the like method of allegory, meta¬ 
 phor, and allusion. 
 
 To conclude, the knowdedge of the early ages was either great or 
 happy ; great, if they b}^ design made this use of trope and figure ; 
 happy, if, whilst they had other views, they afforded matter and occa¬ 
 sion to such noble contemplations. Let either be the case, our pains, 
 perhaps, will not be misemployed, whether we illustrate antiquity or 
 things themselves. 
 
 The like indeed has been attempted by others ; but to speak ingenu- 
 
CASSANDRA, OR DIVINATION. 
 
 203 
 
 uusly, their great and voluminous labours have almost destroyed the 
 energy, the efficacy, and grace of the thing, whilst, being unskilled in 
 nature, and their learning no more than that of common-place, they 
 have applied the sense of the parables to certain general and vulgar 
 matters, without reaching to their real purport, genuine interpretation, 
 and full depth. For myself, therefore, I expect to appear new in these 
 common things, because, leaving untouched such as are sufficiently plain 
 and open, I shall drive only at those that are either deep or rich. 
 
 1 .—cassandka; or divination. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF TOO FREE AND UNSEASONABLE ADVICE, ^ 
 
 The Poets relate, that Apollo, falling in love with Cas¬ 
 sandra, was still deluded and put off by her, yet fed with 
 hopes, till she had got from him the gift of prophecy; and 
 having now obtained her end, she flatly rejected his suit. 
 Apollo, unable to recall his rash gift, yet enraged to be out¬ 
 witted by a girl, annexed this penalty to it, that though 
 she should always prophesy true, she should never be 
 believed; whence her divinations w^ere always slighted, even 
 when she again and again predicted the ruin of her country. 
 
 Explanation.— This fable seems invented to express the 
 insignificance of unseasonable advice. For they who are 
 conceited, stubborn, or intractable, and listen not to the 
 instructions of Apollo, the god of harmony, so as to learn 
 and observe the modulations and measures of affairs, the 
 sharps and flats of discourse, the difference between judicious 
 and vulgar ears, and the proper times of speech and silence, 
 let them be ever so intelligent, and ever so ffank of their 
 advice, or their counsels ever so good and just, yet all their 
 endeavours, either of persuasion or force, are of little sig¬ 
 nificance, and rather hasten the ruin of those they advise. 
 But, at last, when the calamitous event has made the 
 sufferers feel the effect of their neglect, they too late reve¬ 
 rence their advisers, as deep, foreseeing, and faithful pro¬ 
 phets. 
 
 Of this we have a remarkable instance in Cato of Utica, 
 who discovered afar off, and long foretold, the approaching 
 ruin of his country, both in the first consj)iracy, and as it 
 was prosecuted in the civil war between Csesar and Pompey, 
 
204 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS, 
 
 yet did no good tlie while, but rather hurt the common¬ 
 wealth, and hurried on its destruction, which Cicero wisely 
 observed in these words : Cato, indeed, judges excellently, 
 but prejudices the state; for he speaks as in the common¬ 
 wealth of Plato, and not as in the dregs of Romulus.” 
 
 II.~TYPHON, OR A REBEL. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF KEBELLION. 
 
 The fable runs, that Juno, enraged at Jupiter’s bringing 
 forth Pallas without her assistance, incessantly solicited all 
 the gods and goddesses, that she might produce without 
 Jupiter : and having by violence and importunity obtained 
 the gi'ant, she struck the earth, and thence immediately 
 sprung up Typhon, a huge and dreadful monster, whom she 
 committed to the nursing of a serpent. As soon as he was 
 grown up, this monster waged war on Jupiter, and taking 
 him prisoner in the battle, carried him away on his shoulders, 
 into a remote and obscure quarter : and there cutting out 
 the sinews of his hands and feet, he bore them olf, leaving 
 Jupiter behind miserably maimed and mangled. 
 
 But Mercmy afterwards stole these sinews from Typhon, 
 amd restored them to Jupiter. Hence, recovering his 
 strength, Jupiter again pursues the monster; first wounds 
 him with a stroke of his thunder, when serjients arose from 
 the blood of the wound : and now the monster being dis¬ 
 mayed, and taking to flight, Jupiter next darted Mount 
 ^tna upon him, and crushed him with the weight. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable seems designed to express the 
 various fates of kings, and the tiums that rebellions some¬ 
 times take, in kingdoms. For princes may be justly esteemed 
 married to their states, as Jupiter to Jimo : but it some¬ 
 times happens, that, being depraved by long wielding of the 
 sceptre, and growing tyrannical, they would engross all to 
 themselves ; and slighting the counsel of their senators and 
 nobles, conceive by themselves ; that is, govern according to 
 their own arbitrary will and pleasure. Tliis inflames the 
 j)eople, and makes them endeavoim to create and set up 
 some head of their own. Such designs are generally set on 
 
TYPHON, OK A REBEL. 
 
 205 
 
 foot by the secret motion and instigation oi the peers and 
 nobles, under whose connivance the common sort are pre¬ 
 pared for rising: whence proceeds a swell in the state, which is 
 appositely denoted by the nursing of Typhon. This growing 
 posture of affairs is fed by the natural depravity, and mahg- 
 nant dispositions of the vulgar, which to kings is an en¬ 
 venomed serpent. And now the disaffected, uniting their force^ 
 at length break out into open rebellion, which, producing 
 infinite mischiefs, both to prince and people, is represented 
 by the horrid and multiplied deformity of Typhon, with his 
 himdred heads, denoting the divided powers ; his flaming 
 mouths, denoting fire and devastation ; his girdles of snakes, 
 denoting sieges and destruction; his iron hands, slaughter 
 and cruelty; liis eagle’s talons, rapine and plunder ; his 
 plumed body, perpetual, rumours, contradictory accounts, &c. 
 And sometimes these rebellions grow so high, that kings are 
 obliged, as if carried on the backs of the rebels, to quit the 
 throne, and retire to some remote and obscure part of their 
 dominions, with the loss of their sinews, both of money and 
 majesty. 
 
 But if now they prudently bear this reverse of fortune, 
 they may, in a short time, by the assistance of Mercury, 
 recover their sinews again; that is, by becoming moderate 
 and affable; reconciling the minds and affections of the 
 people to them, by gracious speeches, and prudent procla¬ 
 mations, which will win over the subject cheerfully to afford 
 new aids and supplies, and add fresh vigour to authority. 
 But prudent and wary princes here seldom incline to try 
 fortune by a war, yet do their utmost, by some grand exploit, 
 to crush the reputation of the rebels : and if the attempt 
 succeeds, the rebels, conscious of the wound received, and 
 distrustful of their cause, first betake themselves to broken 
 and empty threats, like the hissings of serpents ; and next, 
 when matters are grown desperate, to flight. And now, 
 when they thus begin to shrink, it is safe and seasonable for 
 kings to pursue them with their forces, and the whole 
 strength of the kingdom; thus effectually quashing and 
 suppressing them, as it were by the weight of a mountain. 
 
206 
 
 WISDOil OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 \ 
 
 i 
 
 III.— THE CYCLOPS, OR THE MINISTERS OF TERROR. 
 
 EXPLAINED OE BASE COURT OFFICERS. 
 
 It is related that tlie Cyclops, for their savageness and 
 cruelty, Avere by Jupiter first thrown into Tartarus, and 
 there condemned to perpetual imprisonment: but that after¬ 
 wards, Tellus persuaded Jupiter it would be for his service 
 to release them, and employ them in forging thunderbolts. 
 This he accordingly did; and they, with unwearied pains 
 and diligence, hammered out his bolts, and other instruments 
 of terror, with a frightful and continual din of the anvil. 
 
 It happened long after, that Jupiter was displeased with 
 .^sculapius, the son of Apollo, for having, by the art of 
 medicine, restored a dead man to life : but concealing his 
 indignation, because the action in itself was pious and illus¬ 
 trious, he secretly incensed the Cyclops against him, who^ 
 without remorse, presently slew him with their thunder¬ 
 bolts : in revenge whereof, Apollo, with Jupiter’s conni¬ 
 vance, shot them all dead with his arrows. 
 
 Explanation. —Tins fable seems to point at the behaviour 
 of princes, who, having cruel, bloody, and oppressive minis¬ 
 ters, first punish and displace them; but afterwards, by the 
 advice of Tellus, that is, some earthly-minded and ignoble 
 person, employ them again, to serve a turn, when there is? 
 occasion for cruelty in execution, or severity in exaction : 
 but these ministers being base in their nature, whet by their 
 former disgrace, and well aware of what is expected from 
 them, use double diligence in their ofilce; till, proceeding 
 unwarily, and over-eager to gain fav^our, they sometimes, 
 from the private nods, and ambiguous orders of their prince, 
 perform some odious or execrable action : When princes, to 
 decline the envy themselves, and knowing they shall never 
 want such tools at their back, drop them, and give them up 
 to the friends and followers of the injured person; thus 
 exposing the m, as sacrifices to revenge and popular odium : 
 whence with great applause, acclamations, and good wishes 
 to the prince, these miscreants at last meet with their desert. 
 
NARCISSUS, OR SELF-LOVE, 
 
 207: 
 
 IV.—NARCISSUS, OR SELF-LOVE. 
 
 Narcissus is said to have been extremely beautiful and<- 
 C3mely, but intolerably proud and disdainful; so that, 
 pleased with himself, and scorning the world, he led 
 solitary life in the woods; hunting only with a few fol¬ 
 lowers, who were his professed admirers, amongst whom the^ 
 nymph Echo was his constant attendant. In this method, 
 of life it was once his fate to approach a clear fountain, 
 where he laid himself down to rest, in the noonday heat; . 
 when, beholding his image in the water, he fell into such a 
 rapture and admiration of himself, that he could by no 
 means be got away, but remained continually fixed and 
 gazing, till at length he was turned into a fiower, of his o^vn 
 name, which appears early in the spring, and is consecrated 
 to the infernal deities, Pluto, Proserpine, and the Furies. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable seems to paint the behaviour 
 and fortune of those, who, for their beauty, or other endow¬ 
 ments, wherewith nature (without any industry of their own) 
 has graced and adorned them, are extravagantly fond of 
 themselves : for men of such a disposition generally affect 
 retirement, and absence from public affairs; as a life of 
 business must necessarily subject them to many neglects and 
 contempts, which might disturb and ruffle their minds: 
 whence such persons commonly lead a solitary, private, and 
 shadowy life ; see little company, and those only such as 
 highly admire and reverence them ; or, like an echo, assent 
 to all they say. 
 
 And they who are depraved, and rendered still fonder of 
 themselves by this custom, grow strangely indolent, unactive, 
 and perfectly stupid. The Narcissus, a spring fiower, is an 
 elegant emblem of this temper, which at first fiourishes, and 
 is talked of, but when ripe, frustrates the expectation con¬ 
 ceived of it. 
 
 And that this flower should be sacred to the infernal 
 powers, carries out the allusion still farther; because men of 
 fchis humour are perfectly useless in all respects : for what- 
 
208 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 ever yields no fruit, but passes, and is no more, like the way 
 of a ship in the sea, was by the ancients consecrated to the 
 infernal shades and powers. 
 
 V.-^-THE RIVER STYX, OR LEAGUES. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF NECESSITY, IN THE OATHS OR SOLEMN LEAGUES OP 
 
 PRINCES. 
 
 The only solemn oath, by which the gods irrevocably 
 obliged themselves, is a well-known thing, and makes a part 
 of many ancient fables. To this oath they did not invoke 
 any celestial divinity, or divine attribute, but only called to 
 witness the river Styx; which, with many meanders, sur¬ 
 rounds the infernal court of Dis. For this form alone, and 
 none but this, was held inviolable and obligatory : and the 
 punishment of falsifying it, was that dreaded one of being 
 excluded, for a certain number of years, the table of the 
 gods. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable seems invented to show the 
 nature of the compacts and confederacies of princes ; which, 
 though ever so solemnly and religiously sworn to, prove but 
 little the more binding for it : so that oaths in this case 
 seem used, rather for decorum, reputation, and ceremony, 
 than for fidelity, security, and effectuating. And though 
 these oaths were strengthened with the bonds of afl&nity, 
 which are the links and ties of nature, and again, by mutual 
 services and good offices, yet we see all this will generally 
 give way to ambition, convenience, and the thirst of power : 
 the rather, because it is easy for princes, under various 
 specious pretences, to defend, disguise, and conceal their 
 ambitious desires, and insincerity j having no judge f o call 
 them to account. There is, however, one true and proper 
 confirmation of their faith, though no celestial divinity; 
 but that great divinity of princes. Necessity; or, the danger 
 of the state ; and the securing of advantage. 
 
 This necessity is elegantly represented by Styx, the fatal 
 river, that can never be crossed back. And this deity it was, 
 which Iphicrates the Athenian invoked in making a league; 
 and because he roundly and openly avows what most others 
 
PAN, OR NATURE. 
 
 209 
 
 studiously conceal, it may be proper to give his own words. 
 Observing that the Lacediemonians were inventing and pro¬ 
 posing a variety of securities, sanctions, and bonds of alliance, 
 he interrupted them thus : “ There may indeed, my friends, 
 be one bond and means of security between us ; and that is, 
 for you to demonstrate you have delivered into our hands, 
 such things as that if you had the greatest desire to hurt us 
 you could not be able.” Therefore, if the power of offending 
 be taken away, or if by a breach of compact there be danger 
 of destmction or diminution to the state or tribute, then it 
 is that covenants will be ratified, and confirmed, as it were 
 by the Stygian oath, wliilst there remains an impending 
 danger of being prohibited and excluded the banquet of the 
 gods ; by which expression the ancients denoted the rights 
 and prerogatives, the afiluence and the felicities, of empire 
 and dominion. 
 
 VI.—PAN, OR NATURE.*^ 
 
 EXPLAINED OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The ancients have, with great exactness, delineated 
 universal nature under the person of Pan. They leave his 
 origin doubtful; some asserting him the son of Mercury, and 
 others the common offspring of all Penelope’s suitors. The 
 latter supposition doubtless occasioned some later rivals to 
 entitle this' ancient fable Penelope ; a thing frequently 
 practised when the earlier relations are applied to more 
 modem characters and persons, though sometimes with great 
 absurdity and ignorance, as in the present case ; for Pan was 
 one of the ancientest gods, and long before the time of 
 Ulysses ; besides, Penelope was venerated by antiquity for 
 her matronal chastity. A third sort '^ull have liim the issue 
 of Jupiter and Hybris, that is, Reproach. But whatever his 
 origin was, the Destinies are allowed his sisters. 
 
 He is described by antiquity, with pyramidal horns , 
 reaching up to heaven, a rough and shaggy body, a very long 
 beard, of a biform figure, human above, half brate below, 
 ending in goat’s feet. His arms, or ensigns of power, are, 
 
 Homer’s Hymn to Pan, 
 
 P 
 
210 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS', 
 
 a pipe in his left hand, composed of seven reeds ; in his right 
 a crook ; and he wore for his mantle a leopard’s skin. 
 
 His attributes and titles were the god of hunters, shep- 
 lierds, -"and all the rural inhabitants ; president of the 
 mountains ; and, after Mercury, the next messenger of the 
 gods. He was also held the leader and ruler of the Hymphs, 
 who continually danced and frisked about him, attended with 
 the Satyrs and their elders, the Sileni. He had also the 
 power of striking terrors, especially such as were vain and 
 superstitious; whence they came to be called panic terrors. 
 
 Few actions are recorded of him, only a principal one is, 
 that he challenged Cupid at wrestling, and was worsted. He 
 also catched the giant Typhon in a net, and held him 
 fast. They relate farther of him, that when Ceres, growing 
 disconsolate for the rape of Proserpine, hid herself, and all the 
 gods took the utmost pains to find her, by going out different 
 ways for that purpose, Pan only had the good fortune to 
 'meet her, as he was hunting, and discovered her to the rest. 
 He likewise had the assurance to rival Apollo in music; and 
 in the judgment of Midas was preferred ; but the judge had, 
 though with great privacy and secrecy, a pair of ass’s ears 
 fastened on him for his sentence.^^ 
 
 There is very little said of his amours; which may seem 
 strange among such a multitude of gods, so profusely 
 amorous. He is only reported to have been very fond of 
 Echo, who was also esteemed his wife ; and one nymph more, 
 called Syrinx, with the love of whom Cupid inflamed him 
 for his insolent challenge; so he is reported once to have 
 solicited the moon to accompany him apart into the deep 
 woods. 
 
 Lastly, Pan had no descendant, which also is a wonder, 
 when the male gods were so extremely prolific ; only he was 
 the reputed father of a servant-girl called lambe, who used 
 to divert strangers with her ridiculous prattling stories. 
 
 This fable is perhaps the noblest of all antiquity, and 
 pregnant with the mysteries and secrets of nature. Pan, as 
 the name imports, represents the universe, about whose 
 ongin there are two opinions, viz., that it either sprung from 
 Mercury, that is, the divine word, according to the Scriptures 
 
 ^ Cicero, Epistle to Atticuo, 5 , 
 
 * Ovid, Metamorphoses, b. iL 
 
PANj OR NATURE. 
 
 211 
 
 and philosophical divines, or from the confused seeds of 
 tilings. iFor they who allow only one beginning of all 
 things, either ascribe it to God ; or, if they suppose a 
 material beginning, acknowledge it to be various in its 
 powers ; so that the whole dispute conies to these points; 
 viz., either that nature proceeds from Mercury, or from 
 Penelope and all her suitors.*^ 
 
 The third origin of Pan seems borrowed by the Greeks 
 from the Hebrew mysteries, either by means of the Egyptians^ 
 or otherwise ; for it relates to the state of the world, not in 
 its first creation, but as made subject to death and corruption 
 after the fall; and in this state it was and remains, the off¬ 
 spring of God and Sin, or Jupiter and Pei:)roach. And 
 therefore these three several accounts of Pan’s birth may 
 seem true, if duly distinguished in respect of things and 
 times. For this Pan, or the universal nature of things, 
 which we view and contemplate, had its origin from the 
 di^dne Word and confused matter, first created by God him¬ 
 self, with the subsequent introduction of sin, and con¬ 
 sequently corruption. 
 
 The Destinies, or the natures and fates of things, are justly 
 made Pan’s sisters, as the chain of natural causes links 
 together the rise, duration, and corrujition ; the exaltation, 
 degeneration, and workings ; the processes, the effects, and 
 changes, of all that can any way happen to things. 
 
 Homs are given him, broad at the roots, but narrow and 
 sharp at the top, because the nature of all things seems pyra¬ 
 midal ; for individuals are infinite, but being collected into 
 a variety of species, they rise up into kinds, and these again 
 ascend, and are contracted into generals, till at length 
 nature may seem collected to a point. And no wonder if 
 Fan’s horns reach to the heavens, since the sublimities of 
 nature, or abstract ideas, reach in a manner to things divine; 
 for there is a short and ready passage from metaphysics to 
 natural theology. 
 
 Pan’s body, or the body of nature, is, with gresd propriety 
 
 ^ 'Ibis refers to the confused mixture of things, as sung by Virgil; — 
 
 ** Nanique canebat uti magnum per inane coacta 
 Semina terrarumque animaeque marisque fuissent; 
 
 Et liquidi simul ignis ; ut his exordia prim is 
 
 Omnia, et ipse tener mundi concreverit orbis.”—Eel. vi. 31. 
 
 p 2 
 
212 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIEXTS. , 
 
 aud elegance, painted shaggy and hairy, as representing the 
 rays of things; for rays are as the hair, or fleece of nature, 
 and more or less worn by all bodies. This evidently appears 
 in vision, and in all efiects or ojjerations at a distance; for 
 whatever operates thus may be properly said to emit rays.® 
 But particularly the beard of Pan is exceeding long, because 
 the rays of the celestial bodies penetrate, and act to a pro¬ 
 digious distance, and have descended into the interior of the 
 earth so far as to change its surface ; and the sun himself, 
 when clouded on its upper part, ajDpears to the eye bearded. 
 
 Again, the body of nature is justly described biform, be¬ 
 cause of the difierence between its suj)erior and inferior 
 parts, as the former, for their beauty, regularity of motion, 
 and influence over the earth, may be properly represented 
 by the human flgure, and the latter, because of their dis¬ 
 order, irregularity, and subjection to the celestial bodies, are 
 by the brutal. This biform flgure also represents the parti¬ 
 cipation of one species wuth another; for there appear to be 
 no simple natures; but all participate or consist of two: thus 
 man has somewhat of the brute, the brute somewhat of the 
 plant, the j^lant somewhat of the mineral; so that all natural 
 bodies have really two faces, or consist of a superior and an 
 inferior species. 
 
 There lies a curious allegory in the making of Pan goat¬ 
 footed, on account of the motion of ascent which the terres¬ 
 trial bodies have towards the air and heavens ; for the goat 
 is a clambering creature, that delights in climbing up rocks 
 and precipices ; and in the same manner the matters destined 
 to this lower globe strongly afiect to rise upwards, as appears 
 from the clouds and meteors. 
 
 Pan’s arms, or the ensigns he bears in his hands, are of 
 two kinds—the one an emblem of harmony, the other of 
 empire. His pipe, composed of seven reeds, plainly denotes 
 the consent and harmony, or the concords and discords of 
 tilings, produced by the motion of the seven planets. His 
 crook also contains a fine representation of the ways of 
 nature, which are partly straight and partly crooked; thus 
 the staff, haring an extraordinary bend towards the top, 
 
 ® This is always supposed to be the case in vision, the mathematical 
 demonstrations in optics proceeding invariably upon the assumption 
 of this phenomenon. 
 
PAN, on NATURE. 
 
 213 
 
 denotes that the works of Divine Providence are generally 
 brought about by remote means, or in a cii’cuit, as if some¬ 
 what else were intended rather than the effect produced, as 
 in the sending of Joseph into Egypt, (fee. So likewise in 
 human government, they who sit at the helm manage and 
 wind the people more successfully by pretext and oblique 
 courses, than they could by such as are direct and straight; 
 so that, in effect, all sceptres are crooked at the top. 
 
 Pan’s mantle, or clothing, is with great ingenuity made of 
 a leopard’s skin, because of the spots it has; for in like 
 manner the heavens are sprinkled with stars, the sea with 
 islands, the'earth with flowers, and almost each particular 
 tiling is variegated, or wears a mottled coat. 
 
 The office of Pan could not be more livelily expressed than 
 by making him the god of hunters; for every natural action, 
 every motion and process, is no other than a chase: thus 
 arts and sciences hunt out their works, and human schemes 
 and counsels their several ends; and all living creatures 
 either hunt out their aliment, pursue their prey, or seek 
 their pleasures, and this in a skilful and sagacious manner.^ 
 He is also styled the god of the nnal inhabitants, because 
 men in this situation live more according to nature than 
 they do in cities and courts, where nature is so corrupted 
 with effeminate arts, that the saying of the poet may be 
 verified— 
 
 -pars minima est ipsa puella sui.^ 
 
 He is likewise particularly styled President of the Moun¬ 
 tains, because in mountains and lofty places the nature of 
 things lies more open and exposed to the eye and the under¬ 
 standing. 
 
 In liis being called the messenger of the gods, next after 
 Mercury, lies a divine allegory, as next after the Word of 
 God, the image of the world is the herald of the Divine 
 power and ^visdom, according to the expression of tlie 
 Psalmist, “ The heavens declare the glory of God, and tli^ 
 firmament showeth his handiwork.”^ 
 
 ' Torva lesena lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam : 
 
 Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella.^ 
 
 Virgil, Eel. ii. 63. 
 
 8 Ovid, Rem. AmoriB, v. 343. Mart. Epist. 
 
 ^ Psalm xix. 1. 
 
214 
 
 WISDOM OF THE AlWlE^TrS, 
 
 Pan is deliglited with the company of the Nymphs; that 
 is, the souls of all living creatures are the delight of the 
 world j and he is properly called their governor, because each 
 of them follows its own nature as a leader, and all dance 
 about their own respective rings, with infinite variety and 
 never-ceasing motion. And with these continually join the 
 Satyrs and Sileni; that is, youth and age: for all things have 
 a kind of young, cheerful, and dancing time j and again their 
 time of slowness, tottering, and creeping. And whoever, in 
 a true light, considers the motions and endeavours of both 
 these ages, like another Democritus, will perhaps find them 
 as odd and strange as the gesticulations and antiemotions 
 of the Satyrs and Sileni. 
 
 The power he had of striking terrors contains a very 
 sensible doctrine; for nature has implanted fear in all 
 living creatures; as well to keep them from risking their 
 lives, as to guard against injuries and violence; and yet this 
 nature or passion keeps not its bounds, but with just and 
 profitable fears always mixes such as are vain and senseless; 
 so that all things, if we could see their insides, would appear 
 full of panic terrors. Thus mankind, particularly the vulgar, 
 labour imder a high degree of superstition, which is nothing 
 more than a panic-dread that principally reigns in unsettled 
 and troublesome times. 
 
 The presumption of Pan in challenging Cupid to the con¬ 
 flict, denotes that matter has an appetite and tendency to 
 a dissolution of the world, and falling back to its first chaos 
 again, unless tliis depravity and inclination were restrained 
 and subdued by a more powerful concord and agreement of 
 things, properly expressed by Love or Cupid; it is therefore 
 vrell for mankind, and the state of all things, that Pan was 
 thrown and conquered in the struggle. 
 
 His catching and detaining Typhon in the net receives a 
 similar explanation; for whatever vast and imusual swells, 
 which the word typhon signifies, may sometimes be raised in 
 nature, as in the sea, the clouds, the earth, or the like, yet 
 nature catches, entangles, and holds- all such outrages and 
 insurrections in her inextricable net, wove as it were of 
 adamant. 
 
 That part of the fable which attributes the discoveiy of 
 lost Ceres to Pan whilst he was hunting-—a happiness denied' 
 
PAN, Oil NATURE, 
 
 2 ] 5 
 
 the other gods, though they diligently and expressly sought 
 her—contains an exceeding just and prudent admonition; 
 viz., that we ai'e not to ex})ect the discovery of things useful 
 in common life, as that of corn, denoted Ceres, from 
 abstract philosopliies, as if these were the. gods of the first 
 order,—no, not though Ave used our utmost endeaA’oui’s this 
 Avay,—but only from Pan, that is, a sagacious experience and 
 general knoAvledge of nature, Avhich is often found, even by 
 accident, to stumble upon such discoA^eries Avhilst the piu'suit 
 Avas directed another Avay. 
 
 The event of his contending Asdth Apollo in music afibrds 
 us a useful instmction, that may help to humble the human 
 reason and judgment, Avhich is too apt to boast and glory in 
 itself. There seem to be two kinds of harmony-—the one of 
 Dmne Providence, the other of human reason ; but the 
 gOA^ernment of the Avorld, the administration of its affairs, 
 and the more secret Divine judgments, sound harsh and dis¬ 
 sonant to human ears or human judgmentand though 
 tliis ignorance be. justly reAA^arded Avith asses ears, yet the a' 
 are put on and Avorn, not openly, but Avith great secrecy: 
 nor is the deformity of the thing seen or obserA^ed by the 
 Audgar. 
 
 We must not find it strange if no amours are related of 
 Pan besides his marriage Avdth Echo; for nature enjoys itself, 
 and in itself all other things. He that loA^es desires enjoy¬ 
 ment, but in profusion there is no room for desire; and 
 therefore Pan, remaining content Avith himself, has no pas¬ 
 sion unless it be for discourse, AA'hich is Avell shadoAved out 
 by Echo or talk, or Avdien it is more accurate, by Syrinx or 
 Avriting.^ But Echo makes a most excellent wife for Pan, as 
 being no other than genuine philosophy, Avhich faithfully 
 repeats his words, or only transcribes exactly as nature dic¬ 
 tates; thus representing the true image and reflection of the 
 world Avithout adding a tittle. 
 
 It tends also to the support and perfection of Pan or 
 nature to be Avithout ofispring; for the AAmrld generates in its 
 parts, and not in the AA’ay of a whole, as Avanting a body 
 .external to itself whereAvdth to generate. 
 
 Lastly, for the supposed or spurious prattling daughter of 
 
 ' Synnx signifying a reed, or the ancient pen. 
 
216 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIEKT6. 
 
 Pan, it is an excellent addition to the fable, and aptly repre¬ 
 sents the talkative philosophies that have at all times been 
 stirring, and filled the world with idle tales, being ever 
 barren, empty, and servile, though sometimes indeed divert¬ 
 ing and entertaining, and sometimes again troublesome and 
 importunate. 
 
 VII.—PERSEUS,*^ OR WAR. 
 
 EXPLAINED or THE PREPARATION AND CONDUCT NECESSARY TO WAR. 
 
 The fable relates, that Perseus was despatched from the 
 east by Pallas, to cut off Medusa’s head, who had committed 
 great ravage upon the people of the west; for this Medusa 
 was so dire a monster as to turn into stone all those who 
 but looked upon her. She was a Gorgon, and the only 
 mortal one of the three, the other two being invulnerable. 
 Perseus, therefore, preparing himself for this grand enter¬ 
 prise, had presents made him from three of the gods : Mer^ 
 cury gave him Avings for his heels ; Pluto, a helmet; and 
 Pallas, a shield and a mirror. But though he was now so 
 well equipped, he posted not directly to Medusa, but first 
 turned aside to the Grese, who were half-sisters to the Gor- 
 gons. These Grese were gray-headed, and like old women 
 from their birth, having among them all three but one eye, 
 and one tooth, which, as they had occasion to go out, they 
 each wore by turns, and laid them down again upon coming 
 back. This eye and this tooth they lent to Perseus, who 
 now judging himself sufficiently furnished, he, without far¬ 
 ther stop, files swiftly away to Medusa, and finds her asleep. 
 But not venturing his eyes, for fear she should wake, he 
 turned his head aside, and viewed her in Pallas’s mirror; 
 and thus directing his stroke, cut off her head; when im¬ 
 mediately, from the gushing blood, there darted Pegasus, 
 ■wino*ed. Perseus now inserted Medusa’s head into Pallas’s 
 
 O ^ 
 
 shield, which thence retained the faculty of astonishing and 
 benumbing all who looked on it.” 
 
 This fable seems invented to show the prudent method of 
 choosing, undertaking, and conducting a war; and, accord- 
 
 ® Ovid, Metam. b. iv. 
 
PERSEUS, OR WAR. 217 
 
 ingly, lays down tlu’ee useful precepts about it, as if thev 
 were the precepts of Pallas. 
 
 (1.) The first is, that no prince should be over-solicitoug 
 to subdue a neighbouring nation; for the method of enlarging 
 an empire is very difierent from that of increasing an estate. 
 Regard is justly had to contiguity, or adjacency, in private 
 lands and possessions ; but in the extending of empire, the 
 occasion, the facility, and advantage of a war, are to be 
 regarded instead of vicinity. It is certain that the Romans, 
 at the time they stretched but little beyond Liguria to the 
 west, had by their arms subdued the provinces as far as 
 Mount Tamms to the east. And thus Perseus readily under¬ 
 took a very long expedition, even from the east to the ex¬ 
 tremities of the west. 
 
 The second precept is, that the cause of the war be just 
 and honourable; for this adds alacrity both to the soldiers, 
 and the people who find the supplies; procures aids, alli¬ 
 ances, and numerous other conveniences. Now there is no 
 cause of war more just and laudable, than the suppressing of 
 tyranny, by which a people are dispirited, benumbed, or 
 left without life and vigom', as at the sight of Medusa. 
 
 Lastly, it is prudently added, that as there were three of 
 the Gorgons, who represent war, Perseus singled her out for 
 his expedition that was mortal; which afibrds this precept, 
 that such’ kind of wars should be chose as may be brought 
 to a conclusion, without pm’suing vast and infinite hopes. 
 
 Again, Perseus’s setting-out is extremely well adapted to 
 his undertaking, and in a manner commands success; he 
 received despatch from Mercury, secrecy from Pluto, and 
 foresight from Pallas. It also contains an excellent allegory, 
 that the ^vings given him by Mercury were for liis heels, 
 not for his shoulders; because expedition is not so much 
 required in the first preparations for war, as in the subse¬ 
 quent matters, that administer to the first ; for there is no 
 error more frequent in war, than, after brisk preparations, 
 to halt for subsidiary forces and efiective supplies. 
 
 The allegory of Pluto’s helmet, rendering men invisible 
 and secret, is sufficiently evident of itself; but the m^^stery 
 of the shield and the mirror lies deeper, and denotes, that 
 not only a prudent caution must be had to defend, like the 
 phield, but also such an address and penetration as may 
 
218 
 
 WISDO.'il OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 discover the strength, the" motions, the counsels, and designs 
 of the enemy ; like the mirror of Pallas. 
 
 But though Perseus may now seem extremely well pre¬ 
 pared, there still remains the most important thing of all; 
 before he enters upon the war, he must of necessity consult 
 the Grese. These Grese are treasons; half, but degenerate 
 sisters of the Gorgons ; who are representatives of wars : for 
 wars are generous and noble; but treasons base and vile. 
 The Grese are elegantly described as hoary-headed, and like 
 old women from their birth; on account of the perpetual 
 cares, fears, and trepidations attending traitors. Their force^ 
 also, before it breaks out into open revolt, consists either in 
 an eye or a tooth; for all faction,, alienated from a state- is 
 both watchful and biting; and this eye and tooth are, as it 
 were, common to all the disaffected ; because whatever they 
 learn and know is transmitted from one to another, as bv 
 the hands of faction. And for the tooth, they all bite with 
 the same; and clamour with one throat; so that each of 
 them singly expresses the multitude. 
 
 These Greae, therefore, must be prevailed upon by Per¬ 
 seus to lend him their eye and their tooth ; the eye to give 
 him indications, and make discoveries j the tooth for so^ving 
 rumours, raising emy, and stirring up the minds of the 
 people. And when all these things are thus disposed and 
 2 :>repared, then follows the action of the war. 
 
 He finds Medusa asleep; for whoever undertakes a war 
 with prudence, generally falls upon the enemy unprepared, 
 and nearly in a state of security ; and here is the occasion 
 for Pallas’s miiTor: for it is common enoimh, before the dano^er 
 presents itself, to see exactly into the state and posture of 
 the enemy; but the principal use of the glass is, in the veiy 
 instant of danger, to discover the manner thereof, and pre¬ 
 vent consternation; which is the thing intended by Per¬ 
 seus’s tui-ning his head aside, and viewing the enemy in the 
 glass.^ 
 
 Two effects here follow the conquest: 1. The darting forth 
 of Pegasus; which evidently denotes fame, that flies abroad, 
 
 ^ Thus it is the excellence of a general early to discover what turn 
 the battle is likely to take, and looking prudently behind, as well as 
 before, to pursue a victors^ so as not to be unprovided for a retreat. 
 
ENDYMION, Oil A FAVOURITE. 
 
 proclaiming the victory far and near. 2. Tlie bearing of 
 Medusa’s bead in tbe shield, which is the greatest possible 
 defence and safeguard; for one grand and memorable enter¬ 
 prise, happily accomplished, bridles all the motions and 
 attempts of the enemy, stupifies disaffection, and quells com¬ 
 motions. 
 
 VIII.—ENDYMION, OR A FAVOURITE. 
 
 0 
 
 EXPLAINED OF COURT FAVOURITES. 
 
 The goddess Luna is said to have fallen in loA^e with the 
 shepherd Endymion, and to have carried on her amours 
 with him in a new and singular manner; it being her 
 custom, whilst he lay reposing in his native cave, under Mount 
 Latmus, to descend frequently .from her sphere, enjoy liis 
 company whilst he slept, and then go up to heaven again. 
 And all this while, Endymion’s fortune was no way pre¬ 
 judiced by his unactive and sleepy life, the goddess causing 
 his flocks to thrive, and grow so exceeding numerous, that 
 none of the other shepherds could compare vdth him'. 
 
 Explanation.— This fable seems to describe the tempers 
 and dispositions of princes, who, being thoughtful and sus¬ 
 picious, do not easily admit to their privacies such men as 
 are curious, and vigilant, or, as it were, sleepless; 
 
 but rather such as are of an easy, obliging nature, and 
 indulge them in their pleasures, without seeking anything 
 farther; but seeming ignorant, insensible, or, as it were, 
 lulled asleep before them.^ Princes usually treat such per¬ 
 sons familiarly; and, quitting their throne like Luna, think 
 
 " It may be remembered that the Athenian peasant voted for the 
 banishment of Aristides, because he was called the Just. Shakespeare 
 forcibly expresses the same thought:— 
 
 Let me have men about me that are fat; 
 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o’ nights: 
 
 Yond’ Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous.” 
 
 If Bacon had completed his intended work upon Sympathy and Anti¬ 
 pathy,” the constant hatred evinced by ignorance of intelloctuai 
 
220 
 
 W1SD0:H OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 tliey may with safety unbosom to them. Tins temper was 
 very remarkable in Tiberius, a prince exceeding difficult to 
 jDlease, and who bad no favourites but those that perfectly 
 understood his way, and, at the same time, obstinately 
 dissembled their knowledge, almost to a degree of stu¬ 
 pidity. 
 
 The cave is not improperly mentioned in the fable; it 
 being a common thing for the favouiites of a prince to have 
 their pleasant retreats, whither to invite him, by way of 
 relaxation, though without prejudice to their own fortunes; 
 these favourites usually making a good provision for them¬ 
 selves. 
 
 For though their prince should not, perhaps, promote 
 them to dignities, yet, out of real affection, and not only for 
 convenience, they generally feel the enriching influence of 
 his bounty. 
 
 IX.—THE SISTER OF THE GIAKTS, OR FAME. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF PUBLIC DETRACTION. 
 
 The poets relate, that the giants, produced from the 
 earth, made war upon Ju^iiter, and the other gods, but 
 v/ere repulsed and conquered by thunder; whereat the 
 earth, provoked,'brought forth Fame, the youngest sister of 
 the giants, in revenge for the death of her sons. 
 
 Explanation. —The meaning of the fable seems to be 
 this : the earth denotes the nature of the vulgar, who are 
 alwa 3 ^s swelling, and rising against their rulers, and endea¬ 
 vouring at changes. Tliis disposition, getting a fit oppor¬ 
 tunity, breeds rebels and traitors, who, with impetuous rage, 
 threaten and contrive the overthrow and destruction of 
 princes. 
 
 And when brought under and subdued, the same vile and 
 restless nature of the people, impatient of ^leace, produces 
 rumours, detractions, slanders, libels, Ac., to blacken those in 
 authority; so that rebellious actions and. seditious rumours, 
 
 superiority, originating sometimes in the painful feeling of inferiority, 
 sometimes in the fear of worldly injury, would not have escaped hia 
 notice.— Ed, 
 
ACTEON A2sD PENTHEUS, OR A CURIOUS M.VK. 221 
 
 differ not in origin and stock, but only as it were in sex ; 
 treasons and rebellions being the brothers, and scandal or 
 detraction the sister. 
 
 X.—xVCTEON AND PENTHEUS, OR A CURIOUS MAN. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF CUKIOSITY, OR PRYING INTO THE SECRETS OF PRINCES 
 
 AND DIYINE MYSTERIES. 
 
 The ancients afford us two examples for suppressing the 
 impertinent curiosity of mankind, in diving into secrets, 
 and imprudently longing and endeavoiming to discover them. 
 The one of these is in the person of Acteon, and the other 
 in that of Pentheus. Acteon, undesignedly chancing to see 
 Diana naked, was turned into a stag, and torn to pieces by 
 his o^vn hounds. And Pentheus, desiring to pry into the 
 liidden mysteries of Bacchus’s sacrifice, and climbing a tree 
 for that purpose, was struck vfith a phrensy. This phrensy 
 of Pentheus caused him to see things double, jDarticularly the 
 sun, and his own city Thebes, so that running homewards, 
 and immediately espying another Thebes, he runs towards 
 that ; and thus continues incessantly tending first to the 
 one, and then to the other, 'svithout coming at either. 
 
 Explanation.— The first of these fables may relate to the 
 secrets of princes, and the second to divine mysteries. For 
 they who are not intimate with a prince, yet against his 
 will have a knowledge of his secrets, inevitably incur his 
 displeasure; and therefore, being aware that they are 
 • singled out, and all opportunities watched against them, they 
 lead the life of a stag, full of fears and suspicions. It like¬ 
 wise frequently happens that their servants and domestics 
 accuse them, and plot their overthrow, in order to procure 
 favour with the prince ; for whenever the king manifests his 
 displeasure, the person it falls upon must expect his servants 
 to betray him, and worry him down, as Acteon was worried 
 by liis own dogs. 
 
 The punishment of Pentheus is of another kind ; for they 
 who, unmindful of their mortal state, rashly aspire to divine 
 mysteries, by climbing the heights of nature and philosophy, 
 here represented by climbing a tree,—their fate is perpetual 
 
222 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 inconstancy, perplexity, and instability of judgment. For 
 as there is one light of nature, and another light that is 
 divine, they see, as it were, two suns. And as the actions 
 of life, and the determinations of the will, depend upon the 
 understanding, they are distracted as much in opinion as in 
 will; and therefore judge very inconsistently, or contra¬ 
 dictorily ; and see, as it were, Thebes double : for Thebes 
 being the refuge and habitation of Pentheus, here denotes 
 the ends of actions : whence they know not what course to 
 take, but remaining undetermined and unresolved in their 
 views and designs, they are merely driven about by every 
 sudden gust and impulse of the mind. 
 
 XI.—OEPHEUS, OE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF NATURAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Introduction. —The fable of Orpheus, though trite and 
 common, has never been well interpreted, and seems to 
 Jiold out a picture of universal philosophy; for to this sense 
 may be easily transferred what is said of his being a won¬ 
 derful and perfectly divine person, skilled in all kinds of 
 harmony, subduing and drawing all tilings after him by 
 sweet and gentle methods and modulations. For the labours 
 of Orpheus exceed the labours of Hercules, both in j^ower 
 and dignity, as the works of knowledge exceed the works 
 of strength. 
 
 Fable. —Orpheus having his beloved wife snatched from 
 him by sudden death, resolved upon descending to the in¬ 
 fernal regions, to try if, by the power of his harp, he could 
 I’eobtain her. And, in effect, he so appeased and soothed 
 the infernal powers by the melody and sweetness of his harp 
 and voice, that they indulged him the liberty of taking her 
 back, on condition that she should follow him behind, and 
 he not turn to look upon her till they came into open day ; 
 but he, through the impatience of his care and affection, and 
 thinking himself almost past danger, at length looked behind 
 him, whereby the condition was violated, and she again 
 precipitated to Pluto’s regions. From this time Orpheus 
 
ORPHEUS, OR PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 223 
 
 grew [)ensive and sad, a liater of the sex, and went into 
 solitude, where, by the same sweetness of his harp and 
 voice, he first drew the wild beasts of all sorts about him ; 
 so that, forgetting their natures, they were neither actuated 
 by revenge, cruelty, lust, hunger, or the desire of prey, but 
 stood gazing about him, in a tame and gentle manner, 
 listening attentively to his music. Nay, so great was the 
 power and efficacy of his harmony, that it even caused the 
 trees and stones to remove, and place themselves in a 
 regular manner about him. When he had for a time, and 
 vnth. great admii'ation, continued to do this, at length the 
 Thracian women, raised by the instigation of Bacchus, first 
 blew a deep and hoarse-sounding horn, in such an outrageous 
 manner, that it quite drovmed the music of Oi*pheus. And 
 thus the power which, as the link of their society, held 
 all things in order, being dissolved, disturbance reigned 
 anew; each creature returned to its own nature, and pur¬ 
 sued and preyed upon its fellow, as before. The rocks and 
 woods also started back to their former places; and even 
 Oiq>heus himself was at last torn to pieces by these female 
 furies, and his limbs scattered all over the desert. But, in 
 sorrow and revenge for his death, the river Helicon, sacred 
 to the Muses, hid its waters under gTOund, and rose again in 
 other places. 
 
 Explaxatiox.— The fable raceives this explanation. The 
 music of Orpheus is of two kinds; one that appeases the 
 infernal powers, and the other that draws together the wild 
 beasts and trees. The former properly relates to natural, 
 and the la-tter to moral philosophy, or civil society. The 
 reinstatement and restoration of corruptible things is the 
 noblest work of natmal pliilosophy ; and, in a less degi’ee, 
 the preservation of bodies in their own state, or a prevention 
 of their dissolution and corruption. And if this be possible, 
 it can certainly be efiected no other way than by proper and 
 exquisite attemperations of nature; as it were by the har¬ 
 mony and fine touching of the harp. But as this is a thing 
 of exceeding great difficulty, the end is seldom obtained ; 
 and that, probably, for no reason more than a curious and 
 unseasonable impatience and solicitude. 
 
 And, therefore, philosophy, being almost unequal to the 
 
224 
 
 WISDOr OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 task, lias cause to grow sad, and lienee betakes itself to 
 human affairs, insinuating into men’s minds the love of 
 virtue, equity, and peace, by means of eloquence and persua¬ 
 sion ; thus forming men into societies ; bringing them under 
 laws and regulations; and making them forget their un¬ 
 bridled passions and affections, so long as they hearken to 
 precepts and submit to discipline. And thus they soon 
 after build themselves habitations, form cities, cultivate 
 lands, plant orchards, gardens, &c. So that they may not 
 imjiroperly be said to remove and call the trees and stones 
 together. 
 
 And this regard to civil affairs is justly and regularly 
 ]3laced after diligent trial made for restoring the mortal 
 body; the attempt being frustrated in the end—because the 
 unavoidable necessity of death, thus evidently laid before 
 mankind, animates them to seek a kind of eternity by works 
 of perpetuity, character, and fame. 
 
 It is also prudently added, that Orpheus was afterwards 
 averse to women and wedlock, because the indulgence of a 
 married state, and the natural affections which men have 
 for their children, often prevent them from entering upon 
 any grand, noble, or meritorious enterprise for the public 
 good j as thinking it sufficient to obtain immortality by 
 their descendants, without endeavouring at great actions. 
 
 And even the works of knowledge, though the most 
 excellent among human things, have their periods ; for aftei 
 kingdoms and commonwealths have flourished for a time, 
 disturbances, seditions, and wars, often arise, in the din 
 whereof, first the laws are silent, and not heard; and then 
 men return to their own depraved natures—whence cul¬ 
 tivated lands and cities soon become desolate and waste. 
 And if this disorder continues, learning and philosophy is 
 infallibly torn to pieces ; so that only some scattered frag¬ 
 ments thereof can afterwards be found up and down, in a 
 few places, like planks after a shipweek. And barbarous 
 times succeeding, the river Helicon dips under-ground ; that 
 is, letters are buried, till things having undergone their duo 
 course of changes, learning rises again, and show its head, 
 though seldom in the same place, but in some other nation. 
 
 * Thus we see that Orpheus denotes learning; Eurydice, things, or 
 the subject of learning ; Bacchus, and the Thracian women, men’s ungo 
 
C<ELUiI; OR BFGDsNIXGS. 
 
 225 
 
 XII.—CCELUM, OE BEGINNINGS. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE CREATION, OR ORIGIN OF ALL THINGS. 
 
 Tue poets relate, that Coelum was the most ancient of all 
 the gods; that his parts of generation were cut off by his 
 son Saturn ; that Saturn had a numerous offspring, but 
 devoured all his sons, as soon as they were born ; that 
 Jupiter at lengbh escaped the common fate; and when 
 gro^vn up, drove his father Saturn into Tartarus ; usurped 
 the kingdom ; cut off his father’s genitals, with the same 
 knife wherewith Saturn had dismembered Coelum, and 
 throwing them into the sea, thence sprung Venus. 
 
 Before Jupiter was well established in his empire, two 
 memorable Avars were made upon him : the first by the 
 Titans, in subduing of whom, Sol, the only one of the Titans 
 who favoured Jupiter, performed him singular service ; the 
 second by the giants, v^ho being destroyed and subdued by 
 the thunder and arms of Jupiter, he now reigned secure^ 
 
 Explanation.— This fable appears to be an enigmatical 
 account of the origin of all things, not greatly differing 
 from the philosophy afterwards embraced by Democritus, 
 who expressly asserts the eternity of matter, but denies the"' 
 eternity of the world; thereby apjn’oaching to the truth of ? 
 sacred wiit, which makes chaos, or uninformed matter, to’ 
 exist before the six days’ works. 
 
 The meaning of the fable seems to be this : Coelum de¬ 
 notes the concaA’e space, or A^aulted roof that incloses all 
 matter, and Saturn the matter itself, which cuts off all 
 power of generation from his father; as one and the same 
 quantity of matter remains inv'ariable in nature, Avithout 
 addition or diminution. But the agitations and struggling 
 motions of matter, first produced certain imperfect and ill- 
 joined compositions of things, as it were so many first rudi¬ 
 ments, or essays of Avorlds j tfil, in process of time, there 
 arose a fabric capable of preserving its form and structure. 
 Whence the first age was shadowed out by the reign of 
 
 verned passions and appetites, &c. And in the same manner all the 
 ancient fables might be familiarly illustrated, and brought down to the 
 capacities of children. 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 WISDOM OF .THE ANCIEXTS. 
 
 Saturn; who, on account of the frequent dissolutions, and 
 short durations of things, was said to devour his cliildren. 
 And the second age was denoted by the reign of Jupiter; 
 who thrust, or drove those frequent and transitory changes 
 into Tartarus—a place expressive of disorder. Tliis place 
 seems to be the middle space, between the lower heavens 
 and the internal parts of the earth, wherein disorder, im¬ 
 perfection, mutation, mortality, destruction, and corruption, 
 are principally found. 
 
 Venus was not born during the former generation of 
 things, under the reign of Saturn ; for whilst discord and 
 jar had the upper hand of concord and uniformity in the 
 matter of the universe, a change of the entire structure was 
 necessary. And in this manner things w^ere generated and 
 destroyed, before Saturn was dismembered. But when this 
 manner of generation ceased, there immediately followed 
 another, brought about by Venus, or a perfect and esta¬ 
 blished harmony of things ; whereby changes were wrought 
 in the parts, whilst the universal fabric remained entire and 
 imdisturbed. Saturn, however, is said to be thrust out and 
 dethroned, not killed, and become extinct; because, agree¬ 
 ably to the opinion of Democritus, the world might relapse 
 into its old confusion and disorder, which Lucretius hoped 
 would not happen in his time.^ 
 
 But now, when the world was compact, and held together 
 by its own bulk and energy, yet there was no rest from the 
 beginning ; for first, there followed considerable motions and 
 disturbances in the celestial regions, though so regulated 
 and moderated by the power of the Sun, prevailing over the 
 heavenly bodies, as to continue the world in its state. 
 Afterwards there followed the like in the lower parts, by 
 inundations, storms, winds, general earthquakes, &c., which, 
 however, being subdued and kept under, there ensued a 
 more peaceable and lasting harmony, and consent of things. 
 
 It may be said of this fable, that it includes philosophy; 
 and again, that philosophy includes the fable ; for we knoW; 
 by faith, that all these things are but the oracle of sense, 
 long since ceased and decayed ; but the matter and fabric of 
 the world being justly attributed to a creator. 
 
 ® Quod procul a nobis flectat For tuna giibernans ; 
 
 Et ratio potius quam res persuadeat ipsa.” 
 
PROTEUS, OR MATTER. 
 
 221 
 
 f 
 
 r 
 
 XIII.—PEOTEUS, OE MATTEE. 
 
 EXPLAINED OP MATTER AND ITS CHANGES. 
 
 Proteus, according to tlie poets, was ISTeptune’s herdsman;, 
 an old man, and a most extraordinary prophet, who under¬ 
 stood things past and present, as well as futiu'e; so that 
 besides the business of divination, he was the revealer and 
 interpreter of all antiquity, and secrets of every kind. He 
 lived in a vast cave, where his custom was to tell over his 
 herd of sea-calves at noon, and then to sleep. Whoever 
 consulted him, had no other way of obtaining an answer, 
 but by binding him with manacles and fetters ; when he, 
 endeavouring to free himself, would change into all kinds of 
 shapes and miraculous forms; as of fire, water, wild beasts, 
 &c. j till at length he resumed his own shape again. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable seems to point at the secrets of 
 nature, and the states of matter. For the person of Proteus 
 denotes matter, the oldest of all things, after God himself j ^ 
 that resides, as in a cave, under the vast concavity of the 
 heavens. He is represented as the servant of Heptune, be¬ 
 cause the various operations and modifications of matter are 
 principally wrought in a fiuid state. The herd, or flock of 
 Proteus, seems to be no other than the several kinds of* 
 animals, plants, and minerals, in which matter appears to 
 diffuse and spend itself; so that after having formed these 
 several species, and as it were finished its task, it seems to 
 sleep and repose, without otherwise attempting to produce 
 any new ones. And this is the moral of Proteus’s counting 
 his herd, then going to sleep. 
 
 This is said to be done at noon, not in the morning or 
 evening; by which is meant the time best fitted and dis¬ 
 posed for the production of species, from a matter duly 
 prepared, and made ready beforehand, and now lying in ar. 
 middle state, between its first rudiments and decline; which^ 
 we learn from sacred history, was the case at the time of the 
 creation; when, by the efficacy of the divine command, 
 matter directly came together, without any transformation or 
 
 Proteus properly signifies primary, oldest, or first* 
 
228 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 intermediate changes, which it affects; instantly obeyed the 
 order, and appeared in the form of creatures. 
 
 And thus far the fable reaches of Proteus, and his fiock, 
 at liberty and unrestrained. For the universe, with the 
 common structm^es and fabrics of the creatures, is the face 
 of matter, not under constraint, or as the flock wrought 
 upon and tortm’ed by human means. But if any skilful 
 minister of nature shall apply force to matter, and by dfesign 
 torture and vex it, in order to its annihilation, it, on the 
 contrary, being brought under this necessity, changes and 
 transforms itself into a strange variety of shapes and 
 appearances j for nothing but the power of the Creator can 
 annihilate, or truly destroy it; so that at lergth, nmning 
 through the whole circle of transformations, and completing 
 its j^eriod, it in some degree restores itself, if the force be 
 continued. And that method of binding, tortming, or de¬ 
 taining, will prove the most effectual and expeditious, which 
 makes use of manacles and fetters; that is, lays hold and 
 works upon matter in the extremest degrees. 
 
 The addition in the fable that makes Proteus a prophet, 
 who had the knowledge of things past, present, and future, 
 excellently agrees with the nature of matter; as he who 
 knows the properties, the changes, and the processes of 
 matter, must of necessity understand the effects and sum of 
 wliat it does, has done, or can do, though his knowledge 
 extends not to all the parts and particulars thereof. 
 
 XIV.—MEMNON, OE A YOUTH TOO EOEWAED. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE FATAL PKECIPITANCY OF YOUTH. 
 
 The poets made Memnon the son of Aurora, and bring 
 him to the Trojan war in beautiful armour, and flushed with 
 popular praise ; where, thirsting after farther glory, and 
 rashly hurrying on to the greatest enterprises, he engages the 
 bravest warrior of all the Greeks, Achilles, and falls by his 
 hand in single combat. Jupiter, in commiseration of his 
 death, sent birds to grace his funeral, that perpetually 
 chanted certain mournful and bewailing dirges. It is also 
 reported, that the rays of the rising sim, striking his statue, 
 used to give a lamenting sound 
 
TYTHONUS, OR SATIETY. 
 
 229 
 
 Explanation. —This fable regards the unfortunate end of 
 those promising youths, who, like sons of the morning, elate 
 with empty hopes and glittering outsides, attempt things 
 beyond their strength : challenge the bravest heroes; pro¬ 
 voke them to the combat; and proving unequal, die in their 
 high attempts. 
 
 The death of such youths seldom fails to meet with in¬ 
 finite pity; as no mortal calamity is more moving and 
 afilicting, than to see the flower of virtue cropped before its 
 time. I^ay, the prime of life enjoyed to the full, or even to 
 a degree of envy, does not assuage or moderate the grief 
 occasioned by the untimely death of such hopeful youths; 
 but lamentations and bewailings fly, like mournful birds, 
 about their tombs, for a long while after; especially upon all 
 fresh occasions, new commotions, and the beginning of great 
 actions, the passionate desire of them is renewed, as by the 
 sun’s morning rays. 
 
 XV.—TYTHONUS, OR SATIETY. 
 
 EXPLAINED OP PEEDOMINANT PASSIONS. 
 
 It is elegantly fabled by Tythonus, that being exceedingly 
 beloved by Aurora, she petitioned Jupiter that he might prove 
 immortal, thereby to secure herself the everlasting enjoy¬ 
 ment of his company ; but through female inadvertence she 
 forgot to add, that he might never grow old; so that, thougli 
 he proved immortal, he became miserably worn and con¬ 
 sumed with age, insomuch that Jupiter, out of pity, at 
 length transformed him to a grasshopper. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable seems to contain an ingenious 
 description of pleasure ; which at first, as it were in the 
 morning of the day, is so welcome, that men pray to have it 
 everlasting, but forget that satiety and weariness of it will, 
 like old age, overtake them, though they think not of it; so 
 that at length, when their appetite for pleasurable actions is 
 gone, their desires and affections often continue; whence we 
 commonly find that aged persons delight themselves with the 
 discourse and remembrance of the things agreeable to them 
 in them better days. This is very remarkable in men of a 
 
230 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 loose, and men of a military life; the former whereof are 
 always talldng over their amours, and the latter the exploits 
 of their youth; like grasshoppers, that show their vigou]’ 
 only by their chirping. 
 
 XVI.—JUNO’S SUITOE, OE BASENESS. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF SUBMISSION AND ABJECTION. 
 
 The poets tell us, that Jupiter, to carry on his love- 
 intrigues, assumed many different shapes; as of a bull, an 
 eagle, a swan, a golden shower, &c.; but when he attempted 
 Juno, he turned himself into the most ignoble and ridiculous 
 creature,—even that of a wretched, wet, weather-beaten, 
 afiiighted, trembling, and half-starved cuckoo. 
 
 Explanation.— This is a wise fable, and drawn from the 
 very entrails of morality. The moral is, that men should 
 not be conceited of themselves, and imagine that a discovery 
 of their excellences will always render them acceptable ; for 
 this can only succeed according to the nature and manners 
 of the person they court, or solicit; who, if he be a man not of 
 the same gifts and endowments, but altogether of a haughty 
 and contemptuous behaviour, here represented by the person 
 of Juno, they must entirely drop the character that carries 
 the least show of worth, or gracefulness ; if they proceed 
 upon any other footing, it is downright folly; nor is it 
 sufficient to act the deformity of obsequiousness, unless they 
 really change themselves, and become abject and contemp¬ 
 tible in their persons. 
 
 XVII.—CUPID, OE AN ATOM. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE CORPUSCULAR PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The particulars related by the poets of Cupid, or Love, do 
 not properly agree to the same person; yet they differ only 
 so far, that if the confusion of persons be rejected, the cor¬ 
 respondence may hold. They say, that Love was the most 
 ancient of all the gods, and existed before everything else, 
 •except Chaos, which is held coeval therewith. But for 
 
CUPID, OR atom:. 
 
 231 
 
 Chaos, the ancients never paid divine honours, nor gave tlie 
 title of a god thereto. Love is represented absolutely with¬ 
 out progenitor, exceping only that he is said to have pro¬ 
 ceeded from the egg of Nox ; but that himself begot the 
 gods, and all things else, on Chaos. His attributes are four; 
 viz., 1. perpetual infancy ; 2. blindness; 3. nakedness; and 
 4. archery. 
 
 There was also another Cupid, or Love, the youngest son 
 of the gods, born of Yenus ; and upon him the attributes 
 of the elder are transferred, with, some degree of corre¬ 
 spondence. 
 
 Explanation.— This fable points at, and enters, the cradle 
 of nature. Love seems to be the appetite, or incentive, of 
 the primitive matter; or, to speak more distinctly, the 
 natural motion, or moving principle, of the original corpus¬ 
 cles, or atoms; this being the most ancient and only power 
 that made and wrought all things out of matter. It is 
 absolutely without parent, that is, without cause; for ca.uses 
 are as parents to effects; but this power or efficacy could 
 have no natural cause; for, excepting God, nothing was 
 before it; and therefore it could have no efficient in nature. 
 And as nothing is more inward mth nature, it can neither 
 be a genus nor a form; and therefore, whatever it is, it must 
 be somewhat positive, though inexpressible. And if it' were 
 possible to conceive its modus and process, yet it could not be 
 known from its cause, as being, next to God, the cause of 
 causes, and itself without a cause. And perhaps we are not 
 to hope that the modus of it should fall, or be comprehended, 
 under human inquiry. Whence it is properly feigned to be 
 the egg of Hox, or laid in the dark. 
 
 The divine philosopher declares, that “ God has made every¬ 
 thing beautiful in its season; and has given over the world 
 to our disputes and inquiries : but that man cannot find out 
 the work which God has wrought, from its beginning up to 
 its end.” Thus the summary or collective law of nature, or 
 the principle of love, impressed by God upon the original 
 particles of all things, so as to make them attack each other 
 and come together, by the repetition and multi23lication 
 whereof all the variety in the universe is produced, can 
 scarce possibly find full admittance into the thoughts of 
 
232 
 
 WISDOM OF THE AXCIEXTS. 
 
 men, thongli some faint notion may be had thereof The 
 Greek philosophy is subtile, and busied in discovering the 
 material principles of things, but negligent and languid in 
 discovering the principles of motion, in which the energy and 
 efficacy of every operation consists. And here the Greek 
 pliilosophers seem perfectly bhnd and childish ; for the 
 opinion of the Peripatetics, as to the stimulus of matter, by 
 ] 3 rivation, is little more than words, or rather sound than 
 signification. And they who refer it to God, though they do 
 well therein, yet they do it by a start, and not by proper 
 degrees of assent ; for doubtless there is one summary, or 
 capital law, in which nature meets, subordinate to God, viz., 
 the law mentioned in the passage above quoted from Solomon; 
 or the work which God has wrought from its beginning up 
 to its end. 
 
 Democritus, who farther considered this subject, having 
 first supjiosed an atom, or corpuscle, of some dimension or 
 figure, attributed thereto an appetite, desire, or first motion 
 simply, and another comparatively, imagining that all things 
 properly tended to the centre of the world; those containing 
 more matter falling faster to the centre, and thereby remov¬ 
 ing, and in the shock driving away, such as held less. But 
 this is a slender conceit, and regards too few particulars j for 
 neither the revolutions of the celestial bodies, nor the con¬ 
 tractions and expansions of tilings, can be reduced to this 
 principle. And for the ojiinion of Epicurus, as to the de¬ 
 clination and fortuitous agitation of atoms, this only brings 
 the matter back again to a trifle, and wraps it up in ignorance 
 and night. 
 
 Cupid is elegantly drawn a perpetual child; for compounds 
 are larger things, and have their periods of age; but the 
 first seeds or atoms of bodies are small, and remain in a per¬ 
 petual infant state. 
 
 He is again justly represented naked; as all compounds 
 may projierly be said to be dressed and clothed, or to assume 
 a personage; whence nothing remains truly naked, but the 
 original particles of things. 
 
 The blindness of Cupid, contains a deep allegory ; for this 
 same Cupid, Love, or appetite of the world, seems to have 
 veiy little foresight, but directs his steps and motions con¬ 
 formably to what he finds next him, as blind men do when 
 
DIOMED, OR ZEAL. 
 
 233 
 
 fcliey feel out their way; which renders the divine and over¬ 
 ruling Providence and foresight the more surprising; as by a 
 certain steady law, it brings such a beautiful order and 
 regularity of things out of what seems extremely casual, void 
 of design, and, as it were, really blind. 
 
 The last attribute of Cupid is archery, viz., a virtue or 
 power operating at a distance j for everything that operates 
 at a distance, may seem, as it were, to dart, or shoot with 
 arrows. And whoever allows of atoms and vacuity, neces¬ 
 sarily supposes that the virtue of atoms operates at a dis¬ 
 tance ; for without this operation, no motion could be 
 excited, on account of the vacuum interposing, but all 
 things would remain sluggish and unmoved. 
 
 As to the other Cupid, he is properly said to be the 
 youngest sons of the gods, as his power could not take place 
 before the formation of species, or particular bodies. The 
 description given us of him transfers the allegory to morality, 
 though he still retains some resemblance with the ancient 
 Cupid ; for as Yenus universally excites the affection of 
 association, and the desire of procreation, her son Cupid 
 applies the affection to individuals ; so that the general dis- 
 ])osition proceeds from Yenus, but the more close sympathy 
 from Cupid. The former dejDends upon a near approximation 
 of causes, but the latter upon deeper, more necessitating and 
 uncontrollable principles, as if they proceeded from the 
 ancient Cupid, on whom all exquisite sympathies depend. 
 
 XYIII.—DIOMED, OE ZEAL. 
 
 EXPLAINED OP PERSECUTION, OR ZEAL FOE RELIGION. 
 
 Diomed acquired great glory and honour at the Trojan 
 war, and was highly favoured by Pallas, who encouraged 
 and excited him by no means to spare Yenus, if he should 
 casually meet her in fight. He followed the advice with too 
 much eagerness and intrepidity, and accordingly wounded 
 that goddess in her hand. This presumptuous action re¬ 
 mained unpunished for a time, and when the war was ended 
 he returned with great glory and renown to his own country, 
 where, finding himself embroiled with domestic affairs, he 
 
234 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 retired into Italy. Here also at first lie was well received 
 and nobly entertained by King Dannus, who, besides other 
 gifts and honours, erected statues for him over all his 
 dominions. But upon the first calamity that afflicted the 
 people after the strangers arrival, Daunus immediately 
 reflected that he entertained a devoted person in his palace, 
 an enemy to the gods, and one who had sacrilegiously 
 wounded a goddess with his sword, whom it was impious 
 but to touch. To expiate, therefore, his country’s guilt, he, 
 without regard to the laws of hospitality, which were less 
 regarded by him than the laws of religion, directly slew his 
 guest, and commanded his statues and all his honours to be 
 razed and abolished. Kor was it safe for others to com¬ 
 miserate or bewail so cruel a destiny; but even his com¬ 
 panions in arms, whilst they lamented the death of their 
 leader, and filled all places with their complaints, were 
 turned into a kind of swans, which are said, at the approach 
 of their own death, to chant sweet melancholy dirges. 
 
 Explanation.— This fable intimates an extraordinary and 
 almost singTilar thing, for no hero besides Diomed is recorded 
 to have wounded any of the gods. Doubtless we have here 
 described the nature and fate of a man who professedly 
 makes any divine worship or sect of religion, though in itself 
 vain and light, the only scope of Jiis actions, and resolves to 
 propagate it by fire and sword. For although the bloody 
 dissensions and differences about religion were unknown to 
 the ancients, yet so copious and difflisive was their know¬ 
 ledge, that what they knew not by experience they compre¬ 
 hended in thought and representation. Those, therefore, 
 who endeavour to reform or establish any sect of religion, 
 though vain, corrupt, and infamous (which is here denoted 
 under the person of Venus), not by the force of reason, 
 learning, sanctity of manners, the weight of arguments, and 
 examples, but would spread or extirpate it by persecution, 
 pains, penalties, tortures, fixe and sword, may perhaps be 
 instigated hereto by Pallas, that is, by a certain rigid, pru¬ 
 dential consideration, and a severity of judgment, by the 
 vigour and efficacy whereof they see thoroughly into the 
 fallacies and fictions of the delusions of this kind; and 
 through aversion to depravity and a well-meant zeal, these 
 
DIOMEDj OR ZEAL. 
 
 235 
 
 men usually for a time acquire great fame and gloiy, and 
 are by the vulgar, to whom no moderate measures can be 
 acceptable, extolled and almost adored, as the only patrons 
 and protectors of truth and religion, men of any other dis¬ 
 position seeming, in comparison with these, to be lukewarm, 
 mean-spirited, and cowardly. This fame and felicity, how¬ 
 ever, seldom endures to the end; but all violence, unless 
 it escapes the reverses and changes of things by untimely 
 death, is commonly unprosperous in the issue; and if a 
 change of affairs happens, and that sect of religion which 
 was persecuted and oppressed gains strength and rises again, 
 then the zeal and warm endeavours of this sort of men are 
 condemned, them very name becomes odious, and all them 
 honours terminate in disgrace. 
 
 As to the point that Diomed should be slain by his hos¬ 
 pitable entertainer, this denotes that religious dissensions 
 may cause treachery, bloody animosities, and deceit, even 
 between the nearest friends. 
 
 That complaining or bewailing should not, in so enormous 
 a case, be permitted to friends affected by the catastrophe 
 without pimishment, includes tliis pmdent admonition, that 
 almost in all kinds of wickedness and depravity men have 
 still room left for commiseration, so that they who hate the 
 crime may yet pity the person and bewail his calamity, from 
 a 2^rinciple of humanity and good nature ; and to forl)id the 
 overflowings and intercourses of pity upon such occasions 
 were the extremest of evils; yet in the cause of religion and 
 imj)iety the very commiserations of men are noted and sus¬ 
 pected. On the other hand, the lamentations and comjjlain- 
 iiigs of the followers and attendants of Diomed, that is, of 
 men of the same sect or persuasion, are usually very sweet, 
 agreeable, and moving, bke the dying notes of swans, or the 
 birds of Diomed. This also is a noble and remarkable pari 
 of the allegory, denoting that the last words of those who 
 suffer for the sake of religion strongly affect and sway men’s 
 minds, and leave a lasting im^Dression upon the sense and 
 memory. 
 
236 
 
 WISDOM OF THE AXCIENTS. 
 
 XIX.—D^DALUS, OR MECHANICAL SKILL. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF AETS AND AKTISTS IN KINGDOMS AND STATES. 
 
 The ancients Lave left us a description of medianical 
 skill, industry, and curious arts converted to ill uses, in the 
 person of Daedalus, a most ingenious but execrable artist. 
 This Daedalus was banished for the murder of his brother 
 artist and rival, yet found a kind reception in his banish¬ 
 ment from the kings and states where he came. He raised 
 many incomparable edifices to the honour of the gods, and 
 invented many new contrivances for the beautifying and 
 ennobling of cities and pubhc places, but still he was most 
 famous for wicked inventions. Among the rest, by his 
 abominable industry and destructive genius, he assisted in 
 the fatal and infamous production of the monster Mino¬ 
 taur, that devourer of promising youths. And then, to 
 cover one mischief with another, and provide for the se¬ 
 curity of this monster, he invented and built a labyrinth; 
 a work infamous for its end and design, but admii’able 
 and prodigious for art and workmanship. After this, that 
 he might not only be celebrated for wicked inventions, 
 but be sought after, as well for prevention, as for instru¬ 
 ments of mischief,' he formed that ingenious device of 
 liis clue, which led directly through all the windings of the 
 labyrinth. This Daedalus was persecuted by Minos with the 
 utmost severity, diligence, and inquiry; but he always found 
 refuge and means of escaping. Lastly, endeavouring to teach 
 liis son Icarus the art of flying, the novice, trusting too 
 much to his wings, fell from his towering flight, and was 
 drowned in the sea. 
 
 Explanation. —The sense of the fable runs thus. It first 
 denotes emy, which is continually upon the watch, and 
 strangely prevails among excellent artificers ; for no kind of 
 people are observed to be more implacably and destructively 
 envious to one another than these. 
 
 In the next place, it observes an impolitic and improvident 
 kind of of punishment inflicted U]oon Daedalus,—that of 
 banishment j for good workmen are gladly received every- 
 
D^ALUS, OR MECHANICAL SKILL. 
 
 23 ? 
 
 where, so that banishment to an excellent artificer is scarce 
 any punishment at all j whereas other conditions of life can¬ 
 not easily flourish from home. For the admiration of artists 
 is propagated and increased among foreigners and strangers ; 
 it being a principle in the minds of men to slight and despise 
 the mechanical operators of their own nation. 
 
 The succeeding part of the fable is plain, concerning the 
 use of mechanic arts, whereto human life stands greatly in¬ 
 debted, as receiving from this treasury numerous particulars 
 for the service of religion, the ornament of civil society, and 
 the whole provision and apparatus of life ; but then the 
 same magazine supplies instruments of lust, cruelty, and 
 death. For, not to mention the arts of luxury and de¬ 
 bauchery, we plainly see how fat the business of exquisite 
 poisons, guns, engines of war, and such kind of destructive 
 inventions, exceeds the cruelty and barbarity of the Minotaur 
 himself. 
 
 The addition of the labyrinth contains a beautiful allegory, 
 representing the nature of mechanic arts in general j for all 
 ingenious and accurate mechanical inventions may be con¬ 
 ceived as a labyrinth, which, by reason of their subtilty, 
 intricacy, crossing, and interfering with one another, and the 
 apparent resemblances they have among themselves, scarce 
 any power of the judgment can unravel and distinguish; so 
 that they are only to be understood and traced by the clue 
 ' of experience. 
 
 i It is no less prudently added, that he who invented the 
 I windings of the labyrinth, should also show the use and 
 ^ management of the clue ; for mechanical arts have an 
 I ambiguous or double use, and serve as well to produce as to 
 prevent mischief and destruction ; so that their virtue almost 
 destroys or unwinds itself. 
 
 Unlawful arts, and indeed frequently arts themselves, are 
 persecuted by Minos, that is, by laws, which prohibit and 
 forbid their use among the people ; but notwithstanding this, 
 they are hid, concealed, retained, and everywhere find recep¬ 
 tion and sculking-places ; a thing well observed by Tacitus 
 of the astrologers and fortune-tellers of his time. These,” 
 says he, “ are a kind of men that will always be prohibited, 
 and yet will always be retained in our city.” 
 
 But lastly, all unlawful and vain arts, of what kind soever 
 
238 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 lose their reputation in tract of time; grow contem 23 tible 
 and perish, through their over-confidence, like Icarus j being 
 commonly unable to perform what they boasted. And to 
 say the truth, such arts are better suppressed by their o^vn 
 vain pretensions, than checked or restrained by the bridle of 
 laws.^^ 
 
 XX.—EEICTHONIUS, OK IMPOSTUKE. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE IMPROPER USE OF FORCE IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The poets feign that Yulcan attempted the chastity of 
 Minerva, and impatient of refusal, had recourse to force; the 
 consequence of which was the birth of Ericthonius, whose 
 body from the middle upwards was comely and well-pro¬ 
 portioned, but his thighs and legs small, shrunk, and de¬ 
 formed, like an eel. Conscious of this defect, he became the 
 inventor of chariots, so as to nhow the graceful, but conceal 
 the deformed part of his body. 
 
 Explanation.— This strange fable seems to carry this 
 meaning. Art is here represented under the person of 
 Yulcan, by reason of the various uses it makes of fire; 
 and nature under the person of Minerva, by reason of the 
 industry emjiloyed in her works. Art, therefore, whenever 
 it ofiers violence to nature, in order to conquer, subdue, 
 and bend her to its puiqDose, by tortures and force of all 
 kinds, seldom obtains the end proposed j yet upon great 
 struggle and ajoplication, there proceed certain imperfect 
 births, or lame abortive works, specious in appearance, but 
 weak and unstable in use j which are, nevertheless, with 
 great pomp and deceitful appearances, triumphantly carried 
 about, and shown by impostors. A procedure very familiar, 
 and remarkable in chemical productions, and new mechanical 
 inventions ; especially when the inventors rather hug their 
 errors than im]3rove upon them, and go on struggling mth 
 nature, not coimting her. 
 
 ^ Bacon nowhere speaks with such freedom and perspicuity as under' 
 the pretext of expla,ining these ancient fables; for which reason they 
 deserve to be the more read by such as desire to understand the rest of 
 his works. 
 
239 
 
 NEMESIS, OR THE VICISSITUDE OF THINGS. 
 
 XXI.—DEUCALION, OE EESTITUTION. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF A USEFUL HINT IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The poets tell us, that the inhabitants of the old world 
 being totally destroyed by the universal deluge, excepting 
 Deucalion and Pyrrha, these two, desiring with zealous and 
 fervent devotion to restore mankind, received this oracle for 
 answer, that “ they should succeed by throwing their mother’s 
 bones behind them.” This at first cast them into great sorrow 
 and despair, because, as all things were levelled by the deluge, 
 it was in vain to seek their mother’s tomb; but at length 
 they understood the expression of the oracle to signify the 
 stones of the earth, wliich is esteemed the mother of adl 
 things. 
 
 Explanation.— This fable seems to reveal a secret of 
 nature, and correct an error familiar to the mind; for men’s 
 ignorance leads them to expect the renovation or restoration 
 of things from their corruption and remains, as the jDhoenix 
 is said to be restored out of its ashes; which is a very im¬ 
 proper procedure, because such kind of materials have 
 finished their course, and are become absolutely unfit to 
 supply the first rudiments of the same things again; whence, 
 in cases of renovation, recourse should be had to more 
 common principles. 
 
 XXII.—NEMESIS, OE THE VICISSITUDE OE THINGS. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE REVERSES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 Nemesis is represented as a goddess venerated by all, but 
 feared by the powerful and the fortunate. She is said to be 
 the daughter of Nox and Oceanus. She is drawn vfith 
 wings, and a crown; a javelin of ash in her right hand; a 
 glass containing Ethiopians in her left; and riding upon a 
 stag. 
 
 Explanation. —The fable receives this exj^lanation. The 
 word Nemesis manifestly signifies revenge, or retribution ; 
 for the office of this goddess consisted in interposing, like the 
 Roman tribunes, with an I forbid it ” in all courses of con- 
 
240 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 stant and perpetual felicity, so as not only to chastise 
 haughtiness, but also to repay even innocent and moderate 
 happiness with adversity ; as if it were decreed, that none of 
 human race should be admitted to the banquet of the gods, 
 but for sport. And, indeed, to read over that chapter of 
 Pliny wherein he has collected the miseries and misfortunes 
 of Augustus Caesar, whom of all mankind one would judge 
 most fortunate,—as he had a certain art of using and 
 enjoying prosperity, with a mind no way tumid, light, eflemi- 
 nate, confused, or melancholic,—one cannot* but think this a 
 very great and powerful goddess, who could bring such a 
 victim to her altar.^ 
 
 The parents of this goddess were Oceanus and ISox; that 
 is, the fluctuating change of things, and the obscure and 
 secret divine decrees. The changes of things are aptly re¬ 
 presented by the Ocean, on account of its perpetual ebbing 
 and flowing; and secret providence is justly expressed by 
 Nmht. Even the heathens have observed this secret Nemesis 
 of the night, or the difierence betwixt divine and human 
 judgment.^ 
 
 Wings are given to Nemesis, because of the sudden and 
 unforeseen changes of things ; for, from the earliest accoimt 
 of time, it has been common for gTeat and prudent men to 
 fall by the dangers they most despised. Thus Cicero, when 
 admonished by Brutus of the infidelity and rancour of 
 Octavius, coolly wrote back, ‘^1 cannot, however, but be 
 obliged to you, Brutus, as I ought, for informing me, though 
 of such a trifle.”® 
 
 Nemesis also has her crown, by reason of the invidious 
 and malignant nature of the \uilgar, who generally rejoice, 
 triumph, and crown her, at the fall of the fortunate and the 
 powerful. And for the javelin in her right hand, it has re¬ 
 gard to those whom she has actually struck and transfixed. 
 But whoever escapes her stroke, or feels not actual calamity 
 or misfortune, she affrights with a black and dismal sight in 
 
 * As she also brought the author himself. 
 
 ^ -cadit Ripheus, justissimus unus, ‘ 
 
 Qui fuit ex Teucris, et servantissimus sequi: 
 
 Diis aliter visum.”—^neid, lib. ii. 
 
 Te autem mi Brute sicut deheo, amo, quod istud quicquid est 
 nugamm me scire voluisti. 
 
ACHE^-.>tls^ or battle. 
 
 241 
 
 her left hand ; for doubtless, mortals on the highest pinnacle 
 of felicity have a prospect of death, diseases, calamities, 
 perfidious friends, undermining enemies, reverses of fortune, 
 &c., represented by the Ethiopians in her glass. Thus Yirgil, 
 with great elegance, describing the battle of Actium, says of 
 Cleopatra, that, “ she did not yet perceive the two asps be¬ 
 hind her but soon after, which way soever she turned, she 
 saw whole troops of Ethiopians still before her. 
 
 Lastly, it is significantly added, that Nemesis rides upon a 
 stag, which is a very long-lived creature; for though perhaps 
 some, by an untimely death in youth, may prevent or escape 
 this goddess, yet they who enjoy a long fiow of happiness 
 and power, doubtless become subject to her at length, and 
 are brought to yield. 
 
 XXIII.—ACHELOUS, OR BATTLE. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF WAR BY INVASION. 
 
 The ancients relate, that Hercules and Achelous being 
 rivals in the courtship of Deianira, the matter was contested 
 by single combat; when Achelous having transformed him¬ 
 self, as he had power to do, into various shapes, by way of 
 trial; at length, in the form of a fierce wild bull, prepares 
 himself for the fight; but Hercules still retains his human 
 shape, engages sharply with him, and in the issue broke off 
 one of the bull’s horns; and now Achelous, in great pain and 
 fright, to redeem his horn, presents Hercules with the 
 cornucopia. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable relates to military expeditions 
 and preparations ; for the preparation of war on the defen¬ 
 sive side, here denoted by Achelous, . appears in various 
 shapes, whilst the invading side has but one simple form, 
 consisting either in an army, or perhaps a fieet. But the 
 country that expects the invasion is employed infinite ways, 
 in fortifying towns, blockading passes, rivers, and ports, rais 
 ing soldiers, disposing garrisons, building and breaking down 
 bridges, procuring aids, securing provisions, arms, ammunh 
 
 * ** Regina in mediia patrio vocat agmina sistro ; 
 
 Necdum etiam geminoa a tergo respicit angues.”—jEn. viii, 69d, 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ^XCIEIITS. 
 
 tion, &c. So that there appears a new face of things every 
 day; and at length, when the country is sufficiently fortified 
 •and prepared, it represents to the life the form and threats * 
 of a fierce fighting bull. 
 
 On the other side, the invader presses on to the fight, 
 fearing to be distressed in an enemy’s country. And if after 
 the battle he remains master of the field, and has now broke, 
 as it were, the horn of his enemy, the besieged, of course, 
 retire inglorious, affi’ighted, and dismayed, to their strong¬ 
 hold, there endeavouring to secure themselves, and repair 
 their strength j leaving, at the same time, their country a 
 prey to the conqueror, which is well expressed by the 
 Amalthean horn, or cornucopia. 
 
 XXIV.—DIONYSUS, OE BACCHUS.* 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The fable runs, that Semele, Jupiter’s mistress, having 
 bound him by an imdolable oath to grant her an unknown 
 request, desired he would embrace her in the same form and 
 manner he used to embrace Juno j and the promise being 
 irrevocable, she was burnt to death with lightning in 
 the performance. The embryo, however, was sewed up, 
 and carried in Jupiter’s thigh till the complete time of its 
 birth; but the burthen thus rendering the father lame, and 
 causing him pain, the child was thence called Dionysus. 
 When born, he was committed, for some years, to be nursed 
 by Proserpina ; and when grown up, appeared with so effe¬ 
 minate a face, that his sex seemed somewhat doubtful. He 
 also died, and was buried for a time, but afterwards re\dved. 
 When a youth, he first introduced the cultivation and dress¬ 
 ing of vines, the method of preparing mne, and taught the 
 use thereof; whence becoming famous, he subdued the world, 
 ' even to the utmost bounds of the Indies. He rode in a 
 chariot drawn by tigers. There danced about him certain 
 deformed demons called Cobali, &c. The Muses also joined 
 in his train. He married Ariadne, who was deserted by 
 Theseus. The ivy was sacred to him. He was also held the 
 
 * Ovid’s Metamorphoses, b. iii. iv. ar.d vi.; an<? Fasti, iii. 767. 
 
BACCHUS. 
 
 243 
 
 inventor and injstitutor of religions rites and ceremonies, but 
 such as were wild, frantic, and full of corruption and cruelty. 
 He had also the power of striking men with frenzies. Pen- 
 theus and Orpheus were torn to pieces by the frantic women 
 at his orgies j the first for climbing a tree to behold their 
 outrageous ceremonies, and the other for the music of his 
 harp. But the acts of this god are much entangled and 
 confounded with those of Jupiter. 
 
 Explanation. —Tliis fable seems to contain a little system 
 of morality, so that there is scarce any better invention in all 
 ethics. Under the history of Bacchus is drawn the nature of 
 unlawful desire or affection, and disorder; for the appetite and 
 thirst of apparent good is the mother of all unlawful desire, 
 though ever so destructive, and all unlawful desires are con¬ 
 ceived ill unlawful wishes or requests, rashly indulged or 
 granted before they are well understood or considered, and 
 when the affection begins to grow warm, the mother of it 
 (the nature of good) is destroyed and burnt up by the heat. 
 And whilst an unlawful desire lies in the embryo, or un¬ 
 ripened in the mind, which is its father, and here represented 
 by Jupiter, it is cherished and concealed, especially in the 
 inferior part of the mind, corresponding to the thigh of the 
 body, where pain twitches and depresses the mind so far as 
 to render its resolutions and actions imperfect and lame. 
 And even after this child of the mind is confirmed, and gains 
 strength by consent and habit, and comes forth into action, 
 it must still be nursed by Proserpina for a time ; that is, it 
 skulks and.hides its head in a clandestine manner, as it were 
 under ground, till at length, when the checks of shame and 
 fear are removed, and the requisite boldness acquired, it 
 either assumes the pretext of some virtue, or openly despises 
 infamy. And it is justly observed, that every vehement 
 passion appears of a doubtful sex, as having the strength of 
 a man at first, but at last the impotence of a woman. It is 
 also excellently added, that Bacchus died and rose again; for 
 the affections sometimes seem to die and be no more; but 
 there is no trusting them, even though they were buried, 
 being always apt and ready to rise again whenever the 
 occasion or object offers. 
 
 That Bacchus should be the inventor of wine carries a 
 
 R 2 
 
244 
 
 WISD03I OF THE- ANCIENTS. 
 
 fine allegory with it; for every affection is cunning and 
 subtile in discovering a proper matter to nourish and feed it; 
 and of all things known to mortals, wine is the most power¬ 
 ful and effectual for exciting and inflaming passions of all 
 kinds, being indeed like a common fuel to all. 
 
 It is again with great elegance observed of Bacchus, that 
 he subdued provinces, and undertook endless expeditions, for 
 the affections never rest satisfied with what they enjoy, but 
 ^vdth an endless and insatiable appetite thirst after something 
 further. And tigers are prettily feigned to draw the chariot; 
 for as soon as any affection shall, from going on foot, be 
 advanced to ride, it triumphs over reason, and exerts its 
 cruelty, fierceness, and strength against all that oppose it. 
 
 ■ It is also humorously imagined, that ridiculous demons 
 dance and frisk about this chariot; for every passion pro¬ 
 duces indecent, disorderly, interchangeable, and deformed 
 motions in the eyes, countenance, and gesture, so that the 
 person under the impulse, whether of anger, insult, love, (kc., 
 though to himself he may seem grand, lofty, or obliging, 
 yet in the eyes of others appears mean, contemptible, or 
 ridiculous. 
 
 The Muses also are found in the train of Bacchus, for 
 there is scarce any passion without its art, science, or doctrine 
 to court and flatter it; but in this respect the indulgence of 
 men of genius has greatly detracted from the majesty of the 
 Muses, who ought to be the leaders and conductors of human 
 life, and not the handmaids of the passions. 
 
 The allegory of Bacchus falling in love mth a cast mistress, 
 is extremely noble; for it is certain that the affections always 
 court and covet what has been rejected upon experience, 
 ^riid all those who by serving and indulging their passions 
 immensely raise the value of enjoyment, should know, that 
 whatever they covet and pursue, whether riches, pleasure, 
 glory, learning, or anything else, they only pursue those 
 things that have been forsaken and cast off with contempt 
 by great numbers in all ages, after possession and experience. 
 
 Nor is it without a mystery that the ivy was sacred to 
 Bacchus, and this for two reasons : first, because ivy is 
 c\n evergreen, or flomdshes in the \vinter ; and secondly, be¬ 
 cause it winds and creeps about so many things, as trees, 
 walls, and buildings, and raises itself above them. As to the 
 
ATALANTA AND HIPPOMENES, OR GAIN. 
 
 245 
 
 first, every passion grows fresh, strong, and vigorous by 
 opposition and prohibition, as it were by a kind of contrast 
 or antiperistasis, like the ivy in the winter. And for the 
 second, the predominant passion of the mind throws itself, 
 like the ivy, round all human actions, entwines all our resolu¬ 
 tions, and perpetually adheres to, and mixes itself among, or 
 even overtops them. 
 
 And no wonder that superstitious rites and ceremonies 
 are attributed to Bacchus, when almost every ungovernable 
 passion grows wanton and luxuriant in corrupt religions ; 
 nor again, that fury and frenzy should be sent and dealt out 
 by him, because every passion is a short frenzy, and if it be 
 vehement, lasting, and take deep root, it terminates in mad¬ 
 ness. And hence the allegory of Pentheus and Orpheus 
 being torn to pieces is evident; for every headstrong passion 
 is extremely bitter, severe, inveterate, and revengeful upon 
 all curious inquiry, wholesome admonition, free counsel and 
 persuasion. 
 
 Lastly, the confusion between the persons of Jupiter and 
 Bacchus will justly admit of an allegory, because noble and 
 meritorious actions may sometimes proceed from virtue, 
 sound reason, and magnanimity, and sometimes again from a 
 concealed passion and secret desire of ill, however they may 
 be extolled and praised, insomuch that it is not easy to dis¬ 
 tinguish betwixt the acts of Bacchus and the acts of Jupiter. 
 
 XXV.—ATALANTA AND HIPPOMENES, OR GAIN. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE CONTEST BETWIXT ART AND NATURE. 
 
 Atalanta, who was exceeding fleet, contended ^vith Hip- 
 pomenes in the course, on condition that if Hippomenes 
 won, he should espouse her, or forfeit his life if he lost. The 
 match was very unequal, for Atalanta had conquered numbers, 
 to their destruction. Hippomenes, therefore, had recourse to 
 stratagem. He procured three golden apples, and purposely 
 carried them with liim: they started ; Atalanta outstripped 
 him soon ; then Hippomenes bowled one of his apples before 
 her, across the course, in order not only to make her stoop, 
 but to draw her out of the path. She, prompted by female 
 
246 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 cariosity, and tlie beauty of the golden fruit, starts from the 
 course to take up the apple. Hippomenes, in the mean time, 
 holds on his way, and steps before her; but she, by her 
 natural smftness, soon fetches up her lost ground, and leaves 
 him again behind. Hippomenes, however, by rightly timing 
 his second and third throw, at length won the race, not by 
 his swiftness, but his cunning. 
 
 Explanation.— This fable seems to contain a noble allegory 
 of the contest betwixt art and nature. For art, here denoted 
 by Atalanta, is much swifter, or more expeditious in its 
 operations than nature, when all obstacles and impediments 
 are removed, and sooner arrives at its end. This appears 
 almost in every instance. Thus fruit comes slowly from the 
 kernel, but soon by inoculation or incision; clay, left to itself, 
 is a long time in acquiring a stony hardness, but is presently 
 burnt by fire into brick. So again in human life, nature is a 
 long while in alleviating and abolishing the remembrance of 
 pain, and assuaging the troubles of the mind ; but moral 
 philosophy, which is the art of living, performs it presently. 
 Yet this prerogative and singular efficacy of art is stopped and 
 retarded to the infinite detriment of human life, by certain 
 golden apples; for there is no one science or art that con¬ 
 stantly holds on its true and proper course to the end, but they 
 are all continually stopping short, forsaking the track, and 
 turning aside to profit and convenience, exactly like Atalanta.^ 
 Whence it is no wonder that art gets not the victory over 
 nature, nor, according to the condition of the contest, brings 
 her under subjection; but, on the contrary, remains subject 
 to her, as a wife to a husband.^ 
 
 ® '^Declinat cursus, aummque volubile tollit.” 
 
 ^ The author, in all his physical works, proceeds upon this founda¬ 
 tion, that it is possible, and practicable, for art to obtain the victory 
 over nature ; that is, for human industry and power to procure, by the 
 means of proper knowledge, such things as are necessary to render life 
 as happy and commodious as its mortal state will allow. For instance, 
 that it is possible to lengthen the present period of human life ; bring 
 the winds under command ; and every way extend and enharge the 
 dominion or empire of man over the worlcs of nature. 
 
PROMETHEUS, OR THE STATE OF MAN. 
 
 247 
 
 ' XXVI.—PEOMETHEUS, OE THE STATE OF MAH. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF AN OVER-RULING PROVIDENCE, AND OF HUMAN NATURE, 
 
 The ancients relate that man was the work of Prometheus, 
 and formed of clay; only.the artificer mixed in with the 
 mass, particles taken from difierent animals. And being 
 desirous to improve his workmanshi23, and endow, as well as 
 create, the human race, he stole up to heaven with a bundle 
 of birch-rods, and kindling them at the chariot of the Sun, 
 thence brought down fire to the earth for the service of 
 men. 
 
 They add, that for this meritorious act Prometheus was 
 repayed with ingratitude by mankind, so that, forming a 
 conspiracy, they arraigned both him and his invention before 
 J”upiter. But the matter was otherwise received than they 
 imagined; for the accusation proved extremely grateful to 
 Jupiter and the gods, insomuch that, delighted with the 
 action, they not only indulged mankind the use of fire, but 
 moreover conferred upon them a most acceptable and de¬ 
 sirable present, viz. perpetual youth. 
 
 But men, foolishly overjoyed hereat, laid this present of 
 the gods upon an ass, who, in returning back with it, being 
 extremely thirsty, strayed to a fountain. The serpent, who 
 was guardian thereof, would not suffer him to drink, but 
 upon condition of receiving the bmxlen he carried, what¬ 
 ever it should be. The silly ass complied, and thus the 
 perpetual renewal of youth v,"as, for a drop of water, trans¬ 
 ferred from men to the race of serpent^. 
 
 Prometheus, not desisting from his unwarrantable prac¬ 
 tices, though now reconciled to mankind, after they were 
 thus tricked of their present, but still continuing inveterate 
 against Jupiter, had the boldness to attempt deceit, even in 
 a sacrifice, and is said to have once offered up two bulls to 
 Jupiter, but so as in the hide of one of them to wrap all 
 the flesh' and fat of both, and stuffing out the other hide 
 only with the bones; then in a religious and devout manner, 
 gave Jupiter his choice of the two. Jupiter, detesting this 
 sly fraud and hypocrisy, but having thus an opportunity oi 
 punishing the offender, pimposely chose the mock bull. 
 
WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 ^48 
 
 And now giving way to revenge, but finding he could not 
 chastise the insolence of Prometheus without afflicting the 
 human ra<j(.‘ (in the production whereof Prometheus had 
 strangely and insufierably prided himself), he commanded 
 Vulcan to form a beautiful and graceful woman, to whom every 
 god presented a certain gift, whence she was called Pandora.^ 
 They put into her hands an elegant box, containing all sorts of 
 miseries and misfortunes; but Hope was placed at the bottom 
 of it. With this box she first goes to Prometheus, to try if 
 she could prevail upon him to receive and open it; but he, 
 being upon his guard, warily refused the offer. Upon this 
 refusal, she comes to his brother Epimetheus, a man of a 
 very difierent temper, who rashly and inconsiderately opens 
 the box. When finding all kinds of miseries and misfortunes 
 issued out of it, he grew wise too late, and with great hurry 
 and struggle endeavoured to clap the cover on again; but 
 with all his endeavour could scarce keep in Hope, which lay 
 at the bottom. 
 
 Lastly, Jupiter arraigned Prometheus of many heinous 
 crimes : as that he formerly stole fire from heaven; that he 
 contemptuously and deceitfully mocked him by a sacrifice 
 of bones ; that he despised his present,^ adding withal a new 
 crime, that he attempted to ravish Pallas : for all which, he 
 was sentenced to be bound in chains, and doomed to per¬ 
 petual torments. Accordingly, by Jupiter’s command, he 
 was brought to Mount Caucasus, and there fastened to a 
 pillar, so firmly that he could no way stir. A vulture or 
 eagle stood by him, which in the daytime gnawed and con¬ 
 sumed his liver; but in the night the wasted parts were 
 supplied again; whence matter for his pain was never 
 wanting. 
 
 They relate, however, that his punishment had an end ; 
 for Hercules sailing the ocean, in a cup, or pitcher, presented 
 him by the Sun, came at length to Caucasus, shot the eagle 
 with his arrows, and set Prometheus free. In certain nations, 
 also, there were instituted particular games of the torch, to 
 the honour of Prometheus, in which they who ran for 
 the prize carried lighted torches; and as any one of these 
 torches happened to go out, the bearer withdrew himself, and 
 
 
 Viz., that by Pandora. 
 
PROMETHEUS, OR THE STATE OF MAN. 
 
 249 
 
 gave way to the next; and that person wiis allowed to win 
 the prize who first brought in his lighted torch to the goal. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable contains and enforces many just 
 and serious considerations; some whereof have been long since 
 well observed, but some again remain perfectly untouched. 
 Prometheus clearly and expressly signifies Providence; for 
 of all the things in nature, the formation and endowment of 
 man was singled out by the ancients, and esteemed the 
 peculiar work of Providence. The reason hereof seems, 
 1. That the nature of man includes a mind and under¬ 
 standing, which is the seat of Providence. 2. That it is 
 harsh and incredible to suppose reason and mind should be 
 raised, and drawn out of senseless and irrational principles ; 
 whence it becomes almost inevitable, that providence is im¬ 
 planted in the human mind in conformity with, and by the 
 direction and the design of the greater over-ruling Provi¬ 
 dence. But, 3. The principal cause is this : that man seems 
 to be the thing in which the whole world centres, with 
 respect to final causes; so that if he were away, all other 
 things would stray and fluctuate, without end or intention, 
 or become perfectly disjointed, and out of frame; for all 
 things are made subservient to man, and he receives use and 
 benefit from them all. Thus the revolutions, places, and 
 periods, of the celestial bodies, serve him for distinguishing 
 times and seasons, and for dividing the world into different 
 regions ; the meteors afford him prognostications of the 
 vveather; the winds sail our ships, drive our mills, and move 
 our machines; and the vegetables and animals of all kinds 
 either afford us matter for houses and habitations, clothing, 
 food, physic, or tend to ease, or delight, to support, or refresh 
 us : so that everything in nature seems not made for itself • 
 but for man. 
 
 And it is not without reason added, that the mass of 
 matter whereof man was formed, should be mixed up with 
 particles taken from different animals, and vu’ought in with 
 the clay, because it is certain, that of all things in the 
 universe, man is the most compounded and recompounded 
 body j so that the ancients not improperly styled him a 
 Microcosm, or little world within himself. For although the 
 chemists have absurdly, and too literally, wrested and per- 
 
250 
 
 WISDOM OF THE AXCTEXTS. 
 
 verted the elegance of the term microcosm, whilst they pre¬ 
 tend to find all kind of mineral and vegetable matters, or 
 something corresponding to them, in man, yet it remains firm 
 and unshaken, that the human body is of all substances the 
 most mixed and organical j whence it has surprising powers 
 and faculties : for the powers of simple bodies are but few, 
 though certain and quick ; as being little broken, or weak¬ 
 ened, and not counterbalanced by mixture : but excellence 
 and quantity of energy reside in mixture and composition, 
 
 Man, however, in his first origin, seems to be a defenceless 
 naked creature, slow in assisting himself, and standing in 
 need of numerous tilings. Prometheus, therefore, hastened 
 to the invention of fire, which supplies and administers to 
 nearly all human uses and necessities, insomuch that, if the 
 soul may be called the form of forms, if the hand may be 
 called the instrument of instruments, fire may, as properly, be 
 called the assistant of assistants, or the helper of helps ; for 
 hence proceed numberless operations, hence all the mechanic 
 arts, and hence infinite assistances are afforded to the sciences 
 themselves. 
 
 The manner wherein Prometlieus stole this fire is properly 
 described from the nature of the thing; he being said to 
 have done it by applying a rod of birch to the chariot of the 
 Sun : for birch is used in striking and beating, which clearly 
 denotes the generation of fire to be from the violent per¬ 
 cussions and collisions of bodies j whereby the matters 
 struck are subtilized, rarefied, put into motion, and so prepared 
 to receive the heat of the celestial bodies ; whence they, in 
 a clandestine and secret manner, collect and snatch fire, as 
 it were by stealth, from the chariot of the Snn. 
 
 The next is a remarkable j^art of the fable, w^hich repre¬ 
 sents that men, instead of gratitude and thanks, fell into 
 indignation and expostulation, accusing both Prometheus 
 and his fire to Jupiter, — and yet the accusation proved 
 highly pleasing to Jupiter; so that he, for this reason, 
 crowned these benefits of mankind mth a new bounty. 
 Here it may seem strange that the sin of ingratitude to a 
 creator and benefactor, a sin so heinous as to include almost 
 all others, should meet with aj^probation and reward. But 
 the allegory has another view, and denotes, that the accu¬ 
 sation and arraignment, both of human nature and human 
 
PROMETHEUS, OR THE STATE OF MAN. 251 
 
 art among mankind, proceeds from a most noble and laud¬ 
 able temper of the mind, and tends to a very good purpose ; 
 whereas the contrai 7 temper is odious to the gods, and 
 unbeneficial in itself For they who break into extravagant 
 praises of human nature, and the arts in vogue, and who lay 
 themselves out in admiring the things they already possess, 
 and will needs have the sciences cultivated among them, to be 
 thought absolutely perfect and complete, in the first place, 
 show little regard to the divine nature, whilst they extol 
 their own inventions almost as high as his perfection. In 
 the next place, men of this temper are unserviceable and 
 prejudicial in life, whilst they imagine themselves already 
 got to the to]3 of things, and there rest, without farther 
 inquiry. On the contrary, they who arraign and accuse 
 both nature and art, and are always full of complaints 
 against them, not only preserve a more just and modest 
 sense of mind, but are also perpetually stirred up to fresh 
 industry and new discoveries. Is not, then, the ignorance 
 and fatality of mankind to be extremely pitied, whilst they 
 remain slaves to the arrogance of a few of their own fellows, 
 and are dotingly fond of that scrap of Grecian knowledge,- 
 the Peripatetic philosophy; and this to such a degTee, as 
 not only to think all accusation or arraignment thereof 
 useless, but even hold it suspect and dangerous ? Certainly 
 the procedure of Empedocles, though furious—but especially 
 that of Democritus (who with great modesty complained 
 that all things were abstruse ; that we know nothing; that 
 truth lies hid in deep pits ; that falsehood is strangely joined 
 and twisted along with truth, &c.)—is to be preferred before 
 the confident, assuming, and dogmatical school of Aristotle. 
 Mankind are, therefore, to be admonished, that the arraign¬ 
 ment of nature and of art is pleasing to the gods ; and that 
 a sharp and vehement accusation of Prometheus, though 
 a creator, a founder, and a master, obtained new blessings 
 and presents from the divine bounty, and proved more 
 sound and serviceable than a diffusive harangue of praise and 
 gratulation. And let men be assured, that the fond oj^inion 
 that they have already acquired enough^ is a principal reason 
 v.diy they have acquired so little. 
 
 That the perpetual flower of youth should be the present 
 which mankind received as a reward for their accusation^ 
 
252 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 carries tins moral : tLat tlie ancients seem not to have' 
 despaired of discovering methods, and remedies, for re¬ 
 tarding old age, and prolonging the period of human 
 life, but rather reckoned it among those tilings which, 
 through sloth and want of diligent inquiry, perish and come 
 to nothing, after having been once undertaken, than among 
 such as are absolutely impossible, or placed beyond the 
 reach of the human power. For they signify and intimate 
 from the true use of fire, and the just and strenuous accu-. 
 sation and conviction of the errors of art, that the divine 
 bounty is not wanting to men in such kind of presents, but 
 that men indeed are wanting to themselves, and lay such an 
 inestimable gift upon the backr of a slow-paced ass ; that is, 
 upon the back of the heavy, dull, lingering thing, experience; 
 from whose sluggish and tortoise-pace proceeds that ancient 
 complaint of the shortness of life, and the slow advancement 
 of ^s. And certainly it may well seem, that the two 
 faculties of reasoning and experience are not hitherto pro¬ 
 perly joined and coupled together, but to be still new gifts 
 of the gods, separately laid, the one upon the back of a light 
 bird, or abstract philosophy, and the other upon an ass, or 
 slow-paced practice and trial. And yet good hopes might 
 be conceived of this ass, if it were not for his thirst and 
 the accidents of the way. For we judge, that if any one 
 would constantly proceed, by a certain law and method, in 
 the road of experience, and not by the way thirst after 
 such experiments as make for profit or ostentation, nor 
 exchange his burden, or quit the original design for the sake 
 of these, he might be an useful bearer of a new and accu¬ 
 mulated divine bounty to mankind. 
 
 That this gift of perpetual youth should pass from men to 
 serpents, seems added by way of ornament, and illustration 
 to the fable ; perhaps intimating, at the same time, the 
 shame it is for men, that they, with their fire, and numerous 
 .arts, cannot procime to themselves those tilings which nature 
 has bestowed upon many other creatures. 
 
 The sudden reconciliation of Prometheus to mankind, after 
 •being disappointed of their hopes, contains a ];)rudent and 
 useful admonition. It points out the levity and temerity of 
 men in new experiments, when, not presently succeeding, 
 or answering to expectation, they precipitantly quit their 
 
PROMETHEUS, OR THE STATE OF 253' 
 
 new undertakings, hurry back to their old ones, and grov/ 
 reconciled thereto. 
 
 After the fable has described the state of man, with 
 regard to arts and intellectual matters, it passes on to reli¬ 
 gion ; for after the inventing and settling of arts, follows the 
 establishment of divine worship, which hypocrisy presently 
 enters into and corrupts. So that by the two sacrifices we 
 have elegantly painted the person of a man truly religious, 
 and of an hypocrite. One of these sacrifices contained the 
 fat, or the portion of God, used for burning and incensing; 
 thereby denoting affection and zeal, offered up to his glory. 
 It likewise contained the bowels, which are expressive of 
 charity, along with the good and useful flesh. But the other 
 contained nothing more than dry bones, which nevertheless 
 stuffed out the hide, so as to make it resemble a fair, beau¬ 
 tiful, and magnificent sacrifice; hereby finely denoting the 
 external and empty rites and barren ceremonies, wherewith 
 men burden and stuff out the divine worship,—things rather 
 intended for show and ostentation than conducing to piety:— 
 Nor are mankind simply content with this mock-worship of 
 God, but also impose and father it upon him, as if he had 
 chosen and ordained it. Certainly the prophet, in the persop 
 of God, has a fine expostulation, as to tliis matter of choice : 
 —Is this the fasting which I have chosen, that a man should 
 afflict his soul for a day, and bow down his head like a 
 bulrush ? ” 
 
 After thus touching the state of religion, the fable next 
 turns to manners, and the conditions of human life. And 
 though it be a very common, yet is it a just interpretation, 
 that Pandora denotes the pleasures and licentiousness which 
 the cultivation and luxury of the arts of civil life introduce, 
 as it were, by the instrumental efflcacy of fire; whence the 
 works of the voluptuary arts are properly attributed to 
 Yulcan, the God of Fire. And hence infinite miseries and 
 calamities have proceeded to the minds, the bodies, and 
 the fortunes of men, together with a late repentance; and 
 this not only in each man’s particular, but also in kingdoms 
 and states; for wars, and tumults, and tyrannies, have all 
 arisen from this same fountain, or box of Pandora. 
 
 It is worth observing, how beautifully and elegantly the 
 faille has drawn two reigning characters in human life, and 
 
254 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 given two examples, or tablatnres of them, under the persons 
 of Prometheus and Epimetheus. The followers of Epime- 
 theus are improvident, see not far before them, and prefer 
 such things as are agreeable for the present; whence they 
 are oppressed with numerous straits, difficulties, and cala¬ 
 mities, with which they almost continually struggle ; but in 
 the mean time gratify their own temper, and, for want of a 
 better knowledge of things, feed their minds with many vain 
 hopes; and as with so many pleasing dreams, delighb them¬ 
 selves, and sweeten the miseries of life. 
 
 But the followers of Prometheus are the prudent, wary 
 men, that look into futurity, and cautiously guard against, 
 prevent, and undermine many calamities and misfortunes. 
 But this watchful, provident temper, is attended with a 
 deprivation of numerous pleasures, and the loss of various 
 delights, whilst such men debar themselves the use even of 
 innocent things, and what is still worse, rack and torture 
 themselves with cares, fears, and disquiets ; being bound fast 
 to the pillar of necessity, and tormented with numberless 
 thoughts (which for their swiftness are well compared to an 
 eagle), that continually wound, tear, and gnaw their liver or 
 ^nind, unless, perhaps, they find some small remission by 
 intervals, or as it were at nights; but then new anxieties, 
 dreads, and fears, soon return again, as it were in the 
 morning. And, therefore, very few men, of either temper, 
 have secured to theraselves the advantages of providence, 
 and kept clear of disquiets, troubles, and misfortunes. 
 
 Nor indeed can any man obtain this end without tlio 
 assistance of Hercules; that is, of such fortitude and con¬ 
 stancy of mind as stands prepared against every event, and 
 remains indifferent to every change; looking forward witli- 
 out being daunted, enjoying the good without disdain, and 
 enduring the bad without impatience. And it must be 
 observed, that even Prometheus had not the power to free 
 himself, but owed his deliverance to another; for no natural 
 inbred force and fortitude could prove equal to such a task. 
 The power of releasing him came from the utmost confines 
 of the ocean, and from the sun; that is, from Apollo, or 
 knowledge; and again, from a due consideration of the 
 uncertainty, instability, and fluctuating state of human life, 
 which is aptly represented by sailing the ocean. Accord- 
 
PROMETHEUS, OR THE STATE OF MAN. 255 
 
 ingly, Virgil has prudently joined these two together, ac¬ 
 counting him happy who knows the causes of things, and 
 has conquered all liis fears, apprehensions, and superstitions.® 
 
 It is added, 'svith great elegance, for supporting and con¬ 
 firming the hum.an mind, that the great hero who thus deli¬ 
 vered him sailed the ocean in a cup, or pitcher, to prevent 
 fear, or complaint; as if, through the narrowness of our 
 nature, or a too great fragility thereof, we were absolutely 
 incapable of that fortitude and constancy to which Seneca 
 finely alludes, when he says, It is a noble thing, at once to 
 participate in the frailty of man and the security of a god.” 
 
 We have liitherto, that we might not break the connec¬ 
 tion of things, designedly omitted the last crime of Prome¬ 
 theus—-that of attempting the chastity of iMinerva—which 
 heinous offence it doubtless was, that caused the punishment 
 of having his liver gnawed by the vulture. The meaning 
 seems to be this,—that when men are puffed up with arts 
 and knowledge, they often try to subdue even the divine 
 Avisdom and bring it under the dominion of sense and reason, 
 whence inevitably follows a perpetual and'restless rending 
 and tearing of the mind. A sober and humble distinction 
 must, therefore, be made betwixt divine and human things, 
 and betwixt the oracles of sense and faith, unless mankind 
 had rather choose an heretical religion, and a fictitious and 
 romantic philosophy.^ 
 
 The last particular in the fable is the Games of the Torch, 
 instituted to Prometheus, which again relates to arts and 
 sciences, as well as the invention of fire, for the commemora¬ 
 tion and celebration whereof these games were held. And 
 •here we have an extremely prudent admonition, directing us 
 to expect the perfection of the sciences from succession, and 
 not from the swiftness and abilities of any single person; for 
 he who is fleetest and strongest in the course may perhaps be 
 less fit to keep his torch a-light, since there is danger of its 
 going out from too rapid as well as from too slow a motion.® 
 
 * Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
 
 Quique metus omnes et inexorabile fatum 
 
 Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari.”—Georg, ii. 490. 
 
 ^ De Aicgmentis Scientiarum, sec. xxviii. and supplem. xv. 
 
 * An allusion which, in Plato’s writings, is applied to the rapid suc¬ 
 cession of generations, through which the continuity of human life is 
 
25G 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 But tliis kind of contest, witli the torch, seems to have been 
 long dropped and neglected ; the sciences appearing to have 
 flourished principally in their first authors, as Aristotle, 
 Galen, Euclid, Ptolemy, &c.; whilst their successors have done 
 very little, or scarce made any attempts. But it were highly 
 to be wished that these games might be renewed, to the 
 honour of Prometheus, or human nature, and that they might 
 excite contest, emulation, and laudable endeavours, and the 
 design meet with such success as not to hang tottering, 
 tremulous, and hazarded, upon the torch of any single 
 person. Mankind, therefore, should be admonished to rouse 
 themselves, and try and exert their own strength and chance, 
 and not place all their dependence upon a few men, 
 Avhose abilities and capacities, perhaps, are not greater than 
 their own. 
 
 These are the particulars which appear to us shadowed out 
 by this trite and vulgar fable, though without denying that 
 there may be contained in it several intimations that have a 
 surprising correspondence with the Christian mysteries. In 
 particular, the voyage of Hercules, made in a pitcher, to 
 release Prometheus, bears an allusion to the word of God, 
 coming in the frail vessel of the flesh to redeem mankind. 
 But we indulge ourselves no such liberties as these, for fear 
 of using strange fire at the altar of the Lord. 
 
 XXVII.—ICAKUS AND SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS, OR 
 
 THE MIDDLE WAY. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF MEDIOCRITY IN NATURAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Mediocrity, or the holding a middle course, has been 
 highly extolled in morality, but little in matters of science, 
 though no less useful and proper here; whilst in politics it is 
 held suspected, and ought to be employed with judgment. The 
 ancients described mediocrity in manners by the course pre¬ 
 maintained from age to age; and which are perpetually transferring 
 from hand to hand the concerns and duties of this fleeting scene. 
 TevvCjvTfQ TS Kai sicrpscpovTsg TroLdag, KadaivEp "XapTrada rov j^iov irapa- 
 ctSovreg dXXoig dXXwv. —Plato, Leg. b. vi. Lucretius also has the 
 same metaphor:— 
 
 “ Et quasi curaores vital lampada traduut.” 
 
ICARUS, OR THE MIDDLE WAY. 
 
 257 
 
 scribed to Icarus ; and in matters of tlie understanding by 
 the steering betwixt Scylla and Cbarybdis, on account of the 
 great difficulty and danger in passing those straits. 
 
 Icams, being to fly across the sea, was ordered by hia 
 father neither to soar too high nor fly too low, for, as his 
 wings were fastened together with wax, there was danger of 
 its melting by the sun’s heat in too high a flight, and of its 
 becoming less tenacious by the moisture if he kept too near 
 the vapour of the sea. But he, with a juvenile confidence, v 
 soared aloft, and fell down headlong. 
 
 Explanation. —The fable is vulgar, and easily interj^reted; 
 for the path of virtue lies straight between excess on the one 
 side, and defect on the other. And no wonder that excess 
 should prove the bane of Icarus, exulting in juvenile strength 
 and vigour; for excess is the natimal vice of youth, as defect 
 is that of old age ; and if a man must perish by either, 
 Icarus chose the better of the two; for all defects are justly 
 esteemed more depraved than excesses. There is some mag¬ 
 nanimity in excess, that, like a bird, claims kindred with the 
 heavens ; but defect is a reptile, that basely cravds upon the 
 earth. It was excellently said by Heraclitus, A diy light 
 makes the best soul;” for if the soul contracts moisture from 
 the earth, it perfectly degenerates amd sinks. On the other 
 Iiand, modenition must be observ^ed, to prevent this fine 
 light from burning, by its too great subtilty and dryness. 
 But these observations are common. 
 
 In matters of the understanding, it requires great skill 
 and a particular felicity to steer clear of Scylla and Charybdis. 
 If the ship strikes upon Scylla, it is dashed in pieces against 
 the rocks; if upon Charybdis, it is swallowed outright. This 
 allegory is pregnant with matter; but we shall only observe 
 the force of it lies here, that a mean be obserNred in every 
 doctrine and science, and in the mles and axioms thereof, 
 between the rocks of distinctions and the whirlpools of uni¬ 
 versalities ; for these two are the bane and shipwreck of fine 
 geniuses and arts. 
 
 s 
 
253 
 
 T^^SDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 XXVIII.—SPHINX, OE SCIENCE. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE SCIENCES. 
 
 They relate tliat Spliinx was a monster, variously formed, 
 having the face and voice of a ^drgin, the wings of a bird, 
 and the talons of a griffin. She resided on the top of a 
 mountain, near the city Thebes, and also beset the highways. 
 Her manner was to lie in ambush and seize the travellers^ 
 and having them in her power, to propose to them certain dark 
 and perplexed riddles, which it was thought she received 
 from the Muses, and if her wretched captiv^es could not solve 
 and interpret these riddles, she vutli great cruelty fell upon 
 them, in their hesitation and confusion, and tore them to 
 pieces. This plague having reigned a long time, the Thebans 
 at length offered their kingdom to the man who could inter¬ 
 pret her riddles, there being no other way to subdue her. 
 OEdipus, a penetrating and prudent man, though lame in his 
 feet, excited by so great a reward, accepted the condition, 
 and with a good assurance of mind, cheerfully presented him¬ 
 self before the monster, who directly asked him, ^^What 
 creature that was, which being born four-footed, afterwards 
 became two-footed, then three-footed, and lastly four-footed 
 again'?” OEdipus, with presence of mind, replied it was 
 man, who, upon his, first birth and infant* state, crawled 
 upon all fours in endeavouring to walk ; but not long after 
 went upright upon his two natural feet; again, in old 
 age walked three-footed, with a stick ; and at last, growing 
 decrepit, lay four-footed confined to liis bed ; and having by 
 this exact solution obtained the victory, he slew the monster, 
 and, laying the carcass upon an ass, led her away in 
 triumph ; and upon this he wa,s, according to the agreement, 
 made king of Thebes. 
 
 Explanation.— This is an elegant, instructive fable, and 
 seems invented to represent science, especially as joined with 
 practice. For science may, without absurdity, be called a 
 monster, being strangely gazed at and admired by the igno¬ 
 rant and unskilful. Her figure and form is various, 
 reason of the vast variety of subjects that science considers; 
 her voice and countenance are represented female, by reason 
 
PPHINX, OR SCIENCE. 
 
 259 
 
 of her gay ai:)pearance and volubility of speech ; wings are 
 added, because the sciences and their inventions run and fly 
 about in a moment, for knowledge, like light commuDicated 
 from one torch to another, is presently caught and copiously 
 diSused j sharp and hooked talons are elegantly attributed 
 to her, because the axioms and arguments of science enter 
 the mind, lay hold of it, fix it down, and keep it from moving 
 or slipping away. This the sacred philosopher observed, 
 when he said, The words of the wise are like goads or nails 
 driven far in.”^ Again, all science seems placed on high, as 
 it were on the tops of mountains that are hard to climb; for 
 science is justly imagined a sublime and lofty thing, looking 
 down upon ignorance from an eminence, and at the same 
 time taking an extensive view on all sides, as is usual on the 
 tops of mountains. Science is said to beset the highways, 
 because through all the journey and peregrination of human 
 life there is matter and occasion offered of contemjfiation. 
 
 Sphinx is said to propose various difficult questions and 
 riddles to men, which she received from the Muses; and 
 these questions, so long as they remain with the Muses, may 
 very well be unaccompanied with severity, for while there is 
 no other end of contemplation and inquiry but that of know¬ 
 ledge alone, the understanding is not oppressed, or driven to 
 straits and difficulties, but expatiates and ranges at large, and 
 even receives a degree of pleasure from doubt and variety; 
 but after the Muses have given over their riddles to Sphinx, 
 that is, to practice, which urges and impels to action, choice, 
 and determination, then it is that they become torturing, 
 severe, and trying, and, unless solved and interpreted, 
 strangely perplex and harass the human mind, rend it every 
 way, and perfectly tear it to pieces. All the riddles of 
 Sphinx, therefore, have two conditions annexed, viz., dilace¬ 
 ration to those who do not solve them, and empire to those 
 that do. For he who understands the thing proposed, 
 obtains his end, and every artificer rules over his work.^ 
 
 Sphinx has no more than two kinds of riddles, one relating'- 
 
 ® Eccles. xii. 11. 
 
 ^ This is what the author so frequently inculcates in the Novum 
 Organum, viz., that knowledge and power are reciprocal ; so that to 
 improve in knowledge is to improve in the power of commanding 
 nature, by introducing new arts, and producing works and effects, 
 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 WISDOM OF THE AKCIENTS. 
 
 to the nature of things, the other to the nature of man ; and 
 correspondent to these, the prizes of the solution are two 
 kinds of empire,—^the empire over nature, and the empire 
 over man. For the true and ultimate end of natural philo¬ 
 sophy is dominion over natural things, natural bodies, 
 remedies, machines, and numberless other particulars, though 
 the schools, contented with what spontaneously offers, and 
 swollen with their own discourses, neglect, and in a manner 
 despise, both things and works. 
 
 But the riddle proposed to OEdipus, the solution whereof 
 acquired him the Theban kingdom, regarded the nature of 
 man ; for he who has thoroughly looked into and examined 
 human nature, may in a manner command his own fortune, 
 and seems born to acquire dominion and rule. Accordingly^ 
 Yirgil properly makes the arts of government to be the arts 
 of the Bomans.<^ It was, therefore, extremely apposite in 
 Augustus Caesar to use the image of Sphinx in his signet, 
 whether this happened by accident or by design; for he of 
 all men was deeply versed in politics, and through the course 
 of his life very happily solved abundance of new riddles with 
 regard to the nature of man; and unless he had done this 
 with great dexterity and ready address, he would frequently 
 have been involved in imminent danger, if not destruction. 
 
 It is with the utmost elegance added in the fable, that 
 when Sphinx was conquered, her carcass was laid upon an 
 ass; for there is nothing so subtile and abstruse, but after 
 being once made plain, intelligible, and common, it may be 
 received by the slow'est capacity. 
 
 We must not omit that Sphinx was conquered by a lame 
 man, and impotent in his feet; for men usually make too 
 much haste to the solution of Sphinx's riddles; whence it 
 happens, that she prevailing, their minds are rather racked 
 and torn by disputes, than invested with command by works 
 and effects. 
 
 Tu regere iiuperio populos, Romane, mementos 
 
 Has tibi erunt artes.’^—vi. 851. 
 
PROSERPINE, OR SPIRIT. 
 
 2Gl 
 
 XXIX.—PROSEEPINE, OR SPIRIT. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF THE SPIRIT INCLUDED IN NATURAL BODIES. 
 
 They tell us, Pluto having, upon that memorable division 
 of empire among the gods, received the infernal regions for 
 his share, despaired of winning any one of the goddesses in 
 marriage by an obsequious courtship, and therefore through 
 necessity resolved upon a rape. Having watched his oppor¬ 
 tunity, he suddenly seized upon ProseiqDine, a most beautiful 
 virgin, the daughter of Ceres, as she was gathering narcissus 
 flowers in the meads of Sicily, and hurrying her to his 
 chaiiot, carried her with him to the subterraneal regions, 
 where she was treated with the highest reverence, and styled 
 the Lady of Dis. But Ceres missing her only daughter, 
 wiiom she extremely loved, grew pensive and anxious beyond 
 measure, and taking a lighted torch in her hand, wandered 
 the world over in quest of her daughter,—but all to no pur¬ 
 pose, tni, suspecting she might be carried to the infernal 
 regions, she, with great lamentation and abundance of tears, 
 importuned Jupiter to restore her; and with much ado pre¬ 
 vailed so far as to recover and bring her away, if she had 
 tasted nothing there. This proved a hard condition upon 
 the mother, for Proserpine was found to have eaten three 
 kernels of a pomegranate. Ceres, however, desisted not, but 
 fell to her entreaties and lamentations afi'esh, insomuch that 
 at last it was indulged her that Proseiq^ine should divide the 
 year betwixt her husband and her mother, and live six 
 months with the one and as many with the other. Aftei 
 this, Theseus and Perithous, vdth uncommon audacity, at¬ 
 tempted to force Proserpine away from Pluto’s bed, but 
 happening to grow tired in their jornmey, and resting them¬ 
 selves upon a stone in the realms below, they could never 
 rise from it again, but remain sitting there for ever. Pro¬ 
 serpine, therefore, still continued queen of the lower regions, 
 in honour of whom there was also added this grand privi¬ 
 lege, that though it had never been permitted any one to 
 return after having once descended thither, a particidar ex¬ 
 ception was made, that he who brought a goldan bough as a 
 present to Proserpine, might on that condition descend and 
 
2G2 
 
 WISDOM OF THE AXCIENTS. 
 
 return. This was an only bough that grew in a large dark 
 grove, not from a tree of its o^vn, but like the mistletoe, 
 from another, and when plucked away a fresh one always 
 shot out in its stead. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable seems to regard natural philo¬ 
 sophy, and searches deep into that rich and ftwitful virtue 
 and supply in subterraneous bodies, from whence all the 
 things upon the earth’s surface spring, and into which they 
 again relapse and return. By Proserpine the ancients de¬ 
 noted that ethereal spirit shut up and detained witliin the 
 earth, here represented by Pluto,—the spirit being separated 
 from the superior globe, according to the expression of the 
 poet.^ This spirit is conceived as ravished, or snatched up 
 joy the earth, because it can no way be detained, when it has 
 time and opportunity to fly ofl*, but is only wrought together 
 and fixed by sudden intermixture and comminution, in the 
 same manner as if one should endeavour to mix air ^\dth 
 water, which cannot otherwise be done than by a quick and 
 rapid agitation, that joins them together in froth whilst the 
 air is thus caught up by the water. And it is elegantly 
 added, that Proserpine was ravished whilst she gathered 
 narcissus flowers, which have their name from numbedness 
 or stupefaction ; for the spirit we speak of is in the fittest 
 disposition to be embraced by terrestrial matter when it 
 begins to coagailate, or gTow torpid as it were. 
 
 It is an honour justly attributed to Proserpine, and not 
 to any other wife of the gods, that of being the lady or mis¬ 
 tress of her husband, because this spirit performs all its 
 operations in the subterraneal regions, whilst Pluto, or the 
 earth, remains stupid, or as it were ignorant of them. 
 
 The sether, or the efficacy of the heavenly bodies, denoted 
 by Ceres, endeavours wfitli infinite diligence to force out this 
 spirit, and restore it to its pristine state. And by the torch 
 in the hand of Ceres, or the aether, is doubtless meant the 
 sun, which disperses light over the whole globe of the earth, 
 and if the thing were possible, must have the greatest share 
 In recovering Proserpine, or reinstating the subterraneal 
 spirit. Yet Proserpine still continues and dwells below, 
 
 • ** Sive recens tellus, seductaque nuper ab alta 
 
 -<Ethere, cognati retinebat semina coeli.”—Metam. i. 80. 
 
PROSERPINE, OR SPIRIT. 
 
 263 
 
 after the manner excellently described in the condition be¬ 
 twixt Jupiter and Ceres. F8r first, it is certain that there 
 are two ways of detaining the spirit, in solid and terrestrial 
 matter,—the one by condensation or obstruction, which is 
 mere violence and imprisonment; the other by administer¬ 
 ing a proper aliment, which is spontaneous and free. For 
 after the included spirit begins to feed and nourish itself, it 
 is not in a hurry to ily off, but remains as it were fixed in 
 its own earth. And this is the moral of Proserpine’s tasting 
 the pomegranate j and were it not for this, she must long 
 ago have been carried up by Ceres, who mth her torch 
 wandered the world over, and so the earth have been left 
 without its spirit. For though the spirit in metals and 
 minerals may perhaps be, after a particular manner, \vrought 
 in by the solidity of the mass, yet the spirit of vegetables 
 and animals has open passages to escape at, unless it be wil¬ 
 lingly detained, in the way of sipping and tasting them. 
 
 The second article of agreement, that of Proserpine’s 
 remaining six months with her mother and six with her 
 husband, is an elegant description of the division of the year; 
 for the spirit diffused through the earth lives above-ground 
 in 'the vegetable world during the summer months, but in 
 the wfinter returns under-ground again. 
 
 The attempt of Theseus and Perithous to bring Proserpine 
 away, denotes that the more subtile spirits, which descend 
 in many bodies to the earth, may frequently be unable to 
 drink in, unite with themselves, and carry off the subterra¬ 
 neous spirit, but on the contrary be coagulated by it, and 
 rise no more, so as to increase the inhabitants and add to 
 the dominion of Proserpine.^ 
 
 The alchemists will be apt to fall in with our interpreta¬ 
 tion of the golden bough, whether we will or no, because 
 they promise golden mountains, and the restoration oc 
 natural bodies from their stone, as from the gates of Pluto ; 
 but we are well assured that their theory has no just founda¬ 
 tion, and suspect they liave no very encouraging or practical 
 
 ** Many philosophers have certain speculations to this purpose. Si? 
 Isaac Newton, in particular, suspects that the earth receives its vivifying 
 spirit from the comets. And the philosophical chemists and astrologers 
 have spun the thought into many fantastical distinctions and varieties, 
 See Newton. Princip. lib. iii. p. 473, &c. 
 
264 
 
 WISD03I OF THE ^VNCIF^’TfL 
 
 proofs of its soundness. Leaving, tlierefore, their conceits to 
 themselves, we shall freely declare our own sentiments upon 
 this last part of the fable. We are certain, from numerous 
 figures and expressions of the ancients, that they judged the 
 conservation, and in some degree the renovation, of natural 
 bodies to be no desperate or impossible thing, but rather 
 abstruse and out of the common road than wholly imprac¬ 
 ticable. And this seems to be their opinion in the present 
 case, as they hav^e placed this bough among an infinite num¬ 
 ber of shrubs, in a spacious and thick wood. They supposed 
 it of gold, because gold .is the emblem of duration. They 
 feigned it adventitious, not native, because such an effect is 
 to be expected from art, and not from any medicine or any 
 simple or mere natural way of working. 
 
 XXX.—METIS, OK COUNSEL. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF PRINCES AND THEIR COUNCIL. 
 
 The ancient poets relate that Jupiter took Metis to 
 wife, whose name plainly denotes counsel, and that he, 
 perceiving she was pregnant by him, would by no means 
 wait the time of • her deliveiy, but directly devoured her; 
 whence himself also became pregnant, and was delivered in 
 a wonderful manner; for he from his head or brain brought 
 forth Pallas armed. 
 
 Explanation. —This fable, which in its Literal sense appears 
 monstrously absurd, seams to contain a state secret, and shows 
 with what art kings usually carry themselves towards their 
 council, in order to preserve their own authority and majesty 
 not only inviolate, but so as to have it magnified and 
 heightened among the people.. For kings commonly link 
 themselves as it were in a nuptial bond to their council, and 
 deliberate and communicate with them after a j)rudent and 
 laudable custom upon matters of the greatest importance, at 
 the same time justly conceiving tins no diminution of their 
 majesty; but when the matter once ripens to a decree or 
 order, which is a kind of bnth, the king then suffers tlie 
 
THE SIRENS, OR PLEASURES. 
 
 205 
 
 council to go on no furtlier, lest the act should seem to 
 depend upon their pleasure. Now, therefore, tlie king 
 usually assumes to himself whatever was wrought, elabo¬ 
 rated, or formed, as it were, in the womb of the council 
 (unless it be a matter of an invidious nature, which he is 
 sure to put from him), so that the decree and the execution 
 shall seem to flow from himself.^ And as this. decree or 
 execution proceeds with prudence and power, so as to imply 
 necessity, it is elegantly wrapt up under the figure of Pallas 
 armed. 
 
 Nor are kings content to have this seem the efiect of their 
 own authority, free will, and uncontrollable choice, unless 
 they also take the whole honour to themselves, and make 
 the people imagine that all good and wholesome decrees 
 proceed entirely from their own head, that is, their own sole 
 prudence and judgment. 
 
 XXXI.—THE SIEENS, OK PLEASURES. 
 
 EXPLAINED OF MEN’S PASSION FOR PLEASURES. 
 
 Introduction.— The fable of the Sirens is, in a vulgar 
 sense, justly enough explained of the pernicious incentives to 
 pleasure ; but the ancient mythology seems to us like a 
 vintage ill-pressed and trod; for though something has been 
 dravm from it, yet all the more excellent parts remain behind 
 in the grapes that are untouched. 
 
 Fable.— The Sirens are said to be the daughters of 
 Achelous and Terpsichore, one of the Muses. In their early 
 days they had wings, but lost them upon being conquered by 
 the Muses, with whom they rashly contended ; and with the 
 feathers of these wings the Muses made themselves crowns, 
 so that from this time the Muses wore wings on their heads, 
 excepting only the mother to the Sirens. 
 
 ^ This policy strikingly characterized the conduct of Louis XIV., who 
 placed his generals under a particular injunction, to advertise him of 
 the success of any siege likely to be crowned with an immediate triumph, 
 that he might attend in person and appear to take the town by a coup 
 de main. 
 
266 
 
 WISDOM OF THE AXCIENT3. 
 
 These Skens resided in certain pleasant islands, and when, 
 from their watch-tower, they saw any ship approacliing, they 
 fii'st detained the sailors by their music, then, enticing them 
 to shore, destroyed them. 
 
 Their singing was not of one and the same kind, but they 
 adapted their tunes exactly to the nature of each person, in 
 order to captivate and secure him. And so destructive had 
 they been, that these islands of the Sirens appeared, to a 
 very great distance, white with the bones of them unburied 
 captives. 
 
 Two different remedies were invented to protect persons 
 against them, the one by Ulysses, the other by Orpheus. 
 Ulysses commanded his associates to stop their ears close 
 with wax j and he, determining to make the trial, and yet 
 avoid the danger, ordered himself to be tied fast to a mast 
 of the ship, giving strict charge not to be unbound, even 
 though himself should entreat it ; but Orpheus, without any 
 binding at all, escaped the danger, by loudly chanting to his 
 harp the praises of the gods, whereby he drowned the voices 
 of the Sirens. 
 
 Explanation.— This fable is of the moral kind, and appears 
 no less elegant than easy to interpret. For pleasures proceed 
 from plenty and affluence, attended with acthuty or exulta¬ 
 tion of the mind.^ Anciently their first incentives were 
 quick, and seized upon men as if they had been winged, but 
 learning and philosophy afterwards prevailing, had at least 
 the power to lay the mind under some restraint, and make it 
 consider the issue of things, and thus deprived pleasimes of 
 their wings. 
 
 This conquest redounded greatly to the honour and 
 ornament of the Muses j for after it appeared, by the example 
 of a few, that philosophy could introduce a contempt of 
 pleasimes, it immediately seemed to be a sublime thing that 
 could raise and elevate the soul, fixed in a manner do^vn to 
 the earth, and thus render men’s thoughts, which reside in 
 the head, winged as it were, or sublime. 
 
 Only the mother of the Sirens was not thus plumed on 
 the head, which doubtless denotes superficial learning, iii- 
 
 • The one denoted by the river Achelons, and the other by Terpsi* 
 shore, the muse that invented the cithara and delighted in dancing. 
 
. THE SIRENS, OR PLEASURES. 
 
 2G7 
 
 vented and used for deliglit and levity ; an eminent example 
 whereof we have in Petronius, who, after receiving sentence 
 of death, still continued his gay frothy humour, and, as 
 Tacitus observes, used his learning to solace or divert himself, 
 and instead of such discourses as give firmness and con¬ 
 stancy of mind, read nothing but loose poems and verses.^ 
 Such learning as this seems to pluck the crowns again from 
 the Muses’ heads, and restore them to the Sirens. 
 
 The Sirens are said to inhabit certain islands, because 
 pleasures generally seek retirement, and often shun society. 
 And for their songs, with the manifold artifice* and destruc¬ 
 tiveness thereof, this is too obvious and common to need 
 explanation. But that particular of the bones stretching like 
 white clifis along the shores, and appearing afar ofi*, contains 
 a more subtile allegory, and denotes that the examples of 
 others’ calamity and misfortunes, though ever so manifest and 
 apprent, a have yet but little force to deter the corrupt 
 nature of man from pleasures. 
 
 The allegory of the remedies against the Sirens is not 
 difficult, but very wise and noble : it proposes, in effect, 
 three remedies, as well against subtile as violent mischiefs, 
 two drawn from philosophy and one from religion. 
 
 The first means of escaping is to resist the earliest tempta¬ 
 tion in the beginning, and diligently avoid and cut off all 
 occasions that may solicit or sway the mind j and this is well 
 represented by shutting up the ears, a kind of remedy to be 
 necessarily used with mean and vulgar minds, such as the 
 retinue of Ulysses. 
 
 But nobler spiiits may converse, even in the midst of 
 pleasures, if the mind be well guarded with constancy and 
 resolution. And thus some delight to make a severe trial of 
 their own virtue, and thoroughly acquaint themselves with 
 the folly and madness of pleasures, without complying or 
 being wholly given up to them; which is what Solomon 
 professes of himself when he closes the account of all the 
 
 b (( Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus ; 
 
 Rumoresque senum severiorum 
 
 Omnes unius estimemus assis.”—Catull. Eleg. v. 
 
 And again— 
 
 Jura senes norint, et quod sit fasque nefasque 
 
 Tnquirant tristes; legumque examina servent.”—Metam. be. 550. 
 
268 
 
 WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 numerous pleasures lie gave a loose to, with this expression. 
 But wisdom still continued A^dth me.” Such heroes in 
 viidue may, therefore, remain unmoved by the greatest in¬ 
 centives to pleasure, and stop themselves on the very 
 precipice of danger ; if, according to the example of Ulysses, 
 they turn a deaf ear to pernicious counsel, and the flatteiies 
 of their friends and companions, which have the greatest 
 power to shake and unsettle the mind. 
 
 But the most excellent remedy, in eveiy temptation, is that 
 of Orpheus, who, by loudly chanting and ^resounding the 
 jiraises of the gods, confounded the voices, and kept himself 
 from hearing the music of the Sirens; for divine con¬ 
 templations exceed the jd-asures of sense, not only in power 
 but also in sweetness. 
 
NEW 
 
 ATLANTIS. 
 
 A WORK UNFINISHED. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 This fable my lord devised, to the end that he might exhibit therein 
 a model or description of a college, instituted for the interpreting of 
 nature, and the producing of great and marvellous works for the benefit 
 of man, under the name of Solomon’s House, or the College of the Six 
 Days* Works. And even so far his lordship hath proceeded as to finish 
 that part. Certainly the model is more vast and high than can possibly 
 be imitated in all things, notwithstanding most things therein are within 
 men’s power to effect. His lordship thought also in this present fable to 
 have composed a frame of laws, or of the best state or mould of a 
 commonwealth; but foreseeing it would be a long work, his desire of 
 collecting the natural history diverted him, which he preferred many 
 degrees before it. Rawley. 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 We sailed from Peru, where we had continued for the 
 space of one whole year, for China and Japan, by the South 
 Sea, taking with us victuals for twelve months, and had 
 good winds from the east, though soft and weak, for five 
 months’ space and more ; but then the wind came about, and 
 settled in the west for many days, so as we could make little 
 or no way, and were sometimes in purpose to turn back. 
 But then again there arose strong and great winds from the 
 south, with a point east, which carried us up, for all that we 
 could do, towards the north; by which time our victuals 
 failed us, though we had made good spare of them. So that, 
 findmg ourselves in the midst of the greatest wilderness of 
 waters in the world, without victuals, we gave ourselves for 
 lost men, and prepared for death. Yet we did lift up our 
 hearts and voices to God above, whe showeth his wonders 
 in the deep,” beseeching him of his mercy, that as in the 
 beginning he discovered the face of the deep, and brought 
 
270 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 forth dry land, so he would now discover land to us, that wo 
 might not perish. And it came to pass that the next day 
 about evening we saw, vdthin a kenning before us, towards 
 the north, as it were, thicker clouds, which did put us in 
 some hope of land ; knowing how that part of the South Sea 
 was iitterly unknown, and might have islands or continents 
 that hitherto were not come to light. Wherefore we bent 
 our course thither, where we saw the appearanc’e of land all 
 that night; and in the dawning of the next day we might 
 plainly discern that it was a land flat to our sight, and full of 
 boscage, which made it show the more dark : and after an 
 hour and a half’s sailing we entered into a good haven, being 
 the port of a fair city, not great indeed, but well built, and 
 that gave a pleasant ^^.ew from the sea. And we, thinking 
 every minute long till we were on land, came close to the 
 shore, and offered to laud j but straightways we saw divers 
 of the people with batons in their hands, as it were forbid¬ 
 ding us to land, yet without any cries or fierceness, but only 
 as warning us ofi* by signs that they made. Whereupon^ 
 being not a little discomforted, we were advising with our¬ 
 selves what we should do. During which time there made 
 forth to us a small boat with about eight persons in it, 
 whereof one of them had in his hand a tipstaff of a yellow 
 cane, tipped at both ends with blue, who made aboard our 
 ship without any show of distrust at all. And when he saw 
 one of our number present himself somewhat afore the rest, 
 he drew forth a little Scroll of parchment, somewhat yellower 
 than our parchment, and shining like the leaves of writing- 
 tables, but otherwise soft and flexible, and delivered it to 
 our foremost man. In wliich scroll were written, in ancient 
 Hebrew, and in ancient Greek, and in good Latin of the 
 school, and in Spanish, these words, Land ye not, none of 
 you, and pro^ude to be gone from this coast within sixteen 
 days, except you have fiu’ther time given you : meanwhile, 
 if you want fresh water, or victual, or help for your sick, or 
 that your ship needeth repair, wiite down your wants, and 
 you shall have that which belongeth to mercy.” This scroll 
 was signed with a stamp of cherubim’s wings, not spread, but 
 hanging downwards, and by them a cross. This being deli¬ 
 vered, the officer returned, and left only a servant with us to 
 receive our answer. Consulting hereupon amongst ourselvesv 
 
KEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 271 
 
 we were much perplexed. The denial of landing, and hasty 
 warning us away, troubled us much. On the other side, to 
 find that the people had languages, and were so full of 
 humanity, did comfort us not a little j and, above all, the 
 sign of the cross to that instrument was to us a great rejoic- 
 ing, and, as it were, a certain presage of good. Our answer 
 was in the Spanish tongue, That for our ship it was weii^ 
 for we had rather met with calms and contrary winds than 
 any tempests. For our sick, they were many, and in very 
 ill case, so that if they were not permitted to land, they ran 
 in danger of their lives.” Our other wants v^e set down in 
 particular, adding, That we had some little store of mer¬ 
 chandise, which, if it pleased them to deal for, it might sup¬ 
 ply our wants without being chargeable unto them.” We 
 offered some reward in pistolets unto the servant, and a piece 
 of crimson velvet to be presented to the officer j but the ser¬ 
 vant took them not, nor would scarce look upon them; and 
 so left us, and went back in another little boat vffiich was 
 sent for him. 
 
 About three hours after we had despatched our answer, 
 there came towards us a person, as it seemed, of platfe. He 
 had on him a gown, with wide sleeves of a kind of water- 
 camlet, of an excellent azure colour, far more glossy than 
 ours j his under-apparel was green, and so was his hat, being 
 in the form of a turban, daintily made, and not so huge as 
 the Turkish tm’bans; and the locks of his hair came down 
 below the brims of it. A reverend man was he to behold. 
 He came in a boat, gilt in some part of it, with four persons 
 more only in that boat, and was followed by another boat^ 
 wherein were some twenty. When he was come within a 
 flight-shot of our ship, signs were made to us that we should 
 send forth some to meet him upon the water : which we 
 presently did in our ship’s boat, sending the principal man 
 amongst us, save one, and four of our number with him. 
 When we were come within six yai'ds of them boat, they 
 called to us to stay, and not to approach further, which we did. 
 And thereupon the man whom I before described stood up, 
 and with a loud voice, in Spanish, asked, “Are ye Chris¬ 
 tians I” We answered, “Wewere;” fearing the less because 
 of the cross we had seen in the subscription. At which 
 answer the said person lifted up his right hand towards 
 
272 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 heaven, and di’ew it softly to his mouth, which is the gesture 
 they use when they thank God, and then said, If you will 
 swear, all of you, by the merits of the Saviour, that ye are 
 no pirates, nor have shed blood, lawfully or unlawfully, 
 within forty days past, you may have license to come on 
 land/'’ We said, ‘‘We were all ready to take that oath.” 
 Whereupon one of those that were with him, being, as it 
 seemed, a notary, made an entry of this act. Which done, 
 another of the attendants of the great person, vT'ho was with 
 him in the same boat, after his lord had spoken a little to 
 him, said aloud, “ My lord would have you know that it is 
 not of pride or greatness that he cometh not aboard your 
 ship; but for that in your answer you declare that you have 
 many sick amongst you, he was warned by the conservator 
 of health of the city that he should keep at a distance.” We 
 bowed ourselves towards him, and answered, “We were his 
 humble servants; and accounted for great honour and 
 singular humanity towards us that which was already done ; 
 but hoped wed that the nature of the sickness of our men 
 was not infectious.” So he returned ; and a while after 
 came the notary to us aboard our ship, holding in his hand 
 a fruit of that country, like an orange, but of colour between 
 orange-tawny and scarlet, which casts a most excellent 
 odour: he used it, as it seemeth, for a preservative against 
 infection. He gave us our oath, “By the name of Jesus 
 and his merits;” and after told us, that the next day by six 
 o’clock in the morning we should be sent to, and brought to 
 the Strangers’-Honse,^ so he called it, where we should be 
 accommodated of things both for our whole and for our sick. 
 So he left us; and when we offered him some pistolets, he, 
 smiling, said, “He must not be twice paid for one labour;” 
 meaning, as I take it, that he had salary sufficient of the 
 state for his service; for, as I after learned, they call an 
 officer that taketh rewards “ twice paid.” 
 
 The next morning early there came to us the same officer 
 that came to us at first with his cane, and told us, “ He 
 came to conduct us to the Strangers’-House, and that he had 
 prevented the hour, because we might have the whole day 
 before us for our business ; for,” said he, “ if you will follow 
 
 
 A lazaretto. 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 273 
 
 my advice, there shall first go with me some few of you and 
 see the place, and how it may be made convenient for you; 
 and then you may send for your sick, and the rest of your 
 number, which ye will bring on land.” We thanked him, 
 and said, That this care which he took of desolate strangers 
 God would reward.” And so six of us went on land with him ; 
 and when we were on land he went before us, and turned to 
 us, and said, He was but our servant and our guide.” He led 
 us through three fair streets, and all the way we went there 
 were gathered some people on both sides^ standing in a row, 
 but in so civil a fashion, as if it had been not to wonder at 
 us, but to welcome us; and divers of them, as we passed by 
 them, put their arms a little abroad, which is their gesture 
 when they bid any welcome. The Strangers’-House is a fair 
 and spacious house, built of brick, of somewhat a bluer colour 
 than our brick, and with handsome windows, some of glass, 
 some of a kind of cambric oiled. He brought us first into a 
 fair parlour above-stairs, and then asked us, “ What number 
 of persons we were, and how many sick]” We answered, 
 We were in all, sick and whole, one-and-fifty persons, 
 whereof our sick were seventeen.” He desired us to have 
 patience a little, and to stay till he came back to us, which 
 was about an hour after ; and then he led us to see the 
 chambers which were provided for us, being in number nine¬ 
 teen. They having cast it, as it seemeth, that four of those 
 chambers, which were better than the rest, might receive 
 four of the principal men of our company, and lodge them 
 alone by themselves; and the other fifteen chambers were to 
 lodge us, two and two together. The chambers were hand¬ 
 some and cheerful chambers, and furnished civilly. Then he 
 led • us to a long gallery, like a dortoir, where he showed us 
 all along the one side (for the other side was but wall and 
 window) seventeen cells, very neat ones, having partitions of 
 cedar-wood. Which gallery and cells, being in all forty 
 many more than we needed, were instituted as an infirmary 
 for sick persons. And he told us withal, that as any of our 
 sick waxed well, he might be removed from his cell to a 
 chamber 3 for which purpose there were set forth ten spare 
 chambers, besides the number we spake of before. This 
 done, he brought us back to the parlour, and lifting up his 
 cane a little, as the^ do when they give any charge or com^ 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 mand, said to us, Ye are to know, that the custom of the 
 land requireth that after this day and to-morrow, which we 
 give you for removing your people from your ship, you are 
 to keep within doors for three days. But let it not trouble 
 you, nor do not think yourselves restrained, but rather left 
 to your rest and ease. You shall want nothing j and there 
 are six of our people appointed to attend you for any busi¬ 
 ness you may have abroad.” We gave him thanks with all 
 affection and respect, and said, God surely is manifested 
 in this land.” We offered him also twenty pistolets; but 
 he smiled, and only said, What, twice paid?” and so he 
 left us. 
 
 Soon after om’ dinner was served in, which was right good 
 \iands, both for bread and meat, better than any collegiate 
 diet that I have known in Europe. We had also drink of 
 three sorts, all wholesome and good; wine of the grape, a 
 drink of grain, such as is mth us our ale, but more clear; 
 and a kind of cider made of a fruit of that country, a won¬ 
 derful pleasing and refreshing drink. Besides, there were 
 brought in to us great store of those scarlet oranges for our 
 sick, which, they said, were an assured remedy for sickness 
 taken at sea. There was given us also a box of small gi'ey 
 or whitish pills, which they wished our sick should take, one 
 of the pills every night before sleep, which, they said, would 
 hasten their recovery. 
 
 The next day, after that our trouble of carriage and re¬ 
 moving of our men and goods out of our ship was somewhat 
 settled and quiet, I thought good to call our company to¬ 
 gether, and when they were assembled said unto them, My 
 dear friends, let us know ourselves, and how it standetli 
 with us. We are men cast on land, as Jonas was out of the 
 whale’s belly, when we were as buried in the deep. And 
 now we are on land, we are but between death and life; for 
 we are beyond both the Old World and New; and whether 
 ever we shall see Europe God only knoweth: it is a kind of 
 miracle hath brought us hither, and it must be little less 
 that shall bring us hence. Therefore, in regard of our de¬ 
 liverance past, and our danger present and to come, let us 
 look up to God, and every man reform his own ways. Be¬ 
 sides, we are come here amongst a Christian people, full of 
 piety and humanity; let us not bring that coiffusion of face 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 275 
 
 upon ourselves as to show our vices or unworthiness before 
 them. Yet there is more ; for they have by commandment, 
 though in form of courtesy, cloistered us within these 
 walls for three days: who knoweth whether it be not to 
 take some taste of our manners and conditions; and if they 
 find them bad, to banish us straightways; if good, to give us 
 further time ? For these men that they have given us for 
 attendance may withal have an eye upon us. Therefore for 
 Gk)d’s love, and as we love the weal of our souls and bodies, 
 let us so behave ourselves as we may be at peace with God, 
 and may find grace in the eyes of this people.” Our com¬ 
 pany with one voice thanked me for my good admonition, 
 and promised me to live soberly and civilly, and without 
 giving any the least occasion of ofience. So we spent our 
 three days joyfully, and without care, in expectation what 
 would be done with us when they were expired; during 
 which time we had every hour joy of the amendment of our 
 sick, who thought themselves cast into some divine pool of 
 healing, they mended so kindly and so fast. 
 
 The morrow after our three days were past, there came to 
 us a new man that we had not seen before, clothed in blue 
 as the former was, save that his Turban was white, with a 
 small red cross on the top; he had also a tippet of fine linen. 
 At his coming in he did bend to us a little, and put his arms 
 abroad. We of our parts saluted him in a very lowly and 
 submissive manner, as looking that from him we should 
 receive sentence of life or death. He desired to speak with 
 some few of us; whereupon six of us only stayed, and the rest 
 avoided the room. He said, “ I am by office governor of this 
 House of Strangers, and by vocation I am a Christian priest; 
 and therefore am come to you to offer you my service both 
 as strangers, and chiefly as Christians. Some things I may 
 tell you, wliich I think you will not be unwilling to hear. 
 The state hath given you license to stay on land for the 
 space of six weeks. And let it not trouble you if your occa¬ 
 sions ask further time, for the law in tliis point is not pre¬ 
 cise ; and I do not doubt but myself shall be able to obtain 
 for you such further time as shffil be convenient. Ye shall 
 also understand that the Strangers’-House is at this time 
 rich and much aforehand, for it hath laid up revenue these 
 thirty-seven years; for so long it is since any stranger ar- 
 
 T 2 
 
2V6 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 rived m fhis part. And, therefore, take ye no care, the 
 state will defray you all the time you stay, neither shall you 
 stay one day less for that. As for any merchandise you 
 have brought, ye shall be well used, and have your return 
 either in merchandise, or in gold and silver; for to us it is 
 all one. And if you have any other request to make, hide 
 it not, for ye shall find we will not make your countenance 
 to fall by the answer ye shall receive. Only this I must tell 
 you, that none of you must go above a karan [that is with 
 them a mile and a half ] from the walls of the city without 
 special leave.” We answered, after we had. looked awhile 
 upon one another, admiring this gracious and parent-like 
 usage, “ That we could not tell what to say, for we wanted 
 words to express our thanks, and liis noble free offers left us 
 nothing to ask. It seemed to us that we had before us a 
 pictm^e of our salvation in heaven ; for we that were awhile 
 since in the jaws of death, were now brought into a place 
 where we found nothing but consolations. For the com¬ 
 mandment laid upon us, we would not fail to obey it, though it 
 was impossible but our hearts should be inflamed to tread 
 further upon this happy and holy gTound.” We added, 
 That our tongues should first cleave to the roofs of our 
 mouths ere we should forget either this reverend person, or 
 this whole nation in our prayers.” We also most humbly 
 besought him to accept of us as liis true servants, by as just 
 a right as ever men. on earth were bounden, laying and pre¬ 
 senting both our persons and all we had at his-feet. He said, 
 “ He was a priest, and looked for a priest’s reward, which 
 was oim brotherly love, and the good of our souls and bodies.” 
 So he went from us, not without tears of tenderness in his 
 eyes; and left us also confused with joy and kindness, saying 
 amongst ourselves, That we were come into a land of angels 
 which did appear to us daily, and present us with comforts 
 vdiich we thought not of, much less expected.” 
 
 The next day, about ten o’clock, the governor came to us 
 again, and after salutations said familiarly, “ That he was 
 come to visit us,” and called for a chair, and sat him down : 
 and being some ten of us (the rest were of the meaner sort, 
 or else gone abroad), sat down with him. And when we 
 were seated, he began thus, “We of this island of Bensalem 
 [for so they call it in their language] have this, that by 
 
NEW ATLANTIS, 
 
 277 
 
 means of oiir solitary situation, and the laws of secrecy which 
 we have for our travellers, and our rare admission of strangers» 
 we know well most part of the habitable world, and are our¬ 
 selves unknown. Therefore, because he that knoweth least 
 is fittest to ask questions, it is more reason, for the enter¬ 
 tainment of the time, that ye ask me questions than that I 
 ask you.” We answered, “ That we humbly thanked him 
 that he would give us leave so to do, and that we conceived, 
 by the taste we had already, that there was no worldly thing 
 on earth more worthy to be known than the state of that 
 happy land. But above all,” we said, since that we were 
 met from the several ends of the world, and hoped assuredly 
 that we should meet one day in the kingdom of heaven, for 
 that we were both parts Christians, we desired to know, in 
 respect that land was so remote, and so divided by vast and 
 unknown seas from the land where our Saviour walked on 
 earth, who was the apostle of that nation, and how it was 
 converted to the faith?” It appeared in his face that he 
 took great contentment in this our question. He said, Ye 
 knit my heart to you by asking this question in the first 
 place, for it showeth that you ‘ first seek the kingdom of 
 heavenand I shall gladly and briefly satisfy your de¬ 
 mand :— 
 
 About twenty years after the ascension of our Saviour, 
 it came to pass that there was seen by the people of Benfusa, 
 a city upon the eastern coast of our island, within night 
 (the ' night was cloudy and calm), as it might be some miles 
 in the sea, a great pillar of light, not sharp, but in form of a 
 column or cylinder, rising from the sea, a great way up 
 towards heaven, and on the top of it was seen a large cross 
 of light, more bright and resplendent than the body of the 
 pillar : upon which so strange a spectacle the people of the 
 city gathered apace together upon the sands to wonder, and 
 so after put themselves into a number of small boats to go 
 nearer to this marvellous sight. But when the boats were 
 come within about sixty yards of the pillar, they found them¬ 
 selves all bound, and could go no further, yet so as they might 
 move to go about, but might not approach nearer; so as the 
 boats stood all as in a theatre, beholding this light as a hea¬ 
 venly sign. It so fell out that there was in one of the boats of 
 the wise men of the Society of Solomon’s House (which house 
 
278 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 or college, my good brethren, is the very eye of this kingdom), 
 who having a while attentively and devoutly viewed and 
 contemplated this pillar and cross, fell down upon his face, 
 and then raised himself upon his knees, and lifting up his 
 hands to heaven, made liis jDrayers in this manner :— 
 
 “ ‘ Lord God of heaven and earth, thou hast vouchsafed 
 of thy grace to those, of our order to know thy works of 
 creation, and true secrets of them, and to discern (as far as 
 appertaineth to the generations of men) between divine 
 miracles, works of nature, works of art, and impostimes and 
 illusions of all sorts 1 I do here acknowledge and testify 
 before this people, that the thing we now see before o\\r eyes 
 is thy finger and a true miracle. And forasmuch as we learn 
 in our books that thou never workest miracles but to a 
 divine and excellent end (for the laws of nature are thine 
 own laws, and thou exceedest them not but upon good 
 cause), we most humbly beseech thee to prosper this great 
 sign, and to give us the interpretation and use of it in mercy, 
 which thou dost in some part secretly promise by sending it 
 imto us.’ 
 
 When he had made his prayer, he presently found the 
 boat he was in moveable and unbound, whereas all the rest 
 remained still fast; and taking that for an assurance of leave 
 to approach, he caused the boat to be softly and with silence 
 rowed towards the pillar: but ere he came near it, the pillar 
 and cross of light brake up, and cast itself abroad, as it were, 
 into a firmament of many stars; which also vanished soon 
 after, and there was nothing left to be seen but a small ark 
 or chest of cedar, dry, and not wet at all with water, though 
 it swam; and in the fore-end of it, which was towards him, 
 grew a small green branch of palm. And when the wise 
 man had taken it with all reverence into his boat, it opened 
 of itself, and there was found in it a book and a letter, both 
 written in fine parchment, and wra2:)ped in sindons of linen. 
 The book contained all the canonical books of the Old and 
 New Testament, according as you have them (for we know 
 w’ell what the churches with you receive), and the Apoca¬ 
 lypse itself; and some other books of the New Testament 
 which were not at that time written, were nevertheless in 
 the book. And for the letter, it was in these words:— 
 
 “ ^ I, Bartholomew, a servant of the Highest, and apostla 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 279 
 
 of Jesus Christ, was warned by an angel that appeared to 
 me in a vision of glory, that I should commit this ark to the 
 floods of the sea. Therefore I do testify and declare unto 
 that people where God shall ordain this ark to come to land, 
 that in the same day is come unto them salvation, and peace, 
 and goodwill from the Father, and from the Lord Jesus.’ 
 
 There were also in both these writings, as well the book 
 as the letter, wrought a gTeat miracle, conformable to that 
 of the apostles in the original gift of tongues. For there 
 being at that time in this land Hebrews, Persians, and In¬ 
 dians, besides the natives, every one read upon the book and 
 letter as if they had been written in his own language. And 
 thus was this land saved from infidelity, as the remain of 
 the old world was from water, by an ark, through the apos¬ 
 tolical and miraculous evangelism of St. Bartholomew.” And 
 here he paused, and a messenger came and called liim forth 
 from us. So this was all that passed in that conference. 
 
 The next day the same governor came again to us imme¬ 
 diately after dinner, and excused himself, saying, “ That the 
 day before he was called from us somewhat abruptly, but 
 now he would make us amends, and spend some time with 
 us, if we held his company and conference agreeable.” We 
 answered, “ That we held it so agreeable and pleasing to us, 
 as we forgot both dangers past and fears to come, for the 
 time we heard him speak, and that we thought an hour 
 spent with him was worth years of our former life.” He 
 bowed himself a little to us, and after we were set again he 
 said, “ Well, the questions are on your part.” One of our 
 number said, after a little pause, There was a matter we 
 were no less desirous to know than fearful to ask, lest we 
 might presume too far; but encoiu'aged by his rare humanity 
 towards us, that we could scarce think ourselves strangers, 
 being his vowed and professed servants, we would take the 
 hardiness to propound it; humbly beseeching him, if he 
 thought it not fit to be answered, that he would pardon it, 
 though he rejected it.” We said, “We well observed those 
 his words which he formerly spake, that this happy island 
 where we now stood was known to few, and yet knew most 
 of the nations of the world ; wliich we found to be true, con¬ 
 sidering they had the languages of Europe, and knew much 
 of our state and business; and yet we in Europe, notwith* . 
 
280 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 standing all the remote discoveries and navigations of this last 
 age, never heard any of the least inkling or glimpse of tliis 
 island. This we found wonderful strange, for that all nations 
 liave interknowledge one of another, either by voyage into 
 foreign parts, or by strangers that come to them: and though 
 the traveller into a foreign country doth commonly know 
 more by the eye than he that stayeth at home can by rela¬ 
 tion of the traveller, yet both ways suffice to make a mutual 
 knowledge in some degree on both parts. But*for this island, 
 we never heard tell of any ship of theirs that had been seen 
 to arrive upon any shore of Europe, no, nor of either the 
 East or West Indies, nor yet of any ship of any other part 
 of the world that had made return from them. And yet the 
 marvel rested not in this, for the situation of it, as his lord- 
 ship said, in the secret conclave of such a vast sea, might 
 cause it: but then, that they should have knowledge of the 
 languages, books, affairs of those that lie such a distance from 
 them, it was a thing we could not tell what to make of; for 
 that it seemed to us a condition and property of divine powers 
 and beings, to be hidden and unseen to others, and yet to 
 have others open and as in a light to them.” At this speech 
 the governor gave a gracious smile, and said, That we did 
 well to ask pardon for this question we now asked, for that 
 it imported as if we thought this land a land of magicians, 
 that sent forth spirits of the air into all parts to bring them 
 news and intelligence of other coimtries.” It was answered 
 by us all in all possible humbleness, but yet with a counte¬ 
 nance taking knowledge that we knew that he spake it but 
 merrily, “ That we were apt enough to think there was some¬ 
 what supernatimal in this island, but yet rather as angelical 
 than magical. But to let his lordship know truly what it 
 was that made us tender and doubtful to ask this question, 
 it was not any such conceit, but because we remembered he 
 had given a touch in his former speech, that this land had 
 laws of secrecy touching strangers.” To this he said, You 
 remember it right: and therefore in that I shall say to you, 
 I must reserve some particulars, which it is not lawful for 
 me to reveal; but there will be enough left to give you satis¬ 
 faction. 
 
 You shall understand, that which perhaps you will scarce 
 think credible, that about three thousand years ago, or some- 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 281 
 
 what more, the navigation of the world, especially for remote 
 voyages, was greater than at this day.^ Do not think with 
 yourselves that I know not how much it is increased with you 
 within these sixscore years; I know it well : and yet I say, 
 greater then than now. Whether it was that the example 
 of the ark that saved the remnant of men from the universal 
 deluge, gave men confidence to adventure upon the waters, 
 or what it was, but such is the truth. The Phoenicians, and 
 especially the Tyrians, had great fleets ; so had the Cartha¬ 
 ginians their colony, which is yet further west. Toward 
 the east the shipping of Egypt and of Palestina was likewise 
 great; China also, and the great Atlantis, that you call 
 America, which have now but junks and canoes, abounded 
 then in tall ships. This island, as appeareth by faithful re¬ 
 gisters of those times, had then fifteen hundred strong ships 
 of great content. Of all this there is with you sparing 
 memory, or none; but we have large knowledge thereof. 
 
 At that time, this land was known and frequented by the 
 ships and vessels of all the nations before named, and, as it 
 cometh to pass, they had many times men of other countries 
 that were no sailors that came with them; as Persians, 
 Chaldeans, Arabians ; so as almost all nations of might and 
 fame resorted hither, of whom we have some stirps and little 
 tiibes with us at this day. And for our own ships, they went 
 sundry voyages, as well to your straits, which you call the 
 Pillars of Hercules, as to other parts in the Atlantic and 
 Mediterranean seas; as to Pegu, which is the same with 
 Cambalu, and Quinsay upon the Oriental seas, as far as to 
 the borders of East Tartary. 
 
 At the same time, and an age after or more, the in¬ 
 habitants of the great Atlantis did flourish. Eor though the 
 narration and description which is made by a great man,^ with 
 
 ^ It is of course necessary to understand the Atlantic oracle cum 
 (jrano ; though certainly the expeditions of Hanno, of Pharaoh Necho, 
 of Nearchus, and others (rather less, indeed, than three thousand years 
 ago), might give some colour to his ideas. His lordship had probably 
 formed grander notions of the fleets and navigations of the Tyrians, 
 Carthaginians, and other commercial nations of antiquity than the 
 present age entertain. See on this subject Heeren's Africa (Bohn). 
 
 ^ Plato, in whose Critias all these marvellous descriptions occur. It 
 is not a little extraordinary that persons roaming through literature in 
 ;?earch of pleasure, should so seldom enter upon the domains of this 
 
282 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 you, of the descendants of Neptune planted there, and of the 
 magnificent temple, palace, city, and hill, and the manifold 
 streams of goodly navigable rivers, which, as so many chains, 
 environed the same site and temple, and the several degrees 
 of ascent, whereby men did climb up to the same, as if it had 
 been a scala cceli, be all poetical and fabulous ; yet so much 
 is true, that the said country of Atlantis, as well as that of 
 Peru, then called Coya, as that of Mexico, then named 
 Tyrambel, were mighty and proud kingdoms in arms, ship¬ 
 ping, and riches j so mighty, as at one time, or at least 
 •within the space of ten years, they both made two great 
 expeditions ; they of Tyrambel through the Atlantic to the 
 Mediteri’anean Sea, and they of Coya, through the South 
 Sea, upon this our island. And for the former of these, 
 which was into Europe, the same author amongst you, as it 
 seemeth, had some relation from the Egyptian priest whom 
 he citeth, for assuredly such a thing there was. But whether 
 it were the ancient Athenians that had the glory of the 
 repulse and resistance of those forces, I can say nothing; but 
 certain it is, there never came back either ship or man from 
 that voyage. Neither had the other voyage of those of Coya 
 upon us had better fortune, if they had not met with enemies 
 of greater clemency. Eor the king of tliis island, by name 
 Altabin, a wise man and a great warrior, knowing well both 
 his own strength and that of his enemies, handled the matter 
 so, as he cut ofi* their land-forces from their ships, and entoiled 
 both their navy and their camp with a greater power than 
 theirs, both by sea and land, and compelled them to render 
 themselves •svithout striking stroke; and after they were at 
 his mercy, contenting himself only with their oath that they 
 should no more bear arms against him, dismissed them all in 
 safety. But the Divine revenge overtook not loag after those 
 proud enterprises; for within less than the space of one hun¬ 
 dred years, the great Atlantis was utterly lost and destroyed, 
 not by a great earthquake, as your man saith,^ for that 
 
 Archimago, where so many magical sights and shows abound. Spenser 
 is not more fanciful, Shakspeare not more imaginative, Milton not more 
 sublime.— J. A. St. John. 
 
 ^ The western coast of America is liable still more than the western 
 coast of Europe to the shock of earthquakes. Indeed, it might almost 
 be said that the earthquake has its home among the Andes, where it 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 283 
 
 v/hole tract is little subject to earthquakes, but by a parti¬ 
 cular deluge or inundation, those countries having at this day 
 far greater rivers, and far higher mountains to pour down 
 waters, than any part of the old world. But it is true, that 
 the same inundation was not deep; not past forty foot in most 
 places from the gi'ound : so that although it destroyed man 
 and beast generally, yet some few wild inhabitants of the 
 wood escaped. Birds also were saved by flying to the high 
 trees and woods. For as for men, although they had build¬ 
 ings in many places higher than the depth of the water, yet 
 that inundation, though it were shallow, had a long con¬ 
 tinuance, whereby they of the vale that were not drowned, 
 perished for want of food, and other things necessary. So as 
 marvel you not at the thin population of America, nor at 
 the rudeness and ignorance of the people; for you must 
 account your inhabitants of America as a young people, 
 younger a thousand years at the least than the rest of the 
 world, for that there was so much time between the universal 
 flood and their particular inundation. For the poor remnant 
 of human seed which remained in their mountains, peopled 
 the country again slowly by little and little; and being 
 simple and a savage people, not like Noah and his sons, which 
 was the chief family of the earth, they were not able to 
 leave letters^ arts, and civility to their posterity. And having 
 likewise, in their mountainous habitations, been used, in 
 respect of the extreme cold of those regions, to clothe them¬ 
 selves with the skins of tigers,® bears, and great hairy goats 
 that they have in those pai-ts ; when, after they came down 
 into the valley, and found the intolerable heats which are 
 there, and knew no means of lighter apparel, they were 
 forced to begin the custom of going naked, which continueth 
 at this day: only they take great pride and delight in the 
 feathers of birds ; and this also they took from those their 
 ancestors of the mountains, who were invited unto it by the 
 
 has, within the memory of men now living, wrought fearful havoc, and 
 effected wonderful changes in the aspect of the globe. For an account 
 of some of these, the reader may be referred to Humboldt’s description 
 of the country round Chimborazo, whose unscaleable peak a bold party 
 of travellers some years ago attempted to ascend. See his Personal 
 Nai'i'ative (Bohn’s Ed.). 
 
 ® The tiger is not a native of the American continent; but this had 
 not been ascertained in Bacon’s time. 
 
284 
 
 NEW* ATLANTIS. 
 
 infinite flight of birds that came up to the high grounds 
 while the waters stood below. So you see by this main 
 accident of time we lost our traffic Avith the Americans, 
 with whom, of all others, in regard they lay nearest to us, 
 we had most commerce. As for the other parts of the world, 
 it is most manifest that in the ages following, whether it 
 were in respect of wars, or by a natural revolution of time, 
 navigation did everywhere greatly decay, and especially far 
 voyages, the rather by the use of galleys and such vessels as 
 could hardly brook the ocean, were altogether left and 
 omitted. So then, that part of the intercourse which could 
 be from other nations to sail to us, you see how it hath long 
 since ceased, except it were by some rare accident, as this of 
 yours. But now of the cessation of that other part of in¬ 
 tercourse, which might be by our sailing to other nations, I 
 must yield you some other cause; for I cannot say, if I 
 shall say truly, but our shipping for number, strength, 
 mariners, pilots, and all things that appertain to navigation, 
 is as great as ever ; and therefore why we should sit at home 
 I shall now give you an account by itself, and it will draw 
 nearer to give you satisfaction to your principal question. 
 
 There reigned in this island, about one thousand nine 
 hundred years ago, a king, whose memory of all others we 
 most adore, not superstitiously, but as a divine instrument, 
 though a mortal man-: his name was Solomona, and we 
 esteem him as the lawgiver of our nation. This king had a 
 large heart, inscrutable for good, and was wholly bent to make 
 his kingdom and people happy. He therefore, taking into 
 consideration how sufficient and substantive this land was to 
 maintain itself without any aid at all of the foreigner, being 
 five thousand six hundred miles in circuit, and of rare 
 fertility of soil in the greatest part thereof; and finding also 
 the shipping of this country might be plentifully set on work, 
 lx>th by fishing and by transportations from port to port, and 
 likewise by sailing unto some small islands that are not far 
 from US, and are under the crown and laws of this state, and 
 recalling into his memory the happy and flourishing estate 
 wherein this land then was, so as it might be a thousand 
 ways altered to the worse, but scarce any one ^vay to the 
 better ; thought nothing wanted to his noble and heroical 
 intentions, but only, as far as human foresight might reach, 
 
NEV,^ ATLANTIS. 
 
 285 
 
 to give perpetuity to that which was in his time so happily 
 established ; therefore amongst his other fundamental laws 
 of this kingdom he did ordain the interdicts and prohibitions 
 which we have touching the entrance of strangers, which at 
 that time, though it was after the calamity of America, was 
 frequent ; doubting novelties and commixture of manners. It 
 is tiTie, the like law against the admission of strangers with¬ 
 out license is an ancient law in the kingdom of China, and 
 yet continued in use ; but there it is a poor thing, and hath 
 made them a curious, ignorant, fearful, foolish nation. But 
 our lawgiver made his law of another temper. 'For, first, he 
 hath preserved all points of humanity, in taking order and 
 making provision for the relief of strangers distressed, whereof 
 you have tasted.” At which speech, as reason was, we all 
 rose up and bowed ourselves. He went on. That king 
 also—still desiring to join humanity and policy together, and 
 thinking it against humanity to detain strangers here against 
 their wills, and against policy, that they should return and 
 discover their knowledge of this state, he took this course. 
 He did ordain, that of the strangers that should be permitted 
 to land, as many, at all times, might depart as would, but as 
 many as would stay should have very good conditions and 
 means to live from the state. Wherein he saw so far, that 
 now in so many ages since the prohibition, we have memory 
 not of one ship that ever returned, and but of thirteen 
 persons only at several times that chose to return in our 
 bottoms. What those few that returned may have reported 
 abroad, I know not ; but you must think, whatsoever they 
 have said could be taken where they came but for a dream. 
 Now for our travelling from hence into parts abroad, our 
 lawgiver thought fit altogether to restrain it. So is it not in 
 China, for the Chinese sail where they will, or can ; which 
 showeth that their law of keeping out strangers is a law 
 of pusillanimity and fear. But this restraint of ours hath 
 one only exception, which is admirable, preserving the good 
 wliich cometh by communicating with strangers, and avoid¬ 
 ing the hurt; and I will now open it to you. And here I 
 shall seem a little to digress, but you will, by-and-by, find it 
 pertinent. You shall understand, my dear friends, that 
 amongst the excellent acts of that king, one above all hath 
 the pre-eminence ; it was the erection and institution of an 
 
286 
 
 SEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 order or society, whicli we call Solomon’s House, tlie noblest, 
 foundation, as we think, that ever was upon the earth, and 
 the lantern of this kingdom. It is dedicated to the study of 
 the works and creatures of God. Some think it beareth the 
 founder’s name a little coiTupted, as if it should be Solomona’s 
 House j but the records write it as it is spoken. So as I take 
 it to be denominate of the king of the Hebrews, which is 
 famous with you, and no stranger to us, for we have some 
 parts of his works which with you ai’e lost; namely, that 
 natural history which he wrote of all plants, ‘from the cedar 
 of Lebanon to the moss that groweth out of the wall,’ and 
 of all things that have life and motion. This maketh me 
 think that our king, finding himself to symbolize in many 
 things with that king of the Hebrews which lived many 
 years before him, honomed him with the title of this 
 foundation. And I am the rather induced to be of this 
 opinion, for that I find in ancient records this order or 
 society is sometimes called Solomon’s House, and sometimes 
 the College of the Six Days’ Works ; whereby I am satisfied 
 that our excellent king had learned firom the Hebrews that 
 God had created the world, and all that therein is, within six 
 days, and therefore he instituting that house for the finding 
 out of the tnie nature of all things, whereby God might 
 have the more glory in the workmanship of them, and men 
 the more fruit in their use of them, did give it also that 
 second name. But now, to come to our present purpose. 
 When the king had forbidden to all his people navigation in 
 any part that w’as not under his crown, he made nevertheless 
 this ordinance, that every twelve years there should be set 
 forth out of this kingdom two ships appointed to several 
 voyages ; that in either of these ships there should be a 
 mission of three of the fellows or brethren of Solomon’s 
 House, whose errand was only to give us knowledge of the 
 affairs and state of those countries to which they were 
 designed, and especially of the sciences, arts, manufactures, 
 and inventions of all the world; and withal to bring unto 
 us books, instruments, and patterns in every kind : that the 
 ships, after they had landed the brethren, should return, and 
 that the brethren should stay abroad till the new mission. 
 The ships are not otherwise fraught than with store of 
 idctuals, and good quantity of treasme, to remain with the 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 287 
 
 brethren for the buying of such things and rewarding of such 
 persons as they should think fit. Now for me to tell you, 
 how the vulgar sort of mariners are contained from being 
 discovered at land, and how they that must be put on shore 
 for any time, colour themselves under the names of other 
 nations, and to what places these voyages have been designed, 
 and what places of rendezvous are appointed for the new 
 missions, and the like circumstances of the practice, I may 
 not do it, neither is it much to your desire. But thus you 
 see we maintain a trade, not for gold, silver, or jewels, nor 
 for silks, nor for spices, nor any other commodity of matter, 
 but only for God’s first creature, which was light; to have 
 light, I say, of the growth of all parts of the world.” 
 
 And when he had said this he was silent, and so were we all; 
 for indeed we were all astonished to hear so strange things so 
 probably told. And he, perceiving that we were willing to 
 say somewhat, but had it not ready, in gi*eat courtesy took 
 us off, and descended to ask us questions of our voyage and 
 fortunes; and in the end concluded, that we might do well 
 to think with ourselves what time of stay we would demand 
 of the state ; and bade us not to scant ourselves, for he would 
 procure such time as we desired. Whereupon we all rose 
 up, and presented ourselves to kiss the skirt of his tippet ; 
 but he would not suffer us, and so took his leave. But when 
 it came once amongst our people, that the state used to offer 
 conditions to strangers that would stay, we had work enough 
 to get any of our men to look to our ship, and to keep them 
 from going presently to the governor to crave conditions; 
 but with much ado we refrained them, till we might agree 
 what course to take. 
 
 We took ourselves now for free men, seeing there was no 
 danger of our utter perdition, and lived most joyfully, going 
 abroad, and seeing what was to be seen in the city and 
 places adjacent within our tedder, and obtaining acquaint¬ 
 ance with many of the city, not of the meanest quality, 
 at whose hands we found such humanity, and such a freedom 
 and desire to take strangers as it were into their bosom, as 
 was enough to make us forget all that was dear to us in our 
 own countries; and continually we met with many things 
 right worthy of observation and relation; as indeed, if there 
 be a min'or in the world worthy to hold men’s eyes, it is that 
 
288 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 coiiutiy. One day there were two of our company bidden 
 to a feast of the family, as they call it; a most natural, pious, 
 and reverend custom it is, showing that nation to be com¬ 
 pounded of all goodness. This is the manner of it : it is 
 granted to any man that shall live to see thirty persons 
 descended of his body alive together, and all above three 
 years old, to make this feast, which is done at the cost of the 
 state. The father of the family, whom they call the tirsan, 
 two days before the feast, taketh to him three of such friends 
 as he liketh to choose, and is assisted also by the governor of 
 the city or place where the feast is celebrated; and all the 
 persons of the family of both sexes are summoned to attend 
 him. These two days the tirsan sitteth in consultation 
 concerning the good estate of the family. There, if there be 
 any discord or suits between any of the family, they are 
 compounded and appeased ; there, if any of the family be 
 distressed or decayed, order is taken for their relief, and 
 competent means to live; there, if any be subject to vice or 
 take ill courses, they are reproved and censured. So like¬ 
 wise, direction is given touching marriages, and the courses 
 of life which any of them should take, with divers other the 
 like orders and advices. The governor assisteth to the end, 
 to j)ut in execution by his public authority the decrees and 
 orders of the tirsan, if they should be disobeyed, though that 
 seldom needeth, such .reverence and obedience they give to 
 the order of nature. The tirsan doth also then ever choose 
 one man from amongst his sons to live in house with him, 
 who is called ever after the son of the yine : the reason will 
 hereafter appear. On the feast-day, the father or tirsan 
 cometh forth, after divine service, into a large room where 
 the feast is celebrated, which room hath an half-pace at the 
 upper end. Against the wall, in the middle of the half-pace, 
 is a chair placed for him, with a table and carpet before it: 
 over the chair is a state made round or oval, and it is of ivy; 
 an ivy somewhat whiter than ours, like the leaf of a silver 
 asp, but more shining, for it is green all winter. And the 
 state is curiously wrought with silver and silk of divers 
 colours, broiding or binding in the ivy, and is ever of the 
 work of some of the daughters of the family, and veiled over 
 at the top with a fine net of silk and silver: but the sub* 
 stance of it is true ivy, whereof, after it is taken down, the* 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 289 
 
 frieiids of the family are desirous to have some leaf or sprig 
 fco keep. The tirsan cometh forth with all his generation or 
 lineage, the males before him, and the females following him. 
 And if there be a mother from whose body the whole line¬ 
 age is descended, there is a traverse placed in a loft above 
 on the right hand of the chair, with a private door, and a 
 carved window of glass, leaded with gold and blue, where 
 she sitteth, but is not seen. ^ When the tirsan is come forth, 
 he sitteth down in the chair, and all the lineage place them¬ 
 selves against the wall, both at his back, and upon the 
 return of the half-pace, in order of their years, without 
 difference of sex, and stand upon their feet. When he is 
 set, the room being always full of company, but well kept, 
 and wdthout disorder, after some pause there cometh in from 
 the lower end of the room a taratan, which is as much as an 
 herald, and on either side of him two young lads, whereof 
 one carrieth a scroll of their shining yellow parchment, and 
 the other a cluster of grapes of gold, wdth a long foot or 
 sfcalk j the herald and children are clothed with mantles of 
 sea-water green satin, but the herald’s mantle is streamed 
 with gold, and hath a train. Then the herald, with three 
 courtesies, or rather inclinations, cometh up as far as the 
 half-pace, and there first taketh into his hand the scroll. 
 This scroll is the king’s charter, containing gift of revenue, 
 and many privileges, exemptions, and points of honour 
 granted to the father of the family ; and it is ever styled 
 and directed, to such an one, our well-beloved friend and 
 creditor, w^hich is a title proper only to this case; for they 
 say, the king is debtor to no man, but for propagation of 
 his subjects. The seal set to the king’s charter is the king’s 
 image, embossed or moulded in gold. And though such 
 charters be expedited of course, and as of right, yet they are 
 varied by discretion, according to the number and dignity 
 I (jf the family. This charter the herald readeth aloud ; and 
 while it is read, the father or tirsan standeth up, supported 
 by two of his sons, such as he chooseth. Then the herald 
 
 ^ What the object of this seclusion of the mother of the family could 
 I be, I am unable to conjecture, since the young women freely circu- 
 [ lated among their brethren. Perhaps it may have been designed to 
 L conceal the ravages of years, to give rise, in the minds of the spectators, 
 i to an idea of l^eauty, which age may have destroyed. 
 
 U 
 
290 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 mountetli the half-pace, and delivereth the charter into his 
 hand, and with that there is an acclamation by all that are 
 present, in their language, which is thus much, Happy are 
 the people of Bensalem.”^ Then the herald taketh into his 
 hand from the other child the cluster of grapes, which is of 
 gold, both the stalk and the grapes, but the grapes are* dain¬ 
 tily enamelled ; and if the males of the family be the greater 
 number, the grapes are enamelled purple, with a little sun 
 set on the top j if the females, then they are enamelled into 
 a greenish yellow, with a crescent on the top. The grapes 
 are in number as many as there are descendants of the 
 family. This golden cluster the herald delivereth also to 
 the tirsan, who presently delivereth it over to that son that 
 he had formerly chosen to be in house with him, who beareth 
 it before his father, as an ensign of honour when he goeth in 
 public ever after, and is thereupon called the son of the vine. 
 After this ceremony ended, the father or tirsan retireth, and 
 after some time cometh forth ag*ain to dinner, where he 
 sitteth alone under the state as before; and none of his 
 descendants sit with him, of what degree or dignity soever, 
 except he hap to be of Solomon’s House. He is served only 
 by his own children, such as are male, who perform unto 
 him all service of the table- upon the knee, and the women 
 only stand about him, leaning against the wall. The room 
 below his half-pace hath tables on the sides for the guests 
 that are-bidden, who are served with great and comely order; 
 and toward the end of dinner,, which in the greatest feasts 
 mth them lasteth never above an hour and a half, there is a 
 hymn sung, varied according to the invention of him that 
 composed it, for they have excellent poetry, but the subject 
 of it is always the praises of Adam, and Noah, and Abraham; 
 whereof the former two peopled the Avorld, and the last was 
 the hither of the faithful: concluding ever with a thanks¬ 
 giving for the nativity of our Saviour, im whose birth the 
 births of all are only blessed. Dinner being'done,-the tirsan 
 retireth again, and having withdrawn himself alone into a 
 place where he maketh some private prayers, he cometh 
 forth; the third time to give the blessing, with all his de¬ 
 scendants, who stand about him as at the first. Then 
 lie calleth them forth, one by one, by name, as he pleasetli, 
 though seldom the order of age be inverted. The person 
 
NEW ATL.VNTIS. 
 
 291 
 
 tliat is called, tlie table being before romoved, kneeletb 
 down before the chair, and the father layeth his hand 
 upon his head, or her head, and giveth the blessing in these 
 words : Son of Bensalem, or daughter’ of Bensalem, thy 
 father saith it, the man by whom thou hast breath and life 
 speaketh the word; the blessing of the everlasting Father, 
 the Prince of Peace, and the Holy Dove be upon thee, and 
 make the days of thy pilgrimage good and many.” This he 
 saith to every of them : and that done, if there be any of his 
 sons of eminent merit and viiiiue, so they be not above two, 
 he calleth for them again, and sayeth, laying his arm over 
 them shoulders, they standing, Sons, it is well you are 
 born; give God the praise, and persevere to the end : ” and 
 withal delivereth to either of them a jewel, made in the 
 figure of an ear of wheat, wliich they ever after wear in the 
 front of their turban or hat. This done, they fall to music 
 and dances, and other recreations after their manner, for the 
 rest of the day. This is the full order of that feast. 
 
 By that time six or seven days were spent, I was fallen 
 into strait acquaintance with a merchant of that city, whose 
 name was Joabin : he was a Jew, and circumcised, for they 
 have some few stirps of Jews yet remaining among them, 
 whom they leave to their own religion, which they may the 
 better do, because they are of a far different disposition from 
 the Jews in other parts. For whereas they hate the name 
 of Christ, and have a secret inbred rancour against the 
 people among whom they live ; these contrariwise give unto 
 our Saviour many high attributes, and love the nation of 
 Bensalem extremely. Simely this man of whom I speak, 
 would ever acknowledge that Christ was born of a Hrgin, 
 and that he was more than a man; and he would tell how 
 God made him ruler of the seraphims which guard his throne: 
 and they call him also the Milken Way, and the Eliahof the 
 Messiah, and many other high names ; which, though they 
 be inferior to his Di\dne IMajesty, yet they are far from the 
 language of other Jews. And for the coimtry of Bensalem, 
 this man would make no end of commending it, being desirous, 
 by tradition among the J ews there, to have it believed, tliat 
 the people thereof were of the generations of Abraham by 
 another son, whom they call Nachoran ; and that Moses by 
 a secret cabala ordained the laws of Bensalem, which they 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 DOW use ; and that when the Messiah should ccme and sit 
 in his throne at Jerusalem, the king of Bensalem should sit 
 at his feet, whereas other kings should keep at a great 
 distance. But yet, setting aside these Jewish dreams, the 
 man was a wise man and learned, and of great policy, and 
 excellently seen in the laws and customs of that nation. 
 Amongst other discom-ses, one day I told him, I was much 
 affected with the relation I had from some of the company, 
 of their custom in holding the feast of the family, for that 
 methought I had never heard of a solemnity wherein nature 
 did so much preside. And because propagation of families 
 proceedeth from the nuptial copulation, I desired to know of 
 him what laws and customs they had concerning marriage, 
 and whether they kept marriage well, and whether they were 
 tied to one wife. For that where population is so much 
 affected, and such as with them it seemed to be, there is 
 commonly permission of plurality of mves. To this he said. 
 You have reason to commend that excellent institution of 
 the feast of the family; and indeed we have experience that 
 those families that are partakers of the blessings of that 
 feast do flourish and prosper ever after in an extraordinary 
 manner. But hear me now, and I will tell you what I know. 
 You shall understand that there is not under the heavens so 
 chaste a nation as this of Bensalem, nor so free from all 
 pollution or foulness; it is the virgin of the world. I re¬ 
 member I have read in one of your European books, of an 
 holy hermit amongst you that desired to see the spirit of 
 fornication, and there appeared to him a little foul ugly 
 Ethiop. But if he had desired to see the spirit of chastity 
 of Bensalem, it would have appeared to him in the likeness 
 of a fair beautiful cherubim; for there is nothing amongst 
 mortal men more fair and admirable than the chaste minds 
 of this people. Know, therefore, that with them there are 
 no stews, no dissolute houses, no courtezans, nor anything 
 of that kind ; nay, they wonder with detestation at you in 
 Europe which permit such things. They say you have put 
 marriage out of office ; for marriage is ordained a remedy for 
 unlawful concupiscence, and natural concupiscence seemeth 
 as a spur to marriage :» but when men have at hand a 
 
 s On this subject consult Milton’s Doctrine and Disciplino of 
 Divorce,” particularly chapters iv. v. and xxi. 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 293 
 
 remedy more agreeable to their corrupt marriage is 
 
 almost expulsed. And therefore there are with you seen 
 infinite men that marry not, but choose rather a libertine and 
 impure single life than to be yoked in marriage ; and many 
 that do marry, marry late, when the prime and strength of 
 their years is past ; and when they do marry, what is marriage 
 to them but a very bargain, wherein is sought alliance, or 
 portion, or reputation, with some desire almost indifierent of 
 issue, and not the faithful nuptial union of man and wife 
 that was first instituted. Neither is it possible that those 
 that have cast away so basely so much of their streng-th, 
 should greatly esteem children, being of the same matter, as 
 chaste men do. So neither duiing marriage is the case much 
 amended, as it ought to be if those things were tolerated 
 only for necessity. No, but they remain still as a very 
 afii’ont to marriage ; the haunting of those dissolute places, 
 or resort to courtezans, is no more punished in married men 
 than in bachelors : and the depraved custom of change, and 
 the delight in meretricious embracements, where sin is 
 turned into art, maketh marriage a dull thing, and a kind of 
 imposition or tax. They hear you defend these things as 
 done to avoid greater evils, as advoutries, deflowering of 
 \firgins, unnatural lust, and the like : but they say this is a 
 prejiosterous wisdom, and they call it Lot’s ofier, who, to save 
 his guests from abusing, offered his daughters. Nay, they 
 say further, that there is little gained in this, for that the 
 same vices and appetites do still remain and abound, un¬ 
 lawful lust being like a furnace, that if you stop the flames 
 altogether, it will quench, but if you give it any vent, it will 
 rage. A s for masculine love, they have no touch of it; and 
 yet there are not so faithfid and inviolate friendships in the 
 world again as are there ; and to speak generally, as I said 
 before, I have not read of any such chastity in any people as 
 theirs. And their usual saying is, that whosoever is unchaste 
 cannot reverence himself And they say, that the reverence 
 of a man’s self is, next religion, the chiefest bridle of all 
 'rices.” And when he had said this, the good Jew paused a 
 little. Whereupon I, far more 'willing to hear him speak on 
 than to speak myself, yet thinking it decent that upon his 
 pause of speech I should not be altogether silent, said only 
 this, ‘‘ That T would say to him as the widow of Sarepta said 
 
?91 
 
 NEV/ ATLANTI3. 
 
 to Elias, that he was come to bring to memory oui- sins; and 
 tliat I confess the righteousness of Bensalem was greater 
 than the righteousness of Europe.” At which speech he 
 bowed Iris head, and went on in this manner : They have also 
 many wise and excellent laws touching marriage. They allow 
 no polygamy. They have ordained that none do intermarry 
 or contract until a month be past from their first interview. 
 Mai’T’iage without consent of parents they do not make void, 
 but they mulct it in the inheritors ; for the children of such 
 marriages are not admitted to inherit above a third pari ‘of 
 their parents’ inheritance.^ I have read in a book of one of 
 your men of a feigned commonwealth,^ where the married 
 couple are permitted, before they contract, to see one another 
 naked. This they dislike, for they think it a scorn to give a 
 refusal after so familiar knowledge : but because of many 
 hidden defects in men and women’s bodies, they have a more 
 civil way ; for they have near every town a couple of pools, 
 which they call Adam and Eve’s pools, where it it permitted 
 to one of the friends of the man, and another of the friends 
 of the woman, to see them sever'ally bathe naked.” 
 
 And as we were thus in conference, there came one that 
 seemed to be a messenger, in a rich huke, that spake with the 
 Jew j whereupon, he turned to me, and said, You will 
 pardon me, for I am commanded away in haste.” 
 
 The next morning he came to me again, joyful, as it 
 seemed, and said, “ There is word come to the governor of 
 the city, that one of the father's of Solomon’s House will be 
 
 V * 
 
 here this day seven-night; we have seen none of them this 
 dozen years. His coming is in state, but the cause of his 
 coming is secret. I vill provide you and your fellows of a 
 
 ^ An act of injustice, which, while aimed at the parents, strikes only 
 the children. It is not a little surprising that, in proposing a reforma¬ 
 tion of laws, Bacon should advocate a palpable wrong. 
 
 ^ This “feigned commonwealth” is an allusion to More’s “Utopia,” 
 in which the regulation here condemned is found. His lordship has by 
 no means improved upon Sir Thomas ; but, on the contrary, for a bad 
 practice he has substituted a worse. Very little of the unhappiness of 
 marriage ever springs from defects of the person. It is character 
 that men should be anxious to behold naked. It is in that the deformity 
 is likely to lie that shall render their days cheerless and life a burden. 
 Familiarity, which dissipates the illusion of a beautiful face, when the 
 face alone is beautiful, actually confers beauty on a plain one, if tho 
 mind within be lovely. 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 29o 
 
 good standing to see liis entry.” I thanked him, and told 
 him, I was most glad ^of the news.” 
 
 The day being come, he made his entry. He was a man 
 of middle stature and age, comely of person, and had an 
 aspect as if he pitied men. He was clothed dn -a robe of fine 
 black cloth, with wide sleeves and a cape ; his under-garment 
 was of excellent white linen down to the foot, girt with .a 
 girdle of the same, and a sindon or tippet of the same about 
 his neck : he had gloves that were curious, and set with stone, 
 and shoes of peach-coloured velvet; his neck was bare to the 
 shoulders : his hat was like a helmet or Spanish montera, and 
 his locks curled below it decently,—^they w’ere of colour 
 brown: his beard was cut round, and of the same colour with 
 his hair, somewhat lighter.^ He w^as carried in a rich chariot, 
 without wheels, fitter-wise, with two horses at either end, 
 nchly trapped in blue velvet, embroidered, and two footmen 
 on either side in the like attire. Tlie chaidot was all of 
 cedar, gilt, and adorned with crystal, save that the fore-end 
 had panels of sapphires set in borders of gold, and the hinder 
 end the like of emeralds of the Peru colour. There was 
 also a sun of gold, radiant upon the top, in the midst; and 
 on the top before a small cherub of gold, with wings displayed. 
 The chariot was covered wfith cloth of gold, tissued upon 
 blue. He had before him fifty attendants, young men all, 
 in white satin loose coats up to the mid-leg, and stockings of 
 white silk, and shoes of 'blue velvet, and hats of blue velvet, 
 wfith fine plumes of divers colours set round like hatbands. 
 Next before the chariot went two men bareheaded, in linen 
 garments down to the foot, girt, and shoes of blue a? el vet, 
 who earned the one a crosier, the other a pastoral staff, like 
 a sheep-hook: neither of them of metal, but the crosier of 
 balm-wood, the pastoral stafiT of cedar. Horsemen he had 
 none, neither before nor behind his chariot, as it seemeth, to 
 avoid all tumult and trouble. Behind his chariot went all 
 the officers and principals of the companies of the city. He 
 sat alone upon cushions of a kind of excellent plush, blue, and 
 under his foot curious carpets of silk of divers colours, like 
 the Persian, but far finer. He held up his bare hand as lie 
 went, as blessing the people, but in silence. The street was 
 
 ^ And yet, as Lord Bacon must have been aware, the beard is usually 
 darker tha'i the hair. 
 
296 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 wonderfully well kept; so that there was never any amiy 
 had their men stand in better battle-array than the people 
 stood. The windows likewise were not crowded, but every 
 one stood in them as if they had been placed. When the 
 show was past, the Jew said to me, I shall not be able to 
 attend you as I would, in regard of some charge the city 
 hath laid upon me, for the entertaining of this great 
 person.” 
 
 Three days after, the Jew came to me again, and said, 
 “Ye are happy men ! for the father of Solomon’s House 
 taketh knowledge of your being here, and commanded me to 
 tell you, that he will admit all your company to his presence, 
 and have private conference with one of you that ye shall 
 choose j and for this hath appointed the next day after 
 to-morrow. And, because he meaneth to give you his bless¬ 
 ing, he hath appointed it in the forenoon.” 
 
 We came at our day and hoim, and I was chosen by my 
 fellows for the private access. We found him in a fair 
 chamber, richly hung, and carpeted under-foot, Avithout any 
 degrees to the state.^ He was seated upon a low throne, 
 richly adorned, and a rich cloth of state over his head, of blue 
 satin, embroiderd. He was alone, save that he had two 
 pages of honour, on either hand, one finely attired in white. 
 His under-garments were the like that we saw him wear in 
 the chariot j but instead of his gown, he had on him a 
 mantle, with a cape of the same fine black, fastened about 
 him. When we came in, as we were taught, we boAved Ioav 
 at our first entrance y and when we were come near his 
 chair, he stood up, holding forth his hand ungloved, and in 
 posture of blessing; and we every one of us stooped doAvn 
 and kissed the hem of his tippet. That done, the rest 
 departed, and I remained. Then he warned the pages forth 
 of the room, and caused me to sit doAvn beside him, and spake 
 to me thus in the Spanish tongue :— 
 
 “ God bless thee, my son, I Avill give thee the greatest 
 jewel I have ; for I aauII impart unto thee, for the loA^e of God 
 and men, a relation of the true state of Solomon’s House. 
 Son, to make you knoAv the true state of Solomon’s Hous^, I 
 
 ^ That is, without any steps. 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 297 
 
 will keep tkis order :—first, I will set forth unto you the end 
 of our foundation; secondly, the preparations and instruments 
 we have for our works ; thirdly, the several employments and 
 functions whereto our fellows are assigned ; and fourthly, the 
 ordinances and rites which we observe. 
 
 The end of our foundation is the knowledge of causes 
 and secret motions of things,"^ and the enlarging of the 
 boimds of human empire, to the effecting of all things 
 possible. 
 
 The preparations and instruments are these. We have 
 large and deep caves of several depths: the deepest are sunk 
 six hundred fathoms, and some of them are digged and made 
 under great hills and mountains; so that if you reckon to¬ 
 gether the depth of the hill and the depth of the cave, they 
 are (some of them) above three miles deej): for -vve find that 
 the depth of a hill and the depth of a cave from the flat is 
 the same thing, both remote alike from the sun and heaven’e 
 beams and from the open air. These caves we call ^ ths 
 lower region,’ and we use them for all coagulations, indura¬ 
 tions, refrigerations, and conservations of bodies. We use 
 them likewise for the imitation of natural mines, and the 
 producing also of new artificial metals, by compositions and 
 materials which we use and lay there for many years. We 
 use them also sometimes (which may seem strange) for curing 
 of some diseases,^ and for prolongation of life in some her¬ 
 mits that choose to live there, well accommodated of all 
 things necessary, and, indeed, live very long; by whom also 
 we learn many things. 
 
 We have burials ip several earths, where we put divers 
 cements, as the Chinese do them porcelain; but we have 
 
 Solomon’s House, therefore, was simply a college, instituted for 
 the study of natural philosophy. Lord Bacon evidently experienced 
 the influence of his own favourite pursuit, in erecting the platform of 
 his imaginary state. 
 
 “ It was with a view to expose the extravagance of such underground 
 sweating apartments, that the description of Mr. Bailey’s Sicilian cavern 
 was introduced into “ Margaret Ravenscroft.’’ Lord Bacon himself 
 suspected that the notion would ‘^seem strange;” but nevertheless 
 overcame his repugnance to the strangeness, for the purpose of exhibit¬ 
 ing a company of underground hermits, burying themselves alive iii 
 search of longevity. 
 
298 
 
 NEW ATLANTIC 
 
 tliem in greater variety, and some of them finex. We also 
 have great variety of composts and soils for making of the 
 earth fruitful. 
 
 “We have high towers, the highest about half a mile in 
 height, and some of them likewise set upon high mountains; 
 so that the advantage of the hill with the tower is, in the 
 highest of them, three miles at least. And these places we 
 call the upper region, accounting the air between the high 
 places and the low as a middle region. We use these 
 towers, according to their several heights .and situations, for 
 insolation, refrigeration, conservation, and for the view of 
 divers meteors; as winds, rain, snow, hail, and some of the 
 fiery meteors also. And upon them, in some places, are 
 dwellings of hermits, whom we visit sometimes, and instruct 
 what to observe. 
 
 “We have great lakes, both salt and fresh, whereof we 
 have use for the fish and fowl. We use them also for burials 
 of some natural bodies; for we find a difference in things 
 buried in earth, or in air below the earth, and things buried 
 in water. We have also pools of which some do strain fresh 
 water out of salt, and others by art do turn fresh water into 
 salt. We have also some rocks in the midst of the sea, and 
 some bays upon the shore for some works wherein are re- 
 qiiired the air and vapoim of the sea. We have likewise 
 violent streams and cataracts, which serve us for many mo¬ 
 tions j and likewise engines for midtiplying and enforcing of 
 winds, to set also agoing divers motions. 
 
 “We have also a number of artificial wells and fountains, 
 made in imitation of the natural soui’ces and baths; as tincted 
 upon vitriol, sulphur, steel, brass, lead, nitre, and other 
 minerals. And again, we have little wells for infusions of 
 many things, where the waters take the ^didue quicker and 
 better than in. vessels or basins. And amongst them we 
 have a water which we call ^ water of paradise,’ being by 
 that we do to it made very sovereign for health and pro¬ 
 longation of life.® 
 
 “We have also great and spacious houses, where we 
 imitate and demonstrate meteora, as snow, hail, rain, some 
 
 ® Philosopliy acknowledges but one elixir of life, 'which being within 
 everyone’s reach is seldom used— tem^pei'ance, in the sense in wliich the 
 Latins used the term. 
 
NEW ATLANTia 
 
 209 
 
 artificial rains of ^bodies, and not of water, thunders, light¬ 
 nings ; also generations of bodies in air, as frogs, flies, and 
 divers others. 
 
 We have also certain chambers, which we call ^chambers 
 of health,’ where we qualify the am, as we think -good and 
 proper , for (the cure of divers diseases, and preservation of 
 health. 
 
 We have also fair and large baths, of several mixtures, 
 for the cure of diseases, and the restoring of man’s body from • 
 arefaction; and others for the confirming of it in strength of 
 sinews, vital parts, and the very juice and substance of the 
 body. 
 
 “ We have also large and various orchards and gardens,. 
 wherein we do not so much respect beauty as variety of 
 ground and soil, proper for divers trees and herbs; and some 
 very spacious, where trees and berries ,are set, whereof we 
 make divers kinds .of drinks, besides the vineyards. In these 
 we practise likewise :all conclusions of grafting and inocu¬ 
 lating, as well of wild trees as fruit-trees, which produceth 
 many effects. And we make, by art, in the same orchards 
 and gardens, trees and flowers to come earlier or later than 
 their seasons, and to .come up and bear more speedily than 
 by their natural course they do; we make .them also, by art, 
 much greater than their nature, and their fruit greater and 
 sweeter, and of differing taste, smell, colour, and figure from 
 their natm’e; and many of them we so order that they be¬ 
 come of medicinal use. 
 
 We have also means to make divers plants rise by mix¬ 
 tures of earths Avithout seeds; and likewise to make divers 
 new plants differing from the vulgar, and to make one tree 
 or plant tmm into another.? 
 
 P I have nowhere seen so remarkable a proof of what may be effected 
 in this way as in the gardens of Boghos Bey, at Alexandria. “ Here I 
 was shown a very extraordinary fruit-tree, produced by a process highly 
 ingenious. They take three seeds—the citron, the lemon, and the 
 orange—and carefully removing the external cuticle from both sides of 
 one of ^hem, and from one side of the two others, place the former 
 between the latter, and, binding the three together with fine grass, 
 plant them in the earth. From this mixed seed springs a tree, the fruit 
 of which exhibits three distinct species included within one rind, the 
 division being perfectly visible externally, and the flavour of each com¬ 
 partment as Afferent as if it had grown on a separate tree. This method 
 of producing a tripartite fiuit has been introduced by Boghos Bey from 
 
300 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 We have also parks and inclosnres of all sorts of beasts 
 and birds; which we use not only for view or rareness, but 
 likewise for dissections and trials, that thereby we may take 
 light what may be wrought upon the body of man; wherein 
 we find many strange efiects: as, continuing life in them, 
 though divers parts, which you account vital, be perished 
 and taken forth; resuscitating of some that seem dead in 
 appearance, and the like. We try also poisons and other 
 medicines upon them, as well of surgery as physic. By art 
 likewise we make them greater or taller than their kind is, 
 and contrariwise dwarf them and stay their growth; we 
 make them more fruitful and bearing than their kind is, 
 and contrariwise barren and not generative. Also we make 
 them differ in coloiu*, shape, acthdty, many ways. We find 
 means to make commixtures and copulations of divers kinds, 
 wliich have produced many new kinds, and them not barren, 
 as the general opinion is. We make a number of-kinds of 
 serpents, worms, flies, fishes, of putrefaction; whereof some 
 are advanced (in efiect) to be perfect creatures, like beasts or 
 birds, and have sexes, and do propagate. Neither do we 
 this by chance, but we know beforehand of what matter and 
 commixture, what kind of those creatures will arise. 
 
 ‘‘ We have also particular pools where we make trials 
 upon fishes, as we have said before of beasts and birds. 
 
 “We have also places for breed and generation of those 
 kinds of worms and flies which are of special use, such as are 
 with you, your silkworms and bees. 
 
 I vdll not hold you long with recounting of our brew- 
 houses, bakehouses, and kitchens, where are made divers 
 drinks, breads, and meats, rare and of special effects. Wines 
 we have of grapes, and drinks of other juice, of fruits, of 
 grains, and of roots; and of mixtures with honey, sugar, 
 manna, and fimits dried and decocted; also of the tears, or 
 woundings of trees, and of the pulp of canes. And these 
 drinks are of several ages, some to the age or last of forty 
 years. We have drinks also brewed with several herbs and 
 roots and spices, yea, with, several fleshes and wliite-meats; 
 Avhereof some of the drinks are such, as they are in effect 
 meat and drink both, so that divers, especially in age, do de- 
 
 Smyrna, his native city, where it is said to have been practised from 
 time immemorial .”—Egypt and Mohammed AU, ii. 363, f. 
 
NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 301 
 
 sire to live with them; with little or no meat or bread. And 
 above all we strive to have drinks of extreme thin parts, to 
 insinuate into the body, and yet without all biting, sharp¬ 
 ness, or fretting; insomuch as some of them put upon the 
 back of your hand will, with a little stay, pass through to 
 the palm, and yet taste mild to the mouth. We have also* 
 waters which we ripen in that fashion as they become nou¬ 
 rishing, so that they are indeed excellent drink; and many 
 will use no other. Breads we have of several grains, roots, 
 and kernels; yea, and some of flesh and fish dried, with 
 divers kinds of leavenings and seasonings; so that some do 
 extremely move appetites; some do nourish so, as divers do 
 live on them, without any other meat, who live very long. 
 So for meats, we have some of tliem so beaten and made 
 tender and mortified, yet without all corrupting, as a weak 
 heat of the stomach will turn them into good chylus, as well 
 as a strong heat would meat otherwise prepared. We have 
 some meats also, and breads and drinks, which taken by men 
 enable them to fast long after; and some other that used make 
 the very flesh of men’s bodies sensibly more hard and tough, 
 and their strength far greater than otherwise it would be. 
 
 ‘•'We have dispensatories, or shops of medicines, wherein 
 you may easily think, if we have such variety of plants and 
 living creatures more than you have in Europe (for we know 
 what you have), the simples, drugs, and ingredients of 
 medicines must likewise be in so much the greater variety. 
 We have them likewise^of divers ages, and long fermentations. 
 And for their preparations, we have not only all manner of 
 exquisite distillations and separations, and especially by 
 gentle heats, and percolations through divers strainers, yea 
 and substances; but also exact forms of composition, whereby 
 they incorporate almost as they were natural simples. 
 
 “We have also divers mechanical arts which you have not, 
 and stuffs made by them; as papers, linen, silks, tissues, dainty 
 works of feathers of wonderful lustre, excellent dyes, and 
 many others ; and shops likewise as well for such as are not 
 brought into vulgar use amongst us, as for those that are. 
 For you must know, that of the things before recited many 
 are grown into use throughout the kingdom; but yet, if tliey 
 did flow from our invention, we have of them also foi 
 patterns and principles. 
 
302 
 
 NEW ATLANl^IS. 
 
 “We have also furnaces of great diversities^ and that keep 
 great diversity of heats, fierce and quick, strong and constant, 
 soft and- mild, blown, quiet, dry, moist, and the like. Bu<^ 
 above all, we have heats in imitation of the sun’s and 
 heavenly bodies’ heats, that pasS' divers inoqualities3 and, as it 
 were; orbs, progresses, amd returns, whereby we may produce 
 admirable effects. Besides, we have heats of dungs, and of 
 bellies and maws of living creatures, and of their bloods and 
 bodies ; and of hays and herbs laid up moist; of lime un¬ 
 quenched, and such like: Instruments, also, which generate 
 heat only by motion ; and further, places for strong inso¬ 
 lations j and, again, places under the earth which by nature 
 or art yield heat. These divers heats we use as the nature of 
 the operation wliich we intend requireth.- 
 
 “ We have also perspective-houses, where we make demon¬ 
 stration of all lights and radiations, and of all colours; and 
 of things uncoloured and transparent, we can represent unto 
 you all several colours, not in rainbows, as it is in gems and 
 prisms, but of themselves single. We represent, also, all 
 multiplications of light, which we carry to great distance, and 
 make so sharp as to discern small points and lines; also all 
 colorations of light, all delusions and deceits of the sight, 
 in figures, magnitudes, motions, colours j all demonstrations 
 of shadows. We find, also, divers means yet unknown to 
 you of procuring of light originally from divers bodies. We 
 procure means of seeing objects afar ofi^ as in the heavens, 
 and remote places ; and rejoresent things near as afar off, and 
 things afar off as near, making feigned distances. AVe have 
 also helps for the sight far above spectacles and glasses in 
 use. We have also glasses and means to see small and 
 minute bodies perfectly and distinctly, as the shapes and 
 colours of small flies and' worms, grains and flaws in gems, 
 which cannot othersvise be seen; observations in urine and 
 blood, not otheiuvise to be seen. We make artificial rain¬ 
 bows, halos, and circles about light. We represent also all 
 manner of reflections, refractions, and multiplication of visual 
 beams of objects. 
 
 “We have also precious stones of all kinds, many of them 
 of great beauty, and to you unknown ; crystals likewise, and 
 glasses of divers kinds, and amongst them some of metals 
 vif rificated, and other materials, besides those of which you 
 
2JEW ATLANTISi 
 
 308 
 
 make glass. Also a-number of fossils and imperfect minerals 
 which you have not j likewise loadstones of prodigious ^urtue, 
 and other rare stones both natimal and artificial. 
 
 “We have also sound-houses, where we practise and 
 demonstrate all sounds and their generation. We have 
 harmonies, which you have* not,-of quarter-sounds, and* lesser 
 slides of sounds; divers instruments likewise to you unknown, 
 some sweeter than any you have ; with bells and rings that 
 are dainty and sweet. We represent small sounds as great 
 and deep, likewise great sounds extenuate and sharp. We 
 make divers tremblings and warbling of sounds, which in 
 their original are entire j we represent and imitate all ait)i- 
 culate sounds and letters, and the voices- and notes of beasts 
 and birds. We have certain helps, which set to the ear do 
 further the hearing gTeatly. We have also divers strange 
 and artificial echos reflecting the voice* many times,, and* as it 
 were tossing it; and’ some that give back the voice louder 
 than it came, ^me slirilier, and some deeper; yea, some 
 rendering the voice difiering in the letters or articulate sound 
 from that they receive. We have also means to convey sounds 
 in trunlcs and pipes in strange lines and distances. 
 
 “ We have also perfume-houses, wherewith we join also 
 practises of taste : we multiply smells, which may seem 
 strange j we imitate smells, making all smells to breathe out 
 of other mixtures than those that give them. We make 
 divers' imitations of taste* likewise, so that they will deceive 
 any man’s taste. And in this house we contain also a con¬ 
 fiture-house, where we make all .sweetmeats dry and moist, 
 and divers pleasant wines, milks, broths, and salads, in far 
 greater variety than you have. 
 
 “We also have engine-houses, where-are prepared engines 
 and instruments for all sorts of motions. There we imitate 
 and practise to make swifter motions than any'you have, 
 either out of your muskets, or any engine that you have ; 
 and to make them and multiply them more easily, and with 
 small force, by wheels and other means ; and to make them 
 stronger and more violent than yours are, exceeding your 
 greatest cannons and basilisks. We represent also ordnance 
 and instruments of war, and engines of all kinds; and like¬ 
 wise new mixtures and compositions of gunpowder, wildfires 
 burning in water, and unquenchable j also fireworks of all 
 
304 
 
 NEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 variety, both for pleasure and use. We imitate also flights 
 of birds : we have some degrees of flying in the air : we 
 have ships and boats for going under water, and brooking of 
 seas ; also swimming-girdles and supporters. We have divers 
 curious clocks, and other like motions of return, and some 
 perpetual motions. We imitate also motions of living 
 creatures by images of men, beasts, birds, fishes, and serpents: 
 we have also a great number of other various motions, 
 strange for quality, fineness, and subtilty. 
 
 We have also a mathematical house, where are repre¬ 
 sented all instruments, as well of geometry as astronomy, 
 exquisitely made. 
 
 We have also houses of deceits of the senses, where we 
 represent all manner of feats of juggling, false apparitions> 
 impostures, and illusions and their fallacies. And surely you 
 will easily believe that we that have so many things truly 
 natural, which induce admiration, could in a world of par-, 
 ticulars deceive the senses, if we would disguise those things, 
 and labour to make them more miraculous. But we do hate 
 all impostures and lies, insomuch as we have severely for¬ 
 bidden it to all our fellows, under pain of ignominy and fines, 
 that they do not show any natural work or thing adorned or 
 swelling, but only pure as it is, and without all affectation of 
 strangeness. 
 
 These are, my son, the riches of Solomon’s House. 
 
 For the several employments and offices of our fellows, 
 we have twelve that sail into foreign countries under the 
 names of other nations (for our own we conceal), who bring 
 us the books and abstracts, and patterns of experiments of 
 all other parts. These we call ^ merchants of light.’ 
 
 We have three that collect the experiments wliich are 
 in all books. These we call ^ depredators.’ 
 
 “We have three that collect the experiments of all 
 mechanical arts, and also of liberal sciences, and also of 
 practices which are not brought into arts. These we call 
 ‘ mystery men.’ 
 
 “We have three that try new experiments, such as them¬ 
 selves think good. These we call ^ pioneers ’ or ^ miners.’ 
 
 “We have three that draw the experiments of the former 
 four into titles and tables, to give the better light for the 
 
KEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 305 
 
 drawing of observations and axioms out of them. These we 
 call ‘compilers.’ 
 
 “ We have three that bend themselves, looking into the 
 experiments of their fellows, and cast about how to draw out 
 of them things of use and practice for man’s life and know¬ 
 ledge, as well for works as for plain demonstration of causes, 
 means of natural divinations, and the easy and clear discovery 
 of the virtues and parts of bodies. These we call ‘ downy 
 men,’ or ‘benefactors.’ 
 
 “ Then, after divers meetings and consults of our whole 
 number, to consider of the former labours and collections, we 
 have three that take care out of them to direct new ex¬ 
 periments of a higher light, more penetrating into nature 
 than the former. These we call ‘ lamps.’ 
 
 “We have three others that do execute the experiments 
 so directed, and report them. These we call ‘ inoculators.’ 
 
 “ Lastly, we have three that raise the former discoveries 
 by experiments into greater observations, axioms, and 
 aphorisms. These we call ‘ interpreters of nature.’ 
 
 “We have also, as you must think, novices and apprentices, 
 that the succession of the former employed men do not fail; 
 besides a great number of servants and attendants, men and 
 women. And this w^e do also ; we have consultations which 
 of the inventions and experiences which we have discovered 
 shall be published, and which not; and take all an oath of 
 secrecy for the concealing or' those which we think meet to 
 keep secret, though some of those we do reveal sometimes to 
 the state, and some not. 
 
 “ For our ordinances and rites, we have two very long and 
 fair galleries. In one of these we place patterns and 
 samples of all manner of the more rare and excellent 
 inventions ; in the other we place the statues of aU principal 
 inventors. There we have the statue of your Columbus, 
 that discovered the West Indies; also the inventor of ships; 
 your monk that was the inventor of ordnance and of gun¬ 
 powder ; the inventor of music ; the inventor of letters ; 
 the inventor of printing; the inventor of observations of 
 astronomy; the inventor of works in metal; the inventor 
 of glass ; the inventor of silk of the worm ; the inventor of 
 wine ; the inventor of corn and bread ; the inventor of 
 
 
 X 
 
30 {] 
 
 KEW ATLANTIS. 
 
 sugars: and all these hy more certain tradition than you 
 have. Then we have divers inventors of our own, of ex¬ 
 cellent works, which, since you have not seen, it were too 
 long to make descriptions of them ; and besides, in the right 
 understanding of those descriptions you might easily err. For 
 upon every invention of value, we erect a statue to the 
 inventor, and give him a liberal and honourable reward. 
 These statues are some of brass; some of marble and touch¬ 
 stone; some of cedar, and other special woods gilt and 
 adorned; some of iron; some of silver; some of gold. 
 
 We have certain hymns and services, which we say daily 
 of laud and thanks to God for his marvellous works; and 
 forms of prayers imploring his aid and blessing for the 
 illumination of our labours, and the turning them into good 
 and holy uses. 
 
 “ Lastly, we have circuits or visits of divers principal cities 
 of the kingdom, where, as it cometh to pass, we do publish 
 such new profitable inventions as we think good. And we 
 do also declare natural divinations of diseases, plagues, swarms 
 of hurtful creatures, scarcity, tempests, earthquakes, great 
 immdations, comets, temperature of the year, and divers 
 other things; and we give counsel thereupon what the 
 people shall do for the prevention and remedy of them.” 
 
 And when he had said this, he stood up ; and I, as I had 
 been taught, kneeled down, and he laid his right hand upon 
 my head, and said, God bless thee, my son, and God bless 
 this relation which I have made ; I give thee leave to publish 
 it for the good of other nations, for we here are in God’s 
 bosom, a land unknown.” And so he left me, having 
 assigned a value of about two thousand ducats for a bounty 
 to me and my fellows; for they give great largesses where 
 they oome upon all occasions. 
 
 {The rest was not 'perfected,) 
 
THE HISTORY 
 
 or THE BEIGN OF 
 
 KING HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 2^0 the Most Illustrious and Most Excellent PHnce Charles^ 
 
 Frince of Wales, I>uke of Cornwall, Farl of Chester, Sfc. 
 
 It mat please your Highness, —In part of my acknowledgment to 
 your Highness, I have endeavoured to do honour to the memory of the 
 last king of England, that was ancestor to the king your father .?und 
 yourself; and was that king to whom both unions may in a sort refer: 
 that of the roses being in him consummate, and that of the kingdoms 
 by him begun : besides, his times deserve it. Eor he was a wise man, 
 and an excellent king ; and yet the times were rough and full of muta¬ 
 tions and rare accidents. And it is with times as it is with ways : some 
 are more uphill and downhill, and some are more flat and plain; and 
 the one is better for the liver, and the other for the writer. I have not 
 flattered him, but took him to life as well as I could, sitting so far off, 
 and having no better light. It is true your Highness hath a living >pat- 
 tern, incomparable, of the king your father ; but it is not amiss for you 
 also to see one of these anci^t pieces. God preserve your Highness.— 
 Your Highness’s most humble and devoted servant, 
 
 Francis St. Alban, 
 
 After that Richard, the third of that name, king in fact 
 only, but tyrant both in title and regiment, and so commonly 
 termed jand reputed in all times since, was, by the Divine 
 revenge favouring the design of an exiled man, overthrown 
 and slain at Bosworth-field, there succeeded in the kingdom 
 the earl of Richmond, thenceforth styled Henry the Seventh- 
 The king immediately after the victory, as one that had been 
 bred under a devout mother, and was in his nature a great 
 observer of religious forms, caused Te Deum laudamus ” to 
 be solemnly sung in the presence of the whole army upon the 
 place, and was himself with general applause and great cries 
 of joy, in a kind of mihtary election or recognition, saluted 
 
 X 2 
 
308 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 ') 
 
 /' 
 
 / 
 
 king. Meanwliile tlie body of Richard, after many in¬ 
 dignities and. reproaches, the diriges and obsequies of the 
 common people towards tyrants, was obscurely buried. For 
 though the king of his nobleness gave charge unto the ftiars 
 of Leicester to see an honourable interment to be given to 
 it, yet the religious people themselves, being not free from 
 the humours of the vulgar, neglected it; wherein never¬ 
 theless they did not then incur any man’s blame or censure : 
 no man thinking any ignominy or contumely unworthy of 
 liim that had been the executioner of King Henry the Sixth, 
 that innocent prince, with his own hands ; the contriver of 
 the death of the duke of Clarence, his brother ; the murderer 
 of his two nephews, one of them his lawful king in the 
 present, and the other in the future, failing of him ; and 
 vehemently suspected to have been the impoisoner of his 
 wife, thereby to make vacant his bed, for a marriage within 
 the degrees forbidden. A.nd although he were a prince in 
 military virtue approved, jealous of the honour of the English 
 nation, and likewise a good law-maker, for the ease and 
 solace of the common people ; yet his cruelties and parricides, 
 in the opinion of all men, weighed down his virtues and 
 merits; and, in the opinion of wise men, even those virtues 
 themselves were conceived to be rather feigned and affected 
 things to serve his ambition, than true qualities ingenerate 
 in his judgment or nature. And therefore it was noted by 
 men of great understanding, who, seeing his after-acts, looked 
 back upon his former proceedings, that even in the time of 
 King Edward his brother he was not without secret trains 
 and mines to turn envy and hatred upon his brother’s 
 government; as having an expectation and a kind of divina¬ 
 tion, that the king, by reason of his many disorders, could 
 not be of long life, but was like to leave his sons of tender 
 years ; and then he knew well, how easy a step it was, from 
 the place of a protector, and first prince of the blood, to the 
 crown. And that out of this deep root of ambition it 
 sprung, that as well at the treaty of peace that passed between 
 Edward the Fourth and Lewis the Eleventh of France con¬ 
 cluded by interview of both kings at Pi(][ueny, as upon all 
 other occasions, Richard, then duke of Gloucester, stood ever 
 upon the side of honour, raising his own reputation to the 
 disadvantage of the king his brother, and drawing the eyes 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 309 
 
 of all, especially of the nobles and soldiers, upon himself; as 
 if the king, by his voluptuous life and mean marriage, were 
 become effeminate and less sensible of honour and reason of 
 state than was fit for a king. And as for the politic and 
 wholesome laws which were enacted in his time, they were 
 interpreted to be but the brokage of an usurper, thereby to 
 woo and win the hearts of the people, as being conscious to 
 himself, that the true obligations of sovereignty in him failed, 
 and were wanting. But King Henry, in the very entrance of 
 liis reign, and the instant of time when the kingdom was cast 
 into his arms, met with a point of great difficulty, and knotty 
 to solve, able to trouble and confound the wisest kin 2 : in the 
 newness of his estate; and so much the more, because it 
 could not endure a deliberation, but must be at once deli- 
 berated and determined. There were fallen to his lot, and 
 concurrent in his person, three several titles to the imperial 
 crown. The first, the title of the Lady Elizabeth, with whom 
 by precedent pact with the party that brought him in, he 
 was to marry. The second, the ancient and long-disputed 
 title both by plea and arms, of the house of Lancaster, to 
 which he was inheritor in his own person. The thiixl, the 
 title of the sword or conquest, for that he came in by ffictory 
 of battle, and that the king in possession was slain in the 
 field. The first of these was fairest, and most like to give 
 contentment to the people, who by two-and-twenty years’ 
 reign of King Edward the Fourth, had been fully made 
 capable of the clearness of the title of the white rose, or 
 house of York; and by the mild and plausible reign of the 
 same king towards his latter time, were become affectionate 
 to that line. But then it lay plain before his eyes, that if he 
 relied upon that title, he could be but a king at courtesy, and 
 have rather a matrimonial than a regal power; the right re¬ 
 maining in liis queen, upon whose decease, either with issue 
 or without issue, he was to give place and be removed. And 
 though he should obtain by parliament to be continued, yet 
 he'knew there was a very great difference between a king 
 that holdeth his crown by a civil act of estates, and one that 
 holdeth it originally by the law of nature and descent of 
 blood. Neither wanted there even at that time secret 
 rumours and whisperings, which afterguards gathered strength 
 and turned to great troubles, that the two young sons of King 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 3ia 
 
 Edward the Fourth, or one of them, which were said to be 
 destroyed in the Tower, were not indeed murdered, but con¬ 
 veyed secretly away, and were yet living : which, if it had 
 been true, had prevented the title of the Lady Elizabeth. On 
 the other side, if he stood upon his own title of the house of 
 Lancaster, inherent in liis person, he knew it was a title 
 condemned by parliament, and generally prejudged in the 
 common opinion of the realm, and that it tended directly to 
 the disinherison of the line of York, held then the indubitate 
 heirs of the crown. So that if he should have no issue by the 
 Lady Elizabeth, which should be descendants of the double 
 line, then the ancient flames of discord and intestine wars, 
 upon the competition of both houses, would again return and 
 revive. 
 
 As for conquest, notwithstanding Sir William Stanley, 
 after some acclamations of the soldiers in the fleld, had put a 
 crown of ornament, which Eichard wore in the battle, and 
 was found amongst the spoils, upon King Henry’s head, as if 
 there were his chief title ; yet he remembered well upon 
 what conditions and agreements he was brought in; and 
 that to claim as conqueror, was to put as well his own party, 
 as the rest, into terror and fear; as that which gave him 
 power of disannulling of laws, and disposing of men s for¬ 
 tunes and estates, and the like points of absolute power, 
 being in themselves ’ so harsh and odious, as that William 
 himself, commonly called the Conqueror, howsoever he used 
 and exercised the power of a conqueror to reward his 
 Hermans, yet he forbore to use that claim in the beginning, 
 but mixed it with a titulary pretence, grounded upon the 
 will and designation of Edward the Confessor. But the 
 king, out of the greatness of his own mind, presently cast 
 the die; and the inconveniences appearing unto him on all 
 parts, and knowing there could not be any interreign, or 
 suspension of title, and preferring his afiection to his own 
 line and blood, and liking that title best which made him in¬ 
 dependent j and being in his nature and constitution of mind 
 not very apprehensive or forecasting of future events afar off, 
 but an entertainer of fortune by the day; resolved to rest 
 upon the title of Lancaster as the main, and to use the other 
 fcwo, that of mariiage and that of battle, but as supporters, 
 The one to appease secret discontents, and the other to beat 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 311 
 
 down open murmur and dispute : not forgetting that tlie 
 same title of Lancaster had formerly maintained a possession 
 of three descents in the crown, and might have proved a 
 perpetuity, had it not ended in the weakness and inability 
 of the last prince. Whereupon the king presently that very 
 day, being the two-and-twentieth of August, assumed the 
 style of king in his own name, without mention of the Lady 
 Elizabeth at all, or any relation thereunto. In which course 
 he ever after persisted : which did spin him a thread of many 
 seditions and troubles. The king, full of these thoughts, 
 before his departure from Leicester, despatched Sir Hobert 
 Willoughby to the castle of Sheriff-Hutton, in Yorkshire, 
 where were kept in safe custody, by King Kichard’s command¬ 
 ment, both the Lady Elizabeth, daughter of King Edward, 
 and Edward Plantagenet, son and heir to Ge9rge, duke of 
 Clarence. This Edward was by the king’s warrant delivered 
 from the constable of the castle to the hand of Sir Kobert 
 Willoughby, and by him with all safety and diligence con¬ 
 veyed to the Tower of London, where he was shut up close 
 prisoner. Which act of the king’s, being an act merely of 
 policy and power, proceeded not so much from any appre¬ 
 hension he had of Doctor Shaw’s tale at Paul’s Cross for the 
 bastarding of Edward the Fourth’s issues, in which case this 
 young gentleman was to succeed, for tliat fable was ever 
 exploded, but upon a settled disposition to depress all 
 eminent persons of the line of York. Wherein still the 
 king ou(; of strength of will, or weakness of judgment, did 
 use to show a little more of the party than of the king. 
 
 For the Lady Elizabeth, she received also a direction to 
 repair with all convenient sj^eed to London, and there to 
 remain with the queen dowager her mother; which accord¬ 
 ingly she soon after did, accompanied with many noblemen 
 and ladies of honour. In the mean season the king set 
 foi'ward by easy journeys to the city of London, receiving the 
 acclamations and applauses of the people as he went, which 
 indeed were true and unfeigned, as might well appear in the 
 very demonstrations and fulness of the cry. For they 
 thought generally, that he was a prince, as ordained and sent 
 down from heaven, to unite and put to an end the long dis¬ 
 sensions of the two houses ; which although they had had, 
 in the times of Henry the Fom'th, Henry the Fifth, and a 
 
312 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 part cf Henry the Sixth, on the one side, and the times of 
 Edward the Fourth on the other, lucid intervals and happy 
 pauses; yet they did ever hang over the kingdom, ready to 
 break forth into new perturbations and calamities. And as 
 his victory gave him the knee, so his purpose of marriage 
 with the Lady Elizabeth gave him the heart ; so that both 
 knee and heart did truly bow before him. 
 
 He on the other side with great wisdom, not ignorant of 
 the affections and fears of the people, to disperse the conceit 
 and terror of a conquest, had given order, that there should 
 be nothing in his journey like unto a warlike march or 
 manner ; but rather like unto the progress of a king in full 
 peace and assurance. 
 
 He entered the city upon a Saturday, as he had also 
 obtained the victory upon a Saturday; which day of the 
 week, first upon an observation, and after upon memory and 
 fancy, he accounted and chose as a day prosperous unto him. 
 
 The mayor and companies of the city received him at 
 Shoreditch ; whence with great and honourable attendance, 
 and troops of noblemen, and persons of quality, he entered 
 the city; himself not being on horseback, or in any open 
 chair or throne, but in a close chariot, as one that having 
 been sometimes an enemy to the whole state, and a proscribed 
 person, chose rather to keep state, and strike a reverence into 
 the people, than to -fawn- upon them. 
 
 He went first into St. Paul’s Church, where, not meaning 
 that the people should forget too soon that he came in by 
 battle, he made ofiertory of his standards, and had orisons 
 and Te Deum ” again sung ; and went to his lodging 
 prejDared in the bishop of London’s palace, where he stayed 
 for a time. 
 
 During his abode there, he assembled his council and other 
 principal persons, in presence of whom he did renew again 
 his promise to marry with the Lady Elizabeth. This he did 
 the rather, because having at his coming out of Britain 
 given artificially, for serving his own turn, some hopes, in 
 case he obtained the kingdom, to marry Anne, inheritress to 
 the duchy of Britain, whom Charles the Eighth of France 
 soon after married,* it bred some doubt and suspicion amongst 
 divers that he was not sincere, or at least not fixed in going 
 on with the match of England so much desired : which con- 
 
HEXRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 313 
 
 ceit also, though it were but talk and discoui'se, did much 
 afflict the poor Lady Elizabeth herself. But howsoever he 
 both truly intended it, and desired it, and desired also it 
 should be so believed, the better to extinguish envy and 
 contradiction to his other purposes, yet was he resolved in 
 himself not to proceed to the consummation thereof, till his 
 coronation and a parliament were past. The one, lest a 
 joint coronation of himself and his queen might give any 
 countenance of participation of title; the other, lest in the 
 entailing of the crown to himself, which he hoped to obtain 
 by parliament, the votes of the parliament might any ways 
 reflect upon her. 
 
 About this time in autumn, towards the end of September, 
 there began and reigned in the city, and other parts of the 
 kingdom, a disease then new : which by the accidents and 
 manner thereof they called the sweating sickness. This 
 disease had a swift course, both in the sick body, and in the 
 time and period of the lasting thereof; for they that were 
 taken with it, upon four and twenty hours escaping, were 
 thought almost assured. And as to the time of the malice 
 and reign of the disease ere it ceased, it began about the 
 one-and-twentieth of September, and cleared up before the 
 end of October, insomuch as it was no hinderance to the 
 king’s coronation, which was the last of October; nor, 
 which was more, to the holding of the parliament, which 
 began but seven days after. It was a pestilent fever, but, as 
 it seemeth, not seated in the veins or humours, for that there 
 followed no carbuncle, no purple or li^ud spots, or the like, 
 the mass of the body being not tainted; only a malign 
 vapour flew to the heart, and seized the vital spirits; which 
 stirred nature to strive to send it forth by an extreme sweat. 
 And it appeared by experience, that this disease was rather 
 a surprise of nature than obstinate to remedies, if it were in 
 time looked unto. For if the patient were kept in an equal 
 temper, both for clothes, fire, and drink, moderately warm, 
 with temperate cordials, whereby nature’s work were neither 
 irritated by heat, nor tmmed back by cold, he commonly re¬ 
 covered. But infinite persons died suddenly of it, before the 
 manner of the cure and attendance was knovm. It was 
 conceived not to be an epidemic disease, but to proceed from 
 a malignity in the constitution of the air, gathered by the 
 
314 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 predispositions of seasons; and the speedy cessation declared 
 as much. 
 
 On Simon and Jude’s eve, the king dined with Thomas 
 Bourchier, archbishop of Canterbury and cardinal; and from 
 Lambeth went by land over the bridge to the Tower, where 
 the morrow after he made twelve knights bannerets. But 
 for creations he dispensed them with a sparing hand. For 
 notwithstanding a field so lately fought, and a coronation so 
 near at hand, he only created three : Jasper, earl of Pem¬ 
 broke, the king’s uncle, was created duke of Bedford ; 
 Thomas, the Lord Stanley, the king’s father-in-law, earl of 
 Derby ; and Edward Courtney, earl of Devon; though the 
 king had then nevertheless a purpose in himself to make 
 more in time of parliament; bearing a wise and decent 
 respect to distribute his creations, some to honour his corona¬ 
 tion, and some his parliament. 
 
 The coronation followed two days after, upon the thirtieth 
 day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1485 ; at wliich 
 time Innocent the Eighth was pope of Borne ; Frederick the 
 Third, emperor of Almain; and Maximilian his son, newly 
 chosen king of the Bomans; Charles the Eighth, king of 
 France; Ferdinando and Isabella, kings of Spain; and 
 James the Third, king of Scotland: with all which kings and 
 states the king was at that time in good peace and amity. 
 At which day also, as if the crown upon his head had put 
 perils into his thoughts, he did institute, for the better 
 security of his person, a band of fifty archers, under a cap¬ 
 tain to attend him, by the name of yeomen of his guard : 
 and yet, that it might be thought to be rather a matter of 
 dignity, after the imitation of what he had known abroad, 
 than any matter of diffidence ajDpropriate to his own case, 
 he made it to be understood for an ordinance not temporary, 
 but to hold in succession for ever after. The seventh of 
 IS’ovember the king held his parliament at Westminster, 
 which he had summoned immediately after his coming to 
 London. His ends in calling a parliament, and that so 
 speedily, were chiefly three : first, to procure the crown to 
 be entailed upon himself. Hext, to have the attainders of 
 all his party, which were in no small number, reversed, and 
 all acts of hostility by them done in his quarrel remitted and 
 discharged; and on the other side, to attaint by parliament 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 315 
 
 the heads and principals of his enemies. The third, to calm 
 and quiet the fears of the rest of that party by a general 
 pardon : not being ignorant in how great danger a king 
 stands from his subjects, when most of his subjects are con¬ 
 scious in themselves that they stand in his danger. Unto 
 these three special motives of a parliament was added, that 
 he, as a prudent and moderate prince, made this judgment, 
 that it was fit for him to hasten to let his people see, that he 
 meant to govern by law, howsoever he came in by the sword; 
 and fit also to reclaim them to know him for their king, whom 
 they had so lately talked of as an enemy or banished man. 
 For that which concerned the entailing of the crown, more 
 than that he was true to his own will, that he would not 
 endure any mention of the Lady Elizabeth, no not in the 
 nature of special entail, he carried it otherwise with great 
 msdom and measure : for he did not press to have the act 
 penned by way of declaration or recognition of right; as, on 
 the other side, he avoided to have it by new law or ordinance, 
 but chose rather a kind of middle way, by way of establish¬ 
 ment, and that under covert and indifierent words : “ that 
 the inheritance of the crown should rest, remain, and abide 
 in the king,” &c., which words might easily be applied, that 
 the crovm should continue to him ; but whether as having 
 former right to it, which was doubtful, or having it then in 
 fact and possession, which no man denied, was left fair to in¬ 
 terpretation either way. And again, for the limitation of the. 
 entail, he did not press it to go farther than to himself and 
 to the heirs of his body, not speaking of his right heirs : but 
 leaving that to the law to decide : so as the entail might 
 seem rather a personal favour to him and his children, than 
 a total disinherison to the house of York. And in this form 
 was the law drawn and passed. Which statute he procm'ed 
 to be confirmed by the pope’s bull the year following, with 
 mention nevertheless, by way of recital, of his other titles, 
 both of descent and conquest. So as now the wreath of 
 three, was made a wreath of five ; for to the first three titles 
 of the two houses, or lines, and conquest, were added two 
 more, the authorities parliamentary and papal. 
 
 The king likewise, in the reversal of the attainders of his 
 partakers, and discharging them of all offences incident to 
 his servdce and succoui', had his will j and acts did pass 
 
316 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 accordingly. In the passage whereof, exception was taken 
 to divers persons in the House of Commons, for that they 
 were attainted, and thereby not legal, nor habilitate to serve 
 in parliament, being disabled in the highest degree; and 
 that it should be a great incongruity to have them to make 
 laws, who themselves were not inlawed. The truth was, 
 that divers of those which had in the time of King Hi chard 
 been strongest, and most declared for the king’s party, were 
 returned knights and burgesses for the parliament; whether 
 by care or recommendation from the state, or the voluntary 
 inclination of the people; many of which had been by Richard 
 the Third attainted by outlawries, or otherwise. The king 
 was somewhat troubled with this; for though it had a grave 
 and specious show, yet it reflected upon his party. But 
 wisely not showing himself at all moved therewith, he would 
 not understand it but as a case in law, and wished the judges 
 to be advised thereupon j who for that purpose were forth¬ 
 with assembled in the exchequer-chamber, which is the 
 council-chamber of the judges, and upon deliberation they 
 gave a grave and safe opinion and advice, mixed with law 
 and convenience ; which was, that the knights and burgesses 
 attainted by the course of law should forbear to come into 
 the house, till a law were passed for the reversal of their 
 attainders. 
 
 It was at that time incidently moved amongst the judges 
 in their consultation, what should be done for the king him¬ 
 self, who likewise was attainted ? But it was with imanimous 
 consent resolved, “ That the crown takes away all defects 
 and stops in blood; and that from the time the king did 
 assume the crown, the fountain was cleared, and all attainders 
 and corruption of blood discharged.” But n^ertheless, for 
 honour’s sake, it was ordained by parlia^ment, that all records, 
 wherein there was any memory or mention of the king’& 
 attainder, should be defaced, cancelled, and taken ofi* the file. 
 
 But on the part of the king’s enemies there were by par¬ 
 liament attainted, the late duke of Gloucester, calling liimself 
 Richard the Third; the duke of Korfolk, the earl of Surrey^ 
 Viscount Lovel, the Lord Ferrers, the Lord Zouch, Richard 
 Ratcliffe, William Catesby, and many others of degree and 
 quality. In wliich bills of attainder, nevertheless, there 
 were contained many just and temperate clauses, savings,. 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 317 
 
 and provisoes, well showing and fore-tokening the wisdom, 
 stay, and moderation of the king’s spirit of government. 
 And for the pardon of the rest, that had stood against the 
 king, the king, upon a second advice, thought it not fit it 
 should pass by parliament, the better, being matter of grace, 
 to impropriate the thanks to himself; using only the oppor¬ 
 tunity of a parliament time, the better to disperse it into 
 the veins of the kingdom. Therefore during the parliament 
 he published his royal proclamation, offering pardon and 
 orace of restitution to all such as had taken arms, or been 
 participant of any attempts against him; so as they sub^ 
 mitted themselves to his mercy by a day, and took the oath 
 of allegiance and fidelity to him. Whereupon many came 
 out of sanctuary, and many more came out of fear, no less 
 guilty than those that had taken sanctuary. 
 
 As for money or treasure, the king thought it not season¬ 
 able or fit to demand any of his subjects at this parliament j 
 both because he had received satisfaction from them in 
 matters of so great importance, and because he could 'not 
 remunerate them with any general pardon, being prevented 
 therein by the coronation pardon passed immediately before ; 
 but chiefly, for that it was in every man’s eye, what great 
 forfeitures and confiscations he had at that present to help 
 himself; whereby those casualties of the crown might in 
 reason spare the purses of the subject; especially in a time 
 when he was in peace with all his neighbours. Some few 
 law^s passed at that parliament, almost for form sake : amongst 
 which there was one, to reduce aliens, being made denizens, 
 to pay strangers’ customs; and another, to di'aw to himself 
 the seizures and compositions of Italians’ goods, for not 
 employment; being points of profit to his coffers, whereof 
 from the very beginning he was not forgetful, and had been 
 more happy at the latter end, if his early providence, which 
 kept him from all necessity of exacting upon his people, 
 could likewise have attempered his nature therein. He 
 added, during parliament, to his former creations, the enno¬ 
 blement or advancement in nobility of a few others : the 
 Lord Chandos of Britain was made earl of Bath; Sir Giles 
 Daubeney was made Lord Daubeney; and Sir Bobert 
 Willoughby, Lord Bi'ook. 
 
 The king did also, with gi'eat nobleness and bounty, which 
 
318 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 virtues at tliat time had their turns in his nature, restore 
 Edward Stafford, eldest son to Henry, duke of Buckingham, 
 attainted in the time of King Bichard, not only to his dig¬ 
 nities, but to his fortunes and possessions, which were great: 
 to which he was moved also by a kind of gTatitude, for that 
 the duke was the man that moved the first stone against the 
 tyranny of King Bichard, and indeed made the king a bridge 
 to the crown upon his own ruins. Thus- the parliament 
 broke up. 
 
 The parliament being dissolved, the king sent forth with 
 money to redeem the Marquis Dorset, and Sir John Bour- 
 chier; whom he had left as his pledges at.Paris, for money 
 which he had borrowed, when he made his expedition for 
 England. And thereupon he took a fit occasion to send the 
 lord treasurer and master Bray, whom he used as counsellor, 
 to the lord mayor of London, requiring of the city a prest of 
 six thousand marks ; but after many parleys, he could obtain 
 but two thousand pounds j which nevertheless the king took 
 in good part, as men use to do, that practise to borrow 
 money when they have no need. About this time the king 
 called unto his privy-council John Morton and Bichard Fox, 
 the one bishop of Ely, the other bishop of Exeter; vigilant 
 men, and secret, and such as kept watch with him almost 
 upon all men else. They had been both versed in his affairs, 
 before he came to the crown, and were partakers of his 
 adverse fortune. This Morton soon after, upon the death of 
 Bourchier, he made archbishop of Canterbury. And for 
 Fox, he made him lord keeper of his privy-seal, and after¬ 
 wards advanced hioi by degrees, from Exeter to Bath and 
 Wells, thence to Durham, and last to Winchester. For 
 although the king loved to employ and advance bishops, 
 because having rich bishoprics, they carried their reward 
 upon themselves; yet he did use to raise them by steps, that 
 he might not lose the profit of the first fruits, which by that 
 course of gradation was multiplied. 
 
 At last, upon the eighteenth of January, was solemnized 
 the so long expected and so much desired marriage, between 
 the king and the Lady Elizabeth j which day of marriage was- 
 celebrated with greater triumph and demonstrations, espe¬ 
 cially on the people’s part, of joy and gladness, than the day& 
 either of his entry or coronation; which the king rather 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 319 
 
 noted than liked. And it is true, that all his lifetime, while 
 the Lady Elizabeth lived with him, for she died before him, 
 .he showed himself no very indulgent husband towards her, 
 though she was beautiful, gentle, and fruitful. But his 
 aversion towards the house of York was so predominant in 
 him, as it found place not only in his wars and councils, but 
 in his chamber and bed. 
 
 Towards the middle of the spring, the king, full of confi¬ 
 dence and assurance, as a prince that had been victorious in 
 battle, and had prevailed with his parliament in all that he 
 desired, and had the ring of acclamations fresh in his ears, 
 thought the rest of his reign should be but play, and the 
 enjoying of a kingdom : yet, as a wise and watchful king, he 
 would not neglect anything for his safety; thinking never- 
 theless to perform all things now, rather as an exercise than 
 as a labour. So he being truly informed that the northern 
 parts were not only afiectionate to the house of York, but 
 particularly had been devoted to King Bichard the Third, 
 thought it would be a summer well spent to visit those parts, 
 and by his presence and application of himself to reclaim and 
 rectify those humours. But the king, in his account of peace 
 and calms, did much overcast his fortunes, which proved for 
 many years together full of broken seas, tides, and tempests. 
 For he was no sooner come to Lincoln, where he kept his 
 Easter, but he received news, that the Lord Lovel, Humphrey 
 Stafibrd, and Thomas Stafibrd, who had formerly taken 
 sanctuary at Colchester, were departed out of sanctuary, but 
 to what place no man could tell; which advertisement the 
 king despised, and continued his journey to York. At York 
 there came fresh and more certain advertisement, that the 
 Lord Lovel was at hand with a great power of men, and that 
 the Stafibrds were in arms in Worcestershire, and had made 
 their approaches to the city of Worcester, to assail it. The 
 king, as a prince of great and profound judgment, was not 
 much moved with it; for that h'? thought it was but a rag 
 or remnant of Bosworth-field, and had nothing in it of the 
 main party of the house of York. But he was more doubtful 
 of the raising of forces to resist the rebels, than of the re¬ 
 sistance itself; for that he was in a core of people, whose 
 aflections he suspected. But the action enduring no delay, 
 he did speedily levy and send against the Lord Lovel, to the 
 
320 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 number of three thousand men, ill armed, but well assured, - 
 being taken some few out of his own train, and the rest out of 
 the tenants and followers of such as were safe to be trusted, 
 under the conduct of the duke of Bedford. And as his man¬ 
 ner was to send his pardons rather before the sword than 
 after, he gave commission to the duke to proclaim pardon to 
 all that would com.e in : which the duke, upon his approach 
 to the Lord Lovel’s camp, did perform. And it fell out as 
 the king expected; the heralds were the great ordnance. 
 For the Lord Lovel, upon proclamation of pardon, mistrusting 
 his men, fled into Lancashire, and lurking for,a time with 
 Sir Thomas Broughton, after sailed over into Flanders to the 
 Lady Margaret. And his men, forsaken of their captain, did 
 presently submit themselves to the duke. The Stafibrds like¬ 
 wise, and their forces, hearing what had happened to the Lord 
 Lovel, in whose success their chief tmst was, despaired and 
 dispersed. The two brothers taking sanctuary at Colnham, 
 a village near Abingdon; which place, upon view of their 
 privilege in the King’s Bench, being judged no sufficient 
 sanctuary for traitors, Humphrey was executed at Tyburn; 
 and Thomas, as being led by his elder brother, was par¬ 
 doned. So this rebellion proved but a blast, and the king 
 having by this journey purged a little the dregs and leaven 
 of the northern people, that were before in no good affection 
 towards him, returned to London. 
 
 In September following, the queen was delivered of her 
 first son, whom the king, in honour of the British race, of 
 which himself was, named Arthur, according to the name of 
 that ancient worthy king of the Britons, in whose acts there 
 is truth enough to make him famous, besides that which is 
 fabulous. The child was strong and able, though he was 
 bom in the eighth month, which the physicians do prejudge. 
 
 There followed this year, being the second of the king’s 
 reign, a strange accident of state, whereof the relations which 
 we have are so naked, as they leave it scarce credible; not 
 for the nature of it, for it hath fallen out often, but for the 
 manner and circumstance of it, especially in the beginnings. 
 Therefore we shall make our judgment upon the things 
 themselves, as they give light one to another, and, as we 
 can, dig truth out of the mine. The king was green in his 
 estate; and, contrary to liis own opinion and desert both 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 321 
 
 was not without much hatred tliroughout the realm. The 
 root of all was the discountenancing of tlie house of York, 
 which the general body of the realm still affected. This did 
 alienate the hearts of the subjects from him daily more and 
 more, especially when they saw, that, after his marriage, and 
 after a son born, the king did nevertheless not so much as 
 proceed to the coronation of the queen, not vouchsafing her 
 the honour of a matrimonial crowm; for the coronation of 
 her was not till almost two years after, when danger had 
 taught him what to do. But much more when it was spread 
 abroad, whether by error, or the cunning of malecontexits, 
 that the king had a purpose to put to death Edward Plan- 
 tagenet closely in the Tower : whose case was so nearly 
 paralleled with that, of Edward the Foui-th’s childi’en, in 
 respect of the blood, like age, and the veiy place of the 
 Tower, as it did refresh and I’eflect upon the king a most 
 odious resemblance, as if he would be another King Bichard. 
 And all this time it was still whispei*ed everywhere, that at 
 least one of the children of Edward the Fourth was living: 
 which bruit w^as cunningly fomented by such as desii'ed 
 innovation. K either was the king’s nature and customs 
 greatly fit to disperse these mists, but contraidwise, he had 
 a fashion rather to ci’eate doubts than a3sui*ance. Thus was 
 fuel prepared for the spark : the spaidq that after'wards 
 kindled such a fire and combustion, vras at the fii’st con¬ 
 temptible. 
 
 There was a subtile priest called Bichard Simon,^ that 
 lived in Oxford, and had to his pupil a baker’s son, named 
 Lambei't Simnell, of the age of some fifteen years, a comely 
 youth, and Avell favoured, not \Yithout some exti’aordinaiy 
 dignity and gvace of aspect. It came into this'piiest s fancy, 
 liearing what men talked, and in hope to raise himself to 
 some great bishopiic, to cause this lad to countei’feit and 
 personate the second son of Edward the Fourth, supposed to 
 be murdered; and afterward, for he changed his intention 
 in the manage, tlie Lord Edward Plantagenet, then prisoner 
 ill the Tower; and accordingly to frame -him and instruct 
 
 * The priest’s name was William Simonds, and the youth was the son 
 of . . . . . an organ-maker in Oxford, as the priest declared before the 
 whole convocation of tlie clergy at Lambeth, Feb. 17, 1486. Vide Reg. 
 ■Morion, £ 34, !MS. Sancrofi. 
 
 Y 
 
322 
 
 HENRr THE SEVENTH. 
 
 him in the part he was to play. This is that wliich, as was 
 touched before, seemeth scarcely credible; not that a false 
 person should be assumed to gain a kingdom, for it hath 
 been seen in ancient and late times; nor that it should come 
 into the mind of such an abject fellow, to enterprise so great 
 a matter; for high conceits do sometimes come streaming 
 into the imaginations of base persons, especially when they 
 are drunk with news and talk of the people. But here is 
 that wliich hath no appearance: That this priest, being 
 utterly unacquainted with the true person, according to 
 whose pattern he should shape his counterfeit, should think 
 it possible for him to instruct his player, either in gesture 
 and fashions ; or in recounting past matters of his life and 
 education ; or in fit answers to questions, or the like j any 
 ways to come near the resemblance of him whom he was to 
 represent. For this lad was not to personate one, that had 
 been long before taken out of his cradle, or conveyed av^^ay 
 in his infancy, known to few; but a youth, that till the age 
 almost of ten years had been brought up in a court where 
 infinite eyes had been upon him. For King Edward, touched 
 with remorse of his brother the duke of Clarence’s death, 
 would not indeed restore his son, of whom we speak, to be 
 duke of Clarence, but yet created him earl of Warwick, re¬ 
 viving liis honour on the mother’s side; and used him 
 honourably during his time, though Bichard the Third after¬ 
 wards confined him. So that it cannot be, but that some 
 great person that knew particularly and familiarly Edward 
 Plantagenet, had a hand in the business, from vdiom the 
 priest might take his aim. That wliich is most probable, 
 out of the precedent and subsequent acts, is, that it was the 
 queen dowager, from whom this action had the principal 
 source and motion. For certain it is, she was a busy nego¬ 
 tiating woman, and in her withdrawing-chamber had the 
 fortunate conspiracy for the king against King Bichard the 
 Third been hatched : wliich the king knew, and remembered 
 perhaps but too v/ell; and v/as at this time extremely dis¬ 
 content with the Idng, thinking her daughter, as the king 
 handled the matter, not advanced but depressed : and none 
 could hold the book so well to prompt and instruct tliis 
 stage-play as she could. Kev'ertheless, it was not her mean¬ 
 ing, nor no more was it the meaning of any of the better 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 323 
 
 and sagei sort that favoured this enterprise, and kne^v the 
 secret, tha b this disguised idol should possess the crown ; but 
 at his peril to make way to the overthrow of the king; and 
 that done, they had their several hopes and ways. That 
 which doth chiefly fortify this conjecture is, that as soon as 
 the matter brake forth in any strength, it was one of the 
 king’s first acts to cloister the queen dowager in the nunnery 
 of Bermondsey, and to take away all her lands and estate : 
 and tills by a close council, without any legal proceeding, 
 upon far-fetched pretences that she had delivered her two 
 daughters out of sanctuary to King Bichard, contrary to 
 promise. Which proceeding being even at that time taxed 
 for rigorous and undue, both in matter and manner, makes 
 it very probable there was some greater matter against her, 
 which the king, upon reason of policy, and to avoid envy, 
 would not publish. It is likewise no small argument that 
 there was some secret in it, and some suppressing of exami¬ 
 nations, for that the priest Simon himself, after he was 
 taken, was never brought to execution j no, not so much as 
 to public trial, as many clergymen were ujDon less treasons, 
 but was only shut up close in a dungeon. Add to this, that 
 after the earl of Lincoln, a principal person of the house of 
 York, was slain in Stoke-field, the king opened himself to 
 some of his council that he was sorry for the earl’s death, 
 because by him, he said, he might have known the bottom 
 of his danger. 
 
 But to return to the narration itself: Simon did first 
 instruct his scholar for tlie part of Bichard, dul^e of York, 
 second son to King Edward the Fourth; and this was at 
 such a time as it was voiced that the king purposed to put 
 to death Edward Plantagenet, prisoner in the Tower, where¬ 
 at there was great murmur. But hearing soon after a general 
 bruit that Plantagenet had escaped out of the Tower, and 
 thereby finding him so much beloved amongst the people, 
 and such rejoicing at liis escape, the cunning priest changed 
 liis copy, and chose now Plantagenet to be the subject his 
 pupil should personate, because he was more in the present 
 speech and votes of the people; and it pieced better, and 
 followed more close and handsomely upon the bruit of Plan- 
 tagenet’s escape. But yet doubting that there would be too 
 near looking, and too much perspective into his disguise, if 
 
324 
 
 HEXPwY THE SEVE^’TH. 
 
 / 
 
 he should show It here in England; he thought good, afto? 
 the manner of scenes in stage-plays and masks, to show it 
 afar off; and therefore sailed ^\dt]i liis scholar into Ireland^ 
 where the affection to the house of York was most in height,- 
 The king had been a little improvident in the matters of 
 Ireland, and had not removed officers and counsellors, and 
 put in their places, or at least intermingled, persons of whom 
 he stood assured, as he should have done, since he knew the 
 strong bent of that country towards the house of York; 
 and that it was a ticklish and unsettled state, more easy to 
 receive distempers and mutations than England was. But 
 trusting to the reputation of his victories and successes in 
 England, he thought he should have time enough to extend 
 his cares afterwards to that second kingdom. 
 
 YTierefore through this neglect, upon the coming of Simon 
 with his pretended Plantagenet into Ireland, all things were 
 prepared for revolt and sedition, almost as if they had been 
 set a.nd plotted beforehand. Simon’s first adcffess was to the 
 Lord Thomas Eitzgerard, earl of Kildare, and de2)uty of Ire¬ 
 land, before whose eyes he did cast such a mist, by his own 
 insinuation, and by the carriage of his youth, that ex^oressed 
 a natural ^^idncely behaviom', as joined 2)orha2)s vrith some 
 inward vapours of ambition and affection in the eaiTs owu 
 mind, left him fully possessed that it was the true Planta¬ 
 genet. The earl jDrosently communicated the matter with 
 some of the nobles and others there, at the first secretly; but 
 finding them of like affection to himself, he suffered it of 
 23 urpose to vent and 2:)ass abroad, because they thought it not 
 safe to resolve till they had a taste of the people’s inclinatiom 
 But if the great ones were in forwardness, the jDQOj^le were 
 in fury, entertaining this airy body or jffiantasm with incre¬ 
 dible affection, partly out of their great devotion to the 
 house of York, j^artly out of a j)roud humour in the nation, 
 to giv*e a king to the realm of England. Neither did the 
 party, in this heat of affection, much trouble themselves with 
 the attainder of George, duke of Clarence, liavdng newly 
 learned, by the king’s examjfie, that attainders do not inter- 
 laipt the cx)nve}ung of title to the crown. And as for the 
 daughters of King Edward the Fourth, they thought King 
 Ptichard had said enough for them, and took them to be but 
 as of the king’s party, because they were in his power and at 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 325 
 
 his disposing. So that with marvellous consent and applause 
 this counterfeit Plantagenet was brought with great solem¬ 
 nity to the castle of Dublin, and there saluted, served, and 
 honoured as king; the boy becoming it well, and doing 
 nothing that did betray the baseness .of his condition. And 
 within a few days after he was proclaimed king in Dublin, 
 by. the name of King Edward the Sixth, there being not a 
 sword drawn in King Henry’s quarrel. 
 
 The lung was much moved with this unexpected accident 
 when it came to his ears, both because it struck upon that 
 string which ever he most feared, as also because it was 
 stirred in such a place v/here he could not with safety 
 transfer his own person to suppress it. Eor partly through 
 nedural valour, and partly through an universal suspicion, 
 not knowing Avhom to trust, he was ever ready to wait upon 
 all his achievements in person. The king, therefore, first 
 called his council together at the charter-house at Shine; 
 which council was held with great secrecy, but the open 
 decrees thereof, which presently came abroad, were three. 
 
 The first was, that the queen dowager, for that she, con¬ 
 trary to her pact and agreement with those that had con¬ 
 cluded ^vith her concerning the marriage of her daughter 
 Elizabeth with Kin.^ Henrv, had nevertheless delivered her 
 daughters out of sanctuary into King Kichard’s hands, should 
 bo cloistered in the nunnery of Bermondsey, and forfeit all 
 her lands and goods. 
 
 The next was, that Edward Plantagenet, then close pri¬ 
 soner in the Tower, should be, in the most public and noto¬ 
 rious manner that could be devised, showed unto the people; 
 in part to discharge the king of the envy of that opinion and 
 bruit, how he had been put to death privily in the Tower, 
 but cliiefly to make the people see the levity and imposture 
 of the proceedings of Ireland, and that their Plantagenet 
 was indeed but a puppet or a counterfeit. 
 
 The third wa.^, that there should be again proclaimed a 
 general pardon to all that would reveal their offences, and 
 submit themselves by a day. And that this pardon should 
 be conceived in so ample and liberal a manner, as no liigh- 
 treason, no not against the king’s own person, should bo 
 excepted^ Which though it might seem strange, yet was it 
 not so to a wise king, that knevr his greatest dangers were 
 
32 o 
 
 UEXHY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 not from the leasfc treasons, but from tlie greatest. Tliese 
 resolutions of the king and liis council were immediately put 
 in execution. And first, the queen dowager was put into 
 tbe monastery of Bermondsey, and all her estates seized into 
 the king’s hands; whereat there was much wondering, that 
 a weak woman, for the yielding to the menaces and promises 
 of a tyrant, after such a distance of time, vrherein the king 
 had showed no disjDleasure nor alteration, but much more 
 lifter so happy a marriage between the king and her daughter, 
 blessed mth issue male, should, upon a sudden mutability or 
 disclosure of the king’s mind, be so severely handled. 
 
 This lady was amongst the examples of gneat variety of 
 fortune. She had first, from a distressed suitor and desolate 
 ^vidow, been taken to the marriage bed of a bachelor king, 
 the goodliest personage of his time; and even in his reign 
 she had endui'ed a strange eclipse by the king’s fiight, and 
 temporary depriving from the crown. She was also veiy 
 happy in that she had ’by him fair issue, and continued his 
 nuptial love, helping herself by some obsequious bearing and 
 dissembling of his pleasures to the very end. She was much 
 afiectionate to her own kindred, even unto faction, which 
 did stir great envy in the lords of the king’s side, who 
 counted her blood a disparagement to be mingled with the 
 king’s. With which lords of the king’s blood joined also the 
 king’s favourite, the Lord Hastings, who, notmthstanding 
 the king’s great afiection to him, ’ was thought at times, 
 tlu'ough her malice and spleen, not to be out of danger of 
 falling. After her husband’s death she was matter of tra¬ 
 gedy, having lived to see her brother beheaded, and her two 
 sons deposed finm the crovm, bastarded in their blood, and 
 cruelly murdered. All this while, nevertheless, she enjoyed 
 her liberty, state, and fortunes; but afterwards again, upon 
 the rise of the wheel, when she had a king to her son-in-law, 
 and was made grandmother to a grandchild of the best sex; 
 yet was she, upon dark and imknovm. reasons, and no less 
 strange pretences, precipitated and banished the world into 
 a nunnery, where it was almost thought dangerous to visit 
 lier or see her, and where not long after she ended her life, 
 but was by the king’s commandment buried with the king, 
 her husband at Windsor. She was foundress of Queen’s Col¬ 
 lege in Cambridge. Yov this act the king sustained gi'eat 
 
HENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 327 
 
 obloquy, wbicli nevertheless, besides the reason of state, was 
 somewhat sweetened to liim by a great confiscation. 
 
 About tliis time also, Edward Plantagenet was upon a 
 Sunday brought throughout all the piincipal streets of Lon¬ 
 don, to be seen of the peoj)le. And having passed the view 
 of the streets, was conducted to Paul’s church in solemn pro¬ 
 cession, where great store of people were assembled. And 
 it vras provided also in good fasliion, that divers of the nobi¬ 
 lity, and others of quality, especially of those that the king 
 most suspected, and knew the person of Plantagenet best, 
 had communication with the young gentleman by the way, 
 and entertained' him with speech and discourse, which did iu 
 effect mar the pageant in Ireland with the subjects here, at 
 least with so many as out of error, and not out of malice, 
 might be misled. Nevertheless, in Ireland, where it was too 
 late to go back, it wrought little or no effect. But contrari¬ 
 wise, they turned the imposture upon the king, and gave 
 out that the long, to defeat the true inheritor, and to mock 
 the world, and blind the eyes of simple nien, had tricked up 
 a boy in the likeness of Edward Plantagenet, and showed 
 him to the people, and not sparing to profane the ceremony 
 of a procession the more to countenance the fable. 
 
 The general pardon likemse near the same time came 
 forth, and the king thereAvithal omitted no diligence in 
 ghing strait order for the keeping of the ports, that fugitives, 
 malecontents, or suspected persons, might not pass over into 
 Ireland and Flanders. 
 
 Meanwhile the rebels in Ireland had sent privy messen¬ 
 gers both into England and into Flanders, who in both 
 places had wrought effects of no small importance. For in 
 England they won to their party John, earl of Lincoln, son 
 of John de la Pole, duke of Suffolk, and of Elizabeth, IGng 
 Edward the Fourth’s eldest sister. This earl was a man of 
 great wit and courage, and had liis thoughts highly raised by 
 hopes and expectations for a time; for Bichard the Third 
 had a resolution, out of his hatred to both his brethren, 
 King Edward and the duke of Clarence, and their lines, 
 having had liis hand in both their bloods, to disable their 
 issues upon false and incompetent pretexts—^the one of 
 attainder, the other of illegitimation; and to design this 
 gentleman, in case himself should die without children, for 
 
328 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 inlieritor of tlie crown. Neitlier was this unknown to the 
 king, who had secretly an eye upon him. But the king, 
 having tasted the emy of the people for his imprisonment 
 of Edward Plantagenet, was doubtful to heap up any more 
 distastes of that kind, by the imprisonment of De la Pole 
 also ; the rather thinking it policy to conserve him as a co¬ 
 rival unto the other. The earl of Lincoln was induced to 
 participate with the action of Ireland, not lightly upon the 
 strength of the proceedings there, which was but a bubble, 
 but upon letters from the Lady Margaret of Burgundy, in 
 whose succours and declaration for the enterprise there 
 seemed to be a more solid foundation, both for reputation 
 and forces. Neither did the earl refrain the business, for 
 that he knew the pretended Plantagenet to be but an idol. 
 But contrariwise, he was more glad it should be the false 
 Plantagenet than the true, because the false being sure to 
 fall away of himself, and the true to be made sure by the 
 king, it might open and pave a fair and prepared way to hi.s 
 ovn title. With this resolution he sailed secretly into Flan¬ 
 ders, where was a little before arrived the Lord Lovel, 
 leaving a correspondence here m England with Sir Thomas 
 Broughton, a man of great power and dependencies in Lan- 
 cashii’e. For before this time, when the pretended Planta¬ 
 genet was fii’st received in Ireland, secret messengers had 
 been also sent to the Lady Margaret, advertising her what 
 was passed in Ireland, imploring succours in an enterprise, 
 as they said, so pious and just, that God had so miraculously 
 prosjDered the beginning thereof, and making offer that all 
 tilings should be guided by her Avill and direction, as the 
 sovereign patroness and protectoress of the enterprise. Mar¬ 
 garet was second sister to Enng Edward the Fourth, and had 
 been second vdfe to Charles, surnamed the Hardy, duke of 
 Burgundy, by whom having no childi'en of her own, she did 
 with singular care and tenderness intend the education of 
 Philip and Margaret, grandchildren to her former husband, 
 which won her great love and authority among the Dutch. 
 This jRlHcess, having the spirit of a man and malice of a 
 woman, abounding in treasure by the greatness of her dower 
 and her provident government, and being childless and with¬ 
 out any nearer care, made it her design and enterprise to see 
 the majesty royal of England once again replgfcced in her 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 329 
 
 house, and had set up King Henry as a mark, at whose over¬ 
 throw all her actions should aim and shoot; insomuch as all 
 the counsels of his succeeding troubles came chiefly out of 
 that quiver. And she bare such a mortal hatred to the 
 house of Lancaster, and personally to the king, as she was 
 no ways mollified by the conjunction of the houses in her 
 niece’s marriage, but rather hated her niece, as the means of 
 the king’s ascent to the crown and assurance therein. Where¬ 
 fore with great violence of aflection she embraced this over¬ 
 ture. And upon counsel taken with the earl of Lincoln; 
 and the Lord Lovel, and some other of the party, it was 
 resolved with all speed, that the two lords, assisted with a 
 regiment of two thousand Almains, being choice and veteran 
 bands, under the command of Martin Swart, a valiant and 
 experimented captain, should pass over into Ireland to the 
 new king, hoping that when the action should have the face 
 of a received and settled regality, with such a second person 
 as the earl of Lincoln, and the conjunction and reputation of 
 foreign succours, the fame of it would embolden and prepare 
 all the party of the confederates and malecontents within 
 the realm of England to give them assistance when they 
 should come over there. And for the person of the counter¬ 
 feit, it was agreed that if all things succeeded well he should 
 be put down, and the true Plantagenet received, wherein, 
 nevertheless, the earl of Lincoln had his particular hopes. 
 After they were come into Ireland, and that the party took 
 courage, by seeing themselves together in a body, they grew 
 very confident of success, conceiving and discoursing amongst 
 themselves, that they went in upon far better cards to over¬ 
 throw King Henry, than King Henry had to overthrow 
 King Ilichat*d, and that if there were not a sword drawn 
 against them in Ireland, it was a sign the swords in England 
 would be soon sheathed or beaten down. And first, for a 
 bravery upon this accession of power, they crowned their 
 new king in the cathedral church of Dublin, who formerly 
 had been but proclaimed only; and then sat in council what 
 should farther be done. At which council, though it wxre 
 propounded by some, that it were the best way to establish 
 themselves first in Ireland, and to make that the- seat of the 
 war, and to draw King Henry thither in person, by whose 
 absence they thought there would be great alterations and 
 
330 
 
 HENBY THE SETV^ENTH. 
 
 commotions in England ; yet because tlie kingdom there vran 
 poor, and they should not be able to keep their army to¬ 
 gether, nor pay their German soldiers, and for that also the 
 sway of the Irishmen, and generally of the men of war, 
 which, as in such cases of popular tumults is usual, did in 
 effect govern their leaders, was eager, and in affection to 
 make their fortunes upon England, it was concluded with all 
 possible speed to transport their forces into England. The 
 king, in the mean time, who at the first when he heard what 
 was done in Ireland, though it troubled him, yet thought he 
 should be well enough able to scatter the Irish as a fiight of 
 birds, and rattle away this swarm of bees with their king; 
 when he heard afterwards that the earl of Lincoln was em¬ 
 barked in the action, and that the Lady Margaret was 
 declared for it, he apprehended the danger in a true degree 
 as it was, and saw plainly that his kingdom must again be 
 put to the stake, and that he must fight for it. And first 
 he did conceive, before he understood of the earl of Lincoln’s 
 sailing into Ireland out of Flanders, that he should be as¬ 
 sailed both upon the east parts of the kingdom of England, 
 by some impression from Flanders, and upon the north-west 
 out of Ireland. And, therefore, having ordered musters to 
 be made in both j^arts, and ha^dng provisionally designed 
 tvro generals, Jasper, earl of Bedford, and John, earl of Ox¬ 
 ford, meaning himself also to go in person where the affairs 
 should most require it, and neveidheless not expecting any 
 actual invasion at that time, the winter being far on, he took 
 his journey liimself towards Suffolk and ISTorfolk, for the 
 confirming of those parts. And being come to St. Edmond’s- 
 Bury, he understood that Thomas, Marquis Dorset, who had 
 been one of the pledges in France, was hasting towards him, 
 to purge himself of some accusations which had been made 
 against liim. But the king, though he kept an ear for him, 
 yet was the time so doubtful, that he sent the earl of Oxford 
 to meet him, and forthwith to carry him to the Tower, with 
 a fair message, nevertheless, that he should bear that disgrace 
 with patience, for that the king meant not his hurt, but only 
 to preserve him from doing limd either to the king’s service 
 or to himself,' and that the king should always be able, when 
 he had cleared himself, to make him reparation. 
 
 From St. Edmond’s-Bury he went to Norwich, where ho 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 331 
 
 kept his Christmas. And from thence he went, in a manner 
 of pilgrimage, to Walsingham, where he visited Our Lady’s 
 church famous for miracles, and made his prayers and vows 
 for help and deliverance. And from thence he retu rned by 
 Cambridge to London. ISTot long after, the rebels, with 
 their king, under the leading of the earl of Lincoln, the earl 
 of Kildare, the Lord Lovel, and Colonel Swart, landed at 
 Fouldrey in Lancashire ; whither there repaired to them Sir 
 Thomas Broughton, with some small company of English. 
 The king, by that time, knowing now the storm would not 
 divide, but fall in one place, had levied forces in good num¬ 
 ber; and in person, taking with liim his two designed 
 generals, the duke of Bedford and the earl of Oxford, was 
 come on liis way towards them as far as Coventry, whence 
 he sent forth a troop of light horsemen for discovery, and to 
 intercept some stragglers of the enemies, by whom he might 
 the better understand the particulars of their progress and 
 purposes, which was accordingly done; though the king 
 otherwise was not without intelligence from espials in the 
 camp. 
 
 The rebels took their way toward York, without spoiling 
 the country, or any act of hostility, the better to put them¬ 
 selves into favour of the people, and to personate their king; 
 who, no doubt, out of a princely feehng, was sparing and 
 compassionate towards liis subjects: but their snow-ball did 
 not gather as it went. For the people came not in to them ; 
 neither did any rise or declare themselves in other parts of 
 the kingdom for them; which was caused partly by the 
 good taste that the king had given his people of his govern¬ 
 ment, joined v/ith the reputation of his felicity; and partly 
 for that it was an odious thing to the people of England, to 
 have a king brought in to them upon the shoulders of Irish 
 ind Dutch; of which their army was in substance compounded. 
 Neither was it a thing done with any great judgment on 
 the party of the rebels, for them to take their way towards 
 York : considering that howsoever those parts had formerly 
 been a nursery of their friends; yet it was there, where the 
 Lord Lovel had so lately disbanded, and where the king’s 
 presence had a little before qualified discontents. The earl 
 of Lincoln, deceived of his hopes of the country’s concourse 
 unto liim, in which case he would have temporized; and 
 
332 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 seeing the business past retract, resolved to make on where 
 the king was, and to give him battle; and thereupon 
 marched towards Kewark, thinking to have surprised the 
 town. But the king was somewhat before this time come 
 to Nottingham, where he called a council of war, at which 
 was consulted whether it were best to protract time, or 
 speedily to set upon the rebels. In which council the king 
 himself, whose continual vigilancy did suck in sometimes 
 causeless suspicions, which few else knew, inclined to the 
 accelerating a battle; but this was presently put out of 
 doubt, by the great aids that came in to him in the instant 
 of this consultation, partly upon missives, and partly volun¬ 
 taries, from many parts of the kingdom. 
 
 The principal j^ersons that came then to the king’s aid, 
 were the earl of Shrewsbury, and the Lord Strange, of the 
 nobility; and of knights and gentlemen, to the number of 
 at least threescore and ten persons, with their companies, 
 making in the whole, at the least, six thousand fighting men, 
 besides the forces that were with the king before. Where¬ 
 upon the king, finding liis army so bravely reinforced, and a 
 great alacrity in all his men to fight, was confirmed in his 
 former resolution, and marched speedily, so as he put him¬ 
 self between the enemies’ camp and Newark; being loth 
 their army should get the commodity of that town. The 
 earl, nothing dismayed, came forwards that day unto a little 
 village called Stoke, and there encamped that night, upon 
 the brow or hanging of a hill. The king the next day 2:)re- 
 sented him battle upon the plain, the fields there being open 
 and chainj)ain. The earl courageously came down and joined 
 battle with him. Concerning w^hich battle the relations that 
 are left unto us are so naked and negligent, though it be an 
 action of so recent memory, as they rather declare the suc¬ 
 cess of the day, than the manner of the fight. They say, 
 that the Idng divided his army into three battails j whereof 
 the vant-guard only, well strengthened with wings, came to 
 fight: that the fight was fierce and obstinate, and lasted 
 three hours, before the victory inclined either way j sscve 
 that judgment might be made by that, the king’s rant-guard 
 of itself maintained fight against the whole powxr of the 
 enemies, the other two battails remained out of action, whafc 
 the success was like to be in the end : that Martin Swart 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 333 
 
 with ills Germans performed bravely, and so did those few 
 English that were on that side; neither did the Irish fail 
 in courage or fierceness ; but being almost naked men, only- 
 armed vith darts and skeins, it was rather an execution than 
 a fight upon them ; insomuch as the furious slaughter of 
 them was a great discouragement and appalment to the rest : 
 that there died upon the place all the chieftains; that is, 
 the earl of Lincoln, the earl of ICildare, Francis Lord Lovel, 
 Martin Swart, and Sir Thomas Broughton j all making good 
 the fight, without any ground given. Only of the Lord Lovel 
 there went a report, that he fied, and swam over Trent on 
 hoi'seback, but could not recover the farther side, by reason 
 of the steepness of the bank, and so was drowned in the 
 river. But another report leaves him not there, but that 
 he lived long after in a cave or vault. The number that 
 was slain in the field was of the enemies’ part, four thousand 
 at the least; and of the king’s part, one half of his vant- 
 guard, besides many hurt, but none of name. There were 
 taken prisoners, amongst others, the coimterfeit Blantagenet, 
 now Lambei’t Simnell again, and the crafty priest his tutor. 
 For Lambert, the king would not take his life, both out of 
 magnanimity, taking him but as an image of wax, that 
 others had tempered and molded ; and likewise out of wis¬ 
 dom, thinking that if he suffered death, he would be for¬ 
 gotten too soon; but being kept alive, he would be a con¬ 
 tinual spectacle, and a kind of remedy against the like 
 enchantments of people in time to come. For which cause 
 he was taken into ser^dce in his coimt to a base ofQ.ce in his 
 kitchen; so that, in a kind of mattacina of human fortune, 
 he turned a broach, that had worn a crown; whereas fortune 
 commonly doth not bring in a comedy or farce after a 
 tragedy. And afterwards he was preferred to be one of the 
 king’s falconers. As to the priest, he was committed close 
 piisoner, and heard of no more; the king loving to seal up 
 his own dangers. 
 
 After the battle the king went to Lincoln, where he 
 caused supplications and thanksgivings to be made for his 
 deliverance and \ictory. And that his devotions might go 
 round in circle, he sent his banner to be offered to our Lady 
 of Walsmgham, where before he made his vows. And thus 
 delivered of this so strange an engine, and new invention of 
 
334 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 fortune, lie retinned to his former confidence of mind; 
 thinking now, that all his misfortunes had come at once. 
 But it fell out unto him according to the speech of the com¬ 
 mon people in the beginning of his reign, that said, It was 
 a token he should reign in labour, because his reign began 
 with a sickness of sweat. But howsoever the king thought 
 himself now in a haven, yet such was his wisdom, as his con¬ 
 fidence did seldom darken his foresight, especially in things 
 near hand. And therefore, awakened by so fresh and unex¬ 
 pected dangers, he entered into due consideration, as ^7ell 
 how to weed out the partakers of the former rebellion, as 
 to kill the seeds of the like in time to come : and withal to 
 take away all shelters and harbours for discontented persons, 
 where they might hatch and foster rebellions, which after¬ 
 wards might gather strength and motion. And first, he did 
 yet again make a progress from Lincoln to the northern 
 parts, though it were indeed rather an itinerary circuit of 
 justice than a progress. For all along as he went, with 
 much severity and strict inquisition, partly by martial law, 
 and partly by commission, were punished the adherents and 
 aiders of the late rebels. Not all by death, for the field had 
 drawn much blood, but by fines and ransoms, which spared 
 life, and raised treasure. Amongst other crimes of this 
 nature, there was diligent inquiry made of such as had raised 
 and dispersed a bruit and rumour, a little before the field 
 fought, “ that the rebels had the day; and that the king’s 
 army was overthrown, and the king fled.” Whereby it 
 was supposed that many succours, wliich otherwise would 
 have come unto the king, were cunningly put off and 
 kept back. Which charge and accusation, though it had 
 some ground, yet it was industriously embraced and put on 
 by divers, who having been in themselves not affected to 
 the king’s part, nor forward to come to his aid, were glad 
 to apprehend this colour to cover their neglect and cold¬ 
 ness, under the pretence of such discouragements. Which 
 cunning nevertheless the king would not understand, though 
 he lodged it, and noted it in some particulars, as his manner 
 was. 
 
 But for the extirpating of the roots and causes of the like 
 commotions in time to come, the king began to find whero 
 his shoe did wring him, and that it was his depressing 
 
HENHY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 33d 
 
 tlie Iiouse of York that did rankle and fester the alTections 
 of his people. And therefore being now too wise to dis¬ 
 dain perils any longer, and willing to give some content¬ 
 ment in that kind, at least in ceremony, he resolved at last 
 to proceed to the coronation of his queen. And, therefore, 
 at his coming to London, where he entered in state, and in 
 a kind of triumph, and celebrated his victory with two days 
 of devotion (for the first day he repaired to Paul’s and had 
 the hymn of Te Deum” sung, and the morrow after he 
 went in procession, and heard the sermon at the cross), the 
 queen was with great solemnity crowned at Westminster, 
 the five-and-twentieth of November, in the third year of 
 his reign, which was about two years after the marriage; 
 like an old christening, that had stayed long for god-fathers. 
 Which strange and unusual distance of time made it subject 
 to every man’s note, that it was an act against his stomach, 
 and put upon him by necessity and reason of state. Soon 
 after, to show that it was now fair weather again, and that 
 the imprisonment of Thomas, Marquis Dorset, was rather 
 upon suspicion of the time, than of the man, he, the said 
 marquis, was set at liberty, without examina,tion or other 
 circumstance. At that time also the king sent an ambassador 
 unto Pope Innocent, signifying unto him this his marriage ; 
 and that nov/, like another ^neas, he had passed through 
 the fioods of liis former troubles and travels, and was arrived 
 unto a safe haven: and thanking his Holiness that he 
 had honoured the celebration of his marriage with the pre¬ 
 sence of his ambassador; and offering both his person 
 and the forces of his kingdom, upon all occasions, to do him 
 seiwice. 
 
 The ambassador making his oration to the pope, in the 
 presence of the cardinals, did so magnify the king and queen, 
 as was enough to glut the hearers. But then he did again 
 BO extol and deify the pope, as made all that he had said in 
 praise of his master and mistress seem temperate and pass¬ 
 able. 'But he was very honourably entertained, and ex¬ 
 tremely much made on by the pope : who knowing himself 
 to be lazy and unprofitable to the Christian world, was 
 wonderfully glad to hear that there were such echoes of him 
 sounding in remote parts. He obtained also of the pjope 
 a very just and honourable bull, qualifying the privileges of 
 
336 
 
 IIENEY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 sanctuary wherewith the king had been extremely galled, in 
 three points. 
 
 The first, that if any sanctuary man did by night, or other- 
 Avise, get out of sanctuary privily, and commit mischief and 
 trespass, and then come in again, he should lose the benefit 
 of sanctuary for ever after. The second, that howsoever the 
 person of the sanctuary man was protected from his creditors, 
 yet his goods out of sanctuary should not. . The third, that 
 if any took sanctuary for case of treason, the king might 
 appoint him keepers to look to him in sanctuary. 
 
 The king also, for the better securing of his estate against 
 mutinous and malecontented subjects, whereof he saw the 
 realm was full, who might have their refuge into Scotland, 
 which was not under key, as the ports were; for that cause, 
 rather than for any doubt of hostility from those parts, 
 before his coming to London, wdien he was at Nevmastle, had 
 sent a solemn ambassage unto James the Third, king of 
 Scotland, to treat and conclude a peace with him. The 
 ambassadors were, Kichard Fox, bishop of Exeter, and Sir 
 Eichard Edgcombe, comptroller of the king’s house, who 
 were honourably received and entertained there. But the 
 king of Scotland labouring of the same disease that king 
 Henry did, though more mortal, as afterwards appeared, that 
 is, discontented subjects, apt to rise and raise tumult, 
 although in his own affection he did* much desire to make a 
 peace with the king; yet finding his nobles averse, and not 
 daring to displease them, concluded only a truce for seven 
 years; giving nevertheless promise in private, that it sliould 
 be renewed from time to time during the two kings’ lives. 
 
 Hitherto the king had been exercised in settling his affairs 
 at home. But about this time brake forth an occasion that 
 drew him to look abroad, and to hearken to foreign business. 
 Charles the Eighth, the French king, by the virtue and good 
 fortune of his two immediate predecessors, Charles the 
 Seventh, his grandfather, and Lewis the Eleventh, his father, 
 received the kingdom of France in more fiourishing and 
 sj)read estate than it had been of many years before : being 
 redintegrate in those principal members, which anciently had 
 been portions of the crown of France, and were afterward 
 dissevered, so as they remained only in homage, and not in 
 sovereignty, being governed by absolute princes of their own; 
 
HENRY THE SEN^ENTH. 
 
 S37 
 
 Anjou, Normandy, Provence, and Burgundy. There re¬ 
 mained only Britain to be reunited, and so the monarchy of 
 France to be reduced to the ancient terms and bounds. 
 
 Kins: Charles was not a little inflamed with an ambition 
 to re-purchase and re-annex that duchy ; which his ambition 
 was a wise and well-weighed ambition ; not like unto the 
 ambitions of his succeeding enterprises of Italy. For at that 
 time, being newly come to the crown, he was somewhat 
 guided by his father’s counsels, counsels not counsellors, for 
 his father was his own council, and had few able men about 
 him. "t' And that king, he knew well, had ever distasted the 
 designs of Italy, and in paii)icular had an eye upon Britain. 
 There were many circumstances that did feed the ambition 
 of Charles with pregnant and apparent hopes of success : the 
 duke of Britain old, and entered into a lethargy, and served 
 with mercenary counsellors, father of two only daughters, 
 the one sickly and not like to continue; King Charles him¬ 
 self in the flower of his age, and the subjects of France at 
 that time well trained for war, both for leaders and soldiers; 
 men of service being not yet worn out since the wars of 
 Lewis against Burgundy. He found himself also in peace 
 with all liis neighbour princes. As for those that might 
 oppose to his enterprise, Maximilian, king of the Homans, 
 his rival in the same desires (as well for the duchy, as the 
 daughter), feeble in means ; and King Heniy of England, as 
 well somewhat obnoxious to him for his favours and benefits, 
 
 - as busied in his particular troubles at home. There was also 
 a fair and specious occasion offered liim to hide his ambition, 
 and to justify his warring upon Britain ; for that the duke 
 had received and succoured Lewis duke of Orleans, and other 
 of the French nobility, which had taken arms against their 
 king. Wherefore King Charles,' being resolved upon that 
 war, knew Avell he could not receive any opposition so potent, 
 as if King Henry should, either upon polic}^ of state, in pre¬ 
 venting the grooving greatness of France, or upon gratitude 
 unto the duke of Britain for his former favours in the time 
 of his distress, espouse that quairel, and declare himself in 
 aid of the duke. Therefore he no sooner heard that King 
 Heniy was settled by his victory, but forthwith he sent 
 ambassadors unto him to pray his assistance, or at least that 
 be would stand neutral. Which ambassadors found the king 
 
 z 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 3S8 
 
 at Leicester, and delivered tlieir ambassage to this effect : 
 They first imparted unto the king the success that their 
 master had had a little before against Maximilian, in recovery 
 of certain towns from him : which was done in a kind of 
 privacy, and inwardness towards the king; as if the French 
 king did not esteem him for an outward or formal con¬ 
 federate, but as one that had part in his afiections and 
 fortunes, and vdth whom he took pleasure to communicate 
 liis business. After this compliment, and some gratulation 
 for the king’s ^dctory, they fell to their errand ; declaring to 
 the king, That their master was enforced to enter into a just 
 and necessary war with the duke of Britain, for that he had 
 received and succoured those that were traitors and declared 
 enemies unto his person and state. That they were no mean/ 
 distressed, and calamitous persons that fled to him for refuge, 
 but of so great quality, as it was apparent that they came 
 not thither to protect their own fortune, but to infest and 
 invade his ; the head of them being the duke of Orleans, 
 the first prince of the blood, and the second person of France. 
 That therefore, rightly to understand it, it was rather on 
 their master’s part a defensive war than an oftensive; as that 
 that could not be omitted or forborne, if he tendered the 
 conservation of his own estate ; and that it was not the first 
 blow that made the war invasive, for that no wise prince 
 would stay for, but the first provocation, or at least the first 
 preparation ; nay, that this war was rather a suppression of 
 rebels, than a war with a just enemy; where the case is, that 
 his subjects, traitors, are received by the duke of Britain his 
 liomager. That King Hemy knew well what went upon it 
 in example, if neighbour princes should patronize and comfort 
 rebels against the law of nations and of leagues. Kevei’- 
 theless, that their master was not ignorant, that the king had 
 been beholden to the duke of Britain in his adversity; as on 
 the other side, they knew he would not forget also the 
 readiness of their king, in aiding him when the duke of 
 Britain, or his mercenary counsellors, failed him, and would 
 have betrayed liim; and that there was a great difference 
 between the courtesies received from their master, and the 
 duke of Britain : for that the duke might have ends of 
 utility and bargain ; 'whereas their master could not have 
 proceeded but out of entire affection ; for that, if it had been 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH, 
 
 339 
 
 measured by a politic line, it bad been better for bis affairs, 
 that a tyrant should have reigned in England, troubled and 
 bated, than sucli a prince, whose virtues could not fail to 
 make him great and potent, whensoever he was come to be 
 master of his affairs. But howsoever it stood for the point 
 of obligation vdiich the king might owe to the duke of 
 Britain, yet their master was well assured, it would not 
 divert King Henry of England from doing that that was 
 just, nor ever embark him in so ill-grounded a quarrel. 
 Therefore, since this war, which their master was now to 
 make, was but to deliver himself from imminent dangers, 
 their king hoped the king would show the like affection to 
 the conservation of their master’s estate, as their master had, 
 when time was, showed to the king’s acquisition of his 
 kingdom. . At the least, that according to the inclination 
 which the king had ever professed of peace, he would look 
 on, and stand neutral; for that their master could not with 
 reason press him to undertake part in the war, being so 
 newly settled and recovered from intestine seditions. But 
 touching the mystery of re-annexing of the duchy of Britain 
 to the crown of France, either by war, or by marriage vuth 
 the daughter of Britain, the ambassadors bare aloof from it 
 as from a rock, knowing that it made most against them. 
 And therefore by all means declined any mention thereof, 
 but contrariwise interlaced, in their conference with the king, 
 the assured purpose of their master to match with the 
 daughter of Maximilian; and entertained the king also with 
 some wandering discourses of their king’s purpose, to recover 
 by arms his right to the kingdom of Naples, by an expedition 
 in person; all to remove the king from all jealousy of any 
 design in these hither parts upon Britain, othervuse than for 
 quenching of the fire which he feared might be kindled in 
 his own estate.- 
 
 The king, after advice taken with his council, made answer 
 to the ambassadors : and first returned their compliment, 
 showing he was right glad of the French king’s reception of 
 those towns from Maximilian. Then he familiarly related 
 some particular passages of his own adventures and victory 
 passed. As to the business of Britain, the king answered in 
 few words ; that the French king, and the duke of Britain, 
 were the two persons to whom he was most obliged of all 
 
 z 2 
 
340 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 men ; and that he should think himself very unhapjDy if 
 things should go so between them, as he should not be able 
 to acquit himself in gratitude towards them both ; and that 
 there was no means for him as a Christian king, and a 
 common friend to them, to satisfy all obligations both to God 
 and man, but to offer himself for a mediator of an accord 
 and peace between them ; by which course he doubted not 
 but their king’s estate, and honour both, would be preserved 
 with more safety and less envy than by a war; and that he 
 would spare no costs or pains, no, if it were to go on 
 pilgrimage, for so good an effect j and concluded, that in this 
 great affair, which he took so much to heart, he would ex¬ 
 press himself more fully by an ambassage, which he would 
 speedily despatch mito the French king for that purpose. 
 And ill this sort the French ambassadors were dismissed : 
 the king avoiding to understand anything touching the re- 
 annexing of Britain, as the ambassadors had avoided to 
 mention it; save that he gave a little touch of it in the word 
 eMvy. And so it was, that the king was neither so shallow, 
 nor so ill adveii^ised, as not to perceive the intention of the 
 French for the investing himself of Britain. But first, he 
 was utterly unwilling, howsoever he gave out, to enter into 
 war with France. A fame of a war he liked well, but not 
 an achievement; for the one he thought wculd make him 
 richer, and the other poorer ; and he was possessed with 
 many secret fears touching his ovm people, which he was 
 therefore loth to arm, and put weapons into their hands. 
 Yet notwithstanding, as a prudent and courageous prince, he 
 was not so averse from a war, but that he was resolved to 
 choose it, rather than to have Britain carried by France, 
 being so great and opulent a duchy, and situate so opportunely 
 to annoy England, either for coast or trade. But the king’s 
 hojies were, that partly by negligence, commonly imputed to 
 the French, especially in the court of a young king, and 
 partly by the native power of Britain itself, which was not 
 small; but chiefly in respect of the great party that the duke 
 of Orleans had in the kingdom of France, and thereby means 
 to stir up civil troubles, to divert the French king from the 
 enterprise of Britain. And lastly, in regard of the power 
 of Maximilian, who was corival to the French king in that 
 pursuit, the enterprise would either bow to a peace, or break 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 341 
 
 / 
 
 in itself. In all which the king measured and valued things 
 amiss, as afterwards appeared. He sent therefore forthwith 
 to the French king Christopher IJrswick, his chaplain, a 
 person by him much trusted and employed; choosing him 
 the rather, because he was a chimchman, as best soiting with 
 an ambassy of pacification : and giving him also a commis¬ 
 sion, that if the French king consented to treat, he should 
 thence repaii' to the duke of Britain, and ripen the treaty on 
 both parts. Urswick made declaration to the French king, 
 much to the purpose of the king’s answer to the French 
 ambassador’s here, instilling also tenderly some overture of 
 receiving to grace the duke of Orleans, and some taste of 
 conditions of accord. But the French king on the other side 
 proceeded not sincerely, but wfith a great deal of art and 
 dissimulation in tliis treaty; having for his end, to gain time, 
 and so put off the English succours under hope of peace, till 
 he had got good footing in Britain by force of arms. Where¬ 
 fore he answered the ambassador, that he would put himself 
 into the king’s hands, and make him arbiter of the peace; 
 and willingly consented, that the ambassador should straight- 
 ways pass into Britain, to signify this his consent, and to 
 know the duke’s mind likewise ; well foreseeing that the 
 duke of Orleans, by whom the duke of Britain was wholly 
 led, taking himself to be upon terms iiTeconcileable with him, 
 would admit of no treaty of peace. Whereby he should in 
 one, both generally abroad veil over his ambition, and win 
 the reputation of just and moderate proceedings : and should 
 withal endear himself in the affections of the king of England, 
 as one that had committed all to his will; nay, and which was 
 yet more fine, make faith in him, that although he went on 
 with the war, yet it should be but with the sword in his hand, 
 to bend the stiffness of the other party to accept of peace ; 
 and so the king should take no umbrage of his arming and 
 prosecution ; but the treaty to be kept on foot till the very 
 last instant, till he were master of the field. 
 
 Which grounds being by the French king wisely laid, all 
 things fell out as he expected. For when the English ambas¬ 
 sador came to the court of Britain, the duke was then 
 scarcely perfect in his memory, and all things were directed 
 by the duke of Orleans, who gave audience to the chaplain 
 IJrswick, and upon his ambassage delivered made answer in 
 
342 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 somev/hat high terms : That the duke of Britain having 
 been an host, and a kind of parent or foster-father to the 
 king, in his tenderness of age rmd weakness of :fortiine, did 
 look for at this time from King Henry, the renovmed king 
 of England, rather brave troops for his succours, than a vain 
 treaty of peace. And if the king could forget the good 
 offices of the duke done unto him aforetime; yet, he knew 
 well, he would in his wisdom consider of the future, how 
 much it imported his owni safety and reputation, both in 
 foreign parts, and with his own people, not to suffer Britain, 
 the old confederates of England, to be swallowed up by 
 Erance, and so many good ports and strong towns upon the 
 coast be in the command of so potent a neighbour king, and 
 so ancient an enemy. And therefore humbly desireci^ the 
 king to tliink of this business as his own : and therewith 
 brake off, and denied any farther conference for treaty. 
 
 Urswick returned first to the French king, and related to 
 him what had passed. Who, finding things to sort to his 
 desire, took hold of them, and said : That the ambassador 
 might perceive now that which he for his part partly imagined 
 before. That considering in what hands the duke of Britain 
 was, there would be no peace but by a mixed treaty of force 
 and persuasion : and therefore he would go on with the one, 
 and desired the king not to desist from the other. But for 
 his own part, he did faithfully promise to be still in the 
 king’s power, to rule him in the matter of peace. This was 
 accordingly represented unto the king by Urswick at his 
 return, and in such a fashion, as if the treaty were in no sort 
 desperate, but rather stayed for a better hour, till the hammer 
 had wrought and beat the party of Britain more plia,nt. 
 Whereupon there passed continually packets and despatches 
 between the two kings, from the one out of desire, and the 
 other out of dissimulation, about the negotiation of peace. 
 The French king meanwhile invaded Britain with great 
 forces, and distressed the city of Kantz with a strait siege, 
 and, as one, wffio though he had no gTeat judgment, yet had 
 that, that he could dissemble at home, the more he did urge 
 the prosecution of the war, the more he did, at the same 
 time, urge the solicitation of the peace. Insomuch as during 
 the siege of Nantz, after many letters and particular messages, 
 the better to maintain his dissimulation, and to refresh the 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 343 
 
 treaty, lie sent Bernard d’Anbigney, a person of good quality, 
 to the king, earnestly to desire him to make an end of the 
 business howsoever. 
 
 The king was no less ready to revive and quicken tho 
 treaty; and thereupon sent three commissioners, the abbot 
 of Abingdon, Sir Bichard Timstal, and chaplain Urswick 
 formerly employed, to do their utmost endeavours to manage 
 the treaty roimdly and strongly. 
 
 About this time the Lord Woodpile, micle to the queen, 
 a valiant gentleman and desirous of honour, sued to*the king 
 that he might raise some power of voluntaries underhand, 
 and without license or passport (wherein the king might any 
 ways appear), go to the aid of the duke of Britain. The 
 king denied his request, or at least seemed so to do, and laid 
 strait commandment upon him, that he should not stir, for 
 that the king thought his honour would suffer therein, during 
 a treaty, to better a party. iSTevei^theless this lord, either 
 being unruly, or out of conceit that the king would not iu' 
 wardly dislike that, v/hich he would not openly avow, sailed 
 directly over into the Isle of Wight, whereof he was governor, 
 and levied a fair troop of four hundred men, and vrith them 
 passed over into Britain, and joined himself with the duke’s 
 forces. The news whereof, when it came to the Fi’ench 
 court, put divers young bloods into such a fury, as the 
 English ambassadors were not without peril to be outraged. 
 But the French king, both to preserve the privilege of 
 ambassadors, and being conscious to himself, that in the 
 business of peace he himself was the greater dissembler of 
 the two, forbad all injuries of fact or word against their 
 persons or followers. And presently came an agent from the 
 king, to purge himself touching the Lord Woodvile’s going 
 over j using for a principal argument, to demonstrate that it 
 was without his privity, for that the troops were so small, as 
 neither had the face of a succour by authority, nor could 
 much advance the Britain affairs. To which message althoiiffh 
 
 O O 
 
 the French king gave no full credit, yet he made fair weather 
 with the king, and seemed satisfied. Soon after the English 
 ambassadors returned, having two of them been likewise with 
 the duke of Britain, and foimd things in no other terms than 
 they were before. Upon their return they informed the 
 king of the state of affairs, and how far the French king wai? 
 
344 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 from any true meaning of peace ; and therefore lie was now 
 to ad'vdse of some other course ; neither was the king himself 
 led all tills while with credulity merely, as was generally 
 supposed ; but his error was not so much facility of belief, as 
 an ill measuiing of the forces of the other party. 
 
 For, as was jiartly touched before, the king had cast tlie 
 business thus Avith himself. He took it for granted in his 
 own judgment, that the war of Britain, in respect of the 
 strength of the towns and of the party, could not speedily 
 come to a period. For he conceived, that the counsels of a 
 war, that was undertaken by the French king, then childless, 
 against an heir apparent of France, would be very faint and 
 slow; and, besides, that it was not ^lossible, but that the 
 state of France should be embroiled vith some troubles and 
 alterations in favour of the duke of Orleans. He conceived 
 likewise, that Maximilian, king of the Homans, was a prince 
 warlike and potent; who, he made account, would give 
 succours to the Britons roundly. So then judging it would 
 be a work of time, he laid liis plot, how he might best make 
 use of that time for his own afiairs. Wherein first he thought 
 to make his vantage upon his parliament; knowing that they 
 being affectionate unto the quarrel of Britain, would give 
 treasure largely: which treasure, as a noise of war would 
 draw forth, so a peace succeeding might cofifer up. And be¬ 
 cause he knew his people were hot iq^on the business, he 
 chose rather to seem to be deceived, and lulled asleep by the 
 French, than to be backward in himself; considering his 
 subjects were not so fully capable of the reasons of state, 
 which made him hold back. Wherefore to all these purposes 
 he saw no other expedient, than to set and keep on foot a 
 continual treaty of peace, laying it down, and taking it up 
 again, as the occurrence required. Besides, he had in con* 
 si deration the point of honour, in bearing the blessed person 
 of a pacificator. He thought likewise to make use of the 
 envy the French king met with, by occasion of this war of 
 Britain, in strengthening himself with new alliances; as 
 namely, that of Ferdinando of Spain, with whom he had 
 ever a consent even in nature and customs; and likewise 
 with Maximilian, who was particularly interested. So that 
 in substance he promised himself money, honour, friends, 
 and peace in the end. But those things were too fine to be 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 345 
 
 fortunate and succeed in all parts ; for that great affairs are 
 commonly too rough and stubborn to be wrought upon by 
 the finer edges or points of wit. The king was likewise 
 deceived in his two main grounds. For although he had 
 reason to conceive that the council of France would be wary 
 to put the king into a war against the heir apparent of 
 France ; yet he did not consider that Charles was not guided 
 by any of the principal of the blood or nobility, but by mean 
 men, who would make it their master-piece of credit and 
 favour, to give venturous counsels, which no great or wise 
 man durst or would. And for Maximilian, he was thought 
 then a greater matter than he was ; his unstable and neces¬ 
 sitous courses being not then known. 
 
 After consultation with the ambassadors, who brought him 
 no other news than he expected before, though he would not 
 seem to know it till then, he presently summoned his 
 parliament, and in open parliament propounded the cause of 
 Britain to both houses, by his chancellor Morton, archbishop 
 of Canterbury, who spake to this effect. 
 
 My lords and masters, the king’s grace, our sovereign 
 lord, hath commanded me to declare unto you the causes 
 that have moved him at this time to summon this his 
 parliament ; which I shall do in few words, craving pardon 
 of his grace, and you all, if I perform it not as I would. 
 
 His grace doth first of all let you know, that he re- 
 taineth in thankful memory the love and loyalty showed to 
 him by you, at your last meeting, in establishment of his 
 royalty; freeing and discharging of his partakers, and con¬ 
 fiscation of his traitors and rebels; more than which could 
 not come from subjects to their sovereign, in one action. 
 This he taketh so well at your hands, as he hath made it a 
 resolution to himself, to communicate with so loving and 
 well approved subjects, in all affairs that are of public nature, 
 at home or abroad. 
 
 “ Two therefore are the causes of your present assembling; 
 the one, a foreign business; the other, matter of government 
 at home. 
 
 The French king, as no doubt ye have heard, maketh 
 at this present hot war upon the duke of Britain. His 
 army is now before Nantz, and holdeth it straitly besieged, 
 being the principal city, if not in ceremony and pre- 
 
346 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 eminence, yet in strengfcli and wealtli, of tliat ducKy. Ye 
 may guess at his hopes, by Ms attempting of the hardest 
 part of the war first. The cause of this war he knoweth 
 best. He allegeth the entertaining and succouring of the 
 duke of Orleans, and some other French lords, whom the 
 king taketh for Ms enemies. Others divine of other matters. 
 Both parts have, by their ambassadors, divers times prayed 
 the king’s aids j the French king, aids or neutrality; the 
 Britons, aids simply : for so their case requireth. The king, 
 as a Christian prince, and blessed son of the holy church, 
 hath ofiered himself, as a mediator, to treat of peace between 
 them. The French king yielded to treat, but will not stay 
 the prosecution of the war. The Britons, that desire peace 
 most, hearken to it least; not upon confidence or stifihess, 
 but upon distrust of true meaning, seeing the war goes on. 
 So as the king, after as much pains and care to effect a 
 peace, as ever he took in any business, not being able to 
 remove the prosecution on the one side, nor the distrust on 
 the other, caused by that prosecution, hath let fall the treaty; 
 not repenting of it, but despairing of it now, as not likely 
 to succeed. Therefore by this narrative you now understand 
 the state of the question, whereupon the king prayeth your 
 advice ; w^hich is no other, but whether he shall enter into 
 an auxiliary and defensive war for the Britons against 
 France ? 
 
 ^^And the better to open your understandings in tMs 
 affair, the king hath commanded me to say somewhat to you 
 from him, of the persons that do intervene in tliis business; 
 and somewhat of the consequence thereof, as it hath relation 
 to this kingdom, and somewhat of the example of it in 
 general: making nevertheless no conclusion or judgment of 
 any point, until his Grace hath received your faithful and 
 politic advices. 
 
 First, for the king our sovereign himself, who is the 
 principal person you are to eye in this business ; Ms grace 
 doth profess, that he truly and constantly desireth to reign 
 in peace. But his grace saith, he will neither buy peace 
 Avith dishonour, nor take it up at interest of danger to ensue; 
 but shall tMnk it a good change, if it please God to change 
 the inward troubles and seditions, wherewith he hath been 
 
HENKY THE 5ETENTH. 
 
 347 
 
 hitherto exercised, into an honourable foreign war. And 
 for the other two persons in this action, the French king 
 and the duke of Britain, his grace doth declare unto you, 
 that they be the men unto whom he is of all other friends 
 and allies most boimden : the one having held over him his 
 hand of protection from the tyrant; the other having reached 
 forth unto him his hand of help for the recovery of his king¬ 
 dom. So that his affection toward them in his natural person 
 is upon equal terms. And whereas you may have heard, 
 that his grace was enforced to fly out of Britain into France, 
 for doubts of being betrayed : liis grace would not in any 
 sort have that reflect upon the duke of Britain, in deface¬ 
 ment of his former benefits; for that he is throughly in¬ 
 formed, that it was but the practice of some corrupt persons 
 about him, during the time of liis sickness, altogether without 
 liis consent or privity. 
 
 But howsoever these things do interest his grace in 
 this particular, yet he knoweth well, that the higher bond 
 that tieth him to procure by all means the safety and welfare 
 of his loving subjects, doth disinterest him of these obliga¬ 
 tions of gratitude, otherwise than thus; that if his grace be 
 forced to make a war, he do it without passion or ambition. 
 
 For the consequence of this action towards this kingdom, 
 it is much as the French king’s intention is. For if it be no 
 more, but to range his subjects to reason, who bear them¬ 
 selves stout upon the stren^h of the duke of Britain, it is 
 nothing to us. But if it be in the French king’s purpose, or 
 if it should not be in his purpose, yet, if it shall follow all 
 one as if it were sought, that the French king shall make a 
 province of Britain, and join it to the crown of France ; then 
 it is worthy the consideration, how this may import England, 
 as well in the increasement of the greatness of France, by 
 the addition of such a country, that stretcheth his boughs 
 unto our seas, as in deprhung this nation, and leaving it 
 naked of so firm and assured confederates as the Britains 
 have always been. For then it will come to pass, that 
 whereas not long since this realm was mighty upon the con¬ 
 tinent, first in territory, and after in alliance, in respect of 
 Burgundy and Britain, which were confederates indeed, but 
 dependent confederates; now the one being already cast, 
 
843 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 partly into the greatness of France, and partly into that of 
 Austria, the other is like wholly to be cast into the great¬ 
 ness of France; and this island shall remained confined in 
 effect within the salt waters, and girt about with the coast 
 countries of two mighty monarchs. 
 
 For the example, it resteth likewise uj)on the same 
 question, upon the French king’s intent. For if Britain be 
 carried and swallowed up by France, as the world abroad, 
 apt to impute and construe the actions of princes to ambi- 
 bition, conceive it will; then it is an example very dangerous 
 and universal, that the lesser neighbour state should be 
 devoured of the greater. For tliis may be the case of 
 Scotland towards England; of Portugal towards Spain; of 
 the smaller estates of Italy towards the gveater; and so of 
 Germany; or as if some of you of the commons might not 
 live and dwell safely besides some of those great lords. And 
 the bringing in of this example will be chiefly laid to the 
 king’s charge, as to him that was most interested, and most 
 able to forbid it. But then on the other side, there is so fair 
 a pretext on the French king’s part (and yet pretext is 
 never wanting to power), in regard the danger imminent to 
 his own estate is such, as may make this enterprise seem 
 rather a work of necessity than of ambition, as doth in 
 reason correct the danger of the examjfle. For that the 
 example of that which is done in a man’s own defence can¬ 
 not be dangerous; because it is in another’s power to avoid 
 it. But in all this business, the king remits himself to your 
 grave and mature advice, whereupon he purposeth to rely.” 
 
 This was the efiect of the lord chancellor’s s]oeech touching 
 the cause of Britain; for the king had commanded liim to 
 carry it so, as to afiect the parliament towards the business; 
 but without engaging the king in any express declaration. 
 
 The chancellor went on :— 
 
 For that which may concern the government at home, 
 the king had commanded me to say unto you; that he 
 thinketh there was never any king, for the small time that 
 he hath reigned, had greater and juster cause of the two 
 contrary passions of joy and sorrow, than his grace hatk 
 Joy, in respect of the rare and visible favours of Almighty 
 God, in girding the imperial sword upon liis side, and assist¬ 
 ing the same his sword against all his enemies; and likewise 
 
HENRr THE SEVEN'fH. 
 
 349 
 
 in blessing him with so many good and loving servants and 
 j&ubjects which have never failed to give him faithful counsel, 
 ready obedience, and courageous defence. Sorrow, for that 
 it hath not pleased God to suffer him to sheath his sword, as 
 he greatly desired, otherwise than for administration of 
 justice, but that he hath been forced to draw it so oft, to 
 cut off traitorous and disloyal subjects, whom, it seems, God 
 hath left, a few amongst many good, as the Canaanites 
 amongst the people of Israel, to be thorns in their sides, to 
 tempt and try them; though the end hath been always, 
 God’s name be blessed therefore, that the destruction hath 
 fallen upon their own heads. 
 
 “ Wherefore his gTace saith. That he seeth that it is not 
 the blood spilt in the field that will save the blood in the 
 city : nor the marshal’s sword that will set this kingdom in 
 perfect peace : but that the true way is, to stop the seeds of 
 sedition and rebellion in their beginnings; and for that pur¬ 
 pose to devise, confirm, and quicken good and wholesome 
 Jaws against riots, and unlawful assemblies of people, and all 
 combinations and confederacies of them, by liveries, tokens, 
 and other badges of factious dependence; that the peace of 
 the land may by these ordinances, as by bars of iron, be 
 soundly bound iu and strengthened, and all force, both in 
 court, country, and private houses, be supprest. The care 
 hereof, which so much concemeth yourselves, and which the 
 nature of the times doth instantly call for, his grace com¬ 
 mends to your wisdoms. 
 
 ^^And becaiLse it is the king’s desire, that tliis peace, 
 v/herein he hopeth to govern and maintain you, do not bear 
 only unto you leaves, for you to sit under the shade of them 
 ill safety; but also should bear you fruit of riches, wealth, 
 and plenty : therefore his grace prays you to take into con¬ 
 sideration matter of trade, as also the manufactures of the 
 kingdom, and to repress the bastard and barren employment 
 of moneys to usury and unlawful exchanges ; that they may 
 be, as their natural use is, turned upon commerce, and lawful 
 and royal trading. And likewise that oim people be set on 
 work in ails and handicrafts; that the realm may subsist 
 more of itself; that idleness be avoided, and the draining 
 out of our treasure for foreign manufactures stopped. But 
 you are not to rest here only, but to provide father, that 
 
350 
 
 IIEIsEY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 wliatsoever mercliandise shall be brought in from beyond the 
 seas, may be employed upon the commodities of this land; 
 whereby the kingdom’s stock of treasure may be sure to be 
 kept from being diminished by any over>trading of the 
 foreigner. 
 
 And lastly, because the king is well assured, that you 
 would not have him poor, that wishes you rich ; lie doubteth 
 not but that you will have care, as well to maintain his 
 revenues of customs and all other natures, as also to supply 
 him with your loving aids, if the case shall so require. The 
 rather, for that you know the king is a good husband, and 
 but a steward in effect for the public ; and that what comes 
 from you, is but as moisture drawn from the earth, which 
 gathers into a cloud, and falls back upon the earth again. 
 And you know well, how the kingdoms about you groAV 
 more and more in greatness, and the times are stirring; and 
 therefore not fit to find the king with an empty purse. 
 More I have not to say to you; and wish, that what hath 
 been said, had been better expressed: but that your wisdoms 
 and good affections 'will supply. God bless your doings.” 
 
 It was no hard matter to dispose and affect the parliament 
 in this business ; as well in respect of the emulation between 
 the nations, and the envy at the late growth of the French 
 monarchy; as in regard of the danger to suffer the French 
 to make their approaches upon England, by obtaining so 
 goodly a maritime province, full of sea-towns and havens, 
 that might do mischief to the English, either by invasion, or 
 by interruption of traffic. The parliament was also moved 
 with the point of oppression; for although the French 
 seemed to speak reason, yet arguments are ever 'with multi¬ 
 tudes too weak for suspicions. Wherefore they did advise 
 the king roundly to embrace the Britons’ quarrel, and to 
 send them speedy aids ; and -with much alacrity and for¬ 
 wardness granted to the king a great rate of subsidy, in con¬ 
 templation of these aids. But the king, both to keep a 
 decency towards the French king, to whom he protest him¬ 
 self to be obliged, and indeed desirous rather to show war 
 than to make it, sent new solemn ambassadors to intimate 
 unto him the decree of his estates, and to iterate his motion, 
 that the French would desist from hostility; or if war must 
 follow, to desire him to take it in good part, if at the motion 
 
UENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 351 
 
 of liis people, who were sensible of the cause of the Britons 
 as their ancient friends and confederates, he did send them 
 succours; with protestation nevertheless, that, to save all 
 treaties and laws of friendship, he had limited his forces, to 
 proceed in aid of the Britons, but in no wise to war upon 
 the French, otherwise than as they maintained the posses¬ 
 sion of Britain. But before this formal ambassage arrived, 
 the party of the duke had received a great blow, and grew 
 to manifest declaration. For near the town of St. Alban in 
 Britain, a battle had been given, where the Britons were 
 overthrown, and the duke of Orleans and the prmce of 
 Orange taken prisoners, there being slain on the Britons’ 
 part six thousand men, and amongst them the Lord Woodvile, 
 and almost all his soldiers, valiantly fighting. And of the 
 French part, one thousand two hundred, with their leader, 
 James Galeot, a great commander. 
 
 When the news of this battle came over into England, it 
 was time for the king, who now had no subterfuge to coU' 
 tinue farther treaty, and saw before his eyes that Britain 
 went so speedily for lost, contrary to his hopes : knovdng 
 also that with his people, and foreigners both, he sustained 
 no small envy and disreputation for his former delays, to 
 despatch with all possible speed his succours into Britain; 
 which he did under the conduct of Bobert, Lord Brooke, to 
 the number of eighty thousand choice men well armed; who 
 having a fair wind, in few hours landed in Britain, and 
 joined themselves forthwith to those Briton forces that 
 remained after the defeat, and marched straight on to find 
 the enemy, and encamped fast by them. The French wisely 
 liusbanding the possession of a victory, well acquainted with 
 the courage of the English, especially when they are fresh, 
 kept themselves within their trenches, being strongly lodged, 
 and resolved not to give battle. But meanwhile, to harass 
 and weary the English, they did uj)on all advantages set 
 upon them with their light horse; wherein nevertheless 
 they received commonly loss, especially by means of the 
 English archers. 
 
 But upon these achievements Francis, duke of Britain, 
 deceased; an accident that the king might easily have fore¬ 
 seen, and ought to have reckoned upon and provided for, but 
 that the point of reputation, when news first came of the 
 
352 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 battle lost, tbat somewhat must be clone, did overbear the 
 reason of war. 
 
 After the duke’s decease, the principal persons of Britain, 
 partly bought, partly through faction, put all things into 
 confusion; so as the English not finding head or body with 
 whom to join their forces, and being in jealousy of fiiends, 
 as well as in danger of enemies, and the winter begim, re¬ 
 turned home five months after their landing. So the battle 
 of St. Alban, the death of the duke, and the retire of the 
 English succours, were, after some time, the causes of the 
 loss of that duchy; which action some accounted as a blemish 
 of the king’s judgment, but most but as the misfortune of 
 his times. 
 
 But howsoever the temporary fruit of the parliament, in 
 their aid and advice given for Biitain, took not nor prospered 
 not j yet the lasting fruit of parKament, which is good and 
 wholesome laws, did prosper, and doth yet continue, to this 
 day. For according to the lord chancellor’s admonition, there 
 were that parliament divers excellent laws ordained concern¬ 
 ing the points which the king recommended. 
 
 First, the authority of the Star-chamber, which before sub¬ 
 sisted by the ancient common laws of the realm, was con¬ 
 firmed in certain cases by act of parliament. This court is 
 one of the sagest and noblest institutions of this kingdom. 
 For in the distribution of couii;s of ordinary justice, besides 
 the high court of Parliament, in which distribution the King’s 
 Bench holdeth the pleas of the crown, the Common Pleas 
 pleas civil, the Exchequer pleas concerning the king’s revenue, 
 and the Chancery the pretorian power for mitigating the 
 rigour of law, in case of extremity, by the conscience of a 
 good man j there was, nevertheless, always reserved a high 
 and pre-eminent power to the king’s council in causes that 
 might in example or consequence concern the state of the 
 commonwealth, which if they were criminal the council used 
 to sit in the chamber called the Star-chamber, if civil in the 
 white-chamber or white-hall. And as the Chanceiy had the 
 pretoiian power for equity, so the Star-chamber had the cen- 
 soiian power for ofiences imder the degree of capital. This 
 coimt of Star-chamber is compounded of good elements, for it 
 consisteth of four kinds of persons—counsellors, peers, pre¬ 
 lates, and chief judges. It discemeth also principally of four 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 353 
 
 kinds of causes—forces, frauds, crimes various of stellionate, 
 and tlie indications or middle acts towards crimes capital or 
 heinous, not actually committed or perpetrated. But that 
 which was principally aimed at by this act was force, and 
 the two chief supports of force, combination of multitudes, 
 and maintenance or headship of great persons. 
 
 From the general peace of the country the king’s care 
 went on to the peace of the king’s house, and the security of 
 ills great officers and counsellors. But this law was some¬ 
 what of a strange composition and temper. That if any of 
 the king’s servants under the degree of a lord do conspire 
 the death of any of the king’s council or lord of the realm, it 
 is made capital. This law was thought to be procured by 
 the lord chancellor, who being a stern and haughty man, and 
 finding he had some mortal enemies in court, provided for 
 his ovm safety, drowning the envy of it in a general law, by 
 communicating the privilege with all other counsellors and 
 peers, and yet not daring to extend it farther than to the 
 king’s servants in check-roll, lest it should have been too 
 harsh to the gentlemen and other commons of the kingdom, 
 who might have thought their ancient liberty and the 
 clemency of the laws of England invaded, if the will in any 
 case of felony should be made the deed. And yet the reason 
 which the act yieldeth, that is to say, that he that conspireth 
 the death of counsellors may be thought indirectly, and by a 
 mean, to conspire the death of the king himself, is indifferent 
 to all subjects, as well as to servants in court. But it seem-^ 
 eth this sufficed to serve the lord chancellor’s turn at this 
 time. But yet he lived to need a general law, for that he 
 grew afterwards as odious to the country as he was then to 
 the court. 
 
 From the peace of the king’s house the king’s care ex¬ 
 tended to the peace of private houses and families. For there 
 was an excellent moral law moulded thus: the taking and 
 carrying away of women forcibly and against their ^vill, ex¬ 
 cept female-wards and bond-women, was made capital. The 
 parliament wisely and justly conceiving that the obtaining 
 of women by force into possession, howsoever afterwards 
 assent might follow by allurements, was but a rape drawn 
 forth in length, because the first force drew on all the rest. 
 
 Thei'e was made also another law for peace in general, and 
 
 2 A 
 
354 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 repressing of mnrciers and manslaughters, and was in amend¬ 
 ment of the common laws of the realm, being this: That 
 whereas by the common law the king’s suit, in case of homi¬ 
 cide, did expect the year and the day, allowed to the party’s 
 suit by way of appeal ; and that it was found by experience 
 that the party was many times compounded with, and many 
 times wearied with the suit, so that in the end such suit was 
 let fall, and by that time the matter was in a manner for¬ 
 gotten, and thereby prosecution at the king’s suit by indict¬ 
 ment, which is ever flagrante crimine, neglected; it was 
 ordained that the suit by indictment might be taken as well 
 at any time within the year and the day, as after, not pre¬ 
 judicing nevertheless the party’s suit. • • 
 
 The king began also then, as well in wisdom as in justice, 
 to pare a little the privilege of clergy, ordaining that clerks 
 convict should be burned in the hand, both because they 
 might taste of some corporal punishment and that they 
 might carry a brand of infamy. Bub for this good act’s sake, 
 the king himself was after branded, by Perkin’s proclamation, 
 for an execrable breaker of the rites of holy church. 
 
 Another law was made for the better peace of the country; 
 by which law the king’s officers and farmers were to forfeit 
 their places and holds, in case of unlawful retainer, or par¬ 
 taking in routs and unlawful assemblies. 
 
 These were the laws that were made for repressing of 
 force, which those tim.es did chiefly require ; and were so 
 prudently framed, as they are found fit for all succeeding 
 times, and so continue to this day. 
 
 There were also made good and politic laws that parliament, 
 against usury, which is the bastard use of money ; and 
 against unla^ul chievances and exchanges, which is bastard 
 usury j and also for the security of the king’s customs j and 
 for the employment of the procedures of foreign commodities, 
 brought in by merchant-strangers, upon the native com¬ 
 modities of the realm; together with some other laws of less 
 importance. 
 
 But howsoever the laws made in that parliament did bear 
 good and wholesome fruit; yet the subsidy granted at the 
 game time bare a fruit that proved harsh and bitter. -All 
 was inned at last into the king s barn, but it was after n 
 
355 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 * 
 
 storm. For when the commissioners entered into the taxa¬ 
 tion of the subsidy in Yorkshire, and the bishopric of 
 Duresm ; the people upon a sudden grew into great mutiny, 
 and said openly, That they had endured of late years a 
 thousand miseries, and neither could nor would pay the 
 subsidy. This, no doubt, proceeded not simply of any 
 present necessity, but much by reason of the old humour of 
 those countiies, where the memory of King Kichard was so 
 strong, that it lay like lees in the bottom of men’s hearts; 
 and if the vessel was but stirred, it would come up. And, 
 no doubt, it was partly also by the instigation of some factious 
 malecontents, that bare principal stroke amongst them. 
 Hereupon the commissioners being somewhat astonished, 
 deferred the matter unto the earl of Northumberland, who 
 was the principal man of authority in those parts. The earl 
 forthwith wrote unto the court, signifying to the king plainly 
 enough in what flame he found the people of those countries, 
 and praying the king’s direction. The king wuote back 
 peremptorily, That he would not have one penny abated, of 
 that which had been granted to him by parliament; both 
 because it might encourage other countries to pray the lilce 
 release or mitigation ; and chiefly because he would never 
 endure that the base multitude should frustrate the authoritv 
 of the parliament, wherein their votes and consents were 
 concluded. Upon this despatch from court, the earl assembled 
 the principal justices and freeholders of the country; and 
 speaking to them in that imperious language, wherein the 
 king had Avritten to liim, which needed not, save that a harsh 
 business was unfortunately fallen into the hands of a harsli 
 man, did not only initate the people, but make them con¬ 
 ceive, by the stoutness and haughtiness of delivery of the 
 king’s errand, that himself was the author or piincipal 
 persuader of that counsel; whereupon the meaner sort 
 routed together, and suddenly assailing the earl in his house, 
 slew him, and divers of his servants : and rested not there, 
 but creating for their leader Sir John Egremond, a factious 
 person, and one that had of a long time borne an ill talent 
 towards the king ; and being animated also by a base fellow, 
 called John a Chamber, a very boutefeu, who bare muck 
 sway amongst the vulgar and popular, entered into opoi 
 
 2a 2 
 
HENHY 
 
 35 G 
 
 THE SEVENTH. 
 
 rebellion ; and gave out in flat terms, that they vrould go 
 against King Henry, and fight vdth him for the maintenanco 
 of their libeHies. 
 
 When the king was advertised of this new insurrection, 
 being almost) a feve}’ that took him every year, after liis 
 manner little troubled therewith, he sent Thomas, earl of 
 Surrey, whom he had a little before not only released out of 
 the Tower, and pardoned, but also received to special favour, 
 with a competent power against the rebels, who fought with 
 the principal band of them, and defeated them, and took 
 alive John a Chamber, their firebrand. As for Sir John 
 Egremond, he fled into Flanders to the Lady Margaret of 
 Burgundy, whose palace was the sanctuary and receptacle of 
 all traitors against the king. John a Chamber was executed 
 at York in great state; for he was hanged upon a gibbet 
 raised a stage higher in the midst of a square gallows, as a 
 traitor paramount j and a number of his men that were his 
 cliief accomplices were hanged upon the lower story round 
 about him ; and the rest were generally pardoned. Keither 
 did the king himself omit liis custom, to be first or second in 
 all his warlike exploits, making good his word, which was 
 usual with him when he heard of rebels, that he desired but 
 to see them. For immediately after he had sent down the 
 earl of Surrey, he marched towards them himself in person. 
 And although in his journey he heard news of the victory, 
 yet he went on as far as York, to pacify and settle those 
 countries; and that done, returned to London, leaving the 
 earl of Surrey for his lieutenant in the northern parts, and 
 Sir Kichard Tunstal for his principal commissioner, to levy 
 the subsidy, whereof he did not remit a denier. 
 
 About the same time that the king lost so good a servant 
 as the earl of Northumberland, he lost likewise a faithful 
 fiiend and ally of James the Third, king of Scotland, by a 
 miserable disaster. For this unfortunate prince, after a long 
 smother of discontent, and hatred of many of his nobility 
 and people breaking forth at times into seditions and alter¬ 
 ations of court, was at last distressed by them, having taken 
 arms, and surprised the person of Prince James, his son, 
 partly by force, partly by threats, that they would otherwise 
 deliver up the kingdom to the king of England, to shadow 
 their rebellion, and to be the titular and painted head of 
 
[lENJRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 those arras. Wliereupon the king, finding himself too sveak, 
 Bought luito King Henry, as also nnto the pope, and the king 
 of France, to compose those troubles between him and his 
 subjects. The kings accordingly interposed their mediation 
 in a round and princely manner : not only by way of request 
 and persuasion, but also by way of protestation and menace ; 
 declaring. That they thought it to be the common cause of 
 all kings, if subjects should be sufiered to give laws unto 
 their sovereign, and that they would accordingly resent it, 
 and revenge it. But the rebels, that had shaken off the 
 greater yoke of obedience, had likewise cast away the lesser 
 tie of respect. And fury prevailing above fear, made answer. 
 That there was no talking of peace, except the king would 
 resign liis crown. Whereupon treaty of accord taking no 
 2)lace, it came to a battle at Bannocksbourn by Strivelin : 
 in which battle the king, transported witli wrath and just 
 indignation, inconsiderately fighting and precipitating the 
 charge, before his whole numbers came up to him, was, not¬ 
 withstanding the contrary express and strait commandment 
 of the prince his son, slain in the pursuit, being fled to a 
 mill, situate in a field, where the battle was fought. 
 
 As for the pope’s ambassy, which was sent by Adrian de 
 Castello, an Italian legate, and perhaps, as those times were, 
 might have prevailed more, it came too late for the ambassy, 
 but not for the ambassador. For passing through England 
 and being honourably entertained, and received of King- 
 Henry, who ever applied himself with much respect to the 
 see of Home, he fell into great grace with the king, and great 
 familiarity and friendship with Morton the chancellor: 
 insomuch as the king taking a liking to him, and finding 
 him to his mind, preferred him to the bishopric of Hereford, 
 and afterwards to that of Bath and Wells, and employed 
 him in many of his affairs of state, that had relation to 
 Borne. He was a man of great learning, wisdom, and dex¬ 
 terity in business of state; and having not long after 
 ascended to the degree of cardinal, paid the king largo 
 tribute of his gratitude, in diligent and judicious advertise¬ 
 ment of the occurrents of Italy. Nevertheless, in the end 
 of his time, he was partaker of the conspiracy, which Car¬ 
 dinal Alphonso Petrucci and some other cardinals had 
 plotted against the life of Pope Leo. And this offence^ iii 
 
3o8 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH* 
 
 itself SO heinous, was yet in him aggravated by the motive 
 thereof, which was not malice or discontent, but an aspiring 
 mind to the papacy. And in this height of impiety there 
 wanted not an intermixture of levity and folly; for that, as 
 was generally believed, he was animated to expect the pa.pacy 
 by a fatal mockery, the prediction of a soothsayer, which 
 was, That one should succeed pope Leo, whose name should 
 be Adrian, an aged man of mean birth, and of great learning 
 and wisdom.” By which character and figure he took him¬ 
 self to be described, though it were fulfilled of Adrian the 
 Fleming, son of a Dutch brewer, cardinal of Tortosa, and 
 preceptor unto Charles the Fifth; the same that, not chang¬ 
 ing his Christian name, was afterwards calleL Adrian the 
 sixth. 
 
 But these things hap^^ened in the year following, which 
 was the fifth of this king. But in the end of the fourth year 
 the king had called again his parliament, not, as it seemeth, 
 for any particular occasion of state : but the former par¬ 
 liament being ended somewhat suddenly, in regard of the 
 preparation for Britain, the king thought he had not remu¬ 
 nerated his people sufficiently with' good laws, which ever¬ 
 more was his retribution for treasure. And finding by the 
 insurrection in the north, there was discontentment abroad, 
 in respect of the subsidy, he thought it good to give his sub¬ 
 jects yet farther contentment and comfort in that kind. 
 Certainly his times for good commonwealth’s laws did excel. 
 So as he may justly be celebrated for the best lawgiver to 
 this nation, after King Edward the First: for his laws, whoso 
 marks them well, are deep, and not vulgar; not made upon 
 the spur of a particular occasion for the present, but out of 
 providence of the future, to make the estate of his people 
 still more and more happy; after the manner of the legis¬ 
 lators in ancient and heroical times. 
 
 First, therefore, he made a law, suitable to his own acts 
 and times : for as himself had in his person and marriage 
 made a final concord, in the great suit and title for the 
 crown; so by this law he settled the like peace and quiet in 
 tlie private possessions of the subjects : ordaining, ‘‘ That 
 fines thenceforth should be final, to conclude all strangers’, 
 rights and that upon fines levied and solemnly proclaimed 
 the subject should have his time of watch for five years after 
 
HENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 25 \) 
 
 ilk title accrued; which if he forepassed, his right should 
 be bound for ever after ; with some exception nevertheless 
 of -minors, married women, and such incompetent persons. 
 
 Thk statute did in effect but restore an ancient statute of 
 the realm, which was itself also made but in affirmance of 
 the common law. The alteration had been by a statute, 
 commonly called the statute of non-claim, made in the time 
 of Edward the Third. And surely this law was a kind of 
 prognostic of the good peace, which since his time hath, for 
 the most part, continued in this kingdom until this day : for 
 statutes of non-claim are fit for times of war, when men’s 
 heads are troubled, that they cannot intend their estate; 
 but statutes that quiet possessions are fittest for times of 
 peace, to extinguish suits and contentions, which is one of 
 the banes of peace. 
 
 Another statute was made, of singular' policy, for the 
 population apparently, and, if it be thoroughly considered, 
 for the soldiery and military forces of the realm. 
 
 Enclosures at that time began to be more frequent, 
 whereby arable land, which could not be manui’ed without 
 people and families, was tmmed into pasture, wliich was 
 easily rid by a few herdsmen; and tenances for years, lives, 
 and at will, whereupon much of the yeomanry lived, were 
 turned into demesnes. This bred a decay of people, and, by 
 consequence, a decay of towns, oliurches, tithes, and the like. 
 The king likewise knew full well, and in no wise forgot, that 
 there ensued withal upon this a decay and diminution of 
 subsidies and taxes ; for the more gentlemen, ever the lower 
 books of subsidies. In remedying of this inconvenience the 
 king’s wisdom was admirable, and the parliament’s at that 
 time. Enclosures they would not forbid, for that' had been 
 to forbid the impi'ovement of the patrimony of the kingdom; 
 nor tniage they would not compel, for that was to strive 
 with nature and utility; but they took a course to take 
 away depopulating enclosures and depopulating pasturage, 
 and yet not by that name, or by any imperious express pro¬ 
 hibition, but by consequence. The ordinance was, That 
 all houses of husbandry, that were used mth twenty acres 
 of ground and upwards, should be maintained and kept up 
 for ever; together with a competent proportion of land to 
 be used and occupied wdth them;” and in no wise to be 
 
360 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 severed from them, as by another statute, made afterwards 
 in his successor’s time, was more frilly declared : this upon 
 forfeiture to be taken, not by way of popular action, but by 
 seizure of the land itself by the king and lords of the fee, as 
 to half the profits, till the houses and lands were restored. 
 By this means the houses being kept up, did of necessity 
 enforce a dweller; and the proportion of land for occu¬ 
 pation being kept up, did of necessity enforce that dweller 
 not to be a beggar or cottager, but a man of some sub¬ 
 stance, that might keep hinds and servants, and set the 
 plough on going. This did wondeiTully concern the might 
 and mannerhood of the kingdom, to have farms as it 
 were of a standard, sufficient to maintain an able body out 
 of penury, and did in effect amortise a great part of the 
 lands of the kingdom unto the hold and occupation of the 
 yeomanry or middle people, of a condition between gentle¬ 
 men and cottagers or peasants. Kow, how much this did 
 advance the military power of the kingdom, is apparent by 
 the true principles of war and the examples of other king¬ 
 doms. For it hath been held by the general opinion of men 
 of best judgment in the wars, howsoever some few have 
 varied, and that it may receive some distinction of case, that 
 the principal strength of an army consisteth in the infantry or 
 foot. And to make good infantry, it requireth men bred, 
 not in a servile or indigent fashion, but in some free and 
 plentiful manner. Therefore if a state run most to noblemen 
 and gentlemen, and that the husbandmen and ploughmen be 
 but as their workfolks and labourers, or else mere cottagers, 
 which are but housed beggars, you may have a good cavalry, 
 but never good stable bands of foot; like to coppice woods, 
 that if you leave in them staddles too thick, they vuU run 
 to bushes and briers, and have little clean underwood. And 
 this is to be seen in France and Italy, and some other parts 
 abroad, where in effect all is noblesse or peasantry, I speak 
 of people out of towns, and no middle people ; and therefore 
 no good forces of foot : insomuch as they are enforced to 
 employ mercenary bands of Switzers, and the like, for their 
 battalions of foot. Whereby also it comes to pass, that those 
 nations have much people, and few soldiers. Whereas the 
 king saw, that contrariwise it would follow, that England, 
 though much less in territory, yet should have infinitely 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 3G1 
 
 more soldiers cf their native forces than those other nations 
 have. Thus did the king secretly sow Hydra’s teeth; 
 whereupon, according to the poet’s fiction, should rise up 
 armed men for the service of the kingdom. 
 
 The king also, having care to make his realm potent, as 
 well by sea as by land, for the better maintenance of the 
 navy, ordained, That wines and woads from the parts of 
 Gascoign and Languedoc should not be brought but in 
 English bottomsbowing the ancient policy of this estate, 
 from consideration of plenty to consideration of power. For 
 that almost all the ancient statutes incite by all means mer¬ 
 chant-strangers to bring in all sorts of commodities ; ha\dng 
 for end cheapness, and not looking to the point of state con¬ 
 cerning the naval power. 
 
 The king also made a statute in that parliament, monitory 
 and minatory towards justices of peace, that they should 
 duly execute their office, inviting complaints against them, 
 first to their fellow-justices, then to the justices of assize, 
 then to the king or chancellor : and that a proclamation 
 which he had published of that tenor should be read in 
 open sessions four times a year, to keep them awake. Mean¬ 
 ing also to have his laws executed, and thereby to reap either 
 obedience or forfeitures, wherein towards his latter times he 
 did decline too much to the left hand, he did ordain remedy 
 against the practice that was gro-wn in use, to stop and damp 
 informations upon penal laws, by procuring informations by 
 collusion to be put in by the confederates of the delinquents, 
 to be faintly prosecuted, and let fall at pleasure; and plead¬ 
 ing them in bar of the informations, which were prosecuted 
 with effect. 
 
 He made also laws fcr the correction of the mint, and 
 counterfeiting of foreign coin current. And that no payment 
 in gold should be made to any merchant-stranger, the better 
 to keep treasure within the realm, for that gold was the 
 metal that lay in the least room. 
 
 He made also statutes for the maintenance of drapery, and 
 the keeping of wools within the realm; and not only so, but 
 for stinting and limiting the prices of cloth, one for the finer, 
 and another for the coarser sort. Which I note, both 
 because it was a rare thing to set prices by statute, especially 
 upon our home commoditicKS; and because of the ^vise model 
 
362 . 
 
 HENRY thp: seventh. 
 
 of tills act, not prescribing prices, but stinting them not to 
 exceed a rate ; that tbe clothier might drape accordingly as 
 be might afford. 
 
 Divers other good statutes were made that parliament, 
 but these were the principal. And here I do desire those 
 into whose hands this work shall fall, that they do take in 
 good part my long insisting upon the laws that were made 
 in this king’s reign. Whereof I have these reasons; both 
 because it was the pre-eminent virtue and merit of this king 
 to whose memory I do honour; and because it hath some 
 correspondence to my person; but chiefly because, in my 
 judgment, it* is some defect even in the best writers of his¬ 
 tory, that they do not often enough summarily deliver and 
 set down the most memorable laws that passed in the times 
 whereof they writ, being indeed the principal acts of peace. 
 For though they may be had in original books of law them¬ 
 selves ; yet that informeth not the judgment of kings and 
 counsellors, and persons of estate, so well as to see them 
 described, and entered in the table and portrait of the times. 
 
 About the same time the king had a loan from the city 
 of four thousand pounds; which was double to that they 
 lent before, and was duly and orderly paid back at the day, 
 as the former likewise had been: the king ever choosing 
 rather to borrow too soon, than to pay too late, and so 
 keeping up his credit. 
 
 Neither had the king yet cast ofl'his cares and hopes touching 
 Britain, but thought to master the occasion by policy, though 
 his arms had been unfortunate; and to bereave the French 
 king of the fruit of his victory. The sum of his design was, 
 to encourage Maximilian to go on with his suit, for the mar¬ 
 riage of Anne, the heir of Britain, and to’ aid him to the 
 consummation thereof. But the affairs of Maximilian were 
 at that time in great trouble and combustion, by a rebellion 
 of his subjects in Flanders; especially those of Bruges and 
 Gaunt, whereof the town of Bruges, at such time as Maxi¬ 
 milian was there in person, had suddenly armed in tumult, 
 and slain some of his principal officers, and taken himself 
 
 E oner, and held him in durance, till they had enforced 
 and some of his counsellors, to take a solemn oath to 
 pardon all their offences, and never to question and revenge 
 the same in time to come. Nevertheless Frederick the 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 363 
 
 ODiperor would not suffer this reproach and indignity offered 
 to his son to pass, but made sharp wars upon Flanders, to 
 reclaim and chastise the rebels. But the Lord Bavenstein, a 
 principal person about Maximilian, and one that had taken 
 the oath of abolition with his master, pretending the religion 
 thereof, but indeed upon private ambition, and, as it was 
 thought, instigated and corrupted from France, forsook the 
 emperor and Maximilian his lord, and made himself a head 
 of the popular party, and seized upon the towns of Ipres and 
 Sluice with both the castles : and forthwith sent to the 
 Lord Cordes, governor of Picardy under the French king, to 
 desire aid; and to move him, that he, on the behalf of the 
 French king, would be protector of the united towns, and 
 by force of arms reduce the rest. The Lord Cordes 
 was ready to embrace the occasion, which was partly of his 
 own setting, and sent forthwith greater forces than it had 
 been possible for him to raise on-the sudden, if he had not 
 looked fcr such a summons before, in aid of the Lord Haven- 
 stein and the Flemings, with instructions to invest the 
 towns between France and Bruges. The French forces 
 besieged a little town called Dixmude, where j)art of the 
 Flemish forces joined with them. While they lay at this 
 siege, the king of England, upon pretence of the safety of 
 the English pale about Calais, but in truth being loth that 
 Maximilian should become contemptible, and thereby be 
 shaken off by the states of Britain about this marriage, sent 
 over the Lord Morley with a thousand men, under the Lord 
 D’Aubigny, then deputy of Calais, with secret instructions 
 to aid Maximilian, and to raise the siege of Dixmude. The 
 Lord D’Aubigny, giving it out that all was for the strength¬ 
 ening of the English marches, drew out of the garrisons of 
 Calais, Hammes, and Guines, to the number of a thousand 
 men more. So that with the fresh succours that came under 
 the conduct of the Lord Morley, they made up to the num¬ 
 ber of two thousand or better. Which forces joining with 
 some companies of Almains, put themselves into Dixmude, 
 not perceived by the enemies; and passing through the 
 town, with some reinforcement from the forces that were 
 in the town, assailed the enemies’ camp negligently guarded, 
 as being out of fear; where there was a bloody fight, in 
 which the English and their partakers obtained the victory, 
 
364 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 and slew to tlie number of eight thousjind men, with the 
 loss on the English part of a hundred or thereabouts; 
 amongst whom was the Lord Morley. They took also their 
 great ordnance, with much rich spoils, which they carried to 
 Newport; whence the Lord D’Aubigny returned to Calais, 
 leaving the hurt men and some other voluntaries in New¬ 
 port. But the Lord Cordes being at Ipres with a great 
 power of men, thinking to recover the loss and disgrace of 
 the fight at Dixmude, came presently on, and sat down 
 before Newport, and besieged it ; and after some days’ siege, 
 he resolved to trv the fortune of an assault. Which he did 
 one day, and succeeded therein so far, that he had taken the 
 principal tower and fort in that city, and planted upon it 
 the French banner. Whence nevertheless they were pre¬ 
 sently beaten forth by the English, by the help of some 
 fresh succours of archers arriving by good fortune, at the 
 instant, in the haven of Newport. Whereupon the Lord 
 Cordes, discouraged, and measuring the new succours, which 
 were small, by the success, which was great, levied his siege. 
 By this means matters grew more exasperate between the 
 two kings of England and France, for that, in the war of 
 Flanders, the auxiliary forces of French and English were 
 much blooded one against another. Which blood rankled 
 the more, by the vain words of the Lord Cordes, that de¬ 
 clared himself an open enemy of the English, beyond that 
 that appertained to the present service; making it a common 
 by-word of his, That he could be content to lie in hell 
 seven years, so he might win Calais from the English.” 
 
 The king having thus upheld the reputation of Maximilian, 
 advised him now to press on his marriage with Britain to 
 a conclusion. Which Maximilian accordingly did, and so 
 far forth prevailed, both with the young lady and with the 
 principal persons about her, as the marriage was consummated 
 by proxy, with a ceremony at that time in these parts new. 
 For she was not only publicly contracted, buL stated, as a 
 bride, and solemnly bedded; and after she was laid, there 
 came in Maximilian’s ambassador with letters of procui’ation, 
 and in the presence of sundry noble personages, men and 
 women, put his leg, stripped naked to the knee, between the 
 espousal sheets; to the end, that that ceremony might be 
 thought to amount to a consummation and actual knowledge. 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 T1il 5 done, Maximilian, whose property was to leave things 
 then when they were almost come to perfection, and to end 
 them by imagination; like ill archers, that draw not their 
 arrows up to the head ; and who might as easily have bedded 
 the lady himself, as to have made a play and disguise of it, 
 thinking now all assured, neglected for a time his farther 
 proceeding, and intended his wars. Meanwhile the French 
 king, consulting his divines, and finding that this pretended 
 consummation was rather an invention of courf, than any 
 ways valid by the laws of the church, went more really to 
 work, and by secret instniments and cunning agents, as well 
 matrons about the young lady as counsellors, first sought to 
 remove the point of religion and honour out of the mind of tlie 
 lady herself, wherein there was a double labour. For Maxi¬ 
 milian was not only contracted unto the lady, but Maxi¬ 
 milian’s daughter was likewise contracted to King Charles. 
 So as the marriage halted upon both feet, and was not clear 
 on either side. But for the contract with King Charles, the 
 exception lay plain and fair; for that Maximilian’s daughter 
 was under years of consent, and so not bound by law, but a 
 power of disagreement left to either part. But for the 
 contract made by Maximilian with the lady herself, they 
 were harder driven : harfng nothing to allege, but that it 
 Avas done without the consent of her sovereign lord King 
 Charles, whose ward and client she was, and he to her in 
 place of a father : and therefore it was void and of no force 
 for Avant of such consent. "Which defect, they said, though 
 it would not evacuate a marriage after cohabitation and 
 actual consummation, yet it was enough to make void a 
 contract. For as for the pretended consummation, they 
 made sport Avith it, and said, That it was an argument 
 that Maximilian was a widower, and a cold wooer, that 
 could content himself to be a bndegroom by deputy, and 
 would not make a little journey to put all out of question.” 
 So that the young lady, wrought upon by these reasons, 
 finely instilled by such as the French king, who spared for 
 no rewards or promises, had made on his side; and allured 
 likewise by the present glory and greatness of King Charles, 
 being also a young king, and a bachelor, and loth to make 
 her coimtry the seat of a long and miserable war, secretly 
 yielded to accept of King Cliarles. But during tliis secret 
 
366 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 treaty with the lady, the better to save it from blasts of 
 opposition and interruption, King Charles resorting to his 
 wonted arts, and thinking to carry the marriage as he had 
 carried the wars, by entertaining the king of England in 
 vain belief, sent a solemn ambassage by Francis Lord of 
 Luxemburg, Charles Marignian, and Kobert Gagvien, general 
 of the order of the Bons Hommes of the Trinity, to treat a 
 peace and league with the king; accoupling it with an 
 ai^ticle in the nature of a request, that the French king 
 might with the king’s good will, according unto his right of 
 seigniory and tutelage, dispose of the marriage of the young 
 duchess of Britain, as he should think good; offeiing by a 
 judicial proceeding to make void the marriage of Maximilian 
 by proxy. Also all this while, the better to amuse the 
 world, he did continue in his court and custody the daughter 
 of Maximilian, who formerly had been sent unto him, to be 
 bred and educated in France ; not dismissing or renvoying 
 her, but contrarimse professing and giving out strongly 
 that he meant to proceed with that match. And that for 
 the duchess of Britain, he desired only to preseiwe his right 
 of seigniory, and to give her in marriage to some such ally as 
 might depend upon him. 
 
 JWhen the three commissioners came to the court of Eng¬ 
 land, they delivered their ambassage unto the king, who 
 remitted them to his council, where some days after they 
 had audience, and made their proposition by the prior of the 
 Trinity, who though he were third in place, yet was held 
 the best speaker of them, to this effect:— 
 
 My lords, the king our master, the greatest and mightiest 
 king that reigned in France since Charles the Great, whose 
 name he beareth, hath nevertheless thought it no disparage¬ 
 ment to his greatness at this time to propound a peace, yea, 
 and to pray a peace with the king of England. For which 
 purpose he hath sent us his commissioners, instructed and 
 enabled with full and ample power to treat and conclude, 
 giving us farther in charge, to open in some other business 
 the secrets of his own intentions. These be indeed the pre¬ 
 cious love-tokens between great kings, to communicate one 
 with another the true state of their affairs, and to pass by 
 nice points of honour, which ought not to give law unto 
 affection. This I do assure your lordship—it is not possible 
 
HENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 3C7 
 
 for you t9 imagine the true and cordial love that the king 
 our master beareth to your sovereign, except you were near 
 him as we are. He useth his name with so great respect, 
 he remembereth their first acquaintance at Paris with so 
 great contentment, nay, he never speaks of him, but that 
 presently he falls into discourse of the miseries of great 
 kings, in that they cannot converse with their equals, but 
 'svith servants. This affection to your king’s person and 
 virtues God hath put into the heart of our master, no doubt 
 for the good of Christendom, and for purposes yet unknown 
 to us all. For other root it cannot have, since it was the 
 same to the earl of Richmond that it is now to the king of 
 England. This is, therefore, the first motive that makes 
 our king to desire peace and league with your sovereign— 
 good affection, and somewhat that he finds in his own heart. 
 This affection is also armed with reason of estate. For our 
 king doth in all candour and frankness of dealing open him¬ 
 self unto you, that having an honourable, yea, and an holy 
 purpose, to make a voyage and war in remote parts, he 
 considereth that it will be of no small effect, in point of 
 reputation to his enterprise, if it be known abroad that he is 
 in good peace with all his neighbour princes, and especially 
 with the king of England, whom for good causes he esteem- 
 eth most. ' 
 
 But now, my lords, give me leave to use a few words to 
 remove all scruples and misunderstanding between your 
 sovereign and ours concerning some late actions, which if 
 they be not cleared may perhaps hinder this peace. To the 
 end that for matters past neither king may conceive unkind¬ 
 ness of other, nor think the other conceiveth unkindness of 
 him. The late actions are two: that of Britain and that of 
 Flanders. In both which it is true that the subjects’ swords 
 of both kings have encountered and stricken, and the ways 
 and inclinations also of the two kings, in respect of their 
 confederates and allies, have severed. 
 
 For that of Britain, the king your sovereign knoweth 
 best what hath passed. It was a war of necessity on our 
 master’s part. And though the motives of it were sharp and 
 piquant as could be, yet did he make that war rather with 
 an olive branch th.an a laurel branch in his hand, more de- 
 wring peace than victory. Besides, from time to time he 
 
3G8 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 sent, as it were, blank papers to your king to write the con* 
 ditions of peace. For though both liis honour and safety 
 went upon it, yet he thought neither of them too precious 
 to put into the king of England’s hands. Neither doth oiu’ 
 king on the other side make any unfriendly interpretation of 
 your king’s sending of succours to the duke of Britain; for 
 the king knoweth well that many things must be done of 
 kings for satisfaction of their people; and it is not hard to 
 discern what is a king’s own. But this matter of Britain is 
 now, by the act of God, ended and passed; and, as the king 
 liopeth, like the ■way of a ship in the sea, without leaving 
 any impression in either of the kings’ minds, as he is sure 
 for his part it hath not done in his. 
 
 For the action of Flanders, as the former of Britain was 
 a war of necessity, so tliis was a war of justice, which with a 
 good king is of equal necessity with danger of estate, for else 
 he should leave to be a king. The subjects of Burgundy are 
 subjects in chief to the crown of France, and their duke the 
 homager and vassal of France. They had "wont to be good 
 subjects, howsoever Maximilian hath of late distempered 
 them. They fled to the king for justice and deliverance from 
 oppression. Justice he could not deny; pimchase he did not 
 seek. This was good for Maximilian, if he could have seen 
 it in people mutinied, to arrest fury and prevent despair. 
 My lords, it may be .this T have said is needless, save that 
 the king our master is tender in any thing that may but 
 glance upon the friendship of England. The amity between 
 the two kings, no doubt, stands entire and inviolate, and 
 that their subjects’ swords have clashed it is nothing unto 
 the public peace of the crowms, it being a thing very usual 
 in auxiliary forces of the best and straitest confederates to 
 meet and draw blood in the field. Nay, many times there 
 be aids of the same nation on both sides, and yet it is not, 
 for aU that, a kingdom divided in itself. 
 
 It resteth, my lords, that I impart imto you a matter 
 that I know your lordships all will much rejoice to hear, as 
 that which importeth the Christian common-weal more than 
 any action that hath happened of long time. The king our 
 master hath a purpose and determination to make war upon 
 the kingdom of Naples, being now in the possession of a 
 bastard slip of Arragon, but appertaining unto his majesty 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 309 
 
 by clear and undoubted right, which if he should not by jus-t 
 arms seek to recover, he could neither acquit his honour nor 
 answer it to his people. But his noble and Christian thoughts 
 rest not here; for his resolution and hope is, to make the 
 reconquest of Naples but as a bridge to transpoii) his forces 
 into Grecia, and not to spare blood or treasure, if it were to 
 the impawning of his crown and dispeopling of France, till 
 either he hath overthrown the empire of the Ottomans or 
 taken it in his way to paradise. The king knoweth well 
 that this is a desigm that could not arise in the mind of any 
 king that did not steadfastly look up unto God, whose quarrel 
 this is, and from whom cometh both the will and the deed; 
 but yet is agreeable to the person that he beareth, though 
 unworthy, of the thrice Christian king and the eldest son of 
 tlie Church. Whereunto he is also invited by the example, 
 in more ancient time, of King Hemy the Fourth of England, 
 the first renowned king of the house of Lancaster, ancestor, 
 though not progenitor to your king, who had a purpose, 
 tow'ards the end of his time, as you know better, to make an 
 expedition into the Holy Land; and by the example also, 
 present before his eyes, of that honourable and religious 
 wnr which the king of Spain now maketh, and hath almost 
 brought to perfection, for the recovery of the realm of Gra¬ 
 nada from the Moors. And although this enterprise may 
 seem vast and unmeasured, for the king to attempt that by 
 his own forces, wdierein heretofore a conjunction of most of 
 die Chiistian piinces hath foimd work enough, yet his ma¬ 
 jesty wisely considereth, that sometimes smaller forces being 
 united under one command are more effectual in proof, 
 ihough not so promising in opinion and fame, than much 
 greater forces, vaiiously compounded by associations and 
 leagues, which commonly in a short time after their begin¬ 
 nings turn to dissociations and divisions. But, my lords, that 
 wdiich is as a voice from heaven, that calleth the king to this 
 enterprise, is a rent at this time in the house of the Otto¬ 
 mans. I do not say but there hath been brother against 
 brother in that house before, but never any that had refuge 
 to the arms of the Cluistians, as now hath Gemes, brother 
 unto Bajazet that reigneth, the far braver man of the twn, 
 the other being betw^een a monk and a philosopher, and 
 better read in the Alcoran and Averroes, than able to wield 
 
3T0 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 tiie sceptre of so warlike an empire. Tliis, therefore, is the 
 king our master’s memorable and heroical resolution for an 
 holy war. And because he carrieth in this the person of a 
 Christian soldier, as well as of a gveat temporal monarch, he 
 beginneth with humility, and is content for this cause to 
 beg peace at the hands of other Christian kings. There 
 remaineth only rather a civil request than any essential part 
 of our negotiation which the king maketh to the king your 
 sovereign. The king, as all the world knoweth, is lord in 
 chief of the duchy of Britain. The marriage of the heir be- 
 longeth to him as guardian. This is a private patrimonial 
 right, and no business of estate; yet, nevertheless, to run a 
 fair course with your king, whom he desires to make another 
 himself, and to be one and the same thing vdth him, his 
 request is, that with the king’s favour and consent he may 
 dispose of her in marriage as he thinketh good, and make 
 void the intruded and pretended marriage of Maximilian, 
 according to justice. This, my lords, is all that I have to 
 say, desiring your pardon for my weakness in the delivery.” 
 
 Thus did the French ambassadors with great show of their 
 king’s affection, and many sugared words, seek to addulce all 
 matters between the two kings, having two things for their 
 ends—the one to keep the king quiet till the marriage of 
 Britain was past; and this was but a summer fruit, which 
 they thought was almost ripe, and would be soon gathered. 
 The other was more lasting, and that was to put him into 
 such a temper as he might be no disturbance or impediment 
 to the voyage for Italy. The lords of the council were silent, 
 and said only, That they knew the ambassadors would look 
 for no answer till they had reported to the king,” and so 
 they rose from council. The king could not well tell what 
 to think of the marriage of Britain. He saw plainly the 
 ambition of the French king was to impatronize himself of 
 the duchy; but he wondered he would bring into liis house 
 a litigious marriage, especially considering who was his suc¬ 
 cessor. But weighing one thing Avith another, he gave Bri¬ 
 tain for lost, but resolved to make his profit of this business 
 of Britain as a quarrel for war, and that of FTaples as a 
 wench and mean for peace, being well advertised how 
 strongly the king was bent upon that action. Having, 
 therefore, conferred divers times with his council, and keep- 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 371 
 
 ing himself somewhat close, he gave a direction to the chan¬ 
 cellor for a formal answer to the ambassadors, and that he 
 did in the presence of his council. And after calling the 
 chancellor to him apart, bade him speak in such langaiage as 
 was fit for a treaty that was to end in a breach; and gave 
 liim also a' special caveat that he should not use any words 
 to discourage the voyage of Italy. Soon after the ambassa¬ 
 dors were sent for to the council, and the lord chancellor 
 spake to them in this sort:— 
 
 ^•My lords ambassadors, I shall make answer, by the 
 long’s commandment, unto the eloquent declaration of you, 
 my lord prior, in a brief and plain manner. The king for- 
 getteth not his former love and acquaintance with the king 
 your master : but of this there needeth no repetition. For if 
 it be between them as it was, it is well; if there be any 
 alteration, it is not words that will make it up. 
 
 For the business of Britain, the king findeth it a little 
 strange that the French king maketh mention of it as a 
 matter of well deserving at his hand : for that deserving was 
 no more but to make him his instrument to surj)rise one of 
 his best confederates. And for the marriage, the king would 
 not meddle with it, if your master would marry by the book 
 and not by the sword. 
 
 “ For that of Flanders, if the subjects of Biu’gundy had 
 appealed to yom* king as their chief lord, at first by way of 
 supplication, it might have had a show of justice : but it was 
 a new form of process, for subjects to imprison their prince 
 first, and to slay his officers, and then to be complainants. 
 The king saith, that sure he is, when the French Idng and 
 himself sent to the subjects of Scotland, that had taken arms 
 against their king, they both spake in another style, and did 
 in princely manner signify their detestation of popular 
 attentates upon the person or authority of princes. But, 
 my lords ambassadors, the king leaveth these two actions 
 thus : that on the one side he hath not received any manner 
 of satisfaction from you concerning them; and on the other, 
 that he doth not apprehend them so deeply, as in respect of 
 them to refuse to treat of peace, if other things may go hand 
 in hand. A^ for the war of Naples, and the design against 
 the Turk: the king hath commanded me expressly to say, 
 that he doth wish with all his heart to his good brother the 
 
 0 T) 0 
 
372 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Frencli king, that his foi^times may succeed according to his 
 hppes and honourable intentions. And whensoever he shall 
 hear that he is prepared for Grecia, as your master is pleased 
 now to say that he beggeth a peace of the king, so the king 
 will then beg of him a part in that war. 
 
 But now, my lords ambassadors, I am to propound unto 
 you somewhat on the king’s part : the king your master 
 hath taught our king what to say and demand. You say, 
 my lord prior, that your king is resolved to recover his right 
 to Naples, wrongfully detained from him. And that if he 
 should not thus do, he could not acquit his honour, nor 
 answer it to his people. Think, my lords, that the king our 
 master saith the same thing over again to you touching 
 Normandy, Guienne, Anjou, yea, and the kingdom of France 
 itself. I cannot express it better than in your own words. 
 If, therefore, the French king shall consent that the king 
 our master’s title to France, at least tribute for the same, be 
 handled in the treaty, the king is content to go on with the 
 rest, otherwise he refuseth to treat.” 
 
 The ambassadors, being somewhat abashed with this 
 demand, answered in some heat: That they doubted not, 
 but the king their sovereign’s sword would be able to main¬ 
 tain his sceptre ; and they assured themselves, he neither 
 could nor would yield to any diminution of the crown of 
 France either in tenitoiy or regality : but, howsoever, they 
 were too great matters for them to speak of, having no com¬ 
 mission. It was replied, that the king looked for no other 
 answer from them, but would forthwith send his own ambas¬ 
 sadors to the French king. There was a question also asked 
 at the table—whether the French king would agree to have 
 the disposing of the marriage of Biitain ^vdth an exception 
 and exclusion, that he should not marry her liim self ? To 
 which the ambassadors answered; That it was so far out of 
 their king’s thoughts, as they had received no instructions 
 touching the same. Thus were the ambassadors dismissed, 
 all save the prior; and were followed immediately by Thomas, 
 earl of Ormond, and Thomas Goldenston, prior of Christ. 
 Church in Canterbury, who were presently sent over into 
 France. In the mean space, Lionel, bishop of Concordia, 
 was sent as nuncio from Pope Alexander the Sixth to both 
 kings, to move a peace between them. For Pope Alexander, 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 373 
 
 finding himself pent and locked up by a league and associa¬ 
 tion of the principal states of Italy, that he could not make 
 his way for the advancement of his own house, which he 
 immoderately thirsted after, was desirous to trouble the 
 waters in Italy, that he might fish the better; casting the 
 net, not out of St. Peter’s, but out of Borgia’s bark. And 
 doubting lest the fears from England might stay the French 
 king’s voyage into Italy, despatched this bishop to compose 
 all matters between the two kings, if he could ; who first 
 repaired to the French king, and finding him well inclined, as 
 he conceived, took on his journey towards England, and 
 found the English ambassadors at Calais, on their way to¬ 
 wards the French king. After some conference with them, 
 he was in honourable manner transported over into England, 
 where he had audience of the king. But notwithstanding he 
 had a good ominous name to have made a peace, nothing 
 follov^ed : for in the mean time the purpose of the French 
 king to marry the duchess could be no longer dissembled. 
 Wherefore the English ambassadors, finding how things 
 went, took their leave, and returned. And the prior also 
 was warned from hence to depart out of England. Y/ho, 
 when he turned his back, more like a pedant than an am¬ 
 bassador, dispersed a bitter libel, in Latin verse, against the 
 king ; unto which the king, though he had nothing of a 
 pedant, yet was content to cause an answ^er to be made in 
 like verse ; and that as speaking in his own person, but in a 
 style of scorn and sport. About this time also was born the 
 king’s second son Henry, wdio afterw'ards reigned. And soon 
 after followed the solemnization of the marriage between 
 Cliarles and Anne, duchess of Britain, with whom he received 
 the duchy of Britain as her dowry, the daughter of Maximi¬ 
 lian being a little before sent home. Which, when it came 
 to the ears of Maximilian, who would never believe it till it 
 was done, being ever the principal in deceiving himself, 
 though in this the French king did very handsomely second 
 it, in tumbling it over and over in his thoughts, that he 
 should at one blow, with such a double scorn, be defeated, 
 both of the marriage of his daughter and his own, upon both 
 wliich he had fixed high imaginations, he lost all patience, 
 and casting off the respects fit to be continued between great 
 kings, even when their blood is hottest, and most risen, fell 
 
HEXHY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 'If* A 
 
 oi* 
 
 to bitter invectives against the jDerson and actions of the 
 French king. And, by how much he was the less able to do, 
 talking so much the more, spake all the injuries he could 
 devise of Charles, saying : That he was the most perfidious 
 man upon the earth, and that he had made a marriage com¬ 
 pounded between an advowtry and a rape ; which was done, 
 he said, by the just judgment of God ; to the end that, the, 
 nullity thereof being so apparent to all the world, the race 
 of so unworthy a person might not reign in France. And 
 forthwith he sent ambassadors as well to the king of England, 
 us to the king of Spain, to incite them to war, and to treat 
 a league offensive against France, promising to concur with 
 great forces of his own. Hereupon the king of England, 
 going nevertheless his own way, called a parliament, it being 
 the seventh year of his reign ; and the first day of the open¬ 
 ing thereof, sitting under his cloth of estate, spake himself 
 unto his lords and commons in this manner :— 
 
 My lords, and you the commons, when I purposed to 
 make a Avar in Britain, by my lieutenant, I made declaration 
 thereof to you by my chancellor. But now that I mean to 
 make a war upon France in person, I aauII declare it to you 
 myself. That war was to defend another man’s right, but 
 this is to recover our own ; and that ended by accident, but 
 we hope this shall end in victory. 
 
 The French king troubles the Christian world : that 
 Avhich he hath is not his OAvn, and yet he seeketh more. He 
 hath invested himself of Britain : he maintaineth the rebels 
 in Flanders : and he threateneth Italy. For ourselves, he 
 hath proceeded from dissimulation to neglect; and from 
 neglect to contumely. He hath assailed our confederates : 
 he denieth our tribute : in a word, he seeks war : so did not 
 his father, but sought peace at our hands ; and so perhaps 
 will he, Avhen good counsel or time shall make him see as 
 much as his father did. 
 
 “ Meanwhile, let us make his ambition our advantage; and 
 let us not stand upjon a few croAvns of tribute or acknowledge¬ 
 ment, but, by the favour of Almighty God, try our right for 
 the croAvn of France itself j remembering that there hath 
 been a French king prisoner in England, and a king of 
 England croAvned in France. Our confederates are not 
 diminished. BurgTindy is in a mightier hand tlian ever, and 
 
HENBY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 375 
 
 « _ 
 
 never more provoked. Britain cannot help us, but it may 
 hurt them. New acquests are more burden than strength. 
 
 . The malecontents of his own kingdom have not been base, . 
 2)opular, nor titulary impostors, but of a higher nature. The 
 king of Spain, doubt ye not, will join with us, not knowing 
 where the French king’s ambition will stay. Our holy father 
 the pope likes no Tramontanes in Italy. But howsoever it be, 
 this matter of confederates is rather to be thought on than 
 reckoned on. For God forbid but England should be able to 
 get reason of France without a second. 
 
 At the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, Agincourt, we were 
 of ourselves. France hath much people, and few soldiers. 
 They have no stable bands of foot.- Some good horse they 
 have; but those are forces which are least fit for a defensive 
 war, where the actions are in the assailant’s choice. It was 
 our discords only that lost France j and, by the power of 
 God, it is the good peace which we now enjoy that will 
 recover it. God hath liitherto blessed my sword. I have, in 
 this time that I have reigned, weeded out my bad subjects, 
 and tried my good. My people and I know one another, 
 which breeds confidence : and if there should be any bad 
 blood left in the kingdom, an honourable foreign war will vent 
 it or purify it. In this great business let me have your advice 
 and aid. If any of you were to make his son knight, you 
 might have aid of your tenants by law. This concerns the 
 knighthood and spurs of the kingdom, whereof I am father ; 
 and bound not only to seek to maintain it, but to advance it; 
 but for matter of treasure let it not be taken from the poorest 
 sort, but from those to whom the benefit of the war may 
 redound. France is no wilderness ; and I, that profess good 
 husbandry, hope to make the war, after the beginnings, to 
 pay itself. Go together in God’s name, and lose no time *. 
 for I have called this parliament wholly for this cause.” 
 
 Thus spake the king ; but for all tliis, though he showed 
 great forwardness for a war, not only to his parliament and 
 court, but to his privy council likewise, except the two 
 bishops’and a few more, yet nevertheless in his secret in¬ 
 tentions he had no purpose to go through with any war upon 
 France. But the truth was, that he did but traflic with that 
 war, to make his return in money. He knew well that 
 France was now entire and at unity with itself, and never so 
 
37G HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 niiglity many years before. He saw by tlie taste tliat lie bad 
 of bis forces sent into Britain, that the French knew well 
 enough how to make war with the English, by not putting 
 things to the hazard of a battle, but wearing them by long 
 sieges of towns, and strong fortified encampings. James the 
 Third of Scotland, his true friend and confederate, gone } 
 and James the Fourth, that had succeeded, wholly at the 
 devotion of France, and ill affected towards him. As for 
 the conjunctions of Ferdinando of Spain and Maximilian, he 
 could make no foundation upon them. For the one had 
 power, and not will; and the other had will, and not power. 
 Besides that, Ferdinando had but newly taken breath from 
 the war with the Moors ; and merchanted at this time with 
 France for the restoring of the counties of Bussignon and 
 Berpignian, oppignorated to the French. Neither was he 
 out of fear of the discontents and ill blood witliin the realm; 
 which having used always to repress and appease in person, 
 he was loth they should find him at a distance beyond sea, 
 and engaged in war. Finding therefore the inconveniences 
 and difficulties in the prosecution of a war, he cast with 
 himself how to compass two things. The one, how by the 
 declaration and inchoation of a w^ar to make his profit. The 
 other, how to come off from the war with the saving of his 
 honour. For profit, it was to be made twm ways ; upon his 
 subjects for the war, and upon his enemies for the peace ; 
 like a good merchant, that maketh his gain both upon the 
 commodities exported, and imported back again. For the 
 point of honour, wherein he might suffer for giving over the 
 war, he considered well, that as he could not trust upon the 
 aids of Ferdinando and Maximilian for supports of war, so 
 the impuissance of the one, and the double proceeding of the 
 other, lay fair for him for occasions to accept of peace. 
 These things he did wisely foresee, and did as artificially 
 conduct, whereby all things fell into his lap as he desired. 
 
 For as for the parliament, it presently took fire, being 
 affectionate, of old, to the war of France ; and desirous afresh 
 to repair the dishonour they thought the king sustained by 
 the loss of Britain. Therefore they advised the king, with 
 great alacrity, to undertake the war of France. And 
 although the parliament consisted of the first and second 
 nobility, together with principal citizens and townsmen, yet 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 c ^ 
 
 / 
 
 worthily and justly respecting more the people, whose 
 deputies they were, than their own private persons, and 
 linking by the lord chancellor’s speech the king’s inclination 
 that way, they consented that commissioners should go 
 forth for the gathering and lev}^ing of a benevolence from 
 the more able sort. This tax, called a benevolence, was 
 debased by Edward the Fourth, for which he sustained much 
 emy. It was abolished by Eichard the Third by act of 
 parliament, to ingratiate himself with the people ; and it was 
 now revived by the king, but with consent of parliament, 
 for so it was not in the time of King Edward the Fourth. 
 Eut by this way he raised exceeding great sums. Insomuch 
 as the City of London, in those days, contributed nine 
 thousand jDounds and better ; and that chiefly levied upon 
 the wealthier sort. There is a tradition of a dilemma, that 
 bishop Morton the chancellor used, to raise up the benevolence 
 to higher rates ; and some called it his fork, and some liis 
 crotch. For he had couched an article in the instructions to 
 the commissioners who were to levy the benevolence ; That 
 if they met wdth any that were sparing, they should tell 
 them, that they must needs have, because they laid up : and 
 if they were spenders, they must needs have, because it was 
 seen in their port and manner of living.” So neither kind 
 came amiss. 
 
 This parliament was merely a parliament of war ; for it 
 was in substance but a declaration of w^ar against France 
 and Scotland, with some statutes conducing theremito : as 
 the severe punishment of mort-pays, and keeping back of 
 soldiers’ wages in captains; the like severity for the departure 
 of soldiers without licence ; strengthening of the common 
 lav/ in favour of protections for those that w'ere in the king’s 
 serv ice; and the setting the gate open or wide for men to 
 sell or mortgage their lands, without fines for alienation, to 
 furnish themselves with money for the w^ar ; and lastly, the 
 voiding of all Scottish men out of England. There was also 
 a statute for the dispersing of the standard of the exchequer 
 throughout England ; thereby to size weights and measiu*es; 
 (ind two or three more of less importance. 
 
 After the parliament was broken up, wLich lasted not 
 long, the king went on with his preparations for the war of 
 France ; yet neglected not in the mean time the affairs of 
 
378 
 
 HEXRY THE SE\^SXT11. 
 
 Maximilian for the quieting of Flanders, and restoring him 
 to his authority amongst his subjects. For at that time the 
 lord of Kavenstein, being not only a subject rebelled, but a 
 servant revolted, and so much the more malicious and violent, 
 by the aid of Bruges and Gaunt, had taken the town and 
 both the castles of Sluice, as we said before : and having, 
 by the commodity of the haven, gotten together certain 
 ships and barks, fell to a kind of piratical trade; robbing 
 and spoiling, and taking prisoners the ships and vessels of all 
 nations, and passed along the coast towards the mart of 
 Antwerp, or into any part of Brabant, Zealand, or Frieze- 
 land ; being ever well victualled from Picardy, besides the 
 commodity of victuals from Sluice, and the country adjacent, 
 and the avails of his own prizes. The French assisted him 
 still underhand ; and he likewise, as all men do that have 
 been of both sides, thought himself not safe, except he 
 depended upon a third person. 
 
 There was a small town some two miles from Bruges 
 tow^ards the sea, called Dam ; which was a fort and approach 
 to Bruges, and had a relation also to Sluice. 
 
 This town the king of the Bomans had attempted often, 
 not for any worth of the towui in itself, but because it might 
 choke Bruges, and cut it off from the sea, and ever failed. 
 But therewith the duke of Saxony came down into Flanders, 
 taking upon him the person of an umpire, to compose things 
 between Maximilian and his subjects; but being, indeed, fast 
 and assured to Maximilian. Upon this pretext of neutrality 
 and treaty, he repaired to Bruges.; desiring of the states of 
 Bruges, to enter peaceably into their town, with a retinue of 
 some number of men of arms fit for his estate ; being some¬ 
 what the more, as he said, the better to guard him in a 
 country that was up in arms : and bearing them in hand, 
 that he was to communicate with them of divers matters of 
 great importance for their good. Which having obtained of 
 them, he sent his carriages and harbingers before liim, to 
 provide his lodging. So that his men of war entered the 
 city in good array, but in peaceable manner, and he followed. 
 They that went before inquired still for inns and lodgings, as 
 if they would have rested there all night; and so went on 
 till they came to the gate that leadeth directly towards Dam: 
 and they of Bruges only gazed upon them, and gave them 
 
HENRY THE SE\rENTH. 
 
 379 
 
 jiRfesage. The captains and inhabitants of Dam also suspected 
 no harm from any that passed through Bruges ; and discover¬ 
 ing forces afar off, supposed they had been some succours that 
 were come from their friends, knowing some dangers towards 
 them. And so perceiving nothing but well till it was too late, 
 suffered them to enter their town. By which kind of slight, 
 rather than stratagem, the town of Dam was taken, and the 
 town of Bruges shrewdly blocked up, whereby they took 
 great discoui'agement. 
 
 The duke of Saxony, having won the tovm of Dam, sent 
 immediately to the king to let him know, that it was Sluice 
 chiefly, and the Lord Bavenstein that kept the rebellion of 
 Flanders in life : and that if it pleased the king to besiege it 
 by sea, he also would besiege it by land, and so cut out the 
 core of those wars. 
 
 The king, willing to uphold the authority of Maximilian, 
 the better to hold France in awe, and being likewise sued 
 unto by his merchants, for that the seas were much infested 
 by the barks of the Lord Bavenstein, sent straightways 
 Sir Edward Poynings, a valiant man, and of good service, 
 with, twelve ships, well furnished with soldiers and artillery, 
 to clear the seas, and to besiege Sluice on that part. The 
 Englishmen did not only coop up the Lord Bavenstein, that 
 he stirred not, and likewise hold in strait siege the maritime 
 part of the town, but also assailed one of the castles, and re¬ 
 newed the assault so for twenty days’ space, issuing still out 
 of their ships at the ebb, as they made great slaughter of 
 them of the castle; who continually fought with them to 
 repulse them, though of the English part also were slain a 
 brother of the Earl of Oxford’s, and some fifty more. 
 
 But the siege stUl continuing more and more strait, and 
 both the castles, wLich were the principal strength of the 
 town, being distressed, the one by the duke of Saxony and 
 the other by the English; and a bridge of boats, w^hich the 
 lord of Bavenstein had made between both castles, wLereby 
 succours and relief might pass from the one to the other, 
 being on a night set on fire by the English; he despairing to 
 liold the town, yielded at the last the castles to the English, 
 and the town to the duke of Saxony by composition. Whicli 
 done, the duke of Saxony and Sir Edward Poynings treated 
 with them of Bmges, to submit themselves to Maximilian 
 
380 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 their lord, wliich after some time they did, pajdng in sonio 
 good part the charge of the war, whereby the Almains and 
 foreign succours were dismissed. The example of Bruges 
 other of the revolted towns followed, so that Maximilian 
 grew to be out of danger, but, as liis manner was to handle 
 matters, never out of necessity. And Sir Edvvard Poynings, 
 after he had continued at Sluice some good while till all 
 things were settled, returned unto the king, being then 
 liefore Boloign. 
 
 Somewhat about this time came letters from Ferdinando 
 and Isabella, king and queen of Spain, signifying the final 
 conquest of Granada from the Moors, which action, in itself 
 so worthy, king Ferdinando, whose manner was never to 
 lose any virtue for the showing, had expressed and displayed 
 in his letters at large, with all the particularities and reli¬ 
 gious punctos and ceremonies that were observed in the 
 reception of that city and kingdom, showing amongst other 
 things that the king would not by any means in person 
 enter the city, until he had at first aloof seen the cross set 
 up upon the greater tower of Granada, whereby it became 
 Christian ground. That likevdse, before he would enter, be 
 did homage to God above, pronouncing by a herald from the 
 height of that tower that he did acknowledge to have reco¬ 
 vered that kingdom by the help of God Almighty, and the 
 glorious Yirgin, and -the virtuous apostle Saint James, and 
 the holy father Innocent the Eighth, together vdth the aids 
 and services of his prelates, nobles, and commons. That yet 
 he stirred not from his camp till he had seen a little army of 
 martyrs, to the number of seven hundred and more Chris¬ 
 tians, that had lived in bonds and servitude as slaves to the 
 Moors, pass before his eyes, singing a psalm for their redemp¬ 
 tion, and that he had given tribute unto God by alms and 
 relief extended to them all for his admission into the city. 
 These things were in the letters, with many more ceremonies 
 of a kind of holy ostentation. 
 
 The king, ever willing to put himself into the consort or 
 choir of all religious actions, and naturally afiecting much 
 the king of Spain, as far as one king can affect another, 
 partly for his virtues, and partly for a counterpoise to 
 France, upon the receipt of these letters sent all his nobles 
 and prelates that were about the court, togethei with the 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 381 
 
 mayor and aldermen of London, in great solemmty to the 
 cliurcli of Paul, there to hear a declaration from the lord 
 chancellor, now cardinal. When they were assembled, the 
 cardinal, standing upon the uppermost step, or half-pace, 
 before the choir, aiid all the nobles, prelates, and governors 
 of the city at the foot of the stairs, made a speech to them, 
 letting them laiow that they were assembled in that conse¬ 
 crated place to sing unto God a new song. For that, said 
 he, these many years the Christians have not gained new 
 ground or territory upon the infidels, nor enlarged and set 
 farther the bounds of the Christian world. But this is now 
 done by the prowess and devotion of Ferdinando and Isa¬ 
 bella, sovereigns of Spain, who have, to their immortal honour, 
 recovered the great and rich kingdom of Granada and the 
 pojDulous and mighty city of the same name from the Moors, 
 having been in possession thereof by the space of seven 
 hundred years and more; for which this assembly and all 
 Christians are to render laud and thanks unto God, and to 
 celebrate this noble act of the king of Spain, v/ho in this is 
 not only victorious but apostolical, in the gaining of new 
 provinces to the Christian faith. And the rather for that 
 this victory and conquest is obtained without much efiusion 
 of blood; whereby it is to be hoped that there shall be 
 gained not only new territory, but infinite souls to the 
 Church of Christ, whom the Almighty, as it seems, would 
 have live to be converted. Herewithal he did relate some 
 of the most memorable particulars of the war and victory. 
 And after his speech ended, the whole assembly went 
 solemnly in procession, and Te Deum was sung. 
 
 Immediately after the solemnity, the king kept his May- 
 day at his palace of Shene, now Bichmond; where, to warm 
 the blood of his nobility and gallants against the war, he 
 kept great triumphs of jousting and tourney during all that 
 month. In which space it so fell out that Sir James Parker 
 and Hugh Yaughan, one of the king’s gentlemen ushers, 
 liaving had a controversy touching certain arms that the 
 king-at-arms had given Yaughan, were appointed to run 
 some coiu-ses one against another. And by accident of a 
 faulty helmet that Parker had on, he was stricken into the 
 mouth at the first coimse, so that his tongue was borne unto 
 the hinder part of his head, in such sort that he died pro- 
 
382 
 
 HEN’RY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 
 sently upon the place. Which, because of the controversy 
 precedent and the death that followed, was accounted 
 amongst the vulgar as a combat or trial of right. The king, 
 towards the end of this summer, ha'sdng put his forces where¬ 
 with he meant to invade France in readiness, but so as they 
 were not yet met or mustered together, sent Urswick, now 
 made his almoner, and Sir John Eisley, to Maximilian, to 
 let him know that he vras in arms, ready to pass the seas 
 into France, and did but expect to hear from him, when and 
 where he did appoint to join with him, according to his pro¬ 
 mise made unto him by Coimtebalt, his ambassador. 
 
 The English ambassadors having repaired to Maximilian, 
 did find his power and promise at a very great distance, he 
 being utterly unprovided of men, money, and arms for any 
 such enterprise. For Maximilian, having neither wing to 
 fly on, for that his patrimony of Austria was not in his 
 hands, his father being then living, and on the other side his 
 matrimonial territories of Flanders being partly in dowry to' 
 his mother-in-law, and partly not ser^dceable in respect of 
 the late rebellions, was thereby destitute of means to enter 
 into war. The ambassadors saw this well, but wisely thought 
 fit to advertise the king thereof, rather than to return them¬ 
 selves, till the king’s farther pleasure were knovm; the rather 
 for that Maximilian himself spake as great as ever he did 
 before, and entertained them with dilatory answers, so as 
 the formal part of their ambassage might well warrant and 
 require their farther stay. The king hereupon, who doubted 
 as much before, and saw through his business from the begin¬ 
 ning, wnote back to the ambassadors, commending their dis¬ 
 cretion in not returning, and %villing them to keep the state 
 Avherein they found Maximilian as a secret, till they heard 
 farther from him; and meanwhile went on vfith his voyage 
 royal for France, suppressing for a time tliis advertisement 
 touching Maximilian’s poverty and disability. 
 
 But this time was drawn together a great and puissant 
 army into the city of London, in which were Thomas mar¬ 
 quis Dorset, Thomas earl of Arundel, Thomas earl of Derby, 
 George earl of Shrewsbury, Edmond earl of Suffolk, Edward 
 earl of Devonshire, George earl of Kent, the earl of Essex, 
 Thomas earl of Ormond, with a ' great number of barons, 
 knights, and principal gentlemen, and amongst them Bichard 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 383 
 
 Thomas, much noted for the brave troops that he brought 
 out of Wales. The army rising in the whole to the number 
 of five-and-twenty thousand foot, and sixteen hundred horse, 
 over which the king, constant in his accustomed trust and 
 employment, made Jasper duke of Bedford and John earl of 
 Oxford generals under his own person. The ninth of Sep¬ 
 tember, in the eighth year of his reign, he departed from 
 Greenwich towards the sea, all men wondering that he took 
 that season, being so near winter, to begin the war, and some 
 thereupon gathering it was a sign that the war would not be 
 long. Nevertheless the king gave out the contrary, thus:— 
 That he intending not to make a summer business of it, 
 but a resolute war, without term prefixed, until he had reco¬ 
 vered France, it skilled not much when he began it, espe¬ 
 cially having Calais at liis back, where he might winter if 
 the season of the war so required.” The sixth of October he 
 embarked at Sandwich, and the same day took land at Ca¬ 
 lais, which was the rendezvous where all his forces were 
 assigned to meet. But in this his journey towards the sea¬ 
 side, wherein, for the cause that we shall now speak of, he 
 hovered so much the longer, he had received letters from the 
 Lord Cordes, who the hotter he was against the English 
 in time of war, had the more credit in a negotiation of 
 peace, and besides, was held a man open and of good faith. 
 In which letters there was made an overture of peace from 
 the French king, with such conditions as were somewhat to 
 the king’s taste; but this was carried at the first with won¬ 
 derful secrecy. The king was no sooner come to Calais but 
 the calm winds of peace began to blow. For first, the Eng¬ 
 lish ambassadors returned out of Flanders from Maximilian, 
 and certified the king that he was not to hope for any aid 
 from Maximilian, for that he was altogether unprovided. 
 His will was good, but he lacked money. And this was 
 made known and spread through the army. And although 
 the English were therewithal nothing dismayed, and that it 
 be the manner of soldiers upon bad news to speak the more 
 bravely; yet nevertheless it was a kind of preparative to a 
 peace. Instantly in the neck of this, as the king had laid it, 
 came news that Ferdinando and Isabella, sovereigns of Spain, 
 had concluded a peace with King Charles, and that Charles 
 had restored imto them the counties of Bussignon and Perpig- 
 
384 
 
 HCi^rilY TUE SEVENTH. 
 
 nian, whicli formerly were mortgaged by Jolin, king of Ar* 
 ragoii, Ferdinando’s father, unto France for three hundred 
 thousand crowns, which debt was also upon tliis peace by 
 Charles clearly released. This came also handsomely to put 
 on the peace, both because so potent a confederate was fallen 
 off, and because it was a fair example of a peace bought, so 
 as the king should not be the sole merchant in this peace. 
 Upon these airs of peace the king was content that the 
 bishop of Exeter and the Lord d’Aubigny, governor of Ca¬ 
 lais, should give a meeting unto the Lord Cordes, for the 
 trea.ty of a peace. But himself, nevertheless, and his army, 
 the fifteenth of October, removed from Calais, and in four 
 days’ march sat him down before Boloign. 
 
 During this siege of Boloign, v/hich continued near a 
 month, there passed no memorable action nor accident of 
 war; only Sir John Savage, a valiant captain, was slain, 
 riding about the walls of the town to take a view. The 
 town was both well fortified and well manned, yet it was 
 distressed and ready for an assault; which, if it had been 
 given, as was thought, would have cost much blood, but yet 
 the town would have been carried in the end. Meanwhile a 
 peace was concluded by the commissioners, to continue for 
 both the kings’ lives. Where there was no article of import¬ 
 ance, being in effect rather a bargain than a treaty. For all 
 things remained as they were, save that there should be paid 
 to the king seven hundred and forty-five thousand ducats in 
 |)resent, for his charges in that journey; and ^five-and-twenty 
 thousand crowns yearly, for his charges sustained in the aid 
 of the Britons. For which annual, though he had Maxi¬ 
 milian bound before for those charges, yet he counted the 
 alteration of the hand as much as the principal debt. And 
 besides, it was left somewhat indefinitely when it should 
 determine or expire, which made the English esteem it as a 
 tribute carried under fair terms. And the truth is, it was 
 paid both to the king and to his son King Henry the Eighth, 
 longer than it could continue upon any computation of 
 charges. There was also assigned by the French king, unto • 
 all the king’s principal counsellors, great pensions, besides 
 rich gifts for the present; which, whether the king did per¬ 
 mit, to save his own purse from rewards, or to communicate 
 the envy of a business, that was displeasing to his people. 
 
HENHY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 385 
 
 was diversely interpreted. For certainly tlie king liad no 
 great fancy to own this peace. And, tkerefore, a little before 
 it was concluded, be bad underband procured some of bis 
 best captains and men of war to advise bim to a peace, under 
 . tbem bands, in an earnest manner, in tbe nature of a suppb* 
 cation. But tbe truth is, tbis peace was welcome to botb 
 kings:—To diaries, for that it assured unto bim tbe jiosses- 
 sion of Britain, and freed tbe enterprise of iSTaples; to Henry, 
 for tliat it filled bis coffers, and that be foresaw at that time 
 a storm of inward troubles coming upon bim, wbicb presently 
 after brake forth. But it gave no less discontent to tbe 
 nobility and principal persons of tbe army, who bad many of 
 them sold or engaged them estates upon tbe hopes of tbe 
 war. They stuck not to say, That tbe king cared not to 
 plume bis nobility and people to feather himself.” And 
 some made themselves merry with that tbe king bad said 
 in Parliament, “ That after tbe war was once begun, be 
 doubted not but to make it pay itself,” saying, be bad 
 kept promise. 
 
 Having risen from Boloign be went to Calais, ■where be 
 stayed some time. Prom whence also be wrote letters, 
 wbicb was a courtesy that be sometimes used, to tbe mayor 
 of London, and tbe aldermen bis brethren, half bragging 
 what great sums be bad obtained for tbe peace, knowing 
 well that full coffers of tbe king is ever good news to Lon¬ 
 don. And better news it would have been, if their benevo¬ 
 lence bad been but a loan. And uj)on tbe seventeenth of 
 December following be returned to Westminster, where be 
 kept bis Christmas. 
 
 Soon after tbe kmg’s return, be sent tbe Order of tbe 
 Garter to Alpbonso, duke of Calabria, eldest son to Perdi- 
 nando, king of Naples, an honour sought by that prince to 
 bold liim up in tbe eyes of tbe Italians, who, expecting tbe 
 arms of Charles, made great account of tbe amity of Eng¬ 
 land for a bridle to Prance. It was received by Alpbonso 
 >7itb all the ceremony and pomp that could be devised, as 
 tilings used to be carried that are intended for opinion. la 
 was sent by Hrswick, upon whom the king bestowed tbis 
 ambassage to help bim after many dry employments. 
 
 At tbis time tbe kin" becfan a^ain to be haunted with 
 spirits, by tbe magic and curious arts of tbe I^ady Margaret, 
 
 2c 
 
386 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 who I'aised up the ghost of Eichard, duke of York, second son 
 to King Edward the Fourth, to walk and vex the king. Tills 
 was a liner counterfeit stone than Lambert Simnel, better 
 done and worn upon greater hands, being graced after mth 
 the wearing of a king of France and a king of Scotland, not 
 of a duchess of Burgundy only. And for Simnel there was 
 not much in him, more than that he was a handsome boy, 
 and did not shame his robes. But this youth, of whom we 
 are now to speak, was such a mercurial, as the like hath 
 seldom been known, and could make his own part if at any 
 time he chanced to be out. Wherefore this being one of the 
 strangest examples of a personation that ever was in elder or 
 later times, it deserveth to be discovered and related at the 
 full; although the king’s manner of showing things by pieces, 
 and by dark lights, hath so muffled it, that it hath left it 
 almost as a mystery to this day. 
 
 The Lady Margaret, whom the king’s friends called Juno, 
 because she was to him as Juno was to ^neas, stirring both 
 heaven and hell to do him mischief, for a foundation of her 
 particular practices against him, did continually, by all means 
 possible, nourish, maintain, and divulge the flying opinion, 
 that Bichard, duke of York, second son to Edward the 
 Eourtli, was not murdered in the Tower, as was given out, 
 but saved alive. For that those who were employed in that 
 barbarous fact, having destroyed the elder brother, were 
 stricken with remorse and compassion towards the younger, 
 and set him privily at liberty to seek his fortune. This lure 
 she cast abroad, thinking that this fame and belief^ together 
 with the fresh example of Lambert Simnel, would draw at 
 one time or otheV some birds to strike upon it. She used 
 likewise a farther diligence, not committing all to chance; 
 for she had some secret espials, like to the Turks’ commis¬ 
 sioners for children of tribute, to look abroad for handsome 
 and graceful youths, to make Plantagenets and dukes of 
 York. At the last she did light on one in whom all things 
 met, as one would wish, to serve her turn for a counterfeit 
 of Bichard, duke of York. 
 
 This was Perkin Warbeck, whose adventures we shall 
 now describe. For first, the years agreed well. Secondly, 
 he was a youth of fine favour and shape. But more than 
 that, he had such a crafty and bewitching fashion, both to 
 
HENllY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 387 
 
 move pity, and to induce belief, as was like a kind of fasci¬ 
 nation and enchantment to those that saw him or heard 
 him. Thirdly, he had been from his childhood such a wan- . 
 derer, or, as the king called him, such a landloper, as it was 
 extreme hard to hunt out his nest and parents. Neither 
 again could any man, by company or conversing with him, 
 be able to say or detect well what he was, he did so frit 
 from place to place. Lastly, there was a circumstance, which 
 is mentioned by one that wrote in the same time, that is 
 very likely to have made somewhat to the matter—which 
 is, that King Edward the Fourth was his godfather. Which, 
 as it is somewhat suspicious for a wanton prince to become 
 gossip in so mean a house, and might make a man think 
 that he might indeed have in him some base blood of the 
 house of York; so at the least, though that were not, it 
 might give the occasion to the boy, in being called King 
 Edward’s godson, or perhaps in sport King Edward’s son, to 
 entertain such thoughts into his head. Eor tutor he had 
 none, for ought that appears, as Lambert Simnel had, until 
 he came unto the Lady Margaret, who instructed him. 
 
 Thus therefore it came to pass :—There was a townsman of 
 Tournay, that had borne office in that town, whose name 
 was John Osbeck, a convert Jew, married to Catherine de 
 Faro, whose business drew him to live for a time with his 
 wife at London in King Edward the Fourth’s days; during 
 which time he had a son by her, and being known in court, 
 the king, either out of religious nobleness, because he was a 
 convert, or upon some private acquaintance, did him the 
 honour to be godfather to his child, and named him Peter. 
 But afterwards, proving a dainty and effeminate youth, he 
 was commonly called by the diminutive of his name, Peterkin, 
 or Perkin. For as for the name of Warbeck, it was given 
 him when they did but guess at it, before examinations had 
 been taken. But yet he had been so much talked on by 
 that name, as it stuck by him after his true name of Osbeck 
 was known. While he was a young child, his parents 
 returned v/ith him to Tournay. Then was he placed in a 
 house of a kinsman of his, called John Stenbeck, at Ant¬ 
 werp, and so roved up and down between Antwerp and 
 Tournay, and other towns of Flanders, for a good time ; 
 living much in English company, and having the English 
 
 2c2 
 
338 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 tongue perfect. In whicli time, being gro^oi a comely youth, 
 he was brought by some of the espials of the Lady Margaret 
 into her presence. Who viewing him well, and seeing that 
 he had a face and personage that would bear a noble fortune; 
 and finding him otherwise of a fine sjoirit and winning beha¬ 
 viour; thought she had now found a curious piece of marble to 
 carve out an image of the duke of York. She kept him by 
 her a great while, but with extreme secrecy. The while 
 she instructed him by many cabinet conferences. First, in 
 princely behaviour and gesture ; teaching him how he should 
 keep state, and yet ^vith a modest sense of his misfoii;unes. 
 Then she informed him of all the circumstances and par¬ 
 ticulars that concerned the person of Eichard, duke of York, 
 which he was to act; describing unto him the personages, 
 lineaments, and features of the king and queen his pretended 
 parents; and of liis brother and sisters, and divers others, 
 that were nearest him in his childhood; together witli all 
 passages, some secret, some common, that were fit for a 
 child’s memorv, until the death of Kin^ Edward. Then she 
 added the j^articulars of the time from the king’s death, 
 until he and liis brother were committed to the Tower, as 
 well during the time he was abroad, as while he was in 
 sanctuary. As for the times while he was in the Tower, and 
 the manner of his brother’s death, and his own escape, sIio 
 knew they were things that a very few could control; and 
 therefore she taught him only to tell a smooth and likely 
 tale of those matters, warning him not to vary from it. 
 It was agreed likewise between them, what account ho 
 should give of his peregrination abroad, intermixing many 
 things which were true, and such as they knew others could 
 testify, for the credit of the rest; but still making them to 
 hang together with the part he was to play. She taught 
 liim likewise how to avoid sundry captious and tempting 
 questions, which were like to be asked of him. But in this 
 she found him of liimself so nimble and shifting, as she 
 trusted much to his own wit and readiness; and therefore 
 laboured the less in it. Lastly, she raised his thoughts witli 
 some present rewards, and farther promises; setting before 
 him chiefiy the glory and fortune of a crown if tilings went 
 well, and a sure refuge to her court, if the worst should fall. 
 After such time as she thought he was perfect in his lesson* 
 
HElyRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 389 
 
 she be^ai] to cast witli herself from what coast this blazing 
 
 O O 
 
 star should first appear, and at what time it must be upon 
 the horizon of Ireland ; for there had the like meteor strong 
 influence before. The time of the apparition to be, when 
 the king should be engaged into a war with France. But 
 well she knew, that whatsoever should come from her, woidd 
 be held suspected. And therefore, if he should go out of 
 Flanders immediately into Ireland, she might be thought to 
 have some hand in it. And besides, the time was not yet 
 ripe, for that the two kings were then upon terms of peace. 
 Therefore she wheeled about; and to put all suspicion afar 
 off, and loth to keep hnn any longer by her, for that she 
 knew secrets are not long-lived, she sent him unknown into 
 Portugal with the Lady Brampton, an English lady, that 
 embarked for Portugal at that time, with some prlvado of 
 her own, to have an eye upon him ; and there he was to 
 remain, and to expect her farther directions. In the mean 
 time she omitted not to prepare things for his better wel¬ 
 come and accepting, not only in the kingdom of Ireland, but 
 in the court of France. He continued in Portugal about 
 a year; and by that time the king of England called his 
 parliament, as hath been said, and declared open war against 
 France. How did the sign reign, and the constellation was 
 come, under which Perkin should appear. And therefore 
 he was straight sent unto by the duchess to go for Ireland, 
 according to the first designment. In Ireland he did arrive 
 at the town of Cork. When he was thither come, his own 
 tale was, when he made his confession afterwards, that the 
 Irishmen, finding him in some good clothes, came flocking 
 about him, and bare him down that he was the duke of 
 Clarence that had been there before. And after that he was 
 Bichard the Third’s base son. And lastly, that he was 
 Bichard, duke of York, second son of Edward the Fourth. 
 But that he, for his part, renounced all these things, and 
 offered to swear upon the holy evangelists, that he was no 
 such man; till at last they forced it upon him, and bad 
 him fear nothing, and so forth. But the truth is, that 
 immediately upon his coming into Ireland, he took upon 
 liim the said person of the duke of York, and drew unto 
 Iiim complices and partakers by all the means he could 
 devise. Insomuch as he wrote his letters unto the earls of 
 
390 
 
 KENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Desmond and Kildare, to come in to Lis aid, and be of his 
 party ; the originals of which letters are yet extant. 
 
 Somewhat before this time, the duchess had also gained 
 unto her a near servant of King Henry’s o^vn, one Stephen 
 Frion, his secretary for the French tongue; an active man, 
 but turbulent and discontented. This Frion had fled over 
 to Charles, the French king, and put himself into his service, 
 at such time as he began to be in open enmity with the king. 
 How King Charles, when he understood of the person and 
 attempts of Perkin, ready of himself to embrace all advan¬ 
 tages against the king of England, instigated by Frion, and 
 formerly prepared by the Lady Margaret, forthwith despatched 
 one Lucas and this Frion, in the nature of ambassadors to 
 Perkin, to advertise him of the king’s good inclination to 
 him, and that he was resolved to aid him to recover his right 
 against King Henry, an usurper of England, and an enemy 
 of France ; and wished him to come over imto him at Paris. 
 Perkin th^uofht himself in heaven now that he was invited 
 by so great a king in so honoimable a manner; and im¬ 
 parting unto his friends in Ireland for their encouragement, 
 how fortune called him, and what great hopes he had, sailed 
 presently into France. When he was come to the court of 
 France, the king received him with, great honour j saluted, 
 and styled him by the name of the duke of York; lodged 
 him, and accommodated him in great state. And the better 
 to give him the rej)resentation and the countenance of a 
 prince, assigned him a g*uard for his person, whereof the 
 Lord Congresall was captain. The courtiers likewise, though 
 it be ill mocking ^vith the French, applied themselves to 
 their king’s bent, seeing there was reason of state for it. 
 At the same time there repaired unto Perkin divers English • 
 men of quahty: Sir George Keville, Sir John Taylor, and 
 about one hundred more ; and amongst the rest, this Stej)hen 
 Frion, of whom we spake, who followed his foihune both 
 then and for a long time after, and was indeed his principal 
 counsellor and instrument in all his proceedings. But all 
 this on the French king’s part was but a trick, the better to 
 bow King Henry to peace. And therefore upon the first 
 gTain of incense that was sacrificed upon the altar of peace 
 at Boloign, Perkin was smoked away. Yet would not the 
 French king deliver him up to King Henry, as he waa 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 391 
 
 laboured to do, for bis honour’s sake, bub warned him away 
 and dismissed him. And Perkin, on his part, was as ready 
 to be gone, doubting he might be caught up under-hancL 
 He therefore took his way into Flanders, unto the duchess 
 of Burgundy j pretending that having been variously tossed 
 by fortune, he directed his course thither as to a safe har¬ 
 bour : no ways taking knowledge that he had ever been 
 there before, but as if that had been his first address. The 
 duchess, on the other part, made it as new and strange to 
 see him; pretending, at the first, that she was taught and 
 made wise by the example of Lambert Simnel, how she did 
 admit of any counterfeit stuff; though even in that, she 
 said, she was not fully satisfied. She pretended at the first, 
 and that was ever in the presence of others, to pose him and 
 sift him, thereby to try whether he were indeed the very 
 duke of York or no. But seeming to receive full satisfaction 
 by his answers, she then feigned herself to be transported 
 with a kind of astonishment, mixt of joy and wonder, at his 
 miraculous deliverance ; receiving him as if he were risen 
 from death to life; and inferring, that God, who had in such 
 wonderful manner preserved him from death, did likewise 
 reserve him for some great and prosperous fortune. As for 
 his dismission out of France, they interpreted it, not as if 
 lie were detected or neglected for a counterfeit deceiver, but 
 contrariwise, that it did show manifestly unto the world, 
 that he was some great matter; for that it was his aban¬ 
 doning that, in effect, made the peace; being no more but 
 the sacrificing of a poor distressed prince imto the utility 
 and ambition of two mighty monarchs. Neither was Perkin, 
 for his part, wanting to himself, either in gracious or princely 
 behaviour, or in ready and apposite answers, or in contenting 
 and caressing those that did apply themselves unto him, or 
 in pretty scorn and disdain to those that seemed to doubt 
 of him j but in all things did notably acquit himself; inso¬ 
 much as it was generally believed, as well amongst great 
 persons as amongst the vulgar, that he was indeed Duke 
 Bichard. Nay, himself, with long and continued counter¬ 
 feiting, and with oft telling a lie, was turned by habit almost 
 into the thing he seemed to be; and from a liar to a believer. 
 The duchess, therefore, as in a case out of doubt, did him all 
 princely honour, calling him always by the name of her 
 
392 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 nepliew, and giving him the delicate title of the "Wliite Rose 
 of England : and appointed him a guard of thirty persons, 
 halberdiers, clad in a party-colom:ed livery of murrey and 
 blue, to attend his person. Her court likewise, and generally 
 the Dutch and strangers, in their usage towards him, ex¬ 
 pressed no less respect. 
 
 The news hereof came blazing and thundering over into 
 England, that the duke of York was sure alive. As for the 
 name of Perkin Warbeck, it was not at that time come to 
 light, but all the news ran upon the duke of York ; that he 
 had been entertained in Ireland, bought and sold in France, 
 and was now plainly avowed, and in great honour in Flan¬ 
 ders. These fames took hold of divers; in some upon dis¬ 
 content ; in some upon ambition; in some upon levity and 
 desire of change; in some few upon conscience and belief; 
 but in most upon simplicity; and in divers out of dependence 
 upon some of the better sort, who did in secret favour and 
 nourish these bruits. And it was not long ere these rumours 
 of novelty had begotten others of scandal and murmur 
 against the king and his government, taxing him for a great 
 taxer of his people, and discountenancer of his nobility. The 
 loss of Britain, and the peace with France, were not for¬ 
 gotten. But chiefly they fell upon the wrong that he did 
 his queen, in that he did not reign in her right. Wherefore 
 they said that God had now brought to light a masculine 
 branch of the house of York, that would not be at his 
 courtesy, howsoever he did depress his poor lady. And yet, 
 as it fareth in the things wliich are current with the mul¬ 
 titude, and which they afiect, these fames grew so general, 
 as the authors were lost in the generality of speakers. They 
 being like running weeds that have no certain root; or like 
 footings up and down, impossible to be traced; but after a 
 while these ill humours drew to a head, and settled secretly 
 in some eminent persons—which were. Sir William Stanley, 
 lord chamberlain of the king’s household, the Lord Fitz- 
 walter, Sir Simon Mountfort, and Sir Thomas Thwaites. 
 These entered into a secret conspiracy to favour Duke 
 Richard’s title. Nevertheless none engaged their fortunes 
 in this business openly, but two. Sir Robert Clifford and 
 ]\Iaster William Barley, who sailed over into Flanders, sent 
 indeed from the party of the conspmators here, to understand 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 393 
 
 tlie trutli of tliose tilings tliat passed tliere, and not vitliout 
 some lielp of moneys from lienee; provisionally to be de¬ 
 livered, if they found and were satisfied that there was truth 
 in these pretences. The person of Sir Robert Clifford, being 
 a gentleman of fame and family, was extremely welcome to 
 the Lady Margaret j who, after she had conference with 
 him, brought him to the sight of Perkin, with whom he had 
 often speech and discourse. So that, in the end, won either 
 by the duchess to affect, or by Perkin to believe, he wrote 
 back into England, that he knew the person of Richard, duke 
 of York, as well as he knew his own, and that this young 
 man was undoubtedly he. By this means all things grew 
 prej^ared to revolt and sedition here, and the conspiracy 
 came to have a correspondence between Flanders and Eng¬ 
 land. 
 
 The king on his part was not asleep j but to arm or levy 
 forces yet, he thought would but show fear, and do this idol 
 too much worship. ISTevertheless the ports he did shut up, 
 or at least kept a watch on them, that none should pass to 
 or fro that was suspected ; but for the rest, he chose to work 
 by countermine. His purposes were two : the one, to lay 
 open the abuse ; the other, to break the knot of the con¬ 
 spirators. To detect the abuse, there were but two ways : 
 the first, to make it manifest to the world that the duke of 
 York was indeed murdered; the other, to prove that were 
 he dead or alive, yet Perkin was a counteideit. For the first, 
 thus it stood. There were but four persons that could speak 
 upon knowledge to the murder of the duke of York : Sir 
 James Tirrel, the employed man from King Richard, John 
 Dighton and Miles FoiTest, his seiwants, the two butchers or 
 tormentors, and the priest of the Tower, that buried them; 
 of wliich form Miles Forrest and the piiest were dead, and 
 there remained alive only Sir James Tirrel and J ohn Dighton. 
 These two the king caused to be committed to the Tower, 
 and examined touching the manner of the death of the two 
 innocent princes. They agreed both in a tale, as the king 
 gave out, to this effect: that King Richard having dii’ected 
 his warrant for the jDutting of them to death to Brackenbury, 
 the lieutenant of the Tower, was by him refused; where¬ 
 upon the king directed his waiTant to Sir James Tirrel, to 
 receive the keys of the Tower from the lieutenant, for the 
 
394 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 space of a niglit, for tlie king’s special service. That Sir 
 James Tirrel accordingly repaired to the Tower by nighty 
 attended by his two servants aforenamed, whom he had 
 chosen for that purpose. That himself stood at the stair-foot, 
 and sent these two 'vdllains to execute the mm-der. That 
 they smothered them in their bed; and, that done, called 
 up their master to see their naked dead bodies, which they 
 had laid forth. That they were buried under the stairs, and 
 some stones cast uj)on them. That when the report was 
 made to King Kichard, that his will was done, he gave Sir 
 James Tirrel great thanks, but took exception to the place 
 of their burial, being too base for them that were king’s 
 children ; whereupon, another night, by the king’s warrant 
 renewed, their bodies were removed by the priest of the 
 Tower, and buried by him in some place, which, by means 
 of the priest’s death soon after, could not be known. Thus 
 much was then delivered abroad, to be the effect of those 
 examinations; but the king, nevertheless, made no use of 
 them in any of his declarations; whereby, as it seems, those 
 examinations left the business somewhat perplexed. And 
 as for Sir James Tirrel, he was soon after beheaded in the 
 Tower-yard for other matters of treason. But John Dighton, ' 
 who, it seemeth, spake best for the king, v/as forthwith set 
 at liberty, and was the principal means of divulging this 
 tradition. Therefore this kind of proof being left so naked, 
 the king used the more diligence in the latter, for the tracing 
 of Perkin. To this purpose he sent abroad into several 
 parts, and especially into Flanders, divers secret and nimble 
 scouts and spies, some feigning themselves to fly over unto 
 Perkin, and to adhere unto him; and some under other 
 pretences, to learn, search, and discover all the circumstances 
 and particulars of Perkin’s parents, birth, person, travels up 
 and down; and in brief, to have a journal, as it were, of his 
 life and doings. He furnished these his employed men 
 liberally with money to draw on and reward intelligences; 
 giving them also* in charge, to advertise continual]y what 
 they found, and nevertheless still to go on. And ever as 
 one advertisement and discovery called up another, he 
 employed other new men, where the business did require it. 
 Others he employed in a more special nature and trust, to 
 be his pioneers in the main countermine. These were di- 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 B9U 
 
 rected to insinuate tliemselves into tlie familiarity and con¬ 
 fidence of the principal persons of the party in Flanders, and 
 so to learn what associates they had, and correspondents, 
 either here in England, or abroad; and how far every one 
 engaged, and what new ones they meant afterwards to tiy or 
 board. And as this for the persons, so for the actions them¬ 
 selves, to discover to the bottom, as they could, the utmost 
 of Perkin’s and the conspirators’, their intentions, hopes, and 
 practices. These latter best-be-trust spies had some of them 
 farther instructions, to practise and draw off the best friends 
 and servants of Perkin, by making remonstrance to them, 
 how weakly his enterprise and hopes were built, and with 
 how prudent and potent a king they had to deal j and to 
 reconcile them to the king, with promise of pardon and 
 good conditions of reward. And, above the rest, to assail, 
 sap, and work into the constancy of Sir Pobert Clifford; 
 and to win him, if they could, being the man that knew 
 most of their secrets, and who, being won away, would most 
 appal and discourage the rest, and in a manner break the 
 knot. 
 
 There is a strange tradition, that the king, being lost in a 
 wood of suspicions, and not knowing whom to trust, had 
 both intelligence*” with the confessors and chaplains of divers 
 great men; and for the better credit of his espials abroad 
 with the contrary side, did use to have them cursed at Paul’s, 
 by name, amongst the bead-roll of the king’s enemies, ac¬ 
 cording to the custom of those times. These espials plied 
 their charge so roundly, as the king had an anatomy of 
 Perkin alive; and was likewise well informed of the par¬ 
 ticular correspondent conspirators in England, and many 
 other mysteries were revealed; and Sir Pobert Clifford, in 
 especial, won to be assured to the king, and industrious and 
 officious for his service. The king, therefore, recehung a 
 rich retiun of his diligence, and great satisfaction touching 
 a number of particulars, first divulged and spread abroad the 
 imposture and juggling of Perkin’s person and travels, with 
 the circumstances thereof, throughout the realm; not by 
 proclamation, because things were yet in examination, and 
 so might receive the more or the less, but by court-fames, 
 which commonly print better than printed proclamations. 
 Tlien thought he it also time to send an ambassage imta 
 
396 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Arcli-diike Philip, into Flanders, for the abandoning and dis¬ 
 missing of Perkin. Herein he employed Sir Edward Poyn- 
 ings, and Sir William Warham, doctor of the canon law. 
 The archduke was then young, and governed by his council, 
 before whom the ambassadors had audience; and Dr. War- 
 ham spake in this manner :— 
 
 My lords, the king our master is very sorry, that Eng¬ 
 land and your country here of Flanders, having been counted 
 as man and wife for so long time, now this country of all 
 all others should be the stage where a base counterfeit 
 should play the part of a king of England; not only 
 to his grace’s disquiet and dishonour, but to the scorn and 
 reproach of all sovereign princes. To counterfeit the dead 
 image of a king in his coin is a high offence by all laws, but 
 to counterfeit the living image of a king in liis person, ex- 
 ceedeth all falsifications, except it should be that of a Ma¬ 
 homet, or an antichrist, that counterfeit divine honour. The 
 king hath too great an opinion of this sage council, to tliink 
 that any of you is caught with this fable, though way may 
 be given by you to the passion of some, the thing in itself 
 is so improbable. To set testimonies aside of the death of 
 Duke Diehard, which the kmg hath upon record, plain and 
 infallible, because they may be thought to be in the king’s 
 ovm power, let the thing testify for itself Sense and reason 
 no power can command. Is it possible, trow you, that King 
 Diehard should damn his soul, and foul his name ■\vith so 
 abominable a murder, and yet not mend liis case ? Or do 
 you think that men of blood, that were his instruments, did 
 tium to pity in the midst of their execution ? Whereas ui 
 cruel and savage beasts, and men also, the first draught of 
 blood doth yet make them more fierce and enraged. Do 
 you not know, that the bloody executioners of tyrants do go 
 to such erra.nds vfith a halter about their neck; so that if 
 they perform not, they are sure to die for it ? And do you 
 think that these men would hazard their own hves, for 
 sparing another’s ? Admit they should have saved him; 
 what should they have done with him ? Tium him into 
 London streets, that the watchmen, or any passenger that 
 should light upon him, might carry him before a justice, and 
 so all come to light'? Or should they have kept liim by 
 them secretly? That surely would have required a great 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 39 ? 
 
 deal of care, charge, and continual fears. But, my lords, I 
 labour too much in a clear business. The king is so wisGj 
 and hath so good friends abroad, as now he knoweth Duke 
 Perkin from his cradle. And because he is a great prince, 
 if you have any good poet here, he can help him with notes 
 to write liis life; and to parallel him with Lambert Simnel, 
 now the king’s falconer. And therefore, to speak plainly to 
 your lordships, it is the strangest thing in the world, that 
 the Lady Margaret, excuse us if we name her, whose malice 
 to the king is both causeless and endless, should now, when 
 she is old, at the time when other women give over child- 
 bearing, bring forth two such monstej*s ; being not the births 
 of nine or ten months, but of many years. And whereas 
 other natimal mothers bring forth children weak, and not 
 able to help themselves, she bringeth forth tall striplings, 
 able soon after their coming into the world to bid battle to 
 mighty kings. My lords, we stay umvillingly upon this part. 
 We would to God that lady would once taste the joys which 
 God Almighty doth serve up unto her in beholding her niece 
 to reign in such honour and with so much royal issue, whicli 
 she might be pleased to account as her own. The king’s 
 request unto the archduke and your lordships might be, that 
 according to the example of King Charles, who hath already 
 discarded him, you would banish this unworthy fellow out of 
 your dominions. But because the king may justly expect 
 more from an ancient confederate than from a new recon¬ 
 ciled enemy, he maketh his request unto you to deliver him 
 up into his hands; pmates and impostors of this sort being- 
 fit to be accounted the common enemies of mankind, and no 
 ways to be protected by the law of nations.” 
 
 After some time of dehberation, the ambassadors received 
 this short answer:— 
 
 That the archduke, for the love of King Henry, would 
 in no sort aid or assist the pretended duke, but in all things 
 conserve the amity he had with the king; but for the duchess 
 dowager, she was absolute in the lands of her dowry, and that 
 he could not let her to dispose of her own.” 
 
 The king, upon the return of the ambassadors, was notliing 
 satisfied with this answer; for well he knew that a patri¬ 
 monial dowry carried no j)art of sovereignty or command of 
 forces. Besides, the ambassadors told him plainly, that they 
 
398 
 
 HE^TIY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 saw the duchess had a gi'eat party in the archduke’s council; 
 and that howsoever it was carried in a course of connivance, 
 yet the archduke underhand gave aid and furtherance to 
 Perkin. Wherefore, partly out of courage, and partly out of 
 policy, the king forthwith banished all Flemings, as well 
 their persons as their wares, out of his kingdom; command¬ 
 ing his subjects like^vise, and by name his merchants adven¬ 
 turers, which had a resiance at Antwerp, to return, trans¬ 
 lating the maii;, which commonly followed the English cloth, 
 unto Calais, and embarred also all farther trade for the 
 future. This the king did, being sensible in point of honour 
 not to suffer a pretender to the crown of England to affront 
 him so near at hand, and he to keep terms of friendship with 
 the country where he did set up. But he had also a farther 
 reach; for that he knew well that the subjects of Flanders 
 drew so great commodity from the trade of England, as by 
 this embargo they would soon wax weaiy of Perkin, and that 
 the tumult of Flanders had been so late and fresh, as it was 
 no time for the piunce to displease the people. iN’evertheless, 
 for form’s sake, by way of requital, the archduke did likewise 
 banish the English out of Flanders, which in effect was done 
 to his hand. 
 
 The king, being well advertised that Perkin did more 
 trust upon friends and partakers wdthin the realm than upon 
 foreign arms, thought it behoved him to apply the remedy 
 where the disease lay, and to proceed with severity against 
 some of the principal conspirators here within the realm, 
 thereby to purge the ill humours in England and to cool the 
 hopes in Flanders; wherefore he caused to be apprehended, 
 almost at an instant, John Eatcliffe Lord Fitzwalter, Sir 
 Simon Mountfort, Sir Thomas Thwaites, William D’Aubig- 
 ney, Bobert Eatcliffe, Thomas Cressenor, and Thomas Ast- 
 wood. All these were arraigned, convicted, and condemned 
 for high treason, in adhering and promising aid to Perkin. 
 Of these the Lord Fitzwalter was conveyed to Calais, and 
 there kept in hold and in hope of life, until soon after, either 
 impatient or betrayed, he dealt wdth his keeper to have 
 escaped, and thereupon was beheaded. , But Sir Simon 
 Mountfort, Eobert Eatcliffe, and William D’Aubigney, were 
 beheaded immediately after their condemnation. The rest 
 W'ere pardoned, together with many others, clerks and laics 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 399 
 
 amongst which were two Dominican friars, and William 
 Worseley, dean of Paul’s, which latter sort passed examina¬ 
 tion, but came not to public trial. 
 
 The lord chamberlain at that time was not touched, 
 whether it were that the king would not stir too many 
 humours at once, but, after the manner of good physicians, 
 purge the head last, or that Clifford, from whom most of 
 these discoveries came, reserved that piece for his own 
 coming over, signifying only to the king, in the meantime, 
 that he doubted there were some greater ones in the busi¬ 
 ness, whereof he would give the king farther account when 
 he came to his presence. 
 
 Upon Allhallows-day even, being now the tenth year of 
 the king’s reign, the king’s second son Henry was created 
 duke of York; and as well the duke as divers others, noble¬ 
 men, knights-bachelors, and gentlemen of quality, were made 
 knights of the Bath, according to the ceremony. Upon the 
 morrow after Twelfth-day, the king removed from West¬ 
 minster, where he had kept his Christmas, to the Tower 
 of London. This he did as soon as he had advertise¬ 
 ment that Sir Bobert Clifford, in whose bosom or budget 
 most of Perkin’s secrets were laid up, was come into Eng¬ 
 land. And the place of the Tower was chosen to that end, 
 that if Clifford should accuse any of the great ones, they 
 might, without suspicion or noise, or sending abroad of war¬ 
 rants, be presently attached, the court and prison being 
 within the cincture of one wall. After a day or two the 
 king drew unto him a selected council, and admitted Clifford 
 to his presence, who first fell down at his feet, and in all 
 humble manner craved the king’s pardon; which the king 
 then granted, though he were indeed secretly assured of his 
 life before. Then commanded to tell his knowledge, he did, 
 amongst many others, of himself, not interrogated, impeach 
 Sir William Stanley, the lord chamberlain of the king’s 
 household. 
 
 The king seemed to be much amazed at the naming of this 
 lord, as if he had heard the news of some strange and fearful 
 prodigy. To hear a man that had done him service of so 
 high a nature as to save his life and set the crown upon his 
 head, a man that enjoyed by his favour and advancement so 
 great a fortune both in honour and riches,—a man that was 
 
400 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 tied unto liim in so near a band of alliance, Lis brotlicr 
 having married the king’s mother,—and, lastly, a man to 
 whom he had committed the trust of his person, in making 
 him his chamberlain j that this man, no ways disgraced, no 
 ways discontent, no ways put in fear, should be false unto 
 him. Clifford was required to say over again and again the 
 particulars of his accusation, being warned, that in a matter 
 so unlikely, and that concerned so great a servant of the 
 king’s, he should not in any wise go too far. But the king, 
 liDding that he did sadly and constantly, without hesitation 
 or varying, and with those civil protestations that were' fit, 
 stand to that that he had said, offering to justify it upon his 
 soul and life, he caused him to be removed. And after he 
 had not a little bemoaned himself unto his council there 
 present, gave order that Sir ’William Stanley should be 
 restrained in his own chamber where he lay "before, in the 
 square tower; and the next day he was examined by the 
 lords. Upon his examination he denied little of that where¬ 
 with he Avas charged, nor endeavoured much to excuse or 
 extenuate his fault; so that, not very wisely, thinking to 
 make his offence less by confession, he made it enough for 
 condemnation. It Avas conceived that he trusted much to 
 his former merits, and the interest that his brother had in 
 the king. But those helps Avere overweighed by diA^ers 
 things that made against him, and Avere predominant in the 
 king’s nature and mind. First, an over-merit; for conA^e- 
 nient merit, unto Avhich reward may easily reach, doth best 
 Avith kings. Next, the sense of his power; for the king 
 thought that he that could set him up Avas the more danger¬ 
 ous to pull him down. Thirdly, the glimmering of a confis¬ 
 cation; for he Avas the richest subject for value in the king¬ 
 dom, there being found in his castle of Holt forty thousand 
 marks in ready money and plate, besides jeAvels, household- 
 stuff, stocks upon his grounds, and other personal estate, 
 exceeding great. And for his revenue in land and fee it was 
 three thousand pounds a-year of old rent, a great matter in 
 those times. Lastly, the nature of the time; for if the king 
 had been out of fear of his own estate, it Avas not unlike he 
 would have spared his hfe. But the cloud of so great a 
 rebellion hanging over his head made him Avork sure. Where¬ 
 fore, after some six Aveeks’ distance of time, which the king 
 
HENEY THE SE\T2NTH. 
 
 401 
 
 did honouraLly interpose, both to give space to bis brother’s 
 intercession, and to show to the world that he had a conflict 
 'with himself what he should do, he was arraigned of high 
 treason and condemned, and presently after beheaded. 
 
 Yet is it to this day left but in dark memory, both what 
 the case of this noble person was for which he suifered, and 
 what likewise was the ground and cause of his defection, and 
 the alienation of his heart from the king. His case was said 
 to be this: that in discoui’se between Sir Robert Clifford 
 and him he had said, “ That if he were sure that that young 
 man were King Edward’s son he would never bear arms 
 against liim.” This case seems somewhat a hard case, both 
 in respect of the conditional and in respect of the other 
 words. But for the conditional, it seemeth the judges of 
 that time, who were learned men, and the three chief of 
 them of the privy-council, thought it was a dangerous thing 
 to admit ifs and ands, to Cjualify words of treason, whereby 
 every man might express his malice and blanch his danger. 
 And it was like to the case, in the foUovung times, of Eliza¬ 
 beth Barton, the holy maid of Kent, who had said, That if 
 King Henry the Eighth did not take Catherine his 'wife 
 again, he should be deprived 'of his crown, and die the death 
 of a dog.” And infinite cases may be put of like nature, 
 which it seemeth the grave judges taking into consideration, 
 would not admit of treasons on condition. And as for the 
 positive words, That he would not bear arms against King 
 Edward’s son,” though the words seem calm, yet it was a 
 plain and direct overmling of the king’s title, either by the 
 line of Lancaster or by act of parliament ; which no doubt 
 pierced the king more than if Stanley had charged his lance 
 upon him in the field. For if Stanley would hold that 
 opinion that a son of King Edward had still the better right, 
 he being so principal a person of authority and favour about 
 the king, it was to teach all England to say as much; and 
 therefore, as those times were, that speech touched the quick. 
 But some 'wiiters do put this out of doubt, for they say that 
 Stanley did expressly promise to aid Perkin, and sent him 
 some help of treasure. 
 
 Kow for the motive of his falling off from the kin g. It is 
 true that at Bosworth Field the king was beset, and in a 
 manner enclosed round about by the troops of King Bichard. 
 
 2 u 
 
402 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 and in manifest danger of liis life, wlien tliis Stanley was 
 sent by bis brother with three thousand men to his rescue, 
 which he performed so that Eling Richard was slain upon 
 the place. So as the condition of mortal men is not capable 
 of a greater benefit than the king received by the hands of 
 Stanley, being like the benefit of Christ, at once to save and 
 crown; for which service the king gave him great gifts, 
 made him his counsellor and chamberlain, and, somewhat 
 contrary to his nature, had winked at the great spoils of 
 Bosvrorth Field, which came almost wholly to this man’s 
 hands, to his infinite enriching. Yet, nevertheless, blown up 
 wtli the conceit of his merit, he did not think he had 
 received good measure from the king, at least not pressing 
 down and running over, as he expected. And his ambition 
 was so exorbitant and unbounded, as he became suitor to the 
 king for the earldom of Chester, which ever being a kind of 
 appendage to the principality of Wales, and using to go to 
 the king’s son, his suit did not only end in a denial, but in a 
 distaste; the king perceiving thereby that his desires were 
 intemperate, and his cogitations vast and irregular, and that 
 his former benefits were but cheap and lightly regarded by 
 him; wherefore the king began not to brook Inm well. And 
 as a little leaven of new distaste doth commonly sour the 
 whole lump of former merits, the king’s wit began now to 
 suggest unto his passion that Stanley at Bosworth Field, 
 though he came time enough to save his life, yet he stayed 
 long enough to endanger it. But yet having no matter 
 against Ifim, he continued him in his places until this his 
 fall. 
 
 * After him was made lord chamberlain, Giles, Lord D’Au- 
 bigney, a man of great sufficiency and valour, the more be¬ 
 cause he was gentle and moderate. 
 
 There was a common opinion, that Sir Robert Clifford, who 
 now was become the state informer, was from the beginning 
 an emissary and spy of the king’s; and that he fled over into 
 Flanders with his consent and privity. But this is not pro¬ 
 bable ; both because he never recovered that degi’ee of grace 
 which he had with the king before his going over; and 
 chiefly, for that the discovery which he had made touching 
 the lord chamberlain, which was his great service, grew not 
 
 X 
 
HENRY THP] SEVENTH. 4Q3 
 
 from any tiling he learned abroad, for that he knev/ it well 
 before he went. 
 
 These executions, and especially that of the lord chamber- 
 lain, which was the chief strength 'of the party, and by 
 means of Sir Robert Clifford, who was the most inward man 
 of trust amongst them, did extremely quail the design of 
 Perkin and his complices, as well through discoui’agement as 
 distrust; so that they were now, like sand mthout lime, ill 
 bound together; especially as many as were English, who 
 were at a gaze, looking strange one upon another, not know¬ 
 ing who was faithful to their side; but thinking, that the 
 king, what with liis baits, and what with his nets, would 
 draw them all unto him that were anything worth. And 
 indeed it came to pass, that divers came away by the thread, 
 sometimes one, and sometimes another. Barley, that was 
 joint commissioner with Clifford, did hold out one of the 
 longest, till Perkin was far worn ; yet made his peace at the 
 length. But the fall of this great man, being in so high 
 authority and favour, as was thought, with the king; and 
 the manner of carriage of the business, as if there had been 
 secret inquisition upon him for a great time before ; and the 
 cause for which he suffered, which was Little more than for 
 saying in effect that the title of York was better than the 
 title of Lancaster—which was the case of almost every man, 
 at the least in opinion—was matter of great terror amongst 
 all the king’s servants and subjects ; insomuch as no man 
 almost thought himself secure, and men durst scarce commune 
 or talk one with another, but there was a general diffidence 
 everywhere : which nevertheless made the king rather more 
 absolute than more safe. For bleeding inwards, and shut 
 vapours, strangle soonest, and oppress most.” 
 
 Hereupon presently came forth swarms and volleys of 
 libels, which are the gusts of liberty of speech restrained, 
 and the females of sedition, containing bitter invectives and 
 slanders against the king and some of the council : for the 
 contriving and dispersing whereof, after great diligence of 
 inquiry, five mean persons were caught up and executed. 
 
 Meanwhile the king did not neglect Ireland, being the soil 
 where these mushrooms and upstart weeds, that spring up in 
 a night, did chiefly prosper. He sent 'therefore from hence, 
 
 2 D 2 
 
404 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 for tlie better settling of liis affairs tliere, commissioners of 
 both robes, the prior of Lanthony, to be his chancellor in 
 that kingdom ; and Sir Edward Poynings, with a power of 
 men, and a marshal commission, together with a civil power 
 of his lieutenant, with a clause, that the earl of Kildare, 
 then deputy, should obey him. But the wild Irish, who were 
 the principal oftenders, fled into the woods and bogs, after 
 their manner ; and those that knew themselves guilty in the 
 pale fled to them; so that Sm Edward Poynings was enforced 
 to make a wdld chase upon the wild Irish; where, in respect 
 of the mountains and fastnesses, he did little good. Which, 
 either out of a suspicious melancholy upon his bad success, 
 or the better to save his service from disgrace, he would needs 
 impute unto the comfort that the rebels should receive under¬ 
 hand from the earl of Kildare ; every light suspicion grow¬ 
 ing upon the earl, in r^espect of the Kildare that was in the 
 action of Lambert Simnel, and slain at Stokefield. Wherefore 
 he caused the earl to be apprehended, and sent into England; 
 where, upon examination, he cleared himself so well, as he 
 was replaced in his government. But Poynings, the better 
 to make compensation of the meagreness of his service in the 
 wars by acts of peace, called a parliament; where was made 
 that memorable act, which at this day is called Poynings’ 
 law, wdiereby all the statutes of England were made to be of 
 force in Ireland : for before they were not, neither are any 
 now in force in Ireland, which were made in England since 
 that time, which was the tenth j^ear of the king. 
 
 About this time began to be discovered in the king tliat 
 disposition, which afterwards, nourished and whet on by bad 
 counsellors and ministers, proved the blot of his times : 
 W'hich was the course he took to xrush treasure out of his 
 subjects’ purses, by forfeitures upon penal laws. At this men 
 did startle the more at this time, because it appeared plainly 
 to be in the king’s natime, and not out of his necessity, he 
 being now in float for treasure : for that he had newdy 
 received the peace-money from France, the benevolence-money 
 from his subjects, and great casualties upon the confiscations 
 of the lord chamberlain, and divers others. The first noted 
 case of this kind was that of Sir William Capel, alderman of 
 London ; who, upon sundry penal laws, was condemned in 
 the sum of seven and twenty hundred pounds, and com* 
 
HENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 405 
 
 pounded with the king for sixteen hundred: and yet after, 
 Empson would have cut another chop out of him, if tlio 
 king had not died in the instant. 
 
 The summer following, the king, to comfort his mother, 
 whom he did always tenderly love and revere, and to make 
 open demonstration to the world, that the proceedings against 
 Sir William Stanley, wliich were imposed upon him by 
 necessity of state, had not in any degree diminished the 
 affection he ba.re to Thomas his brother, went in progress to 
 Latham, to make merry with his mother and the earl, and 
 lay there divers days. 
 
 During tliis progress, Perkin Warbeck, finding that time 
 and temporizing, which, whilst his practices were covert and 
 wrought well in England, made for him j did now, when 
 they were discovered and defeated, rather make against him, 
 for that when matters once go down the hill, they stay not 
 .without a new force ; resolved to try his adventure in some 
 exploit upon England—hoping still upon the affections of the 
 common people towards the house of York. Which body of 
 common people he thought was not to be practised upon, as 
 persons of quality are ; but that the only practice upon their 
 affections was to set up a standard in the field. The place 
 where he should make liis attempt, he chose to be the coast 
 of Kent. 
 
 The king 1^ this time v/as gT 0 ^vn to such a height of re¬ 
 putation for cunning and policy, that every accident and 
 event that went well, was laid and imputed to his foresight, 
 as if he had set it before : as in this particular of Perkin’s 
 des%n upon Kent. For the w’orld would not believe after¬ 
 wards, but the king, having secret intelligence of Perkin’s 
 intention for Kent, the better to draw it on, went of purpose 
 into the north afar off, laying an open side unto Perkin, 
 to make him come to the close, and so to trip up his heels, 
 having made sure in Kent beforehand. 
 
 But so it was, that Perkin had gathered together a power 
 of all nations, neither in number, nor in the hardiness and 
 courage of the persons, contemptible, but in their nature and 
 fortunes to be feared, as well of friends as enemies ; being 
 bankrupts, and many of them felons, and such as lived by 
 rapine. These he put to sea, and arrived upon the coast of 
 Sandwich and Deal in Kent, about July. . 
 
406 
 
 HENllY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 There he cast anchor, and to prove the affections of the 
 people, sent some of his men to land, making great boasts of 
 the power that was to follow. The Kentish men, perceiving 
 that Perkin was not followed by any English of name or 
 account, and that his forces consisted but of strangei's bom, 
 and most of them base people and freebooters, fitter to spoil 
 a coast than to recover a kingdom, resorting unto the piin- 
 cipal gentlemen of the country, professed their loyalty to the 
 king, and desired to be directed and commanded for the best 
 of the king’s service. The gentlemen, entering into con¬ 
 sultation, directed some forces in good number to show 
 themselves upon the coast; and some of them to make signs 
 to entice Perkin’s soldiers to land, as if they would join with 
 them j and some others to appear from some other places, 
 and to make semblance as if they fled from them, the better 
 to encoimage them to land. But Perkin, who by playing the 
 prince, or else taught by Secretary Prion, had learned thus 
 much, that people under command do use to consult, and 
 after to march in order, and rebels contrariwise run upon a 
 head together in confusion, considering the delay of time, and 
 observing their orderly and not tumultuary arming, doubted 
 the worst. And therefore the vdly youth would not set one 
 foot out of his ship, till he might see things were sure. 
 Wherefore the king’s forces, perceiving that they could draw 
 on no more than those that were formerly lai^ded, set upon 
 them and cut them in pieces, ere they could fly back to their 
 ships. In which skirmish, besides those that fled and were 
 slain, there were taken about a hundred and fifty persons. 
 Which, for that the king thought, that to punish a few for 
 example was gentleman’s pay j but for rascal people, they 
 were to be cut off every man, especially in the beginning of 
 an enterprise : and likewise for that he saw, that Perkin’s 
 forces wonld now consist chiefly of such rabble and scum of 
 desperate people, he therefore hanged them all for the greater 
 terror. They were brought to London all railed in ropes, 
 like a team of horses in a cart, and were executed, some of 
 them at London and Wapping, and the rest at divers places 
 upon the sea-coast of Kent, Sussex, and Korfolk, for sea-marks 
 or light-houses, to teach Perkin’s people to avoid the coast. 
 The kinof beinof advertised of the landing of the rebels, 
 thought to leave his progress; but being c^.iidifled the next 
 
HENKY 'rHE SEVENTH. 
 
 407 
 
 day, that they were partly defeated, and partly fled, he con¬ 
 tinued his progress, and sent Sir Richard Guildford into Kent 
 in message ; who calling the country together, did much 
 commend from the king their fidelity, manhood, and well 
 handling of that service j and gave them all thanks, and, in 
 private, promised reward to some particular^c 
 
 Upon the sixteenth of November, this being the eleventh, 
 year of the king, was holden the serjeants’ feast at Ely-place, 
 there being nine serjeants of that cal]. The king, to honour 
 the feast, was present ■with his queen at the dinner ; being a 
 prince that was ever ready to grace and countenance the 
 professors of the law; having a little of that, that as he 
 governed his subjects by his laws, so he governed his laws by 
 liis lawyers. 
 
 This year also the king entered into league with the 
 Italian potentates for the defence of Italy against France ; 
 for King Charles had conquered the realm of Naples, and 
 lost it again, in a kind of felicity of a dream. He passed the 
 whole length of Italy -without resistance; so that it was true 
 which Pope Alexander was wont to say, That the Frenchmen 
 came into Italy with chalk in their hands, to mark up their 
 lodgings, rather than with swords to fight.” He likewise 
 entered and won, in efiect, the whole kingdom of Naples 
 itself, without striking stroke. But presently thereupon he 
 did commit and multiply so many errors, as was too great a 
 task for the best fortune to overcome. He gave no content¬ 
 ment to the barons of Naples, of the faction of the Angeo- 
 vines ; but scattered his rewards according to the mercenary 
 appetites of some about him. He put all Italy upon their 
 guard, by the seizing and holding of Ostia, and the protecting 
 of the liberty of Pisa : which made all men suspect, that his 
 purposes looked farther than his title of Naples. He fell too 
 soon at differences with Ludo-vico Sfortia, who was the man 
 that carried the keys which brought him in, and shut him 
 out. He neglected to extinguish some relics of the war. 
 And lastly, in regard of his easy passage through Italy with¬ 
 out resistance, he entered into an overmuch despising of the 
 arms of the Italians j whereby he left the realm of Naples, 
 at his departure, so much the less provided. So that not long 
 after his return, the whole kingdom revolted to Ferdinando 
 the younger, and the French were quite driven out. Never- 
 
408 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 thelsss, Charles did make both great threats and great pre¬ 
 parations to re-enter Italy once again. Wherefore at tlio 
 instance of divers of tlie states of Italy, and especially of 
 Pope Alexander, there was a league concluded between the 
 said pope, Maximilian, king of the Pomans, Henry, king of 
 England, Ferdinando and Isabella, king and queen of Spain, 
 for so they are constantly placed in the original treaty 
 throughout, Augustino Barbadico, duke of Yenice, and 
 Ludovico Sfortia, duke of Milan, for the common defence of 
 their estates; wherein, though Ferdinando of Haples was 
 not named as principal, yet no doubt the kingdom of Haples 
 was tacitly included as a fee of the Church. 
 
 There died also this year Cecile, duchess of York, mother 
 to King Edward the Foimth, at her castle of Barkhamsted, 
 being of extreme years, and who had lived to see three 
 princes of her body crowned, and four murdered. She v/as 
 buried at Foderingham, by her husband. 
 
 This year also, the king called his parliament, where many 
 laws were made of a more private and vulgar natime than 
 ought to detain the reader of a history. And it may be 
 justly suspected by the proceedings following, that as the 
 king did excel in good commonwealth laws, so nevertheless 
 he had, in secret, a design to make use of them, as well for 
 collecting of treasure as for correcting of manners; and so 
 meaning thereby to harrow his people, did accumulate them 
 the rather. 
 
 The principal law that was made this parliament, was a 
 law of a strange nature, rather just than legal, and more 
 magnanimous than provident. This law did ordain : That 
 no person that did assist in arms, or otherwise, the king for 
 the time being, should after be impeached therefor, or at¬ 
 tainted, either by the course of the law or by act of parliament. 
 But if any such act of attainder did hapj^en to be made, it 
 should be void and of none effect; for that it was agreeable to 
 reason of estate that the subject should not inquire of the 
 justness of the king’s title, or quarrel; and it was agreeable 
 to good conscience that, whatsoever the fortune of the war 
 were, the subject should not suffer for his obedience. The 
 spirit of this law was wondeifful pious and noble, being like, 
 in matter of war, unto the spirit of David in matter of 
 plague, who laid, ^‘If I have sinned, strike me; but what 
 
HENKY THE SEVEK^’H. 
 
 409 
 
 have these sheep done ?” Neither ^vanted this law parts of 
 prudent and deep foresight; for it did the better take away 
 occasion for the people to busy themselves to pry into the 
 king’s title; for that howsoever it fell, their safety was already 
 proAuded for. Besides, it could not but gTeatly draw unto 
 him the love and hearts of the people, because he seemed 
 more careful for them than for himself. But yet neverthe¬ 
 less it did take off from his party that great tie and spur of 
 necessity, to fight and go 'sfictors out of the field, considering 
 their lives and fortunes were put in safety and protected, 
 whether they stood to it or ran away. But the force and 
 obligation of this law was in itself illusory, as to the latter 
 pari; of it, by a precedent act of parliament to bind or 
 frustrate a future. For a supreme and absolute power cannot 
 conclude itself, neither can that which is in nature revocable 
 be made fixed, no more than if a man should appoint or 
 declare by his will, that if he made any latter will it should 
 be void. And for the case of the act of parliament, there 
 is a notable precedent of it in King Henry the Eighth’s 
 time, who, doubting he might die in the minority of his son, 
 procui'ed an act to pass, that no statute made during the 
 minority of a king should bind him or his successors, except 
 it were confirmed by the king under his great seal at his full 
 age. But the first act that passed in King Edward the 
 Sixth’s time was an act of repeal of that former act, at which 
 time, nevertheless, the king was minor. But things that do 
 not bind may satisfy for the time. 
 
 There was also made a shearing or under-propping act for 
 >.the benevolence—to make the sums which any person had 
 agi'eed to pay, and nevertheless Avere not brought in, to be 
 leviable by course of law; which act did not only bring in 
 the arrears, but did indeed countenance the whole business, 
 and was pretended to be made at the desire of those that 
 had been forAvard to pay. 
 
 Tliis i)arliament also was made that good laAv which gaA^o 
 the attaint upon a false verdict betAveen party and party, 
 vrhich before was a kind of evangile, and irremediable. It 
 extends not to causes capital, as Avell because they are for 
 the most part at the king’s suit, as because in them, if* they 
 be followed in course of indictment, there passeth a double 
 the indicters and the triers, and so not tAA’eb/e men, 
 
 / 
 
410 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 but foiu'-and-twenty. But it seemetb that was not the only 
 reason; for this reason holdeth not in the appeal. But the 
 great reason was, lest it should tend to the discouragement 
 of jurors in cases of life and death, if they should be subject 
 to suit and penalty where the favour of life maketh against 
 them. It extendeth not also to any suit where the demand 
 is under the value of forty pounds, for that in such cases of 
 petty value it would not quit the charge to go about again. 
 
 There was another law made against a branch of ingrati¬ 
 tude in women, who having been advanced by their hus¬ 
 bands or their husbands’ ancestors, should alien, and thereby 
 seek to defeat the heirs, or those in remainder, of the lands 
 whereunto they had been so advanced. The remedy was, 
 by giving power to the next to enter for a forfeiture. 
 
 There was also enacted that charitable law for the admis¬ 
 sion of poor suitors in forma pauperis, without fee to coun¬ 
 sellor, attorney, or clerk, whereby poor men became rather 
 able to vex than unable to sue. There were divers other 
 good laws made that parliament, as we said before; but we 
 still observe our manner, in selecting out those that are not 
 of a vulgar nature. 
 
 The king this while, though he sat in parliament as in full 
 peace, and seemed to account of the designs of Perkin, who 
 was now returned into Flanders, but as a May-game; yet 
 having the composition of a wise king, stout without and 
 apprehensive within, had given order for the watching of 
 beacons upon the coasts, and erecting more where they stood 
 too thin, and had a careful eye where this wandering cloud 
 would break. But Perkin, advised to keep his fire, which 
 hitherto burned as it were upon green wood, alive with con¬ 
 tinual blowing, sailed again into Ireland, whence he had 
 formerly departed, rather upon the hopes of France than 
 upon any um’eadiness or discouragement he found in that 
 people. But in the space of time between, the king’s dili¬ 
 gence and Poyning’s commission had so settled things there, 
 as there was nothing left for Perkin but the blustering affec¬ 
 tion of wild and naked people. "Wherefore he was advised 
 by his council, to seek aid of the king of Scotland, a prince 
 young and valorous, and in good terms with his nobles and 
 people, and ill affected to King Henry. At this time also 
 both Maximilian and Chaides of France began to bear iio 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 411 
 
 good will to the king; the one being displeased with the 
 king’s prohibition of commerce with Flanders, the other 
 holding the king for suspect, in regard of his late entry into 
 league with the Italians. Wherefore, besides the open aids 
 of the duchess of Burgundy, which did with sails and oars 
 put on and advance Perkin’s designs, there wanted not some 
 secret tides from Maximilian and Charles, which did farther 
 his fortunes; insomuch as they, both by their secret letters 
 and messages, recommended him to the king .of Scotland. 
 
 Perkin therefore coming into Scotland upon those hopes, 
 ■with a well-appointed company, was by the king of Scots, 
 being formerly well prepared, honourably welcomed, and 
 soon after his arrival admitted to his presence, in a solemn 
 manner : for the king received him in state in his chamber 
 of presence, accompanied with divers of his nobles. And 
 Perkin well attended, as well wdth those that the king had 
 sent before him, as with his owm. train, entered the room 
 where the king was, and coming near to the king, and 
 bowing a Kttle to embrace him, he retired some paces back, 
 and 'with a loud voice, that all that were present might hear 
 him, made his declaration in this manner :— 
 
 High and mighty king, your grace, and these your nobles 
 here present, may be pleased benignly to bow yoiu’ ears, to 
 hear the tragedy of a young man, that by right ought to 
 hold in his hand the ball of a kingdom ; but by foiiune is 
 made himself a ball, tossed from misery to misery, and fr'om 
 place to place. You see here before you the spectacle of a 
 Plantagenet, who hath Been carried from the nursery to the 
 sanctuary ; from the sanctuary to- the direful prison; from 
 the prison to the hand of the cruel tormentor; and from 
 that hand to the 'wide wdlderness, as I may truly call it, for 
 so the world hath been to me. So that he that is bom to a 
 great kingdom, hath not ground to set his foot upon, more 
 than this where he now standeth by your princely favoim. 
 Edward the Fourth, late king of England, as your grace can¬ 
 not but have heard, left two sons, Edwrard and Bichard, 
 duke of York, both very young. Edward, the eldest, suc¬ 
 ceeded their father in the crown, by the name of King 
 Edward the Fifth : but Bichard, duke of Gloucester, their 
 unnatural uncle, first thirsting after the kingdom, through 
 ambition, and afterwards thirsting for their blood, out of 
 
412 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 desire to secure liimself, employed an instrument of his, con¬ 
 fident to liim, as he thought, to murder them both. But 
 this man that was employed to execute that execrable 
 tragedy, having cruelly slain King Edward, the eldest of the 
 two, was moved, partly by remorse, and partly by some 
 other means, to save Kichard his brother; making a report 
 nevertheless to the tyrant, that lie had performed his com¬ 
 mandment to both brethren. Tliis report was accordingly 
 believed, and published generally: so that the world hath 
 been possessed of an opinion, that they both were barbarously 
 made away; though ever truth hath some sparks that fiy 
 abroad, until it appear in due time, as this hath had. But 
 Almighty God, that stopped the mouth of the lion, and saved 
 little Joash from the tyranny of Athaliah, when she mas¬ 
 sacred the king’s cliildren, and did save Isaac, when the hand 
 v^as stretched forth to sacrifice him, preserved the second 
 brother. For I myself, that stand here in your presence, 
 am that very Kichard, duke of York, brother of that unfor¬ 
 tunate prince. King Edward the Fifth, now the most rightful 
 surviving heir male to that victorious and most noble 
 Edward, of that name the fourth, late king of England. For 
 the manner of my escape, it is fit it should pass in silence, 
 or, at least, in a more secret relation; for that it may con¬ 
 cern some alive, and the memory of some that are dead. 
 Let it sufS.ce to think, that I had then a mother living, a 
 queen, and one that expected daily such a commandment 
 from the tyrant, for the murdering of her children. Thus 
 in my tender age escaping by God’s mercy out of London, I 
 was secretly conveyed over sea ; where after a time the party 
 that had me in charge, upon what new fears, change of mind, 
 or practice, God knoweth, suddenly forsook me. Whereby 
 I was forced to wander abroad, and to seek mean conditions 
 for the sustaining of my life. Wherefore distracted between 
 several passions, the one of fear to be known, lest the tyrant 
 should have a new attempt upon me, the other of grief and dis¬ 
 dain to be unknown, and to live in that base and servile man¬ 
 ner that I did; I resolved with myself to expect the tyrant’s 
 death, and then to put myself into my sister’s hands, who 
 was next heir to the crown. But in this season it happened 
 one Henry Tudor, son to Edmund Tudor, earl of BichDiond, 
 
HEN^RY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 413 
 
 to come from France and enter into tlie realm, and by sub¬ 
 tile and foul means to obtain tlie cro^vn of tbe same, which 
 to me lightfully appertained; so that it was but a change 
 from tyrant to tyrant. This Henry, my extreme and mortal 
 enemy, so soon as he had knowledge of my being alive, 
 imagined and 'wrought all the subtile ways and means he 
 could, to procure my final destruction; for my mortal enemy 
 hath not only falsely surmised me to be a feigned person, 
 giving me nick-names, so abusing the world, but also, to 
 defer and put me from entry into England, hath ofiered 
 large sums of money to corrupt the princes and their minis¬ 
 ters, 'with whom I have been retained ; and made importune 
 labours to certain servants about my person, to iniuder or 
 poison me, and others to forsake and leave my righteous 
 quarrel, and to depart from my service, as Sir Robert Clif¬ 
 ford, and others. So that every man of reason may well 
 perceive that Henry, calling himself king of England, needed 
 not to have bestowed such great sums of treasure, nor so to 
 have busied himself with importmie and incessant labour 
 and industry, to compass my death and ruin, if I had been 
 such a feigned person. But the truth of my cause being so 
 manifest, moved the most Christian King Charles, and the 
 lady duchess dowager of Burgundy, my most dear aunt, not 
 only to acknowledge the truth thereof, but lovingly to assist 
 me. But it seemeth that God above, for the good of this 
 whole island, and the knitting of these two kingdoms of 
 England and Scotland in a strait concord and amity, by so 
 great an obligation, hath reserved the placing of me in the 
 imperial throne of England for the arms and succours of 
 your grace. Neither is it the first time that a king of Scot¬ 
 land hath supported them that were bereft and spoiled of 
 the kingdom of England, as of late, in fresh memory, it was 
 done in the person of Henry the Sixth. Wherefore, for 
 that your grace hath given clear signs, that you are in no 
 noble quality inferior to your royal ancestors; I, so distressed 
 a prince, was hereby moved to come and put myself into 
 your royal hands, desiring your assistance to recover my 
 kingdom of England; promising faithfully to bear myself 
 towards your grace no otherwise than if I were your own 
 natiual brother j and will, upon the recovery of mine inhe- 
 
. HEiSHY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 114 
 
 ritance, gratefully do you all tlie pleasure, that is in my 
 utmost power.” 
 
 After Perkin had told his tale, King James answered 
 bravely and wisely : “ That whatsoever he were, he should 
 not repent him of putting himself into his hands.” And 
 from that time forth, though there wanted not some about 
 him that would have persuaded him that all was but an 
 illusion ; yet notwithstanding, either taken by Perkin’s 
 amiable and alluring behaviour, or inclining to the recom¬ 
 mendation of the gTeat princes abroad, or willing to take an 
 occasion of a war against King Henry, he entertained him 
 in all things, as became the person of Pichard, duke of York; 
 embraced his quarrel; and, the more to put it out of doubt, 
 that he took him to be a great prince, and not a repre¬ 
 sentation only, he gave consent that this duke should take 
 to wife the Lady Catharine Gordon, daughter to the earl of 
 Huntley, being a near kinswoman to the king himself, and a 
 young virgin of excellent beauty and virtue. 
 
 Not long after, the king of Scots in person, with Perkin 
 in his company, entered with a great army, though it con¬ 
 sisted chiefly of borderers, being raised somewhat suddenly, 
 into Northumberland. And Perkin, for a perfume before him 
 as he went, caused to be published a proclamation^ of this 
 tenor following, in the name of Pichard, duke of York, true 
 inheritor of the crown of England :— 
 
 It hath pleased God, who putteth down the mighty ft'om 
 their seat, and exalteth the humble, and sufiereth not the 
 hopes of the just to perish in the end, to give us means at the 
 lengih to show ourselves armed unto our lieges and people of 
 England. But far be it from us to intend their hurt or 
 damage, or to make war upon them, otherwise than to 
 deliver ourselves and them from tyranny and oppression. 
 Eor our mortal enemy Henry Tudor, a false usurper of the 
 crown of England, which to us by natural and lineal right 
 appertaineth, knowing in his own heart our undoubted right, 
 we being the very Bichard, duke of York, younger son, and 
 now surviving heir male of the noble and victorious Edward 
 
 ^ The original of this proclamation remaineth with Sir Kobert 
 Cotton, a worthy preserver and treasurer of rare antiquities, from 
 wliose manuscripts I have had much light for the furnishing of this 
 work. 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 415 ' 
 
 the Fourth, late king of England, hath not only deprived ua 
 of our kingdom, but likewise by all foul and wicked means 
 sought to betray us, and bereave us of our life. Yet if his 
 tyranny only extended itself to our person, although our 
 royal blood teacheth us to be sensible of injuries, it should 
 be less to our grief. But this Tudor, who boasteth himself 
 to have overthrowm a tyrant, hath, ever since his first 
 entrance into liis usurped reign, put little in practice, but 
 tyranny and the feats thereof. 
 
 For King Bichard, our unnatural uncle, although desire 
 of ride did bfind him, yet in his other actions, like a true 
 Plantagenet, was noble, and loved the honour of the realm, 
 and the contentment and comfort of his nobles and people. 
 But this our mortal enemy, agTeeable to the meanness of his 
 birth, hath trodden under-foot the honour of this nation : 
 selling our best confederates for money, and making mer¬ 
 chandize of the blood, estates, and fortunes of our peers and 
 subjects, by feigned wars, and dishonourable peace, only to 
 enrich his coders. Kor unlike hath been his hateful mis- 
 government and evil deportments at home. First, he hath, 
 to fortify his false quarrel, caused divers nobles of this our 
 realm, whom he held suspect and stood in dread of, to be 
 cruelly murdered ; as our cousin Sir William Stanley, lord 
 chamberlain. Sir Simon Mountfort, Sir Bobert Batclifie, 
 William D’Aubigney, Humphrey Stafibrd, and many others, 
 besides such as have dearly bought their lives with intolerable 
 ransoms : some of which nobles are now in the sanctuary. 
 Also he hath long kept, and yet keepeth in prison, our right 
 entirely well-beloved cousin, Edward, son and heir to our 
 uncle, duke of Clarence, and others; withholding from them 
 their rightful inheritance, to the intent they should never be 
 of might and power to aid and assist us at our need, after 
 the duty of their legiances. He also married by compulsion 
 certain of our sistei's, and also the sister of our said cousin 
 the earl of Warwick, and divers other ladies of the royal 
 blood, unto certain of his kinsmen and friends of simple and 
 low degree j and putting apart all well disposed nobles, he 
 hath none in favour and trust about his person, but Bishop 
 Fox, Smith, Bray, Lovel, Oliver King, David Owen, Bisely, 
 Tubervile, Tiler, Chomley, Empson, James Obart, John Cut, 
 Garth, Henry Wyat, and such other caitiffs and villams of 
 
416 
 
 HEXEY THE SEVEXTH. 
 
 birtli, wMch by subtile inventions^ and pilling of the people, 
 have been the principal finders, occasioners, and counsellors 
 of the misrule and mischief now reisniin" in Encrland. 
 
 'We, remembering these premises, Avith the great and 
 execrable offences daily committed and done by our foresaid 
 great enemy and his adherents, in breaking the liberties and 
 franchises of our mother the holy church, upon pretences of 
 wicked and heathenish policy, to the high displeasure of 
 Almighty God, besides the manifold treasons, abominable 
 murders, manslaughters, robberies, extortions, and daily 
 pilling of the people by dismes, taxes, tallages, benevolences, 
 and other unlawful impositions, and grievous exactions, with 
 many other heinous effects, to the likely destruction and de¬ 
 solation of the whole realm : shall by God’s grace, and the 
 help and assistance of the great lords of our blood, with the 
 coimsel of other sad persons, see that the commodities of our 
 realm be employed to the most advantage of the same ; the 
 intercoiuse of merchandize betwixt realm and realm to be 
 mmistered and handled as shall more be to the common weal 
 and prosperity of our subjects j and all such dismes, taxes, 
 tallages, benevolences, unlawful impositions, and grievous 
 exactions, as be above rehearsed, to be foredone and laid 
 apart, and never from henceforth to be called upon, but in 
 such cases as our noble progenitoi's, kings of England, have 
 of old time been accustomed to have the aid, succour, and 
 help of their subjects, and true liege-men. 
 
 ‘A4md farther, we do, out of our grace and clemenc 3 /, 
 hereby as well publish and promise to all our subjects 
 remission and free pardon of all by-past offences whatsoever, 
 agahist our person or estate, in adhering to our said enemy, 
 by whom we know well they have been misled, if they shall 
 within time convenient submit themselves unto us. And for 
 such as shall come with the foremost to assist our righteous 
 quarrel, we shall make them so far partakers of our princely 
 favour and bounty, as shall be highly for the comfort of them 
 and theirs, both during their life and after their death : as 
 also we shall, by all means which God shall put into our 
 hands, demean ourselves to give royal contentment to all 
 degrees and estates of our people, maintaining the liberiies 
 of holy church in them entire, preserving the honours, 
 privileges, and pre-eminences of our nobles, from contempt 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 417 
 
 and disparagement according to tlie dignity of their blood. 
 We shall also unyoke our people from all heavy burdens and 
 endurances, and confirm our cities, boroughs, and towns, in 
 their charters and freedoms, with enlargement where it shall 
 be deserved ; and in all points give our subjects cause to 
 think, that the blessed and debonair government of our 
 noble father King Edward, in his last times, is in us re- 
 vived. 
 
 “ And forasmuch as the putting to death, or taking alive 
 of our said mortal enemy, may be a mean to stay much 
 effusion of blood, wliich otherwise may ensue, if by compul¬ 
 sion or fair promises he shall draw after him any number of 
 our subjects to resist us, which we desire to avoid, though we 
 be certainly informed, that our said enemy is purposed and 
 prepared to fiy the land, ha’vdng already made over great 
 masses of the treasure of our crowm, the better to support 
 him in foreign parts, we do hereby declare, that whosoever 
 shall take or distress our said enemy, though the pa,rty be of 
 never so mean a condition, he shall be by us rewarded with a 
 thousand pound in money, forthwith to be laid down to him, 
 and a hundred marks by the year of inheritance ; besides 
 that he may otherwise merit, both toward God and all good 
 people, for the destruction of such a tyrant. 
 
 “ Lastly, we do all men to wdt, and herein we take also 
 God to witness, that whereas God hatli moved the heart of 
 our dearest cousin, the king of Scotland, to aid us in person 
 ill this our righteous quarrel; it is altogether without any 
 pact or promise, or so much as demand of any thing that may 
 prejudice our crown or subjects : but contrariwise, with 
 promise on our said cousin’s part,"that whensoever he shall 
 find us in sufficient strength to get the upper hand of our 
 enemy, which we hope will be very suddenly, he will forth¬ 
 with peaceably return into his own kingdom ; contenting 
 himself only with the glory of so honourable an enterprise, 
 and our true and faithful love and amity: which we shall 
 ever by the grace of Almighty God, so order, as shall be to 
 the great comfort of both kingdoms.” 
 
 But Perkin’s proclamation did little edify with the people 
 of England ; neither was he the better welcome for tlio 
 company he came in. Wherefore the king of Scotland 
 seeing none came in to Perkin, nor none sthred anywhere 
 
 2 E 
 
418 
 
 HENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 in Ms favour, turned Ms enterprise into a road ; and wasted 
 and destroyed the county of Korthumberland with fire and 
 sword. But hearing that there were forces coming against 
 him, and not willing that they should find his men heavy and 
 laden with booty, he returned into Scotland with great spoils, 
 deferring farther prosecution till another time. It is said, 
 that Perkin, acting the part of a prince handsomely, when he 
 saw the Scottish fell to waste the country, came to the king 
 in a passionate manner, making great lamentation, and 
 desired, that that might not be the manner of making the 
 war ; for that no crown was so dear to his mind, as that he 
 desired to purchase it with the blood and ruin of his 
 country. Whereunto the king answered half in sport, that 
 he doubted much he was careful for that that was none ol 
 his, and that he should be too good a steward for Ms enemy, 
 to save the coimtry to Ms use. 
 
 By tills time, being the eleventh year of the king, the in¬ 
 terruption of trade between the English and the Flemish 
 began to pinch the merchants of both nations very sore : 
 which moved them, by all means they could devise, to afiect 
 and dispose their sovereigns respectively, to open the inter¬ 
 course again ; wherein time favoured them. For the arch¬ 
 duke and his council began to see, that Perkin would prove 
 but a runagate and citizen of the world ; and that it was the 
 part of children to fall out about babies. And the king on 
 his part, after the attempts upon Kent and Northumberland, 
 began to have the business of Perkin in less estimation; so 
 as he did not put it to account in any consultation of state. 
 But that that moved Mm most was, that being a king that 
 loved wealth and treasure, he could not endure to have trade 
 sick, nor any obstruction to continue in the gate vein, which 
 disperseth that blood. And yet he kept state so far, as firs* 
 tn be sought unto. Wherein the merchant adventurers like¬ 
 wise, being a strong company at that time, and well under-set 
 with rich men, and good order, did hold out bravely ; taking 
 off the commodities of the kingdom, though they lay dead 
 upon their hands for want of vent. At the last, commis¬ 
 sioners met at London to treat : on the king’s part. Bishop 
 Fox, lord privy seal, Viscount Wells, Kendal, prior of Saint 
 John’s, Warham, master of the rolls, who began to gain much 
 upon the king’s opinion ; Urswick, who was almost ever one; 
 
KENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 419 
 
 and Risely : on the archduke’s part, the Lord Bevers, his 
 admh’al, the Lord Yerunsel, president of Flanders, and others. 
 These concluded a perfect treaty, both of amity and inter¬ 
 course, between the king and the archduke; containing 
 articles both of state, commerce, and free fishing. This is 
 that treaty which tlie Flemings call at this day intercursus 
 magnus; both because it is more complete than the precedent 
 treaties of the third and fourth year of the king j and cliiefly 
 to give it a difference ffom the treaty that followed in the 
 one-and-twentieth year of the king, which they call inter- 
 cursus mcdm. In this treaty, there was an express article 
 against the reception of the rebels of either prince by other; 
 pTU']Dorting, That if any such rebel should be required, by the 
 prince whose rebel he was, of the prince confederate, that 
 forthwith the prince confederate should by proclamation 
 command him to avoid the country : which if he did not 
 'VNutliin fifteen days, the rebel was to stand proscribed, and 
 put out of protection. But nevertheless in this article 
 Perkin was not named, neither perhaps contained, because 
 he was no rebel. But by this means his wings were dipt of 
 his followers that were !l&igKsh. And it was expressly com¬ 
 prised in the treaty, that it should extend to the territories 
 of the duchess dowager. After the intercourse thus restored, 
 the English merchants came again to their mansion at 
 Antwerp, where they were received with procession and 
 great joy. 
 
 The winter following, being the twelfth year of his reign, 
 the king called again his parliament; where he did much 
 exaggerate both the malice, and the cruel predatory war 
 lately made by the king of Scotland : that that king, being 
 in amity with him, and no ways provoked, should so burn in 
 hatred towards him, as to drink of the lees and dregs of Per¬ 
 kin’s intoxication, who was everywhere else detected and 
 discarded : and that when he perceived it was out of his 
 reach to do the king any hurt, he had turned his arms upon 
 unarmed and unprovided people, to spoil only and depo¬ 
 pulate, contrary to the laws both of war and peace, con¬ 
 cluding, that he could neither with honour, nor with the 
 safety of his people, to whom he did owe protection, let pass 
 these wrongs um*evenged. The parliament understood him 
 well, and gave him a subsidy, Ibnited to the sum of one 
 
 2e2 
 
 
420 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Imndred and twenty thousand pounds, besides two fifteens ; 
 for his wars were always to him as a mine of treasure of a 
 strange kind of ore ; iron at the top, and gold and silver at 
 the bottom. At this parliament, for that there had been so 
 much time spent in making laws the year before, and for 
 that it was called purposely in respect of the Scottish war, 
 there were no laws made to be remembered. Only there 
 passed a law, at the suit of the merchant adventurers of Eng¬ 
 land against the merchant adventiirers of London, for mono¬ 
 polizing and exacting upon the. trade : which it seemeth 
 they did a little to save themselves, after the hard time they 
 had sustained by want of trade. But those innovations were 
 taken away by parliament. 
 
 But it was fatal to the king to fight for his money; and 
 though he avoided to fight with enemies abroad, yet he was 
 still enforced to fight for it with rebels at home : for no 
 sooner began tl^e subsidy to be levied in Cornwall, but the 
 people there bc^gan to grudge and murmur. The Cornish 
 being a race of men, stout of stomach, mighty of body and 
 limb, and that lived hardly in a barren country, and many 
 of them could, for a need, live under ground, that were 
 tinners. They muttered extremely, that it was a thing not 
 to be suffered, that for a little stir of the Scots, soon blown 
 'Over, they should be thus grinded to powder with payments : 
 ;and said, it was for them to pay that had too much, and 
 lived idly. But they would eat their bread that they got 
 mth the sweat of their brows, and no man should take it 
 from them. And as in the tides of people once up, there 
 want not commonly stirring winds to make them more 
 rough; so this people did light upon two ringleaders or 
 captains of the rout. The one was Michael Joseph, a black¬ 
 smith or farrier of Bodmin, a notable talking fellow, and no 
 less desirous to be talked of; the other was Thomas Flam- 
 mock, a lawyer, who, by telling his neighbours commonly 
 upon any occasion that the law was on their side, had gotten 
 great sway amongst them. This man talked learnedly, and 
 as if lie could tell how to make a rebellion, and never break 
 the peace, lie told the people, that subsidies were not to 
 be granted, nor levied in this case ; that is, for wars of Scot¬ 
 land : for that the law had provided another couise, by ser¬ 
 vice of escuage, for those journeys; much less wlien all vras 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 421 
 
 quiefc, and war was made but a pretence to poll and pill the 
 people. And therefore that it was good they should not 
 stand like sheep before the shearers, but put on harness, and 
 take weapons in their hands. Yet to do no creature hurt, 
 but go and deliver the king a strong petition, for the laying 
 down of those gTievous payments, and for the punishment of 
 those that had given him that counsel; to make others 
 beware how they did the like in time to come. And said, 
 for his part he did not see how they could do the duty of 
 tiTie Englishmen, and good liege-men, except they did deliver 
 the king from such wicked ones, that wnuld destroy both 
 him and the country. Their aim was at archbishop Morton 
 and Sir Keginald Bray, who were the king’s skreens in this 
 envy. - 
 
 After that these two, Flammock and the blacksmith, had 
 by joint and several pratings found tokens of consent in the 
 multitude, they offered themselves to lead them, until they 
 should hear of better men to be their leaders, which thev 
 said would be ere long : telling them farther, that they 
 woidd be but their servants, and first in every danger; but 
 doubted not but to make both the west-end and the east- 
 end of England to meet in so good a quarrel; and that all, 
 rightly understood, was but for the king’s service. The 
 people, upon these seditious instigations, did arm, most of 
 them with bows, and arrows, and bills, and such other 
 weapons of rude and countiy people, and forthwith under 
 the command of their leaders, wliicli in such cases is ever at 
 pleasure, marched out of Cornwall through Devonshire unto 
 Taunton in Somersetsliire, without any slaughter, violence, 
 or spoil of the country. At Taunton they killed in fury 
 an officious and eager commissioner for the subsidy, whom 
 they called the provost of Perin. Thence they ma,rched to 
 Wells, where the Lord Audley, with whom their leaders had 
 before some secret intelligence, a nobleman of an ancient 
 family, but imquiet and popidai', and aspiring to ruin, came 
 in to them, and was by them, with great gladness and cries 
 of joy, accepted as their general; they being now proud that 
 they were led by a nobleman. The Lord Audley led them 
 on from Wells to Salisbury, and from Salisbury to Win¬ 
 chester. Thence the foolish people, who, in effect, led their 
 leaders, had a mind to be led into Kent, fancying that the 
 
422 
 
 HEXRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 people tliere would join witli them; contrary to all reason 
 or judgment, considering the Kentish men had showed great 
 loyalty and affection to the king so lately before. But the 
 rude people had heard Flammock say, that Kent was never 
 conquered, and that they were the freest people of England. 
 And upon these vain noises, they looked for great matters 
 at their hands, in a cause which they conceited to be for the 
 liberty of the subject. But when they were come into 
 Kent, the country was so well settled, both by the king’s 
 late kind usage towards them, and by the credit and po^ver 
 of the earl of Kent, the Lord Abergavenny, and the Lord 
 Cobham, as neither gentleman nor yeoman came in to their 
 aid; which did much damp and dismay many of the simpler 
 sort; insomuch as divers of them did secretly fly from the 
 army, and went home : but the sturdier sort, and those that 
 were most engaged, stood by it, and rather waxed proud than 
 failed in hopes and courage. For as it did somewhat appal 
 them, that the people came not in to them; so it did no less 
 encourage them, that the king’s forces had not set upon 
 them, having marched from the west unto the east of Eng¬ 
 land. Wherefore they kept on their way, and encamped 
 upon Blacklieath, between Greenwich and Eltham; threat¬ 
 ening either to bid battle to the king, for now the seas went 
 higher than to Morton and Bray, or to take London within 
 Ms view; imagining with themselves, there to And no less 
 fear than wealth. 
 
 But to return to the kinof. Y\nien first he heard of this 
 
 O 
 
 commotion of the Cornish men, occasioned by the subsidy, 
 he was much troubled therewith j not for itself, but in regard 
 of the concurrence of other dangers that did hang over him 
 at that time. For he doubted, lest a war from Scotland, a 
 rebellion from Cornwall, and the practices and conspiracies 
 of Perkin and his partakers, would come upon him at once, 
 knowing well that it was a dangerous triplicity to a monarchy, 
 to have the arms of a foreigner, the discontents of subjects, 
 and the title of a pretender to meet. ISrevei*theless the 
 occasion toot him in some part well provided. For as soon 
 as the parliament had broken up, the king had presently 
 raised a puissant army to war upon Scotland. And King 
 James of Scotland likewise, on his part, had made great 
 preparations, either for defence, or for new assailing of Eng- 
 
HENEY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 423 
 
 land. But as for tlie king’s forces, they were not only in 
 preparation, but in readiness presently to set forth, under 
 the conduct of D’Aubigny, the lord chamberlain. But as 
 soon as the king understood of the rebellion of Cornwall, he 
 stayed those forces, retaining them for his own service and 
 safety. But therewithal he despatched the earl of Surrey 
 into the north, for the defence and strength of those parts, 
 in case the Scots should stir. But for the course he held 
 cowards the rebels, it was utterly differing from his former 
 custom and practice : which was ever full of forwardness and 
 celerity to make head against them, or to set upon them as 
 soon as ever they were in action. This he was wont to do« 
 But now, besides, that he was attempered by years, and less 
 in love with dangers, by the continued fruition of a crown, 
 it was a time when the various appearance to his thoughts 
 of perils of several natures, and from divers parts, did make 
 him judge it his best and surest way, to keep his strength 
 together in the seat and centre of his kingdom : according 
 to the ancient Indian emblem, in such a swelling season, to 
 hold the hand upon the middle of the bladder, that no side 
 might rise. Besides, there was no necessity put upon him 
 to alter his counsel. For neither did the rebels spoil the 
 country, in which case it had been dishonour to abandon his 
 2)eople : neither on the other side did their forces gather or 
 increase, which might hasten liim to precipitate and assail 
 them before they gvew too strong. And lastly, both reason 
 of estate and war seemed to agree with this course : for that 
 insurrections of base people are commonly more furious in 
 their beginnings. And by this means also he had them the 
 more at vantage, being tired and harassed Avith a long march; 
 and more at mercy, being cut off far from their country, and 
 therefore not able by any sudden flight to get to retreat, and 
 to renew the troubles. 
 
 When, therefore, the rebels were encamped on Blackheath 
 upon the' hill, whence they might behold the city of London, 
 and the fair valley about it, the king kno^wing well, that it 
 stood him uj)on, by how much the more he had hitherto pro¬ 
 tracted the time in not encountering them, by so much the 
 sooner to despatch with them, that it might appear to have 
 been no coldness in fore-slowing, but wisdom in choosing his 
 time, resolved with all speed to assail them, and yet with 
 
424 
 
 HEXRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 tliat providence and surety, as sliould leave little to venture 
 or fortune. And having veiy great and puissant forces 
 about him, the better to master all events and accidents, ho 
 divided them into three parts—the first was led by the\earl 
 of Oxford in chief, assisted by the earls of Essex and Suffolk. 
 These noblemen were appointed, with some cornets of horse, 
 and bands of foot, and good store of artillery, wheeling about 
 to put themselves beyond the liill where the rebels were 
 encamped; and to beset all the skirts and descents thereof, 
 except those that lay towards London; thereby to have these 
 'svild beasts, as it were, in a toil. The second part of his 
 forces, which were those that were to be most in action, and 
 upon which he relied most for the fortune of the day, he did 
 assign to be led by the lord chamberlain, who was appointed 
 to set upon the rebels in front, from that side which is 
 towards London. The third part of his forces, being like¬ 
 wise great and brave forces, he retained about himself, to bo 
 ready upon all events to restore the fight, or. consummate 
 the 'victory; and meanwhile to secm’e the city. And for 
 that purpose he encamped in person in Saint George’s Fields, 
 putting himself between the city and the rebels. But the 
 city of London, esjDecially at the first, upon the near encamp¬ 
 ment of the rebels, was in great tumult: as it useth to be 
 with wealthy and populous cities, especially those which for 
 greatness and fortune are queens of their regions, who seldom 
 see out of their windows, or from their towers, an army of 
 enemies. But that which troubled them most, was the con¬ 
 ceit, that they dealt with a rout of people, with whom there 
 was no composition, or condition, or orderly treating, if 
 need vrere; but Likely to be bent altogether upon rapine 
 and spoil. And although they had heard that the rebels had 
 behaved themselves quietly and modestly by the way as they 
 went, yet they doubted much that would not last, but rather 
 make them more hungry, and more in appetite to fall upon 
 spoil in the end. Wherefore there was great running to and 
 fro of people, some to the gates, some to the walls, some to 
 the water-side : giving themselves alarms and panic fears 
 continually. Nevertheless, both Tate the lord mayor, and 
 Shaw and Haddon the sheiifis, did their part stoutly and 
 •well, in arming and ordering the people. And the king 
 likewise did adjoin some captains of experience in the wars, 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 425 
 
 to advise and assist the citizens. But soon after, when they 
 understood that the king had so ordered the matter, that the 
 rebels must win three battles before they could approach the 
 city, and that he had put his own person between the rebels 
 and them, and that the great care was, rather how to im¬ 
 pound the rebels that none of them might escape, than that 
 any doubt was made to vanquish them, they grew to be 
 quiet and out of fear; the rather for the confidence they 
 reposed, which was not small, in the three leaders, Oxford, 
 Essex, and D’Aubigny; all men well famed and loved 
 amongst the people. As for Jasper, duke of Bedford, whom 
 the king used to employ with the first in his wars, he was 
 then sick, and died soon after. 
 
 It was the two-and-twentieth of June, and a Saturday, 
 which was the day of the Aveek the king fancied, when the 
 battle was fought; though the king had, by all the art he 
 could devise, given out a false day, as if he prepared to 
 give the rebels battle on the Monday following, the better 
 to find them unprovided, and in disarray. The lords that 
 Avere appointed to circle the hill, had some days before 
 planted themselves, as at the receit, in places convenient. 
 In the afternoon, toAvards the decline of the day, Avhich was 
 done, the better to keep the rebels in opinion that they 
 should not fight that day, the Lord DAubigny marched on 
 towards them, and first beat some troops of them from 
 Deptford-bridge, where they fought manfully ; but, being in 
 no great number, were soon driven back, and fled up to their 
 main army upon the hill. The army, at that time, hearing 
 of the approach of the king’s forces, Avere putting themselA^es 
 in array, not without much confusion. But neither had 
 they placed, upon the first liigh ground toAvards the bridge, 
 any forces to second the troops below, that kept the bridge; 
 neither had they brought forAvards them main battle, AA^hich 
 stood in array far into the heath, near to the ascent of the 
 hill. So that the earl Avith his forces mounted the hill, and 
 recovered the plain without resistance. The Lord D’Aubigny 
 charged them with great fury ; insomuch as it had hke, by 
 accident, to have branded the fortune of the day : for, by 
 inconsiderate foi'wardness in fightmg at the head of his 
 troops, he was taken by the rebels, but immediately rescued 
 and delivered. The rebels maintained the fight for a small 
 
423 
 
 HEl^KY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 time, and for their persons showed no want of courage ; but 
 being ill armed, and ill led, and wdthont horse or artilleiy, 
 they were with no great difficulty cut in pieces, and put to 
 flight. And for their three leaders, the Lord Audley, the 
 blacksmith, and Flammock, as commonly the captains of 
 commotions are but half-couraged men, suffered themselves 
 to be taken alive. The number slain on the rebels’ part 
 Avere some two thousand men; their army amounting, as it 
 is said, unto the number of sixteen thousand. The rest 
 were, in effect, all taken; for that the hill, as was said, was 
 encompassed with the king’s forces round about. On the 
 king’s part there died about three hundred, most of them 
 shot with arrows, wliich were reported to be of the length 
 of a tailor’s yard ; so strong and mighty a boAv the Comish- 
 men were said to draw. 
 
 The victory thus obtained, the king created divers ban¬ 
 nerets, as well upon Blackheath, Avhere his lieutenant had 
 won the field, whither he rode in person to perform the said 
 creation, as in St. George’s Fields, where his own person had 
 been encamped. And for matter of liberality, he did, by 
 open edict, give the goods of all the prisoners unto those 
 that had taken them; either to take them in kind, or com¬ 
 pound for them, as they could. After matter of honoim and 
 liberality, followed matter of severity and execution. The 
 Lord Audley was led from Newgate to ToAver-hill, in a paper 
 coat painted Avith his oAvn arms; the arms reversed, the coat 
 torn, and he at Tower-hill beheaded. Flammock and the 
 blacksmith Avere hanged, draAvn, and quartered at Tyburn : 
 the blacksmith taking pleasure upon the hurdle, as it seem- 
 eth by words that he uttered, to think that he should be 
 famous in after times. The king was once in mind to haA^e 
 sent doAvn Flammock and tlie blacksmith to have been 
 executed in Cornwall, for the more terror ; but being adver¬ 
 tised that the country was yet unquiet and boiling, he 
 thought better not to irritate the people farther. All the 
 rest were pardoned by proclamation, and to take out their 
 pardons under seal, sls many as would. So that, more than 
 the blood draAvn in the field, the king did satisfy himself 
 with the lives of only three offenders, for the exjxation of 
 this great rebellion. 
 
 It was a strange thing to obserA^e the Amiety and inequality 
 
HENHY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 427 
 
 of tlie king's executions and pardons : and a man would 
 think it, at the first, a kind of lottery or chance. But, 
 looking into it more nearly, one shall find there was reason 
 for it, much more, perhaps, than after so long a distance of 
 time we can now discern. In the Kentish commotion, which 
 was but a handful of men, there were executed to the num¬ 
 ber of one hundred and fifty; and in this so mighty a rebel¬ 
 lion but three. Whether it were that the king put to 
 account the men that were slain in the field, or that he was 
 not willing to be severe in a popular cause, or that the 
 harmless behaviour of this people, that came from the west 
 of England to the east, Avithout mischief almost, or spoil ot 
 the country, did somewhat mollify him, and move him to 
 compassion; or lastly, that he made a great difierence 
 between people that did rebel upon wantonness, and them 
 that did rebel upon want. 
 
 After the Cornishmen were defeated, there came from 
 Calais to the king an honourable ambassage from the French 
 king, v/liich had arrived at Calais a month before, and there 
 was stayed in respect of the troubles, but honourably enter¬ 
 tained and defrayed. The king, at their first coming, sent 
 unto them, and prayed them to have patience, till a little 
 smoke, that was raised in his country, were over, which 
 would soon be ; slighting, as his manner was, that openly, 
 which nevertheless he intended seriously. 
 
 Tills ambassage concerned no great affair, but only the 
 prolongation of days for payment of moneys, and some other 
 particulars of the frontiers. And it was, indeed, but a 
 wooing ambassage, with good respects to entertain the king 
 in good affection; but nothing was done or handled to the 
 derogation of the king’s late treaty with the Italians. 
 
 But during the time that the Cornishmen were in their 
 march towards London, the king of Scotland, •well advertised 
 of all that passed, and knowing himself sure of a war from 
 England, whensoever those stirs were appeased, neglected 
 not his opportunity; but thinking the king had his hands 
 full, entered the frontiers of England again with an army, 
 and besieged the castle of Korham in person, with part of his 
 forces, sending the rest to fora,ge the country. But Fox, 
 bishop of Duresme, a wise inau, and one that could see 
 through the present to the future^ doubting as much before, 
 
428 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 !iad caused his castle of Norham to be strongly foidified, and 
 furnislied with all kind of munition; and had manned it 
 likewise with a very great number of tall soldiers, more than 
 for the proportion of the castle, reckoning rather upon a 
 sharp assault than a long siege. And for the country, like- 
 ^vise, he had caused the people to withdraw their cattle and 
 goods into fast places, that were not of easy approach ; and 
 sent in post to the earl of Surrey, who was not far oiF, in 
 Yorkshire, to come in diligence to the succour. So as the 
 Scottish king both failed of doing good upon the castle, and 
 his men had but a catching harvest of their spoils : and 
 when he understood that the earl of Surrey was coming on 
 mth great forces, he returned back into Scotland. The earl, 
 finding the castle freed, and the enemy retired, pursued with 
 all celerity into Scotland, hoping to have overtaken the 
 Scottish king, and to have given him battle; but, not attain¬ 
 ing him in time, sat down before the castle of Aton, one of 
 the strongest places, then esteemed,' between Berwick and 
 Edinburgh, which in a small time he took. And soon after, 
 the Scottish long retired farther into his country, and the 
 weather being extraordinary foul and stormy, the earl 
 returned into England. So that the expeditions on both 
 parts were, in efiect, but a castle taken, and a castle dis¬ 
 tressed ; not answerable to the puissance of the forces, nor 
 to the heat of the quarrel, nor to the greatness of the ex¬ 
 pectation. 
 
 Amongst these troubles, both civil and external, came into 
 England from Spain, Peter Hialas, some c?dl him Elias, surely 
 he was the forerunner of the good hap that we enjoy at this 
 day : for his ambassage set the truce between England and 
 Scotland; the truce drew on the peace; the peace the 
 marriage : and the marriage the union of the kingdoms; a 
 man of great wisdom, and, as those times were, not unlearned; 
 sent from Ferdinando and Isabella, sovereigns of Spain, unto 
 the king, to treat a marriage between Catherine, their second 
 daughter, and Prince Arthur. This treaty was by him set in 
 a very good way, and almost brought to perfection. But it 
 so fell out by the way, that upon some conference which he. 
 had with the king touching this business, the king, who had 
 a great dexterity in getting suddenly into the bosom of the 
 ambassadors of foreign princes, if he liked the men; inso- 
 
HENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 420 
 
 laucli as lie would many times communicate with them of 
 his o^vn affairs, yea, and employ them in his service, fell into 
 speech and discourse incidently, concerning the ending of tho 
 debates and differences with Scotland. For the king naturally 
 did not love the barren wars with Scotland, though he made 
 his profit of the noise of them. And he wanted not in the 
 council of Scotland, those that would advise their king to 
 meet him at the half way, and to give over the war with 
 England; pretending to be good patriots, but indeed favour¬ 
 ing the affairs of the king. Only his heart was too great to 
 begin with Scotland for the motion of jieace. On the other 
 side, he had met with an ally of Ferdinando of Arragon, as 
 fit for his turn as could be. For after that King Ferdinando 
 had, upon assured confidence of the marriage to succeed, 
 taken upon him the person of a fraternal ally to the king, he 
 lyould not let, in a Spanish gra'vfity, to counsel the king in 
 his ONvn affairs. And the king on his part, not being want¬ 
 ing to himself, but making use of every man’s humom-s, made 
 his advantage of this in such thing’s as he thought either not 
 decent, or not pleasant to proceed firom himself; putting them 
 off as done by the council of Ferdinando. Wherefore he 
 was content that Hialas, as in a matter moved and advised*, 
 from Hialas himself, should go into Scotland, to treat of a 
 concord between the two kings. Hialas took it upon him, 
 and coming to the Scottish king, after he had vith much art 
 brought King James to hearken to the more safe and quiet 
 counsels, wrote unto the king, that he hoped that peace 
 would with no great difficulty cement and close, if he would 
 send some wise and temperate counsellor of his own, that 
 might treat of the conditions. Whereupon the king directed 
 Bishop Fox, who at that time was at his castle of Korham, 
 to confer with Hialas, and they both to treat with some 
 commissioners deputed from the Scottish king. The com¬ 
 missioners of both sides met. But after much dispute upon 
 the articles and conditions of peace, propounded upon either 
 part, they could not conclude a peace. The chief impediment 
 thereof was the demand of the king to have Perkin delivered 
 into his hands, as a reproach to all kings, and a person not 
 protected by tho law of nations. The Imig of Scotland, on 
 the other side, peremptorily denied so to do, saying, that he, 
 for his part, was no competent judge of Perkin’s title ; but 
 
430 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 that he had received him as a suppliant, protected him as a 
 person fled for refuge, espoused him with his kinswoman, and 
 aided him with his arms, upon the belief that he was a prince; 
 and therefore, that he could not now with his honour so un¬ 
 rip, and, in a sort, put a lie upon all that he had said and 
 done before, as to deliver him up to his enemies. The bishop 
 likewise, who had certain proud instructions from the king, 
 at the least in the firont, though there were a pliant clause at 
 the foot, that remitted all to the bishop’s discretion, and re¬ 
 quired him by no means to break off in ill terms, after that 
 he had failed to obtain the delivery of Perkin, did move a 
 second point of his instmctions, which was, that the Scottish 
 king would give the king an interview in person at New¬ 
 castle. But this being reported to the Scottish king, his 
 answer was, that he meant to treat a peace, and not to go a 
 begging for it. The bishop also, according to another article 
 of his instructions, demanded restitution of the spoils taken 
 by the Scottish, or damages for the same. But the Scottish 
 commissioners answered that that was but as water spilt 
 upon the ground, which could not be gotten up again ; and 
 that the king’s people v/ere better able to bear the loss, than 
 their master to repair it. But in the end, as persons capable 
 of reason, on both sides they made rather a kind of recess 
 than a breach of treaty, and concluded upon a truce for some 
 months following. But the king of Scotland, though he 
 would not formally retract his judgment of Perkin, wherein 
 he had engaged himself so far; yet in his jDrivate opinion, 
 upon often speech with the Englishmen, and divers other 
 advertisements, began to suspect him for a counterfeit. 
 Wherefore in a noble fashion he called him unto him, and re¬ 
 counted the benefits and favours that he had done him in 
 making him his ally, and in provoking a mighty and opulent 
 king by an offensive war in his quarrel, for the space of two 
 years together ; nay more, that he had refused an honoimable 
 peace, whereof he had a fair offer, if he would have delivered 
 him ; and that, to keep his promise with him, he had deeply 
 offended both his nobles and people, whom he might not 
 hold in any long discontent : and therefore required him to 
 think of his own fortunes, and to choose out some fitter place 
 for his exile : telling him withal, that he could not say, but 
 the English had forsaken him before the Scottish, for that, 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 431 
 
 npon tvro several trials, none had declared themselves on his 
 side; but nevertheless, he would make good what he said to 
 him at his first receiving, which was, that he should not 
 repent him for putting himself into his hands; for that he 
 would not cast liim ofi, but help him with shipping and 
 means to transport him where he should desire. Perkin, 
 not descending at all from his stage-like greatness, answered 
 the king in few words, that he saw his time was not yet 
 come ; but whatsoever his fortunes were, he should both 
 think and speak honour of the king. Taking his leave, he 
 would not think of Planders, doubting it was but hollow 
 ground for him since the treaty of the archduke, concluded 
 the year before ; but took his lady, and such followers as 
 would not leave him, and sailed over into Ireland. 
 
 This twelfth year of the king, a little before this time, 
 Pope Alexander, who loved best those princes that were 
 fuilihest off, and vvith whom he had least to do, taking very 
 thankfully the king’s late entrance into league for the defence 
 of Italy, did remunerate him with an hallowed sword and 
 cap of maintenance sent by his nuncio. Pope Innocent had 
 done the like, but it was not received in that glory : for the 
 king appointed the mayor and his brethren to meet the 
 pope’s orator at London-bridge, and all the streets between 
 the bridge foot, and the palace of Paul’s, where the king then 
 lay, were garnished with the citizens, standing in their 
 liveries. And the morrow after, being AHhallows day, the 
 king, attended with many of his prelates, nobles, and prin¬ 
 cipal courtiers, went in procession to Paul’s, and the cap and 
 sword were borne before him. And after the procession, the 
 king himself remainmg seated in the quire, the lord arch¬ 
 bishop, upon the greece of the quire, made a long oration : 
 setting forth the greatness and eminency of that honour** 
 which the pope, in these ornaments and ensigns of benediction, 
 had done the king; and how rarely, and upon what high 
 deserts, they used to be bestowed : and then recited the 
 king’s piincipal acts and merits, which had made him appear 
 worthy in the eyes of his holiness, of this great honour. 
 
 All this while the rebellion of Cornwall, whereof we have 
 Bpoken, seemed to have no relation to Perkin; save that 
 perhaps Perkin’s proclamation had stricken upon the right 
 vein, in promising to lay down exactions and payments, and 
 
432 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 SO liad made them now and then have a kind thought oi 
 Perkin. But now these bubbles by much stirring began to 
 meet) as they used to do upon the top of water. The king’s 
 lenity, by that time the Cornish rebels, who were taken and 
 pardoned, and, as it was said, many of them sold by them 
 that had taken them, for twelve pence and two sliillings 
 apiece, were come down into their country, had rather 
 emboldened them, than reclaimed them ; insomuch as they 
 stuck not to say to their neighbours and countrymen, that 
 the king did well to j^ardon them, for that he Imew he should 
 leave few subjects in England, if he hanged all that were of 
 their mind : and began whetting and inciting one another to 
 renew the commotion. Some of the subtilest of them, hear¬ 
 ing of Perkin’s being in Ireland, found means to send to him 
 to let him know, that if he would come over to them, they 
 would serve him. 
 
 When Perkin heard this news, he began to take heart again, 
 and advised upon it with his council, which were j)rincipally 
 three; Herne, a mercer, that had fled for debt ; Skelton, a 
 tailor, and Astley, a scrivener ; for Secretary Frion was gone. 
 These told him, that he was mightily overseen, both when he 
 went into Kent, and when he went into Scotland; the one 
 being a place so near London, and under the king’s nose ; and 
 the other a nation so distasted mth the people of England, 
 that if they had loved him never so well, yet they would never 
 have taken his part in that company. But if he had been so 
 happy as to have been in Cornwall at the first, when the 
 people began to take arms there, he had been crowned at 
 Westminster before this time. For these kings, as he had 
 now experience, would sell poor princes for shoes. But he 
 must rely wholly upon people ; and therefore advised him to 
 sail over with all possible speed into Cornwall : which accord¬ 
 ingly he did ; having in his company four small barks, with 
 some six score or seven score fighting men. He arrived iu 
 September at Whitsand-Bay, and forthwith came to Bodmin, 
 the blacksmith’s town ; where there assembled unto him to 
 the number of three thousand men of the rude people. 
 There he set forth a new proclamation, stroking the people 
 v/ith fair promises, and humouring them with invectives 
 against the king and his government. And as it fareth with 
 smoke, that never loseth itself till it be at the highest, he 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 483 
 
 (lid now before bis end raise bis style, entitling bimself no 
 more Kicbard, duke of York, but Kichard tbe Fourth, king 
 of England. His council advised him by all means to make 
 bimself master of some good walled town; as well to make 
 bis men find tbe sweetness of rich spoils, and to allure to 
 him all loose and lost people, by like hopes of booty ; as to 
 be a sure retreat to bis forces, in case they should have an ill 
 day, or unlucky chance in tbe field. Wherefore they took 
 heart to them, and went on, and besieged tbe city of Exeter, 
 tbe principal town for strength and wealth in those parts. 
 
 When they were come before Exeter, they forbare to use 
 any force at the fii'st, but made continual shouts and outcries 
 to terrify tbe inhabitants. They did likewise in divers 
 places call and talk to them from under tbe walls, to join 
 Avith them, and be of their party ; telling them, that tbe 
 king would make them another London, if they Avould be 
 the fii'st town that should acknowledge him. But they had 
 not the wit to send to them, in any orderly fashion, agents 
 or chosen men, to tempt them, and to treat Avith them. 
 The citizens on their part showed themselves stout and loyal 
 subjects; neither was there so much as any tumult or divi¬ 
 sion amongst them, but all prepared themselves for a valiant 
 defence, and making good the toAvn. For well they saw, 
 that the rebels were of no such number or power, that they 
 needed to fear them as yet; and well they hoped, that 
 before their numbers increased, the kiug’s succours Avould 
 come in. And, howsoever, they thought it the extremest of 
 eAuls to put themselves at the mercy of those hungiy and 
 disorderly people. Wherefore, setting all things in good 
 order within the toAvn, they nevertheless let down vdth cords, 
 from seA^eral parts of the Avails piWily, several messengers, 
 that if one came to mischance another might pass on, which 
 should adA’ertise the king of the state of the toAvn, and 
 implore his aid. Perkin also doubted that succours Avould 
 come ere long, and therefore resolved to use his utmost force 
 to assault the town; and for that purpose haAung moimted 
 scaling-ladders in divers places upon the walls, made at tlia 
 same instant an attempt to force one of the gates. But 
 haAdng no artillery nor engines, and finding that he could do 
 no good by I'amming Avith logs of timber, nor by the use of 
 iron bars, and iron croAA\s, and such other means at hand, he 
 
 2 F 
 
434 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. . 
 
 had no way left him but to set one of the gates on fii^e, whicn 
 he did. But the citizens well perceiving the danger, before 
 the gate could be fully consumed, blocked up the gate, and 
 some space about it on the inside, with faggots and other 
 fuel, which they likewise set on fire, and so repulsed fire 
 with fire ; and in the mean time raised up rampiers of earth, 
 and cast up deep trenches, to serve instead of wall and gate. 
 And for the scaladoes, they had so bad success, as the rebels 
 were driven from the walls with the loss of tv/o hundred 
 men. 
 
 The Idng when he heard of Perkin’s siege of Exeter, made 
 sport with it, and said to them that were about him , that 
 the king of rake-hells was landed in the west, and that he 
 hoped now to have the honour to see him, which he could 
 never yet do. And it appeared plainly to those that were 
 about the king, that he "svas indeed much joyed with the 
 news of Perkin’s being in English ground, where he could 
 have no retreat by land ; thinking now, that he should be 
 cured of those privy stitches which he had long had about 
 his heart, and at some times broken his sleeps, in the midst 
 of all his felicity. And to set all men’s hearts on fire, he 
 did by all possible means let it appear, that those that should 
 now do him seindce to make an end of these troubles, should 
 be no less accepted of him, than he that came upon the 
 eleventh horn', and had the whole wages of the day. There¬ 
 fore now, like the end of a play, a gi^eat number came upon 
 the stage at once.. He sent the lord chamberlain, and the 
 Lord Brook, and Sir Bice ap Thomas, wdth expedite forces to 
 speed to Exeter, to the rescue of the town, and to spread the 
 fame of liis own following in person ^vith a royal army. The 
 earl of Devonshire, and his son, with the Carews, and the 
 Eulfordes, and other principal persons of Devonshire, un¬ 
 called from the court, but hearing that the king’s heart was 
 60 much bent upon this service, made haste with troops that 
 they had raised, to be the first that should succour the city 
 of Exeter, and prevent the king’s succours. The duke of 
 Buckingham likewise, with many brave gentlemen, put them¬ 
 selves in .-arms, not staying either the king’s or the lord 
 chamberlain s coming on, but making a body of forces of 
 themselves, the more to endear their merit; signifying to the 
 king their readiness, and desiring to know his pleasure. So 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 435 
 
 that, according to the proverb, in the coming down, every 
 saint did help. 
 
 Perkin, hearing this thunder of arms, and preparations 
 against him from so many parts, raised his siege, and 
 marched to Taunton ; beginning already to squint one eye 
 upon the crovm and another upon the sanctuary; though 
 the Cornishmen were become like metal often fired and 
 quenched, churlish, and would sooner break than bow ; 
 swearing and vowing not 4)0 leave him till the uttermost 
 drop of their blood were spilt. He was at his rising from 
 Exeter between six and seven thousand strong, many having 
 come unto him after he was set before Exeter, upon fame of 
 so great an enterprise, and to partake of the spoil; though 
 upon the raising of the siege some did slip away. When he 
 was come near Taunton, he dissembled all fear, and seemed 
 all the day to use diligence in preparing all things ready to. 
 fight. But about midnight, he fied with three-score horse to 
 Bewdley in the Hew Forest, where he and divers of his 
 company registered themselves sanctuary men, leaving his 
 Cornishmen to the four winds; but yet thereby easing them 
 of their vow, and using his wonted compassion, not to be by 
 when his subjects’ blood should be spilt. The king, as soon 
 as he heard of Perkin’s flight, sent presently five hundred 
 horse to pursue and apprehend him, before he should get 
 either to the sea, or to that same little island called a 
 sanctuary. But they came too late for the latter of these. 
 Therefore all they could do, was to beset the sanctuary, and 
 to maintain a strong watch about it, till the king’s pleasure 
 were farther known. As for the rest of the rebels, they, 
 being destitute of their head, without stroke stiicken, sub¬ 
 mitted themselves unto the king’s mercy. And the king, 
 who commonly drew blood, as physicians do, rather to save 
 life than to spill it, and was never cruel when he was secure ; 
 now he saw the danger was past, pardoned them • all in the 
 end, except some few desperate persons, which he reserved 
 to be executed, the better to set oflP his mercy towards the 
 rest. There were also sent with all speed some horse to 
 St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall, where the Lady Catherine 
 Gordon was left by her husband, whom in all fortunes she* 
 entirely loved; adding the virtues of a wife to the virtues of 
 her sex. The king sent in the greater diligence, not know- 
 
 2 F 2 
 
Hj::SKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 43 G 
 
 ing whether she might be with child, whereby the business 
 would not have ended in Perkin’s person. When she was 
 brought to the king, it was commonly said that the king 
 received her not only with compassion, but. Avith affection; 
 pity giving more impression to her excellent beauty. Where¬ 
 fore comforting her to serve as well his eye as his fame, he 
 sent her to his queen, to remain with her; giving her a very 
 honourable allowance for the support of her estate, which 
 she enjoyed both during the king’s life, and many years 
 after. The name of the White Pose, which had been given 
 to her husband’s false title, was continued in common speech 
 to her true beauty. 
 
 The king went forAvards on his journey, and made a joyful 
 entrance into Exeter, where he gave the citizens great com¬ 
 mendations and thanks; and taking the SAvord he wore from 
 his side, he gave it to the mayor, and commanded it should 
 be ever after carried before him. There also he caused to be 
 exeouted some of the ringleaders of the Cornishmen, in sacri¬ 
 fice to the citizens Avhom they had put in fear and trouble. 
 At Exeter the king consulted with his council, whether he 
 should offer life to Perkin if he Avould quit the sanctuary, 
 
 and Anluntarilv submit himself. The council Avere divided 
 
 «/ 
 
 ill opinion: some adAused the king to take him out of sanc¬ 
 tuary per force, and to put him to death, as in a case of 
 necessity, which in itself dispenseth Avith consecrated places 
 and things : wherein they doubted not also but the king 
 should find the pope tractable to ratify his deed, either by 
 declaration, or, at least, by indulgence. Others were of 
 opinion, since all was noAv safe, and no further hurt could be 
 done, that it Avas not Avorth the ex];)osing of the king to neAV 
 scandal and envy. A third sort fell upon the opinion, that 
 it Avas not possible for the king ever, either to satisfy the 
 Avorld Avell toucliing the imposture, or to learn out the 
 bottom of the conspiracy, except by promise of life and 
 pardon, and other fair means, he should get Perkin into his 
 hands. But they did all in their preambles much bemoan 
 the king’s case, with a kind of indignation at his fortune ; 
 that a prince of his high wisdom and virtue, should have 
 been so long and so oft exercised and vexed Avith idols. But 
 the king said, that it was the vexation of God Almighty 
 himself to be vexed Avith idols, and therefore that that was 
 
HEMRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 437 
 
 not to trouble any of bis friends ; and that for himself^ be 
 always despised them ; but was grieved that they bad put 
 bis people to sucb trouble and misery. But in conclusion, 
 be leaned to tbe tbu’d opinion, and so sent some to deal 
 ^vitb Perkin : wbo seeing bimself prisoner, and destitute of 
 all hopes, having tried princes and people, great and small, 
 and found all either false, faint or unfortunate, did gladly 
 accept of tbe condition. Tbe king did also, while be was at 
 Exeter, appoint tbe Lord Darcy, and others, commissioners, 
 for tbe finding of all sucb as were of any value, and bad any 
 band or partaking in tbe aid of Perkin, or tbe Cornisbmen, 
 either in tbe field or in tbe flight. 
 
 These commissioners proceeded with sucb strictness and 
 severity, as did much obscure tbe king’s mercy in sparing of 
 blood, with tbe bleeding of so much treasure. Perkin was 
 brought into tbe king’s court, but not to tbe king’s presence ; 
 though tbe king, to satisfy bis curiosity, saw him sometimes 
 out of a window, or in passage. He was in show at bberty, 
 but guarded with all care and watch that was possible, and 
 ■willed to follow tbe king to London. But from bis first 
 appearance upon tbe stage, in bis new person of a sycophant 
 or juggler, instead of bis former person of a prince, all men 
 may think bow be was exposed to tbe derision not only of 
 tbe courtiers, but also of tbe common people, wbo flocked 
 about him as be went along; that one might Imow afar off 
 where tbe owl was, by tbe flight of birds, some mocking, 
 some wondering, some cursing, some prying and picking 
 matter out of bis countenance and gesture to talk of: so 
 that tbe false honour and respects which be bad so long 
 enjoyed, was plentifully repaid in scorn and contempt. As 
 soon as he was come to London, tbe king gave also tbe city 
 tbe solace of this May-game ; for be was conveyed leisurely 
 on horseback, but not in any ignominious fashion, through 
 Cbeapside and Combill to tbe Tower ; and from thence back 
 again to Westminster, with tbe ®cburm of a thousand taunts 
 and reproaches. But to amend tbe show, there followed a 
 little distance off Perkin, an inward counsellor of bis, one 
 that bad been sergeant farrier to tbe king. This fellow, 
 when Perkin took sanctuary, chose rather to take a holy 
 
 * Cum cbcix). 
 
433 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 haoit tiian a holy place, and clad himself like a hermit, and 
 in that weed wandered about the country, till he was dis¬ 
 covered and taken. But this man was bound hand and foot 
 upon the horse, and came not back with Perkin, but was left 
 at the Tower, and within few days after executed. Soon 
 after, now that Perkin could tell better what himself was, 
 he v/as diligently examined; and after his confession taken, 
 an extract was made of such parts of them, as were thought 
 fit to be divulged, which was printed and dispersed abroad : 
 wherein the king did himself no right; for as there was a 
 laboured tale of particulars, of Perkin’s father and mother, 
 and grandsire and grandmother, and uncles and cousins, by 
 names and surnames, and from what places he travelled up 
 and down; so there was little or nothing to purpose of any¬ 
 thing concerning liis designs, or any practices that had been 
 held with him ; nor the duchess of Burgundy herself, that 
 all the world did take knowledge of, as the person that had 
 put life and being into the whole business, so much as named 
 or pointed at. So that men, missing of that they looked for, 
 looked about for they knew not what, and were in more 
 doubt than before ; but the king chose rather not to satisfy, 
 than to kindle coals. At that time also it did not appear by 
 any new examination or commitments, that any other person 
 of quality was discovered or appeached, though the king’s 
 closeness made that a doubt dormant. 
 
 About this time a great fire in the night-time suddenly 
 began at the king’s palace of Shene, near unto the king’s 
 ov/n lodgings, whereby a great part of the building was 
 consumed, with much costly household stuff, which gave the 
 Idng occasion of building from the ground that fine pile of 
 Bichmond, which is now standing. 
 
 Somewhat before this time also, there fell out a memorable 
 accident : There was one Sebastian Gabato, a Yenetian, 
 dwelling in Bristol, a man seen and expert in cosmography 
 and navigation. This man seeing the success, and emulating 
 perhaps the enterprise of Christophorus Columbus, in that 
 fortunate discovery towards the south-west, which had been 
 by him made some six years before, conceited with himself, 
 that lands might likewise be discovered towards the north¬ 
 west. And, surely, it may be he had more firm and 
 pregnant conjectures of it, than Columbus had of this at 
 
HENEY THE SEVES'TII. 
 
 439 
 
 tlie first. For the two great islands of the old and new 
 world, being, in the shape and making of them, broad 
 towards the north, and pointed towards the south, it is 
 likely that the discovery first began where the lands did 
 nearest meet. And there had been before that time a 
 discovery of some lands, which they took to be islands, and 
 were indeed the continent of America, towards the north¬ 
 west. And it may be that some relation of this nature- 
 coming afterwards to the knowledge of Columbus, and by 
 him suppressed (desirous rather to make his enterprise the 
 child of his science and fortune, than the follower of a 
 former discovery), did give him better assurance that all was 
 not sea, from the west of Europe and Africa unto Asia, than 
 either Seneca[s prophecy, or Plato’s antiquities, or the nature 
 of the tides and land-winds, and the lie, which were the 
 conjectures that were given out, whereupon he should have 
 relied : though I am not ignorant, that it was likewise laid 
 unto the casual and wind-beaten discovery, a little before, of 
 a Spanish pilot, who died in the house of Columbus. But 
 this Gabato, bearing the king in hand, that he would find out 
 an island endued with rich commodities, procured him to 
 man and victual a ship at Bristol for the discovery of that 
 island; with whom ventured also three small ships of Lon¬ 
 don merchants, fr'aught vith some gross and slight wares, 
 fit for commerce with barbarous people. He sailed, as he 
 afiirmed at his return, and made a chart thereof, very far 
 westwards, with a quarter of the north, on the north side of 
 Terra de Labrador, until he came to the latitude of sixty- 
 seven degrees and a half, finding the seas still open. It is 
 certain, also, that the king’s fortune had a tender of th?ct 
 great empire of the West-Indies. Neither was it a refusal 
 on the king’s part, but a delay by accident, that put by 
 so great an acquest ; for Christophorus Columbus, refused by 
 the king of Portugal, who would not embrace at once both 
 east and west, employed his brother, Bartholomseus Colmn- 
 bus, unto King Henry, to negotiate for his discovery; and it 
 so fortuned, that he was taken by pirates at sea, by which 
 accidental impediment he was long ere he came to the king: 
 so long, that before he had obtained a capitulation with the 
 king for liis brother, the enterprise by him was achieved, 
 and so the West-Indies by providence were then reserved 
 
440 
 
 HENRY THE SEVEITrH. 
 
 for the crown of Castile. Yet this sharpened the king so, 
 that not only in this voyage, but again, in the sixteenth 
 year of his reign, and likewise in the eighteenth thereof, he 
 granted forth new commissions for the discovery and invest¬ 
 ing of unknown lands. 
 
 In this fourteenth year also, by God’s wondeilul provi¬ 
 dence, that boweth things imto his Avill, and hangeth great 
 weights upon small wires, there fell out a trifling and un¬ 
 toward accident, that drew on great and happy effects. 
 During the truce with Scotland, there were certain Scottish 
 young gentlemen that came into Norham town, and there 
 made merry with some of the English of the town : and 
 having little to do, went sometimes forth and would stand 
 looking upon the castle. Some of the garrison of the castle, 
 obseiwung this their doing twice or thrice, and having not 
 their minds purged of the lade ill blood of hostility, either 
 suspected them, or quarrelled them for spies, whereupon they 
 fell at ill vv'ords, and from 'svords to blows, so that many 
 were w^ounded of either side, and the Scottish men, being 
 strangers in the towm, had the worst, insomuch that some of 
 them were slain, and the rest made haste home. The matter 
 being complained on, and often debated before the wardens 
 of the marches of both sides, and no good order taken, the 
 king of Scotland took it to himself, and being much kindled, 
 sent a herald to the king to make protestation, that if repa¬ 
 ration were not done, according to the conditions of the 
 truce, his king did denounce war. The king, who had often 
 tried fortune, and was inclined to peace, made answer, that 
 what had been done was utterly against his will and without 
 liis privity; but if the garrison soldiers had been in fault, he 
 would see them punished, and the truce in all points to be 
 preserved. But this answer seemed to the Scottish king but 
 a delay to make the complaint breathe out with time, and 
 therefore it did rather exasperate him than satisfy him. 
 Bishop Fox, understanding from the king that the Scottish 
 long was still discontent and impatient, being troubled that 
 the occasion of breaking of the truce should grow from his 
 men, sent many humble and deprecatory letters to the Scot¬ 
 tish king to appease him. Whereupon King James, mollified 
 by tlie bishop’s submissive and eloquent letters, wrote back 
 unto him, that though he were in paiij moved by his letters, 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 441 
 
 yet lie sKould not be fully satisfied except he spake v/ith him. 
 as well about the compounding of the present differences, as 
 •about other matters that might concern the good of both 
 kingdoms. The bishop, advising first with the king, took 
 his journey for Scotland. The meeting was at Melross, an 
 abbey of the Cistercians, where the king then abode. The 
 king first roundly uttered unto the bishop his offence con¬ 
 ceived for the insolent breach of truce, by his men of Norham 
 Castle ; whereunto Bishop Fox made such humble and 
 smooth answer, as it was like oil unto the wound, whereby 
 it began to heal: and this was done in the presence of the 
 kin g and his council. After, the king spake with the bishop 
 apart, and opened himself unto him, saying, that these tem¬ 
 porary truces and peaces were soon made and soon broken, 
 but that he desired a straiter amity with the king of Eng¬ 
 land ; discovering his mind, that if the king would give him 
 in marriage the Lady Margaret, liis eldest daughter, that 
 indeed might be a knot indissoluble. That he knew well 
 what place and authority the bishop deservedly had with his 
 master : therefore, if he would take the business to heart, 
 and deal in it effectually, he doubted not but it would suc¬ 
 ceed well. The bishop answered soberly, that he thought 
 himself rather happy than worthy to be an instrument in 
 such a matter, but would do liis best endeavour. Wherefore 
 the bLshop returning to the king, and giving account what 
 had passed, and finding the king more than V/'ell disposed in 
 it, gave the king advice, first to proceed to a conclusion of 
 peace, and then to go on with the treaty of marriage by 
 degrees. Hereupon a peace was concluded, which was pub¬ 
 lished a little before Christmas, in the fourteenth year of the 
 king’s reign, to continue for both the kings’ lives, and the 
 over-liver of them, and a year after. In this peace there 
 was an article contained, that no Englishman should enter 
 into Scotland, and no Scottishman into England, without 
 letters commendatory from the kings of either nation. This 
 Pit first sight might seem a means to continue a strangeness 
 between the nations; but it was done to lock in the bor¬ 
 derers. 
 
 This year there was also born to the king a third son, who 
 was christened by the name of Edmund, and shortly after 
 died. And much about the same time came news of the 
 
442 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH, 
 
 death of Charles, the French king, for whom there were 
 celebrated solemn and princely obsequies. 
 
 It was not long but Perkin, who was made of quicksilver, 
 which is hard to hold or imprison, began to stir; for, de¬ 
 ceiving his keepers, he took him to his heels, and made speed 
 to the sea-coast. But presently all comers were laid for him, 
 and such diligent pursuit and search made, as he was fain to 
 turn back, and get him to the house of Bethlehem, called the 
 Priory of Shene (which had the privilege of sanctuary), and 
 put himself into the hands of the prior of that monastery. 
 The prior was thought a holy man, and much reverenced in 
 those days. He came to the king, and besought the king 
 for Perkin’s life only, leaving him otherwise to the king’s 
 discretion. Many about the king were again more hot than 
 ever to have the king to take him forth and hang him. But 
 the king, that had a high stomach, and could not hate any 
 that he despised, bid Take him forth and sefc the knave in 
 the stocks;” and so promising the prior his life, he caused 
 him to be brought forth. And within two or three days 
 after, upon a scaffold set up in the Palace Court at West¬ 
 minster, he was fettered and set in the stocks for the whole 
 day. And the next day after, the like was done by him at 
 the Cross in Cheapside, and in both places he read his con¬ 
 fession, of which we made mention before; and was from 
 Cheapside conveyed and laid up in the Tower. Notwith¬ 
 standing all this, the king was, as was partly touched before, 
 grown to be such a partner with fortune, as nobody could 
 tell what actions the one and what the other owned; for it 
 was believed generally that Perkin was betrayed, and that 
 this escape was not without the king’s privity, who had him 
 all the time of his flight in a line, and that the king did this 
 to pick a quarrel to him to put him to death, and to be rid 
 of him at once; but this is not probable. For that the same 
 instruments who observed him in his flight might have kept 
 him from getting into sanctuary. 
 
 But it was ordained that this winding-ivy of a Planta- 
 genet should kill the true tree itself; for Perkin, after he 
 had been a while in the Tower, began to insinuate himself 
 into the favour and kindness of his keepers, servants to the 
 lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Bigby, being four in num¬ 
 ber— Strangewa,ys, Blewet, Astwood, and Long Bogen 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 443 
 
 These varlets, with mountains of promises, he sought to cor¬ 
 rupt, to obtain his escape; but knowing well that his own 
 fortunes were made so contemptible, as he could feed no 
 man’s hopes, and by hopes he must work, for rewards he had 
 none, he had contrived with himself a vast and tragical plot, 
 which was to draw into his company Edward Plantagenet, 
 earl of Warwick, then prisoner in the Tower, whom the 
 weary life of a long imprisonment, and the often and renew¬ 
 ing fears of being put to death, had softened to take any 
 impression of coimsel for his liberty. This young prince he 
 thought the servants would look upon, though not upon 
 himself; and, therefore, after that by some message by one 
 or two of them, he had tasted of the eaiTs consent, it was 
 agreed that these four should murder their master the lieu¬ 
 tenant secretly in the night, and make their best of such 
 money and portable goods of his as they should find ready at 
 hand, and get the keys of the Tower and presently let forth 
 Perkin and the earl. But this conspiracy was revealed in 
 time, before it could be executed. And in this again the 
 opinion of the king’s great wisdom did surcharge him with a 
 sinister fame, that Perkin was but his bait to entrap the 
 earl of Warwick. And in the very instant wliile this con¬ 
 spiracy was in working, as if that also had been the king’s 
 industry, it was fatal that there should break forth a coun¬ 
 terfeit earl of Warwick, a cordwainer’s son, whose name was 
 Balph Wilford, a young man taught and set on by an Au¬ 
 gustine friar, called Patrick. They both from the parts of 
 Suffolk came forwards into Kent, where they did not only 
 privily and underhand give out that this Wilford was the 
 true earl of Warwick, but also the frfar, finding some light 
 credence in the people, took the boldness in the pulpit to 
 declare as much, and to incite the people to come in to his 
 aid. Whereupon they weie both presently apprehended, and 
 the young fellow executed, and the ffiar condemned to per¬ 
 petual imprisonment. This also happening so opportunely, 
 to represent the danger to the king’s estate from the earl of 
 Warwick, and thereby to colour the king’s severity that fol¬ 
 lowed, together with the madness of the friar so vainly and 
 desperately to divulge a treason before it had gotten any 
 manner of strength; and the saving of the friar’s life, which 
 nevertheless was indeed but the xirivilege of his order, and 
 
414 
 
 HEXRY THE SEVENTlf. 
 
 tlie pity in the common people, which if it run in a strong 
 stream, doth ever cast up scandal and en\y, made it gene¬ 
 rally rather talked than believed that all was but the king’s 
 device. But howsoever it were, hereupon Perkin, that had 
 offended against grace now the third time, was at the last 
 proceeded with, and by commissioners of oyer and terminer, 
 arraigned at Westminster, upon divers treasons committed 
 and j)erpetrated after his coming on land within this king¬ 
 dom, for so the judges advised, for that he was a foreigner, 
 and condemned, and a few days after executed at Tyburn, 
 where he did again oj)enly read his confession, and take it 
 upon his death to be true. This was the end of this little 
 cockatrice of a king, that "was able to destroy those that did 
 not espy him first. It was one of the longest plays of that 
 kind that hath been in memory, and might perhaps have 
 had another end, if he had not met -with, a king both wise, 
 stout, and fortunate. 
 
 As for Perkin’s three counsellors, they had registered 
 themselves sanctuary men when their master did; and 
 whether upon pardon obtained or continuance within the 
 2:)rivilege, they came not to be proceeded with. 
 
 There were executed with Perkin the mayor of Cork and 
 liis son, who had been princqDal abettors of his treasons. 
 And soon after were likewise condemned eight other persons 
 about the Tower conspii’acy, whereof four were lieutenant’s 
 men; but of those eight but two were executed. And im¬ 
 mediately after was arraigned before the earl of Oxford, then 
 for the time high-steward of England, the 2)oor prince, the 
 earl of Warwick; not for the attempt to escape simply, for 
 that was not acted; and besides, the imprisonment not being 
 for treason, the escape, by law, could not be treason, but for 
 conspiring with Perkin to raise sedition, and to destroy the 
 king; and the earl confessing the indictment, had judgment, 
 and was shortly after beheaded on Tower-hill. 
 
 This was also the end, not only of this noble and corn- 
 miserable 2)erson Edward the earl of Warwick, eldest son to 
 the duke of Clarence, but likewise of the line male of the 
 Plantagenets, which had flourished in great royalty and re- 
 no'wm from the time of the famous king of England, King 
 Henry the Second; howbeit it was a race often dip2)ed in 
 their own blood. It hath remained since only transjdaiitc-J 
 
HENHY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 44.!:; 
 
 into other names, as well of the imperial line as of other 
 noble houses. But it was neither guilt of crime nor reason 
 of state that could quench the envy that was upon the king 
 for this execution, so that he thought good to export it out 
 of the land, and to lay it upon his new ally, Ferdinando, 
 king of Spain. For these two kings imderstanding one 
 another at half a word, so it was that there were letters 
 showed out of Spain whereby, in the passages concerning the 
 treaty of the marriage, Ferdinando had written to the king 
 in plain terms that he saw no assurance of his succession as 
 long as the earl of Warwick lived, and that he was loth to 
 send his daughter to troubles and dangers. But hereby, as 
 the king did in some part remove the envy from himself, so 
 he did not observe that he did withal bring a kind of male¬ 
 diction and infausting upon the marriage as an ill prognos¬ 
 tic, which in event so far proved true, as both Prince Arthur 
 enjoyed a very small time after the marriage, and the Lady 
 Catharine herself, a sad and a religious woman, long after, 
 when King Henry the Eighth his resolution of a divorce 
 from her was first made known to her, used some words 
 that she had not offended, but it was a judgment of God, for 
 that her former marriage was made in blood, meaning that 
 of the earl of Warwick. 
 
 This fifteenth year of the long there was a great plague 
 both in London and in divers parts of the kingdom; where¬ 
 fore the king, after often change of places, whether to avoid 
 the danger of the sickness, or to give occasion of an inter¬ 
 view with the archduke, or both, sailed over with his queen 
 to Calais. Upon his coming thither the archduke sent an 
 honourable ambassage unto him, as well to welcome him into 
 those parts, as to let him know that*if it pleased him he 
 would come and do him reverence. But it was said withal 
 that the king might be pleased to appoint some place that 
 were out of any walled town or fortress, for that he had 
 denied the same upon like occasion to the French king; and 
 though, he said, he made a great difference between the two 
 kings, yet he would be loth to give a precedent, that might 
 make it after to be expected at his hands by another whom 
 he trusted less. The king accepted of the courtesy, and 
 admitted of his excuse, and appointed the place to be at 
 Saint Peter’s Church without Calais. But withal he did 
 
446 
 
 IIENKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 visit the archduke with ambassadors sent from himself, which 
 were the Lord St. John, and the secretary, unto whom the 
 archduke did the honour, as, going to mass at Saint Omer’s, 
 to set the Lord St. John on his right hand and the secretary 
 on his left, and so to ride between them to church. The day 
 appointed for the interview the king went on horseback 
 some distance from Saint Peter’s Church, to receive the arch¬ 
 duke ; and upon their approaching, the archduke made haste 
 to light, and offered to hold the king’s stirrup at his alight¬ 
 ing, which the king would not permit, but descending from 
 horseback they embraced with great affection, and withdraw¬ 
 ing into the church to a place prepared, they had long con¬ 
 ference, not only u] 3 on the confirmation of former treaties 
 and the freeing of commerce, but upon cross marriages, to be 
 had between the duke of York, the king’s second son, and 
 the archduke’s daughter; and again between Charles, the 
 archduke’s son and heir, and Mary, the king’s second daugh¬ 
 ter. But these blossoms of unripe marriages were but 
 friendly wishes and the airs of loving entertainment, though 
 one of them came afterwards to conclusion in treaty, though 
 not in effect. But during the time that the two princes 
 convened and communed together in the suburbs of Calais, 
 the demonstrations on both sides were passing hearty and 
 affectionate, especially on the part of the archduke; who, 
 besides that he was a prince of an excellent good nature, 
 being conscious to himself how drily the king had been used 
 by his council in the matter of Perkin, did strive by all 
 means to recover it in the king’s affection. And having also 
 his ears continually beaten with the counsels of his father 
 and father-in-law, who, in respect of their jealous hatred 
 against the French king, did always advise the archduke to 
 anchor himself upon the amity of King Henry of England, 
 was glad upon this occasion to put in ure and practice their 
 precepts, calling the king patron and father, and protector,— 
 these very words the king repeats when he certified of the 
 loving behaviour of the archduke to the city, and what else 
 he could devise to express his love and observance to the 
 king. There came also to the king the governor of Picardy 
 and the bailiff of Amiens, sent from Lewis the French king 
 to do him honour, and to give him knowledge of his victoiy 
 and ^vinning of the duchy of Milan. It seemeth the king 
 
HEXBY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 447 
 
 was well pleased with the honours he received from those 
 pEirts while he was at Calais, for he did himself certify all 
 the news and occurrents of them in every particular, from 
 Calais, to the mayor and aldermen of London, which no 
 doubt made no small talk in the city; for the king, though 
 he could not entertain the good vdll of the citizens, as Ed¬ 
 ward the Fourth did, yet by affability and other princely 
 graces did ever make very much of them, and apply himselt 
 to them. 
 
 This year also died John Morton, archbishop of Canter¬ 
 bury, chancellor of England, and cardinal. He was a wise 
 man, and eloquent, but in his nature harsh and haughty ; 
 much accepted by the king, but envied by the nobility, and 
 hated of the people. Neither was his name left out of 
 Perkin’s proclamation for any good will, but they would not 
 bring him in amongst the king’s casting coimters, because he 
 had the image and superscription upon him of the pope, in 
 his honour of cardinal. He won the kins: with secrecv and 
 diligence, but chiefly because he was his old servant in his 
 less fortunes; and also for that, in his affections, he was not 
 without an inveterate malice against the house of York, 
 under whom he had been in trouble. He was willing also to 
 take envy from the king, more than the king was willing to 
 put upon him : for the king cared not for subterfuges, but 
 would stand envy, and appear in any thing that was to his 
 mind ; which made envy still grow upon him more uni¬ 
 versal, but less daring. But in the matter of exactions, 
 time did after show, that the bishop in feeding the king’s 
 humour did rather temper it. He had been by Kichard the 
 Third committed, as in custody, to the duke of Buckingham, 
 whom he did secretly incite to revolt from King Bichard. 
 But after the duke was engaged, and thought the bishop 
 should have been his chief pHot in the tempest, the bishop 
 was gotten into the cock-boat, and fled over beyond seas. 
 But whatsoever else was in the man, he deserveth a most 
 happy memory, in that he was the principal mean of join¬ 
 ing the two roses. He died of great years, but of strong 
 health and powers. 
 
 The next year, which: was the sixteenth year of the 
 king, and the'year of biir Lord one thousand five hundred, 
 was the year of jubilee at Pome. But Pope Alexander, to 
 
448 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 save tlie hazard and charges of men’s journeys to Home, 
 tliought good to make over those graces by exchange, to 
 jsuch as would pay a convenient rate, seeing that they could 
 not come to fetch them. For which purpose was sent into 
 England, Jasper Pons, a Spaniard, the pope’s commissioner, 
 better chosen than were the commissioners of Pope Leo 
 afterwards employed for Germany ; for he carried the 
 business with great wisdom, and semblance of holiness ; 
 insomuch as he levied great sums of money within this land 
 to the pope’s use, with little or no scandal. It was thought 
 tlie king shared in the money. But it appeareth by a letter 
 which Cardinal Adrian, the king’s pensioner, wrote to the 
 Iving from Pome some few years after, that this was not so. 
 For this cardinal, being to persuade Pope Julius, on the 
 king’s behalf, to expedite the bull of dispensation for the 
 marriage between Prince Henry and the Lady Catharine, 
 finding the pope difficile in granting thereof, doth use it as a 
 principal argument concerning the king’s merit towards that 
 see, that he had touched none of those deniers which had 
 been levied by Pons in England. But that it might the 
 better appear, for the satisfaction of the common peoplO; 
 that this was consecrated money, the same nuncio brought 
 unto the king a brief from the pope, wherein the king was 
 exhorted and summoned to come in person against the Turk j 
 for that the pope, out of the care of an universal father, 
 seeing almost under his eyes the successes and progresses of 
 that great enemy of the faith, had had in the conclave, and 
 with the assistance of the ambassa^dors of foreign princes, 
 divers consultations about a holy war, and a general expe¬ 
 dition of Christian princes against the Turk; wherein it was 
 agreed and thought fit, that the Hungarians, Polonians, and 
 Bohemians, should make a war upon Thraeia; the French 
 and Spaniards upon Grsecia; and that the pope, willing to 
 sacrifice himself in so good a cause, in person, and in com¬ 
 pany of the king of England, the Venetians, and such other 
 states as were great in maritime power, would sail with 
 a puissant navy through the Mediterranean unto Constanti¬ 
 nople. And that to this end, his holiness had sent nuncios 
 to all Christian princes; as well for a cessation of all 
 quarrels and differences amongst themselves, as for speedy 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 449 
 
 preparations and contributions of forces and treasui-e for 
 this sacred enterprise. 
 
 To this the king, who understood well the court of Eome, 
 made an answer rather solemn than serious ; signifying, 
 
 That no prince on earth should be more forward and 
 obedient, both by his person, and by all his possible forces 
 and fortunes, to enter into this sacred war, than liimself But 
 that the distance of place was such, as no forces that he 
 should raise for the seas, could be levied or prepared but 
 with double the charge, and double the time, at the least, 
 that they might be from the other princes, that had their 
 territories nearer adjoining. Besides, that neither the 
 manner of his ships, havmg no galleys, nor the experience of 
 his pilots and mariners, could be so apt for those seas 
 as theirs. And therefore that his holiness might do well to 
 move one of those other kings, who lay fitter for the purpose, 
 to accompany him by sea. Whereby both all things would 
 be sooner put in readiness, and with less charge, and the 
 emulation and division of command, which might grow 
 between those kings of France and Spain, if they should both 
 join in the war by land upon Grsecia, might be wisely 
 avoided ; and that for his part he would not be wanting 
 in aids and contribution. Yet, notwithstanding, if both 
 these kings should refuse, rather than his holiness should go 
 alone, he would wait upon him as soon as he could be ready; 
 always provided, that he might first see all differences of the 
 Christian princes amongst themselves fully laid down and 
 appeased, as for his own paii; he was in none, and that he 
 might have some good towns upon the coast in Italy put 
 into his hands, for the retreat and safeguard of his men.” 
 
 With this answer Jasper Pons returned, nothing at all 
 discontented ; and yet this declaration of the king, as super¬ 
 ficial as it was, gave him that reputation abroad, as he w'as 
 not long after elected by the knights of Bhodes protector of 
 their order; all things multiplying to honour in a prince, 
 that had gotten such high estimation for his wisdom and 
 sufficiency. 
 
 There were these two last years some proceedings against 
 heretics, which was rare in this king’s reign, and rather by 
 penances than by fire. The king had, though he "were 
 
 2 G 
 
 
450 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 good sclioolman, tlie honour to convert one of them by dis¬ 
 pute at Canterbury. 
 
 This year, also, though the king were no more haunted 
 ^Yith sprites, for that by the sprinkling, partly of blood and 
 partly of water, he had chased them away ; yet nevertheless 
 he had certain apparitions that troubled him, still shov/ing 
 themselves from one region, which was the house of York. 
 It came so to pass, that the earl of Suffolk, son to Elizabeth, 
 eldest sister to king Edward the Fourth, by John, duke 
 of Suffolk, her second husband, and brother to John, earl of 
 Lincoln, that was slain at Stokefield, being of a hasty and 
 choleric disposition, had killed a man in his fury; whereupon 
 the king gave him his pardon. But, either willing to leave a 
 cloud upon him, or the better to make him feel his grace, 
 produced him openly to plead his pardon. This wrought in 
 the earl, as in a haughty stomach it useth to do ; for the 
 ignominy printed deeper than the grace. Wherefore he 
 being discontent, fled secretly into Flanders unto his aunt the 
 duchess of Burgundy. The king startled at it; but, being 
 taught by troubles to use fair and timely remedies, wrought 
 so with him by messages, the Lady Margaret also growing, 
 by often failing in her alchemy, weary of her experiments ; 
 and partly being a little sweetened, for that the king had 
 not touched her name in the confession of Perkin, that 
 he came over again upon good terms, and was reconciled to 
 the king. 
 
 In the beginning of the next year, being the seventeenth 
 of the king, the Lady Catherine, fourth daughter of Eerdi- 
 iiamdo and Isabella, king and queen of Spain, arrived in 
 England at Plymouth the second of October, and was mar¬ 
 ried to Prince Arthur in Paul’s the fourteenth of November 
 following; the prince being then about flfteen years of age, 
 and the lady about eighteen. The manner of her receiving, 
 the manner of her entry into London, and the celebrity of 
 the marriage, were performed with gTeat and true mag¬ 
 nificence, in regard of cost, show, and order. The chief man 
 that took the care was bishop Fox, who was not only a 
 grave counsellor for war or peace, but also a good surveyor of 
 works, and a good master of ceremonies, and any thing else 
 that was fit for the active part, belonging to the seivice 
 of the court or state of a great king. Tliis marriage was 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 451 
 
 almost seven years in treaty, wliicli was in part caused by 
 the tender years of the marriage couple, especially of the 
 prince ; but the true reason was, that these two princes, 
 being princes of great policy and profound judgment, stood a 
 great time looking one upon another’s fortunes, how they 
 would go ; knowing well, that in the mean time the very 
 treaty itself gave abroad in the world a reputation of a strait 
 conjunction and amity between them, which served on both 
 sides to many purposes that their several afiairs required, 
 and yet they continued still free. But in the end, when the 
 fortunes of both the princes did grow every day more and 
 more prosperous and assured, and that looking all about 
 them they saw no better conditions, they shut it up. 
 
 The marriage money the princess brought, which was 
 turned over to the king by act of renunciation, was two 
 hundred thousand ducats ; whereof one hundred thousand 
 were payable ten days after the solemnization, and the other 
 hundred thousand at two payments annual; but part of it to 
 be in jewels and plate, and a due course set down to have 
 them justly and indifferently prized. The jointure or 
 advancement of the lady, was the third part of the princi¬ 
 pality of Wales, and of the dukedom of Cornwall, and of 
 the earldom of Chester, to be after set forth in severality; and 
 in case she came to be queen of England, her advancement 
 was left indefinite, but thus,—that it should be as great as 
 ever any former queen of England had. 
 
 In all the devices and conceits of the triumphs of this 
 marriage, there was a great deal of astronomy ; the lady 
 being resembled to Hesperus, and the prince to Arcturus, 
 and the old King Alphonsus, that was the great astronomer 
 of kings, and was ancestor to the lady, was brought in, to be 
 the fortune-teller of the match. And whosoever had those 
 toys in compiling, they were not altogether pedantical: but 
 you may be sure, that King Arthur the Britain, and the 
 descent of the Lady Catharine from the house of Lancaster, 
 was in no wise forgotten. But as it should seem, it is not 
 good to fetch fortunes from the stars; for this young prince, 
 that drew upon him at that time, not only the hopes and 
 affections of his country, but the eyes and expectations of 
 foreigners, after a few months, in the beginning of April, 
 deceased at Ludlow castle, where he was sent to keep his 
 
 2 G 2 
 
452 
 
 HENRY THE SEYENTH. 
 
 resiance and court, as prince of Wales. Of this prince, in 
 respect he died so joung, and by reason of his father’s manner 
 of education, that did cast no great lustre upon his children, 
 there is little particular memoiy; only thus much remaineth, 
 that he was very studious and learned, beyond his years, and 
 beyond the custom of great princes. 
 
 There was a doubt ripped up in the times following, when 
 the divorce of King Henry the Eighth from the Lady Catha¬ 
 rine did so much busy the world, whether Arthuc was bedded 
 ^vith his lady or no, whereby that matter in fact, of carnal 
 knowledge, might be made part of the case. And it is time, 
 that the lady herself denied it, or at least her counsel stood 
 upon it, and would not blanch that advantage, although the 
 plenitude of the pope’s power of dispensing was the main 
 question. And this doubt was kept long open, in respect of 
 the two queens that succeeded, Mary and Elizabeth, whose 
 legitimations were incompatible one with another, though 
 their succession was settled by act of parliament. And the 
 times that favoured Queen Mary’s legitimation would have 
 it believed that there was no carnal knowledge between 
 Arthui’ and Catharine. Hot that they would seem to dero¬ 
 gate from the pope’s absolute power to dispense even in that 
 case; but only in point of honour, and to make the case 
 more favourable and smooth. And the times that favoured 
 Queen Elizabeth’s legitimation, which were the longer and 
 the latter, maintained the contrary. So much there re- 
 miaineth in memory, that it was half a year’s time between 
 the creation of Hemy prince of Wales and Prince Arthur’s 
 death, which was construed to be, for to expect a full time, 
 whereby it might appear whether the Lady Catharine were 
 with child by Prince Arthur or no. Again, the lady herself 
 procured a bull, for the better corroboration of the marriage, 
 vdtli a clause of vel forsan cognitam, which was not in the 
 first bull. There was given in evidence also, when the cause 
 of the divorce was handled, a pleasant passage, which was : 
 that in a morning Prince Arthur, uj)on his up-rising from 
 bed with her, called for drink, which he was not accustomed 
 to do, and finding the gentleman of his chamber that brought 
 him the drink to smile at it, and to note it, he said merrily 
 to him ; that he had been in the midst of Spain, which 
 was a hot region, and his journey had made him dry; and 
 
HEIillY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 458 
 
 tliafc if the other had been in so hot a clime, he would have 
 been drier than he. Besides, the prince was upon the point 
 of sixteen years of age when he died, and forward, and able 
 in body. 
 
 The Febmary following, Henry, duke of York, was created 
 prince of Wales, and earl of Chester and Flint; for the duke¬ 
 dom of Cornwall devolved to him by statute. The king also 
 being fast-handed, and loth to part 'with a second dowry, but 
 chiefly being affectionate both by his nature, and out of 
 politic considerations to continue the alliance with Spain, 
 prevailed with the prince, though not without some reluc- 
 tation, such as could be in those years, for he v^as not twelve 
 years of age, to be contracted with the Princess Catharine : 
 the secret providence of God ordaining that marriage to be 
 the occasion of great events and changes. 
 
 The same year were the esponsads of James, king of Scot¬ 
 land, with the Lady Margaret, the king’s eldest daughter j 
 wliich was done by proxy, and pubhshed at Paul’s cross, the 
 five and twentieth of January, and Te Deum solemnly sung. 
 But certain it is, that the joy of the city thereupon showed, 
 by ringing of bells and bonfires, and such other incense of 
 the people, was more than could be expected, in a case of so 
 great and fresh enmity between the nations, especially in 
 London, which was far enough off from feeling any of the 
 former calamities of the war ; and therefore might be truly 
 attributed to a secret instinct and inspiring which many 
 times runneth not only in the hearts of princes, but in the 
 pulse and veins of people, touching the happiness thereby to 
 ensue in time to come. This marriage was in August fol¬ 
 lowing consummated at Edinburgh; the king bringing his 
 daughter as far as Colliweston on the way, and then con¬ 
 signing her to the attendance of the earl of Northumberland, 
 who, ^vith a great troop of lords and ladies of honour, brought 
 ]i(‘r into Scotland, to the king her husband. 
 
 This marriage had been in treaty by the space of almost 
 three years from the time that the king of Scotland did first 
 open his mind to Bishop Fox. The sum given in marriage 
 by the king was ten thousand pounds ; and the jointure and 
 advancement assured by the king of Scotland was two thou¬ 
 sand pounds a year, after King James his death, and one 
 tliousand pounds a year in present, for the lady’s alio wan civ 
 
454 
 
 HENUY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 or maintenance. This to be set forth in lands, of the best 
 and most certain revenue. During the treaty, it is reported 
 that the king remitted the matter to his council; and that 
 some of the table, in the freedom of counsellors, the king 
 being present, did put the case,—^that if God should take the 
 king’s two sons without issue, that then the kingdom of Eng¬ 
 land would fall to the king of Scotland, which might j^rejudico 
 the monarchy of England. Whereunto the king himself 
 replied : that if that should be, Scotland would be but an 
 accession to England, and not England to Scotland, for that 
 the greater would draw the less; and that it was a safer 
 union for England than that of France. This passed as an 
 oracle, and silenced those that moved the question. 
 
 The same year was fatal, as well for deaths as marriages, 
 and that with equal temper. For the joys and feasts of the 
 two marriages were compensed with the mournings and 
 funerals of Prince Arthur, of whom we have spoken, and of 
 Queen Elizabeth, who died in childbed in the Tower, and 
 the child lived not long after. There died also that year 
 Sir Peginald Bray, who was noted to have had with the king 
 jthe greatest freedom of any counsellor; but it was but a 
 freedom the better to set off flattery. Yet he bare more 
 than his just part of envy for the exactions. 
 
 At this time the king’s estate was very prosperous : se¬ 
 cured by the amity of Scotland, strengthened by that of 
 Spain, cherished by that of Burgundy, all domestic troubles 
 quenched, and all noise of war, like a thunder afar off, going 
 upon Italy. Wherefore nature, which many times is happily 
 contained and refrained by some bands of fortune, began to 
 take place in the king; carrying, as with a strong tide, his 
 affections and thoughts unto the gathering and heaping up 
 of treasure. And as kings do more easily find instruments 
 for their will and humour, than for their service and honour, 
 he had gotten for his purpose, or beyond his purpose, two 
 instruments, Empson and Dudley, whom the people esteemed 
 as his horse-leeches and shearers, bold men and careless of 
 fame, and that took toll of tbeir master’s grist. Dudley was 
 of a good family, eloquent, and one that could put hateful 
 business into good language. But Empson, that was the son 
 of a sieve-maker, triumphed always upon the deed done, 
 putting off all other respects whatsoever. Those two per- 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 4oo 
 
 sons being lawyers in science, and privy counsellois in 
 authority, as the corruption of the best things is the worst, 
 turned law and justice into wormwood and rapine. For 
 first, their manner was to cause divers subjects to be indicted 
 of sundry crimes, and so far forth to proceed in form of law; 
 but when the bills were found, then presently to commit 
 them; and nevertheless not to produce them in any reason¬ 
 able time to their answer, but to suffer them to languish 
 long III piison, and by sundry artificial devices and terrors to 
 extort from them great fines and ransoms, which they termed 
 compositions and mitigations. 
 
 Neither did they, towards the end, observe so much as 
 the half-face of justice, in proceeding by indictment; but 
 sent forth their precepts to attach men and convent them 
 before themselves, and some others, at their private houses, 
 in a court of commission; and there used to shuffle up a 
 summary proceeding by examination, without trial of jury, 
 assuming to themselves there to deal both in pleas of the 
 crown and controversies civn. 
 
 Then did they also use to inthral and charge the subjects 
 lands with tenures in capite, by finding false offlces, and 
 thereby to work upon them for wardships, liveries, premier 
 seizins, and alienations, being the fruits of those tenures, 
 refusing, upon divers pretexts and delays, to admit men to 
 traverse those false offices according to the law. Nay, the 
 king’s wards, after they had accomplished their fall age, 
 could not be suffered to have livery of their lands, without 
 paying excessive fines, far exceeding all reasonable rates. 
 They did also vex men with informations of intrusion, upon 
 scarce colourable titles. 
 
 When men were outlawed in personal actions, they would 
 not permit them to purchase their charters of pardon, except 
 they paid great and intolerable sums; standing upon the 
 stiict point of law, which upon outlawries giveth forfeiture of 
 goods; nay, contrary to all law and colour, they maintained 
 the king ought to have the half of men’s lands and rents, 
 during the space of full two years, for a pain in case of out¬ 
 lawry. They would also iiiffle with jurors, and enforce them 
 to find as they would direct, and if they did' not, convent 
 them, imprison them, and fine them. 
 
 These and many other courses, fitter to be bulled than 
 
456 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 repeated, they had of preying upon the people ; botli like 
 tame hawks for their master, and like wild hawks for them¬ 
 selves ; insomuch as they grew to great riches and substance. 
 But their principal working was upon penal laws, wherein 
 they spared none, great nor small; nor considered whether 
 the law were possible or impossible, in use or obsolete; but 
 raked over all old and new statutes, though many of them 
 were made with intention rather of terror than of rigour, 
 ha^dng ever a rabble of promoters, questmongers, and leading 
 jurors at their command, so as they could have anything 
 found either for fact or valuation. 
 
 Tliere remaineth to this day a report that the long vras 
 on a time entertained by the earl of Oxford, that was his 
 principal servant both for war and peace, nobly and sump¬ 
 tuously, at his castle at Henningham : and at the king’s 
 going away, the earl’s servants stood, in a seemly manner, in 
 their livery coats, with cognizances, ranged on both sides, and 
 made the king a lane. The king called the earl to him, and 
 said, “ My lord, I have heard much of your hospitality, but 
 I see it is greater than the speech : these handsome gentle¬ 
 men and yeomen, wliich I see on both sides of me, are sure 
 your menial servants.” The earl smiled, and said, It may 
 please your grace, that vrere not for mine own ease : they are 
 most of them my retainers, that are come to do me service at 
 such a time as this, and chiefly to see your grace.” The 
 king started a little, and said, ^^By my faith, my lord, I 
 thank you for my good cheer, but I may not endure to have 
 my laws broken in my sight ; my attorney must speak with 
 you.” And it is ^part of the report, that the earl com¬ 
 pounded for no less than fifteen thousand marks. And to 
 show farther the king’s extreme diligence, I do remember to 
 have seen long since a book of accompt of Empson’s, that 
 had the king’s hand almost to every leaf by way of signing, 
 and was in some places postil led in the margin with the 
 king’s hand likewise, where was this remembrance;— 
 
 Item, Beceived of such a one five marks, for a pardon 
 to be procured; and if the pardon do not pass, the money 
 to be repaid: except the party be some other ways 
 satisfied.” 
 
 And over against this Jfemoranclumj of the king’s owm hand, 
 
 Otherwise satisfied,** 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 457 
 
 \Yhicli I do the rather mention, because it shows in the king 
 a nearness, but yet with a kind of justness. So these little 
 sands and grains of gold and silver, as it seemeth, helped not 
 a little to make up the great heap and bank. 
 
 But meanwhile, to keep, the king awake, the earl of Suffolk, 
 having been too gay at Prince Arthur’s marriage, and sunk 
 himself deep in debt, had yet once more a mind to be a 
 knight-errant, and to seek adventures in foreign parts, and 
 taking his brother with him, fled again into Flanders. That, 
 no doubt, which gave him confidence, w^as the great murmur 
 of the people against" the king’s government; and being a 
 man of a light and rash spirit, he thought every vapour 
 would be a tempest. Neither w’anted he some party within 
 the kingdom ; for the murmur of people awakes the discon¬ 
 tents of nobles j and again, that calleth up commonly some 
 head of sedition. The king resorting to his wonted and 
 tried arts, caused Sir Bobert Curson, captain of the castle at 
 Hammes, being at that time beyond sea, and therefore less 
 likely to be wrought upon by the king, to fly from his charge, 
 and to feign himself a servant of the earl’s. This knight, having 
 insinuated himself into the secrets of the earl, and finding by 
 him upon whom chiefly he had either hope or hold, advertised 
 the king thereof in gTeat secresy; but nevertheless main¬ 
 tained his own credit and inward trust with the earl. Upon 
 whose advertisements, the king attached William Courtney, 
 earl of Devonsliire, his brother-in-law, married to the Lady 
 Catharine, daughter to King Edv/ard the Fourth; William 
 De la Pole, brother to the earl of Suffolk, Sir James Tirrel, 
 and Sir John Windham, and some other meaner persons, and 
 committed them to custody. George Lord Abergavenny, and 
 Sir Thomas Green, w^ere at the same time apprehended; but 
 as upon less suspicion, so in a freer restraint, and were soon 
 after delivered. The earl of Devonshire, being interested in 
 the blood of York, that w^as rather feared than nocent; yet 
 as one that might be the object of others’ plots and designs, 
 remained prisoner in the Tower,during the king’s life. William 
 De la Pole was also long restrained, though not so straitly. 
 But for Sir Jam.es Tirrel, against whom the blood of the in¬ 
 nocent princes, Edward the Fifth and his brother, did still cry 
 from under the altar,” and Sir John Windham, and the other 
 meaner ones, they were attainted and executed ; the two 
 
458 
 
 HEXKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 kniglits belieaded. iN’evertlieless, to confirm the credit of 
 Curson, who belike bad not yet done all bis feats of activity, 
 there was published at Paul’s Cross, about the time of the said 
 executions, the pope’s bull of excommunication and curse 
 against the earl of Sufiblk and Sir Pobert Curson, and some 
 others by name; and likewise in general against all the 
 abettors of the said earl: wherein it must be confessed 
 that heaven was made too much to bow to earfh, and re¬ 
 ligion to policy. But soon after, Curson, when he saw the 
 time, returned into England, and withal into wonted favour 
 with the king, but worse fame with the people. Upon whose 
 return the earl was much dismayed, and seeing himself desti¬ 
 tute of hopes, the Lady Margaret also, by tract of time and 
 bad success, being now become cool in those attempts, after 
 some wandering in France and Germany, and certain little 
 projects, no better than squibs of an exiled man, being tired 
 out, retired again into the protection of the Archduke Philip, 
 in Flanders, who by the death of Isabella was at that time 
 king of Castile in the right of Joan his wife. 
 
 This year, being the nineteenth of his reign, the Idng 
 called his parliament; wherein a man may easily guess how 
 absolute the king took himself to be with his parliament, 
 when Dudley, that was so Lat-eful, was made speaker of the * 
 House of Commons. In this parliament there were not 
 made any statutes, memorable touching public government; 
 but those that were, had still the stamp of the king’s 
 wisdom and policy. 
 
 There was a statute made for the disannulling of all 
 patents of lease or grant, to such as came not upon lawful 
 summons to seiwe the king in his wars, against the enemies 
 or rebels, or that should depart without the king’s licence ; 
 vdth an exception of certain persons of the long robe ; pro¬ 
 viding nevertheless that they should have the king’s wages 
 from their house, till their return home again. There had 
 been the like made before for offices, and by this statute it 
 was extended to lands. But a man ma.y easily see by many 
 statutes made in this king’s time, that the king thought it 
 safest to assist martial law by law of parliament. 
 
 Another statute was made prohibiting the bringing in of 
 manufactures of silk wrought by itself, or mixt with any 
 
HCTKY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 459 
 
 otlier thread. But it was not of stuffs of whole piece, for 
 that the realm had of them no manufacture in use at that 
 time, but of knit silk, or texture of silk, as ribbons, 
 laces, cauls, points, and girdles, &c., which the people of 
 England could then well skill to make. This law pointed at 
 a true principle : “ That where foreign materials are but 
 superfluities, foreign manufactures should be prohibited 
 for that will either banish the superfluity, or gain the 
 manufacture. 
 
 There was a law also of resumption of patents of gaols, 
 and the reannexing of them to the sherifivdcks j privileged 
 officers being no less an interruption of justice than privileged 
 places. 
 
 There was likewise a law to restrain the by-laws, or ordi¬ 
 nances of corporations, which many times were against the 
 prerogative of the king, the common law of the realm, and 
 the liberty of the subject, being frciternities in evil. It was 
 therefore provided, that they should not be put in execution, 
 vdthout the allowance of the chancellor, treasurer, and the 
 two chief justices, or three of them, or of the two justices of 
 circuit where the corporation was. 
 
 Another law was, in efiect, to bring in the silver of the 
 realm to the mint, in making all clipped, minished, or 
 impaired coins of silver, not to be current in payments; 
 without giving any remedy of weight, but with an exception 
 only of reasonable wearing, which was as nothing in respect 
 of the uncertainty ; and so, upon the matter, to set the mint 
 on work, and to give way to new coins of silver, which should 
 be then minted. 
 
 There’ likewise was a long statute against vagabonds, 
 wherein two things may be noted : the one, the dislike the 
 parliament had of gaoling of them, as that which was charge¬ 
 able, pesterous, and of no open example ; the other, that in 
 the statutes of this king’s time, for this of the nineteenth 
 year is not the only statute of that kind, there are ever 
 coupled the punishment of vagabonds, and forbidding of dice 
 and cards, and unlawful games, unto servants and mean 
 people, and the putting down and suppressing pf alehouses, 
 as strings of one root together, and as if the one were 
 unprofitable without the other. 
 
460 
 
 HENTIY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 As for riot and retainers, there passed scarce any pailia- 
 iiient in tliis time without a law against them : the king ever 
 having an eye to might and multitude. 
 
 • There was granted also that parliament a subsidy, both 
 from the temporality and the clergy. And yet, nevertheless, 
 ere the year expii’ed, there went out commissions for a 
 general benevolence, though there were no wars nor fears. 
 The same year the city gave five thousand marks for confii- 
 mation of their liberties; a thing fitter for the beginnings of 
 kings’ reigns, than the latter ends. Neither was it a small 
 matter that the mint gained upon the late statute, by the 
 recoinage of groats and half-gi'oats, now twelve-pences and 
 six-pences. As for Empson and Dudley’s mills, they did 
 grind more than ever : so that it was a strange thing to see 
 what golden showers poured down upon the king’s treasiuy 
 at once,—the last payments of the marriage-money from 
 Spain, the subsidy, the benevolence, the recoinage, the re¬ 
 demption of the city’s liberbies, the casualties. And this 
 is the more to be marvelled at, because the king had then no 
 occasions at all of wars or troubles. He had now but one 
 son and one daughter unbestowed. He was wise ; he w^as of 
 a high mind ; he needed not to make inches his glory ; he 
 did excel in so many things else; save that certainly 
 avarice doth ever find in itself matter of ambition. Belike 
 he thought to leave his son such a Idngdom, and such a 
 mass of treasure, as he might choose his gxeatness where 
 he would. 
 
 This year was also kept the serjeant’s feast, which was the 
 second call in this king’s days. 
 
 About this time Isabella, queen of Castile, deceased; a 
 right noble lady, and an honour to her sex and times, and 
 the corner-stone of the greatness of Spain that hath followed. 
 This accident the king took not for news at large, but 
 thought it had a gi*eat relation to his own afiau's, especially 
 in tvv^o points, tlie one for example, the other for conse¬ 
 quence. Ernst, he conceived that the case of Ferdinando of 
 Aragon, after the death of Queen Isabella, was his own case 
 after the death of his own queen; and the case of Joan, the 
 heii' unto Castile, was the case of his own son prince Henry. 
 For if both of the kings had their kingdoms in the light of 
 their vdves, they descended to the heirs, and did not accrue 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 461 
 
 to the husbands. And although his own case had both steel 
 and parchment more than the other, that is -to say, a con^ 
 quest in the field and an act of parliament, yet notwith¬ 
 standing, that natural title of descent in blood did, in the 
 imagination even of a wise man, breed a doubt that the 
 other two were not safe nor sufficient. Wherefore he was 
 wonderful diligent to inquire and observe what became of 
 the king of Aragon, in holding and continuing the kingdom 
 of Castile; and whether he did hold it in his own right, or 
 as administrator to liis daughter ; and whether he were like 
 to hold it in fact, or to be put out by his son-in-law. 
 Secondly, he did revolve in his mind, that the state of Chris¬ 
 tendom might by this late accident have a turn ; for whereas 
 before time, himself, with the conjunction of Aragon and 
 Castile, which then was one, and the amity of Maximilian 
 and Philip his son the archduke, was far too strong a party 
 for Prance; he began to fear, that now the French king, 
 who had great interest in the affections of Philip, the young 
 king of Castile, and Philip himself, now king of Castile, who 
 was in ill terms with his father-in-law about the present 
 government of Castile, and thirdly, Maximilian, Philip’s 
 father, who was ever variable, and upon whom the surest 
 aim that could be taken was, that he would not be long as 
 he had been last before, would all three, being potent princes, 
 enter into some strait league and confederation among them¬ 
 selves j whereby, though he should not be endangered, yet he 
 should be left to the poor amity of Aragon; and whereas 
 he had been heretofore a kind of arbiter of Europe, he should 
 now go less, and be over-topped by so great a conjunction. 
 He had also, as it seems, an inclination to marry, and be¬ 
 thought himself of some fit conditions abroad ; and amongst 
 others he had heard of the beauty and virtuous behaviour of 
 the young queen of Naples, the widow of Ferdinando the 
 younger, being then of matronal years of seven and twenty; 
 by whose marriage he thought that the kingdom of Naples, 
 having been a goal for a time between the king of Aragon 
 and the French king, and being but newly settled, might in 
 some part be deposited in his hands, who was so able to keep 
 the stakes. Therefore he sent in ambassage or message three 
 confident persons, Francis Marsin, James Braybrooke, and 
 John Stile, upon two several inquisitions rather than negotia- 
 
462 
 
 HEXHY THE SEVEOTII. 
 
 tions j the one toiicliing the person and condition of the 
 young queen,-of Naples, the other touching all particulars 
 of estate that concerned the fortunes and intentions of Fer- 
 dinando. And because they may obser^^e best, who them¬ 
 selves are observed least, he sent them under colourable pre¬ 
 texts j giving them letters of kindness and compliment from 
 Catharine, the princess, to her aunt and niece, the old and 
 young queen of Naples, and delivering to them also a book 
 of new articles of peace; Tvhich, notwithstanding it had been 
 delivered unto Doctor de Puebla, the lieger ambassador of 
 Spain here in England, to be sent; yet for that the king 
 had been long without hearing from Spain, he thought good 
 those messengers, when they had been with the two queens, 
 should likewise pass on to the court of Ferdinando, and take 
 a copy of the book with them. The instructions touching 
 the queen of Naples were so curious and exquisite, being as 
 articles whereby to direct a survey, or framing a particular 
 of her person, for complexion, favour, featm'e, statime, health, 
 age, customs, behaviour, conditions, and estate, as, if the 
 king had been young, a man would h^ve judged him to be 
 amorous; but, being ancient, it ought to be interpreted, that 
 sure he was very chaste, for that he meant to find all things 
 in one woman, and so to settle his affections without ranging. 
 But in this match he was soon cooled, w^hen he heard from 
 liis ambassadors, that this young queen had had a goodly join¬ 
 ture in the realm of Naples, well answered during the time of 
 her uncle Frederick, yea, and during the time of Lewis the 
 French king, in whose division her revenue fell; but since 
 the time that the kingdom was in Ferdinando’s hands, all 
 was assigned to the army and garrisons there, and she 
 received only a pension or exhibition out of his coffers. 
 
 The other p^ of the inquiry had a grave and diligent 
 return, informing the king at full of the present state of 
 King Ferdinando. By this report it appeared to the king, 
 that Ferdinando did continue the government of Castile, as 
 administrator unto his daughter Joan, by the title of Queen 
 Isabella’s will, and partly by the custom of the kingdom, as 
 he pretended. And that all mandates and grants were expe¬ 
 dited in the name of Joan, his daughter, and himself as 
 administrator, without mention of PhiHp, her husband. And 
 that King Ferdinando, howsoever he cUd dismiss liimself of 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 4G3 
 
 tlie name of king of Castile, yet meant to hold the kingdom 
 without account, and in absolute command. 
 
 It appeareth also, that he flattered himself with hopes, 
 that King Philip would permit unto him the government of 
 Castile during his life; which he had laid his plot to work 
 him unto, both by some counsellors of his about him, which 
 Ferdinando had at his devotion, and chiefly by promise, that 
 in case Philip gave not way unto it, he would marry some 
 young lady, whereby to put him by the succession of Aragon 
 and Granada, in case he should have a son; and lastly, by 
 representing unto him that the government of the Burgun¬ 
 dians, tni Philip were by continuance in Spain made as 
 natural of Spain, would not be endured by the Spaniards. 
 But in all those things, though wisely laid down and con¬ 
 sidered, Ferdinando failed; but that Pluto was better to 
 him than Pallas. 
 
 In the same report, also, the ambassadors being mean men, 
 and therefore the more free, did strike upon a string which 
 was somewhat dangerous; for they declared plainly, that 
 the people of Spain, both nobles and commons, were better 
 affected unto the part of Philip, so he brought his wife with 
 him, than to Ferdinando; and expressed the reason to be, 
 because he had imposed upon them many taxes and tallages, 
 which was the king’s own case between him and his son. 
 
 There was also in this report a declaration of an overture 
 of marriage, which Amason, the secretary of Ferdinando, had 
 made unto the ambassadors in great secret, between Charles, 
 prince of Castile, and Mary, the king’s second daughter; 
 assuring the king that the treaty of marriage then on foot 
 for the said prince and the daughter of France would break; 
 and that she the said daughter of France should be married 
 to Angolesme, that was the heir apparent of France. 
 
 There was a touch also of a speech of marriage between 
 Ferdinando and Madame de Fois, a lady of the blood of 
 France, which afterwards indeed succeeded. But this was 
 reported as learned in France, and silenced in Spain. 
 
 The king, by the return of this ambassage, which gave 
 great light unto his affairs, was well instructed, and prepared 
 how to carry himself between Ferdinando, king of Aragon, 
 and Philip, his son-in-law, king of Castile; resolving with 
 liimself to do all that in him lay, to keep them at one mthin 
 
464 
 
 HEXKY THE SEVEOTH. 
 
 tliemselves; but howsoever that succeeded, by a moderate 
 carriage, and bearing the person of a common friend, to lose 
 neither of their friendships ; but yet to run a course more 
 entire with the king of Ai’agon, but more laboured and 
 officious with the king of Castile. But he was much taken 
 with the overture of marriage with his daughter Mary ; 
 both because it was the greatest marriage of Christendom, 
 and for that it took hold of both allies. 
 
 But to corroborate his alliance with Philip, the winds gave 
 liim an interview; for Philip choosing the winter season, the 
 better to surprise the king of Aragon, set forth with a great 
 navy out of Planders for Spain, in the month of January, 
 the one-and-twentieth year of the king’s reign. But himself 
 was surprised with a cruel tempest, that scattered his ships 
 upon the several coasts of England; and the ship wlierein 
 the king and queen were, with two other small barks only, 
 torn and in great peril, to escape the fury of the weather, 
 thrust into Weymouth. King Philip himself, having not 
 been used, as it seems, to sea, all wearied and extreme sick, 
 would needs land to refresh his spirits, though it was against 
 the opinion of his council, doubting it might breed delay, his 
 occasions requiring celerity. 
 
 The rumour of the arrival of a puissant navy upon the 
 coast made the country arm. And Sir Thomas Trenchard, 
 ^ith forces suddenly raised, not knowing what the matter 
 might be, came to Weymouth. Where, understanding the 
 accident, he did in all humbleness and humanity invite the 
 king and queen to his house; and forthwith despatched 
 posts to the court. Soon after came Sir John Carew like¬ 
 wise, with a great troop of men well armed; using the like 
 humbleness and respects towards the king, when he knew 
 the case. King Philip, doubting that they being but sub¬ 
 jects, durst not let him pass away again without the king’s 
 notice and leave, yielded to their entreaties to stay till they 
 heard from the court. The king, as soon as he heard the 
 news, commanded presently the earl of Arundel to go to 
 visit the king of Castile, and let him understand that as he 
 was very sorry for his mishap, so he was glad that he had 
 escaped the danger of the seas, and likewise of the occasion 
 himself had to do him honour; and desiring him to think 
 himself as in his own land; and that the king made all haste 
 
X 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 465 
 
 possible to come and embrace bim. The earl came to him 
 in gi-eat magnificence, with a brave troop of three hundred 
 horse; and, for more state, came by torch-light. After he 
 had done the king’s message. King Philip, seeing how the 
 world went, the sooner to get away, went upon speed to the 
 king at Windsor, and his queen followed by easy journeys. 
 The two kings, at their meeting, used all the caresses and 
 loving demonstrations that were possible. And the king of 
 Castile said pleasantly to the king, “ That he was now 
 punished for that he would not come within his walled town 
 of Calais, when they met last.” But the king answered. 
 That walls and seas were nothing where hearts were open; 
 and that he was here no otherwise but to be served.” After 
 a day or two’s refreshing, the kings entered into speech of 
 renewing the treaty j the kings saying, that though King 
 Philip’s person were the same, yet his fortunes and state were 
 raised; in which case a renovation of treaty was used 
 amongst princes. But while these things were in handling', 
 the king choosing a fit time, and drawdng the king of Castile 
 into a room, where they two only were private, and laying 
 his hand civilly upon his arm, and changing his countenance 
 a little from a countenance of entertainment, said to him. 
 Sir, you have been saved upon my coast, I hope you will not 
 suffer me to 'wreck upon yours.” The king of Castile asked 
 bim what he meant by that speech ? I mean it,” saith the 
 king, by that same harebrain 'wild fellow, my subject, the 
 .eavl of Suffolk, who is protected in your country, and begins 
 to play the fool, when all others are weary of it.” The king 
 of Castile answered, I had thought. Sir, your felicity had 
 been above those thoughts; but if it trouble you, I will 
 banish him.” The king replied, Those hornets were best 
 in their nest, and worst when they did fly abroad; and that 
 his desire was to have him delivered to him.” The king of 
 Castile, herewith a little confused, and in a study, said, That 
 can I not do with my honour, and less 'with yours; for you 
 will be thought to have used me as a prisoner.” The king 
 presently said, Then the matter is at an end, for I will 
 take that dishonour upon me, and so your honour is saved.” 
 The king of Castile, who had the king in great estimation, 
 and besides remembered where he was, and knew not what 
 use he might have of the king’s amity, for that himself 'was 
 
46G 
 
 HENEY THE SEVEKTK. 
 
 new in Lis estate of Spain, and unsettled both with his 
 father-in law and with his people, composing his countenance, 
 said, “ Sir, you give law to me, but so will I to you. You 
 shall have him, but, upon your honour, you shall not take 
 his life.” The king, embracing him, said, Agreed.” Saith 
 the king of Castile, “ Neither shall it dislike you, if I send 
 to him in such a fashion, as he may partly come with his 
 own good ^vill.” The king said, It was well thought of; 
 and if it pleased him, he would join with him, in sending to 
 the earl a message to that purpose.” They both sent severally, 
 and meanwhile they continued feasting and pastimes. The 
 king being, on his part, willing to have the earl sure before 
 the king of Castile went; and the king of Castile being as 
 willing to seem to be enforced. The king also, with many 
 wise and excellent persuasions, did advise the king of Castile 
 to be ruled by the counsel of his father-in-law Ferdinando ; 
 a prince so prudent, so experienced, so fortunate. The king 
 of Castile, who was in no very good terms with his said 
 father-in-law, answered, That if his father-in-law would 
 suffer him to govern his kingdoms, he should govern him.” 
 
 There were immediately messengers sent from both kings, 
 to recall the earl of Suffolk, who, upon gentle words used to 
 him, was soon charmed, and willing enough to return; 
 assured of his life, and hoping of his liberty. He was 
 brought through Flanders to Calais, and thence landed at 
 Dover, and, with sufficient guard, delivered and received at 
 the Tower of London. Meanwhile, King Henry, to draw 
 out the time, continued his feastings and entertainments, 
 and after he had received the king of Castile into the frater¬ 
 nity of the Garter, and for a reciprocal had his son, the prince, 
 admitted to the order of the Golden Fleece, he accompanied 
 King Philip and his queen to the city of London ; where they 
 were entertained with the greatest magnificence and triumph, 
 that could be upon no greater warning. And as soon as the 
 earl of Suffolk had been conveyed to the Tower, which was 
 the serious part, the jollities had an end, and the kings took 
 leave. Nevertheless, during their being here, they, in sub¬ 
 stance, concluded that treaty, which the Flemings term 
 “ intercursus malus,” and bears date at Windsor ; for there 
 be some things in it more to the advantage of the English, 
 than of them ; especially, for that the free fishing of the 
 
HENEY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 467 
 
 Dutch upon the coasts and seas of England, granted in the 
 treaty of undecimo,” was not by this treaty confirmed. All 
 articles that confirm former treaties being precisely and 
 v/arily limited and confirmed to matter of commerce only, 
 and not otherwise. 
 
 It was observed that the great tempest which drove 
 Philip into England, blew down the golden eagle from the 
 spire of Paul’s, and in the fall, it fell upon a sign of the 
 black eagle, which was in Paul’s churchyard, in the place 
 where the school-house now standeth, and battered it, and 
 brake it down; which was a strange stooping of a hawk 
 upon a fowl. This the people interpreted to be an ominous 
 prognostic upon the imperial house, which was, by interpre¬ 
 tation also, fulfilled upon Philip, the emperor’s son, not only 
 in the present disaster of the tempest, but in that that 
 followed; for Philip arriving into Spain, and attaining the 
 possession of the kingdom of Castile without resistance, 
 insomuch as Eerdinando, who had spoke so great before, was 
 with difficulty admitted to the speech of his son-in-law, 
 sickened soon after, and deceased. Yet after such time, as 
 there was an observation by the wisest of that court, that if 
 he had lived, his father would have gained upon him in that 
 sort, as he would have governed his councils and designs, if 
 not his affections. By this, aU Spain returned into the 
 power of Eerdinando in state, as it was before ; the rather, 
 in regard of the infirmity of Joan his daughter, who loving 
 her husband, by whom she had many children, dearly well, 
 and no less beloved of him, howsoever her father, to make 
 Philip ill-beloved of the people of Spain^ gave out that 
 Philip used her not well, was unable in strength of mind to 
 bear the grief of his decease, and fell distracted of her wits. 
 Of which malady, her father was thought no ways to endea¬ 
 vour the cure, the better to hold his legal power in Castile. 
 So that, as the felicity of Charles the Eighth was said to be 
 a dream, so the adversity of Eerdinando was said likewise to 
 be a di’eam, it passed over so soon. • 
 
 About this time, the king was desirous to bring into the 
 house of Lancaster celestial honour, and became suitor to 
 Pope Julius to canonize King Henry the Sixth for a saint; 
 the rather, in respect of that his famous prediction of the 
 king’s own assumption to the crown. Julius referred the 
 
 2 H 2 
 
m 
 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 matter, as the manner is, to certain cardinals, to take the 
 verification of his holy acts and miracles ; but it died under 
 the reference. The general opinion was, that Pope Julkis 
 was too dear, and that the king would not come to his rates. 
 But it is more probable, that that pope, who was extremely 
 jealous of the dignity of the See of Borne, and of the acts 
 thereof, knowing that King Henry the Sixth was reputed in 
 the world abroad but for a simple man, was afraid it would 
 but diminish the estimation of that kind of honour, if there 
 were not a distance kept between innocents and saints. 
 
 The same year, likewise, there proceeded a treaty of 
 marriage between the king and the Lady Margaret, duchess 
 dowager of Savoy, only daughter to Maximilian, and sister 
 to the king of Castile ; a lady mse, and of great good fame. 
 This matter had been in speech between the two kings at 
 their meeting, but vras soon after resumed; and therein was 
 employed, for his first piece, the king’s then chaplain, and 
 after the great prelate, Thomas Wolsey. It was in the end 
 concluded, with great and amj)le conditions for the king, but 
 vdth promise defutm'o only. It may be the king was the rather 
 induced unto it, for that he had heard more and more of the 
 marriage to go on between his great friend and ally, Ferdi- 
 nando of Aragon, and Madame de Fois, whereby that king 
 began to piece with the French king, from whom he had 
 been always before severed. • So fatal a thing it is, for the 
 greatest and str'aitest amities of kings at one time or other, 
 to have a little of the wheel j nay, there is a farther tra¬ 
 dition in Spain, though not with us, that the king of 
 Aragon, after he knew that the marriage between Charles, 
 the young jirince of Castile, and Mary, the king’s second 
 daughter, went roundly on, which, though it was first moved 
 by the king of Aragon, yet it was afterwards wholly 
 advanced and brought to perfection by Maximilian, and the 
 friends on that side entered into a jealousy, that the king did 
 aspire to the government of Castilia, as administrator during 
 the minority of his son-in-law | as if there should have been 
 a competition of three for that government; Ferdinando, 
 grandfather on the mother’s side ; Maximilian, grandfather 
 on the father’s side : and King Henry, father-in-law to the 
 young prince. Certainly, it is not unlike ; but the king’s 
 government, carrying the young prince with him, would 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 469 
 
 have been, perhaps, more welcome to the Spaniards, than 
 that of the other two. For the nobility of Castilia, that so 
 lately put out the king of Aragon in favour of king Philip, 
 and had discovered themselves so far, could not be but in a 
 secret distrust and distaste of that king; and as for Maxi¬ 
 milian,- upon twenty respects, he could not have been the 
 man. But this purpose of the king’s seemeth to me, con¬ 
 sidering the king’s safe courses, never found to be enter- 
 2)rising or adventurous, not greatly probable, except he 
 should have had a desire to breathe warmer, because he had 
 ill lungs. This marriage with Margaret was protracted from 
 time to time, in respect of the infirmity of the king, who 
 now, in the two-and-twentieth of his reign, began to be 
 troubled with the gout; but the defluxion taking also into 
 his breast, wasted his lungs, so that thrice in a year, in a 
 kind of return, and especially in the spring, he had great flts 
 and labours of the phthisic ; nevertheless, he continued to 
 intend business with as great diligence, as before in his 
 health; yet so, as upon this warning, he did likemse now 
 more seriously think of the world to come, and of making 
 himself a saint, as well as King Henry the Sixth, by 
 treasure better employed, than to be given to Pope JuHus; 
 for, this year, he gave greater alms than accustomed, and 
 discharged all prisoners about the city, that lay for fees or 
 debts imder forty shillings. He did also make haste vuth 
 religious foundations j and in the year following, which was 
 the three-and-twentieth, flnished that of the Savoy. And 
 healing also of the bitter cries of his people against the 
 oppressions of Dudley and Empson, and their complices, 
 partly by devout persons about him, and jiartly by public 
 sermons, the preachers doing their duty therein, he was 
 touched with great remorse for the same. ^Nevertheless, 
 Empson and Dudley, though they could not but hear of 
 these scruples in the king’s conscience, yet, as if the king’s 
 soul and his money were in several oflices, that the one was 
 not to intermeddle with the other, went on with as great 
 rage as ever ; for the same three and tw’entieth year was 
 there a sharp prosecution against Sir William Capel, now 
 the second time, and this was for matters of misgovernment 
 in his mayoralty; the great matter being, that in some 
 payments he had taken knowledge of false moneys, and did 
 
470 
 
 HENP.Y THE SEVENTH. 
 
 not his diligence to examine and beat it out, who were tlie 
 offenders. For this, and some other things laid to his charge, 
 he was condemned to pay two thousand poimds ; and being 
 a man of stomach, and hardened by his former troubles, 
 refused to pay a mite; and, belike, used some imtoward 
 speeches of the proceedings, for which he was sent to the 
 Tower, and there remained till the king’s death. Knes- 
 worth likewise, that had been lately mayor of London, and 
 both his sheriffs, were for abuses in their offices questioned, 
 and imprisoned, and delivered upon one thousand four 
 hundred pounds paid. Hawis, an alderman of London, was 
 put in trouble, and died vdth thought and anguish, before 
 his business came to an end. Sir Lawrence Ailmer, who 
 had likewise been mayor of London, and his two sheriffs, 
 were jmt to the fine of one thousand pounds. And Sir 
 Lawrence, for refusing to make payment, was committed to 
 prison, where he stayed till Empson himself was committed 
 in his place. 
 
 It is no marvel, if the faults v/ere so light, and the rates 
 so heavy, that the king’s treasure of store, that he left at his 
 death, most of it in secret places, under his own key and 
 keeping, at Eichmond, amounted, as by tradition it is report.ed 
 to have done, unto the sum of near eighteen hundred thou¬ 
 sand pounds sterling ; a huge mass of money even for these 
 times. 
 
 The last act of state that concluded this king’s temporal 
 felicity, was the conclusion of a glorious match between his 
 daughter Mary, and Charles, prince of Castile, afterwards the 
 great emperor, both being of tender years ; which treaty was 
 perfected by Bishop Fox, and other his commissioners at 
 Calais, the year before the king’s death. In which alliance, 
 it seemeth, he himself took so high contentment, as in a 
 letter which he wrote thereupon to the city of London, com* 
 manding all possible demonstrations of joy to be made for 
 the same, he expresseth himself, as if he thought he had 
 built a wall of brass about his kingdom : when he had for 
 his sons-in-law, a king of Scotland and a prince of Castile 
 and Burgnndy. So as now there was nothing to be added 
 to this great king’s felicity, being at the top of all worldly 
 bliss, in regard of .the high marriages of his children, hia 
 great renown throughout Europe, and his scarce credible 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 471 
 
 riclies, and tlie perpetual constancy of his prosperous suc¬ 
 cesses, but an opportune death, to withdraw him from any 
 future blow of fortune ; which certainly (in regard of the 
 great hatred of his people, and the title of his son, being 
 then come to eighteen years of age, and being a bold prince 
 and liberal, and that gained upon the people by his very 
 aspect and presence), had not been impossible to have come 
 upon him. 
 
 To crown also the last year of his reigm, as well as his first, 
 he did an act of piety, rare, and worthy to be taken into 
 imitation. For he granted forth a general pardon; as ex¬ 
 pecting a second coronation in a better kingdom. He did 
 also declare in his will, that his mind was, that restitution 
 should be made of those sums which had been unjustly taken 
 by his officers. 
 
 And thus this Solomon of England, for Solomon also was 
 too heavy upon his people in exactions, having lived two and 
 fifty years, and thereof reigned three-and-twenty years and 
 eight months, being in perfect memory, and in a most blessed 
 mind, in a great calm of a consuming sickness passed to a 
 better world, the two-and-twentieth of April, 1508, at his 
 palace of Eichmond, which himself had built. 
 
 This king, to speak of him in terms equal to his deserving, 
 was one of the best sort of wonders ; a wonder for wise 
 men. He had parts, both in his virtues and his fortune, not 
 so fit for a common-place, as for observation. Certainly he 
 was religious, both in his affection and observance. But as he 
 could see clear, for those times, through superstition, so he 
 would be blinded, now and then, by human policy. He 
 advanced churchmen : he was tender in the privilege of 
 sanctuaries, though they wrought him much mischief. He 
 built and endowed many religious foundations, besides his 
 memorable hospital of the Savoy ; and yet was he a great 
 almsgiver in secret; which showed, that his works in public 
 were dedicated rather to "God’s glory than his own. 
 
 He professed always to love and seek peace ; and it was 
 his usual preface in his treaties, that when Christ came mto 
 the world, peace was sung; and when he went out of the 
 world, peace was bequeathed. And this virtue could not 
 proceed out of fear or softness, for he was valiant and active, 
 and therefore, no doubt, it was truly Christian and moral. 
 
hekhy the seventh. 
 
 ‘x 4 ^ 
 
 Yet lie knew tlie way to peace was not to seem to be desirous 
 to avoid wars; therefore would he make offers and fames of 
 wars, till he had mended the conditions of peace. It was 
 also much, that one that was so great a lover of peace, should 
 be so happy in war. For his arms, either in foreign or civil 
 wars, were never unfortunate ; neither did he know what a 
 disaster meant. The war of his coming in, and the rebellions 
 of the earl of Lincoln, and the Lord Audley, were ended by 
 victory. The wars of France and Scotland, by peaces sought 
 at his hands. That of Britain, by accident of the duke’s 
 death. The insurrection of the Lord Lovel, and that of 
 Perkin at Exeter, and in Kent, by flight of the rebels before 
 they came to blows. So that his fortune of arms was still 
 inviolate : the rather sm^e, for that in the quenching of the 
 commotions of his subjects, he ever went in person : some¬ 
 times reserving himself to back and second his lieutenants, 
 but ever in action ; and yet that was not merely forwardness, 
 but partly distrust of others. 
 
 He did much maintain and countenance liis laws ; which 
 nevertheless, was no impediment to him to work his will; 
 for it was so handled, that neither prerogative nor profit went 
 to diminution. And yet as he would sometimes strain up his 
 laws to his prerogative, so would he also let down his prero¬ 
 gative to his parliament. For mint, and wars, and martial 
 discipline, things of absolute power, he would nevertheless 
 bring to parliament. Justice was well administered in his 
 time, save where the king w^as party ; save also that the 
 council-table intermeddled too much with meum and tuum. 
 For it was a very court of justice during his time, especially 
 in the beginning; but in that part both of justice and policy, 
 which is the dimalfle part, and cut, as it were, in brass or 
 marble, which is the making of good laws, he did excel. 
 And with his justice, he was also a merciful prince ; as in 
 whose time, there were but three of the nobility that suffered: 
 the earl of Warwick, the lord, chamberlain, and the Lord 
 Audley: though the first two were instead of numbers, in 
 the dislike and obloquy of the people. But there were never 
 so great rebellions expiated with so little blood, drawn by tho 
 hand of justice, as the two rebellions of Blackheath and 
 .Exeter. A.s for the severity used upon those which were 
 
HEXllY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 473 
 
 tuken in Kent, it was but upon a scum of people. His 
 ])ardons went ever both before and after his sword. But 
 then he had withal a strange kind of interchanging of large 
 aud unexpected pardons, with severe executions ; which, his 
 wisdom considered, could not be imputed to any inconstancy 
 or inequality, but either to some reason which we do not 
 now know, or to a principle he had set unto himself, that he 
 would vary, and try both ways in turn. But the less blood 
 he drew, the more he took of treasure. And as some con¬ 
 strued it, he was the more sparing in the one, that he might 
 be the more pressing in the other; for both would have been 
 intolerable. Of nature assuredly he coveted to accumulate 
 treasure, and was a little poor in admiring riches. The 
 people, into whom there is infused, for the preservation of 
 monarchies, a natural desire to discharge their princes, 
 though it be with the unjust charge of their counsellors and 
 ministers, did impute this unto Cardinal Morton and Sir 
 Beginald Bray, who, as it after appeared, as counsellors 
 of ancient authority with him, did so second his humours, as 
 nevertheless they did temper them; whereas Empson and 
 Dudley, that followed, being persons that had no reputation 
 with liim, otherwise than by the servile following of his bent, 
 did not give way only, as the first did, but shape him way to 
 those extremities, for which himself was touched with re* 
 morse at his deat h, a nd which his successor renounced, and 
 sought to purge. R This excess of his had at that time many 
 glosses and interpretations. Some thought the continuai 
 rebellions wherewith he had been vexed, had made him grow 
 to hate his people; some thought it was done to pull down 
 ^ their stomachs, and to keep them low; some, for that he 
 would leave his son a golden fleece j some suspected he had 
 some high design upon foreign parts : but those perhaps shall 
 come nearest the truth, that fetch not their reasons so far off, 
 but rather impute it to nature, age, peace, and a mind fixed 
 upon no other ambition or pursuit. "WTiereunto I should add, 
 that having eveiy day occasion to take notice of the neces¬ 
 sities and shifts for money of other great princes abroad, it 
 did the better, by comparison, set off to him the felicity of 
 full coffers. As to his expending of treasure, he never spared 
 charge which his affairs required ; and in his buildings was 
 
474 
 
 HENLEY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 magnificent^ but bis rewards were very limited : so that his 
 liberahty was rather upon his own state and memory, than 
 upon the deserts of others. 
 
 He was of a high mind, and loved his own will, and his 
 own way; as one that revered himself, and would reign 
 indeed. Had he been a private man, he would have been 
 termed proud. But in a wise prince, it was but keeping of 
 distance, which indeed he did towards all; not admitting 
 any near or full approach, either to his power, or to his 
 secrets, for he was governed by none. His queen, notwith¬ 
 standing she had presented him with divers children, and 
 with a crown also, though he would not acknowledge it, 
 could do notliing with him. His mother he reverenced much, 
 heard little. For any person agreeable to him for society, 
 such as was Hastings to King Edward the Fourth, or Charles 
 Brandon after to King Henry the Eighth, he had none; 
 except we should account for such persons, Fox, and Bray, 
 and Empson, because they were so much with him ; but it 
 was but as the instrument is much with the workman. He 
 had nothing in him of vain glory, but yet kept state and 
 majesty to the height; being sensible, that majesty maketh 
 the people bow, but vain glory boweth to them. 
 
 To his confederates abroad he was constant and just, but 
 not open. But rather such was his inquiry, and such his 
 closeness, as they stood in the light towards him, and he 
 stood in the dark to them; yet without strangeness, but with 
 a semblance of mutual communication of affairs. As for little 
 envies, or emulations upon foreign j)Hnces, which are fre¬ 
 quent with many kings, he had never any; but went sub¬ 
 stantially to his own business. Certain it is, that though 
 his reputation was great at home, yet it was greater abroad; 
 for foreigners, that could not see the passages of affairs, but 
 made their judgments upon the issues of them, noted that he 
 was ever in strife, and ever aloft. It grew also from the airs 
 which the piinces and states abroad received from their 
 ambassadors and agents here; which were attending the 
 court in great number; whom he did not only content with 
 courtesy, reward, and privateness, but, upon 'such confer¬ 
 ences as passed with them, put them in admiration, to find his 
 universal insight into the affairs of the world; which though 
 he did suck chiefiy from themselves, yet that which he had 
 
HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 475 
 
 gathered from them all, seemedr admirable to every one. So 
 that they did write ever to their superiors in high terms, 
 concerning his wisdom and art of rule; nay, when they were 
 returned, they did commonly maintain intelligence with him. 
 Such a dexterity he had to impropriate to himself all foreign 
 instruments. 
 
 He was careful and liberal to obtain good intelligence 
 from all parts abroad; wherein he did not only use his 
 interest in the liegers here, and his pensioners, which he had 
 both in the court of Rome, and other the courts of Christen¬ 
 dom, but the industry and vigilance of his own ambassadors 
 in foreign parts. For which purpose his instructions were 
 ever extreme, curious, and articulate; and in them more 
 articles touching inquisition, than touching negotiation; 
 requiring likewise from his ambassadors an answer, in par¬ 
 ticular distinct articles, respectively to his questions. 
 
 As for his secret spials, which he did employ both at home 
 and abroad, by them to discover what practices and con¬ 
 spiracies were against him, surely his case required it; he 
 had such moles perpetually working and casting to under¬ 
 mine him. 'Neither can it be reprehended; for if sjpials be 
 lawful against lawful enemies, much more against conspira¬ 
 tors and traitors. But indeed to give them credence by 
 oaths or curses, that cannot be well maintained; for those 
 are too holy vestments for a disguise. Yet surely there was 
 this farther good in his employing of these flies and familiars; 
 that as the use of them was cause that many conspiracies 
 were revealed, so the fame and suspicion of them kept, no 
 doubt, many conspiracies from being attempted. 
 
 Towards his queen he was nothing uxorious, nor scarce 
 indulgent; but companiable and respective, and without 
 jealousy. Towards liis children he was full of paternal 
 aflection, careful of their education, aspiring to their high 
 advancement, regular to see that they should not want 
 of any due honour and respect, but not greatly willing 
 to cast any popular lustre upon them. 
 
 To his council he did refer much, and sat 6ft in person; 
 knowing it to be the way to assist his power, and inform his 
 judgment. In which respect also he was fairly patient of 
 liberty, both of advice, and of vote, till himself were 
 declared. He kept a straiglit hand on his nobility, and 
 
476 
 
 HENRY THE SE\’HNTH. 
 
 cliose rather to advance clergymen and lawyers, whicli were 
 more obsequious to Lini, but bad less interest in the people; 
 wbicb made for his absoluteness, but not for his safety. Inso¬ 
 much as, I am persuaded, it was one of the causes of his 
 troublesome reign; for that his nobles, though they were 
 loyal and obedient, yet did not co-operate wdth him, but let 
 every man go his own way. He was not afraid of an able 
 man, as Lewds the Eleventh was; but contrariwise, he w^as 
 served by the ablest men that were to be foimd: without 
 which his affairs could not have prospered as they did. Eor 
 war, Bedford, Oxford, Surrey, D’Aubigny, Brooke, Po}Tiings; 
 for other affairs, Morton, Fox, Bray, the prior of Lanthony, 
 Warham, Urswick, Hussey, Fro wick, and others. Neither 
 did he care how cunning they were that he did employ; for 
 he thought himself to have the master-reach. And as he 
 chose well, so he held them up w^ell; for it is a strange 
 thing, that though he were a dark prince, and infinitely 
 suspicious, and his times full of secret conspiracies and 
 troubles, yet in twenty-four years’ reign, he never put 
 down, or discomposed counsellor, or near servant, save only 
 Stanley, the lord chamberlain. As for the disposition of liis 
 subjects in general towards him, it stood thus with him: 
 that of the three affections, which naturally tie the hearts of 
 the subjects to their sovereigns, love, fear, and reverence, 
 he had the last in height, the second in good measure, 
 and so little of the • first, as he was beholden to the other 
 twn. 
 
 He wns a prince, sad, serious, and full of thoughts, and 
 . secret observations, and full of notes and memorials of his 
 own hand, especially touching persons ; as, whom to employ, 
 whom to reward, whom to inquire of, whom to beware of, 
 what were the dependencies, what were the factions, and the 
 like; keeping, as it were, a journal of his thoughts. There 
 is to this day a merry tale, that his monkey, set on as it was 
 thought by one of his chamber, tore his principal note-book 
 all to pieces, when by chance it lay forth; whereat the couii;, 
 which liked not those pensive accounts, was almost tickled 
 with sport. 
 
 He was indeed full of apprehensions and suspicions; but 
 as he did easily take them, so he did easily check them 
 and master them; whereby they were not dangerous, but 
 
HENEY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 477 
 
 % 
 
 troubled himself more than others. It is true, his thoughts 
 were so many, as they could not well always stand together; 
 but that which did good one way, did hurt another. Neither 
 did he at sometimes weigh them aright in their proportions. 
 Certainly, that rumour which did him so much mischief, 
 that the duke of York should be saved, and alive, was, at the 
 first, of his own noiuishing; because he would have more 
 reason not to reign in the right of his wife. He was afifable, 
 and both well and fair spoken; and would use strange sweet¬ 
 ness and blandishments of words, where he desired to effect 
 or persuade anything that he took to heart. He was rather 
 studious than learned, reading most books that were of any 
 worth, in the French tongue ; yet he understood the Latin, as 
 appeareth in that Cardinal Hadrian and others, who could very 
 well have written French, did use to write to him in Lat in. ) 
 For his pleasures, there is no news of them; and yetTly 
 his instructions to Marsin and Stile, touching the queen of 
 Naples, it seemeth he could interrogate well touching beaujy.^ 
 He did by pleasures, as great princes do by banquets, come 
 and look a little upon them, and turn away. For never 
 prince was more wholly given to his affairs, nor in them 
 more of himself; insomuch as in triumphs of justs and 
 tourneys, and balls, and masks, which they then called dis¬ 
 guises, he was rather a princely and gentle spectator, than 
 seem much to be delighted. 
 
 No doubt, in him, as in all men, and most of all in kings, 
 Ills fortune wrought upon liis nature, and his nature upon 
 his fortune. He attained to the crown, not only from a 
 private fortune, which might endow him with moderation, 
 but also from the fortune of an exiled man, which had quick¬ 
 ened in him all seeds of observation and industry. And his 
 times being rather prosperous than calm, had raised his con¬ 
 fidence by success, but almost marred his nature by troubles. 
 His wisdom, by often evading from perils, was turned rather 
 into a dexterity to deliver himself from dangers, when they 
 pressed him, than into a providence to prevent and re¬ 
 move them afar off. And even in nature, the sight of his 
 mind was like some sights of eyes—rather strong at hand, 
 than to carry afar off. For his wit increased upon the occa¬ 
 sion ; and so much the more, if the occasion were sharpened 
 hy danger. Again, whether it were the shortness of his 
 
 
478 
 
 HENKY THE SEVEHTH, 
 
 foresight, or the strength of his will, or the dazzling of his 
 suspicions, or what it was, certain it is, that the perpetual 
 troubles of his fortunes, there being no more matter out of 
 which they grew, could not have been without some great 
 defects and main errors in his nature, customs, and proceed¬ 
 ings, wHch he had enough to do to save and help with a 
 thousand little industries and watches. But those do best 
 appear in the story itself. Yet take him with all his defects, 
 if a man should compare him with the kings his concurrents 
 in France and Spain, he shall find him more politic than 
 Lewis the Twelfth of France, and more entire and sincere 
 than Ferdinando of Spain. But if you shall change Lewis 
 the Twelfth for Louis the Eleventh, who lived a little be¬ 
 fore, then the consort is more perfect. For that Lewis the 
 Eleventh, Ferdinando, and Henry, .may be esteemed for the 
 ires magi of kings of those ages. LTo conclude, if this king 
 did no greater matters, it was long of himself: for what he 
 minded he compassed. / _ 
 
 He was a comely personage, a little above just stature,! 
 well and straight limbed, but slender. His countenance was 
 reverend, and a little like a churchman j and as it was not 
 strange, or dark, so neither was it winning or pleasing, but 
 as the face of one well disposed. But it was to the dis¬ 
 advantage of the painter, for it was best when he spake.J^ 
 His worth may bear a tale or two, that may put upon him 
 somewhat that may seem divine. When the Lady Margaret, 
 his mother, had divers great suitors for marriage, she dreamed 
 one night, that one in the likeness of a bishop in pontifical 
 habit did tender her Edmund, earl of Bichmond, the king’s 
 father, for her husband, neither had she ever any child but 
 the king, though she had three husbands. One day when 
 King Henry the Sixth, whose innocency gave him holiness, 
 was washing his hands at a great feast, and cast his eye upon 
 King Henry, then a young youth, he said : This 5^ the lad 
 that shall possess quietly that, that we now strive for.” But 
 that, that was truly divine in him was that he had the 
 fortune of a true Christian, as well as of a great king, in 
 living exercised, and dying repentant; so as he had a happy 
 warfare in both conflicts, both of siu and the cross. 
 
 He was born at Pembroke Castle, and lieth buried at 
 Westminster, in one of the stateliest and daintiest monu- 
 
HENilY THE EIGHTH. 
 
 479 
 
 mente of Europe, both for the chapel and for the sepulchre. 
 So that he dweUeth more richly dead, in the monument of 
 his tomb, than he did alive in Eichmond, or any of his 
 palaces. I could wish he did the like in this monument’ of 
 his fame. 
 
 THE HISTOKY OF THE REIGN 
 
 ■B* 
 
 OP 
 
 KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. 
 
 After the decease of that wise and fortunate king, Henry 
 the Seventh, who died in the height of his prosperity, there 
 foUow^ed, as useth to do, when the sun setteth so exceeding 
 clear, one of the fairest mornings of a kingdom that hath 
 been known in this land, or anywhere else. A young king, 
 about eighteen years of age, for stature, stren^h, making, 
 and beauty, one of the goodliest persons of his time. And 
 though he were given to pleasure, yet he was likewise desir¬ 
 ous of glory j so that there was a passage open in his mind, 
 by glory, for virtue. Neither was he unadorned Nvith learn¬ 
 ing, though therein he came short of his brother Arthur. 
 He had . never any the least pique, difference, or jealousy, 
 with the king his father, which might give any occasion of 
 altering court or council upon the change j but all things 
 passed in a stHl. He was the first heir of the white and 
 red rose ; so that there was no discontented party now left 
 in the kingdom, but all men’s hearts turned towards liim ; 
 and not only their hearts, but their eyes also; for he was 
 the only son of the kingdom. He had no brother; which, 
 though it be a comfortable thing for kings to have, yet it 
 draweth the subjects’ eyes a little aside. And yet, being a 
 married man in those young years, it promised hope of 
 speedy issue to succeed in the crown. Neither was there 
 any queen mother, who might share any way in the 
 government, or clash with his counsellors for authority, 
 while the king intended his pleasure. No such thing as any 
 
480 
 
 niSTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 great and miglity subject, wbo might any way eclipse or over- 
 shade the imperial power. And for the people and state iii 
 general, they were in such lowness of obedience, as subjects 
 were like to yield, who had lived almost four-and-twenty 
 years under so politic a king as his father ; being also one 
 who came pai'tly in by the sword; and had so high a 
 courage in all points of regality ; and was ever victorious in 
 rebellions and seditions of the people. The crown extremely 
 rich and full of treasure, and the kingdom like to be so in a 
 short time. For there was no War, no dearth, no stop of 
 trade, or commerce j it was only the crown which had 
 sucked too hard, and now, being full, and upon the head of a 
 young king, was like to di'aw less. Lastly, he was inheritor 
 of his father’s reputation, which was great throughout the 
 world. He had strait alliance with the two neighbour 
 states, an ancient enemy in former times, and an ancient 
 friend,—Scotland and Burgundy. He had peace and amity 
 with France, under the assurance, not only of treaty and 
 league, but of necessity and inability in the French to do 
 him hurt, in respect that the French king’s designs were 
 wholly bent upon Italy ; so that it may be truly said, there 
 had scarcely been seen or known, in many ages, such a rare 
 concurrence of signs and promises, and of a happy and 
 flourishing reign to ensue, as were now met in this young 
 king, called after Ms father’s name, Henry the Eighth. 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 Both nature and fortune conspired to render Queen 
 Elizabeth the ambition of her sex, and an ornament to 
 crowned heads. This is not a subject for the pen of a monk, 
 or any such cloistered writer. For such men, though keen 
 in style, are attached to their party ; and transmit things of 
 this nature unfaithfully to posterity. Certainly this is a 
 province for men of the flrst rank; or such as have sate at 
 the helm of states; and been acquainted with the depths 
 and secrets of civil afiairs. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 481 
 
 All ages have esteemed a female government a raiity ; if 
 prosperous, a wonder; and if both long and prosperous, 
 almost a miracle. But this lady reigned forty-four years 
 complete, yet did not outhve her felicity. Of this fehcity 
 I purpose to say somewhat, without running into praises; 
 for praise is the tribute of men, but fehcity the gift of God. 
 
 And first, I account it a part of her felicity, that she Vv'as 
 advanced to the throne from a private fortune. For it is 
 implanted in the nature of men, to esteem unexpected 
 success an additional fehcity. But what I mean, is, that 
 princes educated in courts, as the undoubted heirs of a crown, 
 are cornipted by indulgence, and thence generally rendered 
 less capable, and less moderate in the management of afiairs. 
 And, therefore, we find those the best rulers, v/ho are 
 disciplined by both fortunes. Such was, with us, King 
 Henry the Seventh, and with the French, Louis the Twelfth, 
 who both of them came to the crown almost at the same 
 time, not only from a private, but also from an adverse and 
 rugged fortune j and the former proved famous for his pru¬ 
 dence, the other for liis justice. In the same manner this 
 princess also had the dawn of her fortune chequered, but in 
 her reign it proved unusually constant and steady. From 
 her birth, she was entitled to the succession, but afterwards 
 disinherited, and then postponed. In the reign of her 
 brother, her fortune was more favourable and serene j but in 
 the reign of her sister, more hazardous and tempestuous. 
 Kor was she advanced on a sudden from a prison to the 
 throne, which might have made her haughty and vindictive, 
 but being restored to her liberty, and still growing in hopes, 
 at last in a happy calm, she obtained the crown without 
 opposition or competitor. And this I mention to sliow that 
 Divine Provudence intending an excellent princess, prepared 
 and advanced her by such degrees of discipline. 
 
 Kor ought the misfortimes of her mother to sully the 
 glory of her birth, especially, because it is evident that King 
 Henry the Eighth was engaged in a new amour before his 
 rage kindled against Queen Anne ; and because the temper 
 of that king is censured by posterity, as exceedingly prono 
 both to amours and jealousies, and violent in both, even to 
 the efiusion of blood. Add to this, that she was cut off 
 through an accusation manifestly improbable, and built upon 
 
 2 I 
 
 I 
 
4B2 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 slight conjectures, as vras then secretly \yliispere(l; ^ and 
 Queen Anne Herself protested her innocence with an un¬ 
 daunted greatness of mind, at the time of her death. ' Eor, 
 hy a faithful and generous messenger, as she supposed, she, 
 just before her execution, sent this message to the long; 
 
 That his majesty constantly held on in his purpose of heap¬ 
 ing new honours upon her, for that first he raised her from a 
 private gentlewoman, to the honour of a marchioness ; next 
 advanced her into a partnership of his bed and kingdom ; 
 and when now there remained no higher earthly honour, he 
 designed to promote her an innocent to the crovm of mar¬ 
 tyrdom.” But the messenger durst not carry this to the 
 king, now plunged in a new amour; though fame, the 
 asserter of truth, has transmitted it to posterity. 
 
 Again, it is no inconsiderable part of Queen Elizabeth’s 
 felicity, that the course of her reign was not only long, 
 but fell within that season of her life which is fittest for 
 governing. Thus she began her reign at twenty-five, and 
 continued it to the seventieth year of her age. So that she 
 neither felt the harshness of a minority, the checks of a 
 governor’s power, nor the inconveniences of extreme old age, 
 which is attended with miseries enough in private men, bitt 
 in crowned heads, besides the ordinary miseries, it usually 
 occasions a decay of the government, and ends with an in¬ 
 glorious exit. For scarce any king has lived to extreme old 
 age, without suffering some diminution in empire and esteem. 
 Of this we have an eminent instance in Philip the Second, 
 king of Spain, a potent prince, and admirably versed in the 
 avvts of government, who, in the decline of life, was thoroughly 
 ^jensible of this misfortune, and therefore wisely submitted 
 to the necessity of things, voluntarily quitted his acquisitions 
 in France, established a firm peace with that kingdom, and 
 attempted the like with others, that so he might leave all 
 quiet and composed to his successor. Queen Elizabeth’s 
 fortune, on the contrary, was so constant and fixed, that no 
 declension of affairs followed her lively, though declining age; 
 nay, for an assured monument of her felicity, .she died not 
 till the rebellion of Ireland ended in a victory, lest her 
 glory should otherwise have appeared any way ruffled or 
 incomplete. 
 
 It should likewise be considered over what kind of people she 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 483 
 
 reigned. For liad lier empire fallen among the Palmyrenians, 
 or in soft unwarlihe Asia, it had been a less wonder, since a 
 female in the throne would have suited an effeminate people; 
 but in England, a hardy military nation, for all things to be 
 directed and governed by a woman, is a matter of the highest 
 admiration. 
 
 Yet this temper of her people, eager for war, and im¬ 
 patient of peace, did not prevent her from maintaining it all 
 her reign. And this peaceable disposition of hers joined 
 with success, I reckon one of her chiefest praises; as being 
 happy for her people, becoming her sex, and a satisfaction to 
 her conscience. Indeed, about the tenth year of her reign, 
 there rose a small commotion in the north of her kingdom, 
 but it was presently suppressed. The rest of her reign 
 passed in a secure and profound peace. And I judge it a 
 glorious peace for two reasons, which, though they make 
 nothing to its merit, yet contribute much to its honour. The 
 one, that it was rendered more conspicuous and illustrious by 
 the calamities of our neighbours, as by so many flames about 
 us. The other, that the blessings of peace were not un¬ 
 attended with the glory of arms, since she not only preserved, 
 but advanced the honour of the English name for martial 
 greatness. For what by the supplies she sent into the 
 Netherlands, France, and Scotland; the expeditions by sea 
 to the Indies, and some of them round the world; the fleets 
 sent to infest Portugal, and the coasts of Spain; and what 
 by the frequent conquests and reductions of the Irish rebels, 
 we sufiered no decay in the ancient military fame and virtue 
 of our nation. 
 
 It is likewise a just addition to her glory, that neighbour¬ 
 ing princes were supported in their thrones by her timely 
 aids ; and that suppliant states, which, through the mis¬ 
 conduct of their kings, were abandoned, devoted to the 
 cruelty of their ministers, the fury of the multitude, and all 
 manner of desolation, were relieved by her. 
 
 Nor were her counsels less beneficent than her suppKes, as 
 ha^dng so often interceded with the king of‘Spain, to re¬ 
 concile him to his subjects in the Netherlands, and reduce 
 them to obedience, upon some tolerable conditions. And 
 she, with great sincerity, importmied the kings of France, by 
 repeated admonitions, to observe their own edicts, that pro- 
 
 2 I 2 
 
484 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 mised peace to their subjects. It is tnie her advice proved 
 ineffectual, for the common interest of Europe would not 
 allow the first, lest the ambition of Spain being uncurbed, 
 should fly out, as affairs then stood, to the prejudice of the 
 kingdoms and states of Christendom ; and the latter was 
 prevented by the massacre of so many innocent men, w^ho, 
 •with their wives and children, were butchered in their own 
 liouses by the scum of the peoj^le, armed and let loose like so 
 many beasts of prey upon them by public authority. This 
 bloodshed cried aloud for vengeance, that the kingdom 
 stained by so horrible an impiety might be expiated by 
 intestine slaughter. However, by interposing, she j)erformed 
 the part of a faithful, prudent, and generous ally. 
 
 There is also another reason for admiring this peaceful 
 reign, so much endeavoured and maintained by the queen, 
 viz., that it did not proceed from any disposition of the times, 
 but from her own prudent and discreet conduct. For as she 
 struggled with faction at home upon account of religion, and 
 as the strength and protection of this kingdom was a kind 
 of bulwark to all Europe against the extravagant ambition 
 and formidable power of Spain, there wanted no occasion of 
 war ; yet, with her force and policy, she surmounted these 
 difficulties. This appeared by the most memorable event in 
 point of felicity, that ever happened through the whole 
 course of affairs in our time. For when the Spanish Armada 
 entered our seas, to the terror of all Europe, and with such 
 assurance of victory, they took not a single boat of ours, nor 
 burnt the least cottage, nor touched our shore, but were 
 defeated in the engagement, dispersed by a miserable flighty 
 and frequent wrecks, and so left us at home in the enjoyment 
 of an undisturbed peace. 
 
 Nor was she less happy in disappointing conspiracies, than 
 in subduing the forces of her open enemies. For several 
 plots against her life were fortunately discovered, and de¬ 
 feated. And yet upon this account, she was not the more 
 fearful or anxious of her person, for she neither doubted her 
 guards, nor confined herself to her palace, but appeared in 
 public as usual, remembering her deliverance, but forgetting 
 her danger. 
 
 The nature of the times wherein the flourished must also 
 be considered. For some ages are so barbarous and ignoi'ant. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 485 
 
 that men may be a,s easily governed as sheep. Eut this 
 prmcess lived in a learned and polite age, when it was 
 impossible to be eminent without great parts, and a singular 
 habit of virtue. 
 
 Again, female reigns are usually eclipsed by marriage, and 
 all the praises thus transferred upon the husband; whilst 
 those who live single appropriate the whole glory to them¬ 
 selves. And this is more peculiarly the case of Queen 
 Elizabeth, because she had no supporters of her government 
 but those of her own making : she had no brother, no uncle, 
 nor any other of the royal family to partake her cares, and 
 share in her administration. And for those she advanced to 
 places of trust, she kept such a tight rein upon them, and 
 so distributed her favours, that she laid each of them under 
 the greatest obligation and concern to please her, whilst she 
 always remained mistress of herself. 
 
 She was indeed childless, and left no issue behind her, 
 which has been the case of many fortunate princes, as of 
 Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Trajan, &c., and is a 
 disputed point; some taking it for a diminution of felicity, 
 as if men could not be completely happy unless blessed botii 
 in their own persons, and in their children; and others 
 accounting it the perfection' of felicity, which then alone 
 seems to be complete, when fortune has no more powder over 
 it; which, if children are left behind, can never be the case. 
 
 She had likewise her outward embellishments; a tall 
 stature, a graceful shape and make, a most majestic aspect, 
 mixed with sweetness, and a happy state of health. Besides 
 all tills, she was strong and vigorous to the last; never ex¬ 
 perienced a reverse of fortune, nor felt the miseries of old 
 age, and obtained that complacency in death which Augustus 
 Csesar so passionately desired, by a gentle and easy exit. 
 Tills is also recorded of that excellent emperor, Antoninus 
 Pius, whose death resembled a sweet and gentle slumber. 
 So likewise in the distemper of the queen, there was nothing 
 shocking, nothing presaging, nothing unbecoming of human 
 natiu’e. She was not desirous of life, nor impatient under 
 sickness, nor racked with pain. She had no dire or dis¬ 
 agreeable symptom ; but all things were of that kind, as 
 argued rather the frailty, than the corruption or disgrace of 
 nature. Being emaciated by an extreme dryness of body, and 
 
48G 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 tlie cares that attend <mi, and never refreshed ^vith winej 
 or with a fall and plenidfril diet, she was, a few days before 
 her death, struck with a dead-palsy; yet, what is unusual 
 in that distemper, retained, in some degree, her speech, 
 memory, and motion. In this condition she continued but a 
 little w'hile, so that it did not seem the last act of her life, 
 but the first step to her death. For to live long after our 
 faculties are impaired, is accounted miserable j but for death 
 to hasten on with a gradual loss of tlie senses, is a gentle, a 
 pleasing, and an easy dissolution. 
 
 To fill up the measure of her felicity, she was exceeding 
 happy, not only in her own person, but also in the abilities 
 and wrtues of her ministers of state; for she had the fortune 
 to meet with such as perhaps this island never before pro¬ 
 duced at one time. But God, when he favours princes, raises 
 up and adorns the spirits of their ministers also. 
 
 There remain two posthumous felicities, which may seem 
 more noble and augmst than those that attended her living 
 —the one is that of her successor, and the other of her 
 memory; for she had such a successor, who, though he may 
 exceed and eclipse her greatness by his masculine virtues, his 
 issue, and a new accession of empire, yet is zealous of her 
 name and glory, and gives a kind of perpetuity to her acts, 
 having made little change either in the choice of ministers 
 or the method of government, so that a son rarely succeeds 
 a faiher with less alteration or disturbance. 
 
 As for her memory, it is so much in the mouths and so 
 fresh in the minds of men, tha-t envy being extinguished, and 
 her fame lit up by death, the felicity of her memory seems 
 to vie with the felicity of her life; for if through party zeal 
 or difierence in religion a factious report be spread abroad, it 
 is neither true nor can be long-lived. And for this reason 
 in particular I have made the present collection of her feli¬ 
 cities and the marks of the Dhnne favour towards her, that 
 no malicious person might dare to curse where God has so 
 liighly blessed. 
 
 If it should be here objected, as Cicero objected to Caesar, 
 
 We have matter enough to admire, but would gladly see 
 something to praise,” I answer, that true admiration is a 
 superlatfre degree of praise. Xor could that felicity above 
 described be the portion of any, but such as are remarkably 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 487 
 
 suppoi’ted and indulged by tlie . ne favour, and in some 
 measure worked it out by tbeir o\vn morals and virtues. I 
 shall, however, add a word or two as to the morals of the 
 queen, but only in such particulars as have occasioned some 
 malicious tonmies to traduce her. 
 
 O 
 
 As to her religion, she was pious, moderate, constant, and 
 an enemy to novelty; and for her piety, though the marks 
 of it are most conspicuous in her acts and administrations, 
 yet there were visible marks of it, both in the course of her 
 life and her ordinary conversation. She v>^as seldom absent 
 from divine service and other duties of religion, either in her 
 chapel or closet ; she was very conversant in the Scriptures 
 and writings of the fathers, especially St. Augustine. Her¬ 
 self composed certain prayers upon some emergent occasions. 
 When she mentioned the name of God, though in ordinary 
 discourse, she generally added the title of Creator, and com¬ 
 posed both her eyes and countenance to some sort of humi¬ 
 lity and reverence, which I have myself often observed. 
 
 As to what some have given out, that she was altogether 
 unmindful of mortality, so as not to bear the mention of old 
 age to death, it is absolutely false, for, several years before 
 her death, she would often facetiously call herself the old 
 woman,” and discourse about what kind of epitaph she liked, 
 adding, that she was no lover of pompous titles, but only 
 desired her name might be recorded in a line or two, which 
 should briefly express her name, her virginity, the time of 
 her reign, the reformation of religion under it, and her pre¬ 
 servation of peace.” It is true, in the flower of her age, 
 being importuned to declare her successor, she answered, 
 
 That she could by no means endure a shroud to be held 
 before her eyes while she was living.” And yet, some years 
 before her death, at a time when she was thoughtful, and 
 probably meditating upon her mortality, one of her familiars 
 mentioning in conversation that several great offices and 
 places in the state were kept vacant too long, she rose up 
 and said, with more than ordinary warmth, “ That she was 
 sure her place would not be long vacant.” 
 
 rTs to her moderation in religion, it may i^equire some 
 pause, because of the severity of the laws made against her 
 subjects of the Ilomish persuasion; but I will mention such 
 things as were well known and carefully observed by myself. 
 
488 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 It is certain she was in sentiments averse to tlie forcing 
 of conscience, yet, on tlie other hand, she would not suffer 
 the state to be endangered under the pretence of conscience 
 and religion. Hence she concluded, that to allow a liberty 
 and toleration of two religions by public authority in a mili- 
 taiy and high-mettled nation, that might easily fall from dif¬ 
 ference in judgment to blows, would be certain destruction. 
 Thus, in the beginning of her reign, when all things looked 
 suspicious, she kept some of the prelates, Avho were of a more 
 turbulent and factious s]3irit, prisoners at large, though not 
 without the warrant of the law; but to the rest of both 
 orders she used no severe inquisition, but protected them ly 
 a generous connivance. And this was the posture of affairs 
 at first. ISTor did she abate much of this clemency, though 
 l)rovoked by the excommunication of Poj^e Pius Quintus, 
 which might ' have raised her indignation, and driven her to 
 new measures, but still she retained her own generous tem¬ 
 per ; for this prudent and courageous lady was not moved 
 Avith the noise of those terrible threats, being secure of the 
 fidelity and affection of her subjects, and of tlie inability of 
 the Popish faction within the kingdom to hurt her, unless 
 seconded by a foreign enemy. 
 
 But about the three-and-twentieth year of her reign the 
 face of affairs changed. This difference of the times is not 
 artfully feigned to serve a turn, but stands expressed in the 
 public records, and engraven as it were in leaves of brass; 
 for before that year none of her subjects of the Pomish 
 religion had been punished with any severity by the laws 
 formerly enacted. But now the ambitious and monstrous 
 designs of Spain, to conquer this kingdom, began by degrees 
 to open themselves; a principal part of which was, by all 
 public ways and means, to raise a faction in the heart of the 
 kingdom of such as were disaffected and desirous of innova¬ 
 tion, in order to join the enemy upon the invasion. Their 
 hopes of effecting this were grounded upon the difference 
 there was amongst us in religion, whence they resolved to 
 labour this point effectually. And the seminaries at that 
 time budding, priests were sent into England to sow and 
 raise up an affection for the Pomish religion, to teach and 
 inculcate the validity of the pope’s excommunication in re¬ 
 leasing subjects from their allegiance, and to awaken and 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 489 
 
 prepare men’s minds to an expectation of a cliange in tlie 
 governme nt, j 
 
 About tfie same time Ireland was attempted by an inva¬ 
 sion, and the name and government of Queen Elizabeth 
 vilified and traduced by scandalous libels; in short, there was 
 an unusual swelling in the state, the prognostic of a greater 
 commotion. Yet I will not affirm that all the priests were 
 concerned in the plot, dr privy to the designs then carrying 
 on, but only that they were corrupt instmments of other 
 men’s malice. It is, however, attested by the confession of 
 many, that almost all the priests sent into this kingdom from 
 the year above-mentioned to the thirtieth year of the queen, 
 wherein the design of Spain and the pope was put in execu¬ 
 tion by the armada, had it in their instructions, among other 
 parts of their function, to insinuate That afifairs could not 
 possibly continue long as they were, that they would soon 
 put on a new face, that the pope and the Catholic princes 
 would take care for the English state, provided the English 
 Avere not their own hindrance.” Again, some of the priests 
 had manifestly engaged themseh’es in plots and contrivances, 
 vrhich tended to the undermining and subA^erting of the 
 goA^ernment, and was the strongest proof the whole train of 
 the plot AA'as discoA-ered by letters intercepted from seA^eral 
 parts, wherein it was expressly mentioned, That the Augi- 
 lancy of the queen and her council, in respect of the Catho¬ 
 lics would be baffled, because the queen only watched that 
 no nobleman or person of distinction should rise to head the 
 Catholic faction; whereas the design they laid w^as, that all 
 things should be disposed and prepared by private men of an 
 inferior rank AAdthout their conspiring or consulting together, 
 but Avholly in the secret way of confession.” And these were 
 the artifices then practised, Avhich are so familiar and custo- 
 
 marv to that order of men. 
 
 «/ 
 
 In such an impending storm of dangers the queen Avas 
 obliged, by the laAv of necessity, to restrain such of her sub¬ 
 jects as Avere disafiected and rendered incurable by these 
 poisons, and Avho in the meantime began to groAv rich by 
 retirement and exemption from public offlces; and accord¬ 
 ingly some severer laws AA’ere enacted. But the evil daily 
 increasing, and the origin thereof being charged upon the 
 seminary priests, bred in foreign parts, and supported by tlio 
 
490 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 boimuy and benevolence of foreign princes, the professed 
 enemies of tbis kingdom, which priests had lived in places 
 Y/here the name of Queen Elizabeth was always tacked to 
 the titles of heretic, excommunicated, and accursed, and who, 
 though they themselves were not engaged in the treasonable 
 practices, yet were known to be the intimate friends of such 
 as had set their hands to '^dllanies of that kind, and who by 
 tlieir arts and poisonous insinuations had infected the whole 
 body of the Catholics, which before was less malignant; there 
 could no other remedy be found but the forbidding such 
 persons all entrance into this Idngdom upon pain of death, 
 which at last, in the twenty-seventh year of her reign, was 
 accordingly enacted. 
 
 Yet the event itself, which followed soon after, when so 
 violent storm fell upon this kingdom with all its weight, did 
 not in the least abate the envy and hatred of these men, but 
 rather increased it, as if they had divested themselves of all 
 affection to their country. And afterwards indeed, though 
 cur fears of Spavin, the occasion of this severity, were abated ; 
 yet because the memory of the former times was deeply im¬ 
 printed in men’s minds, and because it would have looked 
 like inconstancy to have abrogated the laws already made, or 
 remissness to have neglected them, the very constitution and 
 nature of affairs suggested to the queen that she could not 
 with safety return to the state of things that obtained before 
 the three-and-twentieth year of her reign. 
 
 To this may be added the industry of some to increase the 
 revenues of the exchequer, and the earnestness of the minis¬ 
 ters of justice, who usually regard no other safety of their 
 country but what consists in the law, both which called 
 loudly for the laws to be put in execution. However, the 
 queen, as a specimen of her good nature, so far took off the 
 edge of the law, that but a few priests in proportion were 
 put to death. And this we say not by way of defence, for 
 the case needs none, as the safety of the kingdom turned 
 upon it; and as the measure of all this severity came far 
 short of those bloody massacres that are scarce fit to be 
 named among Christians, and have proceeded rather from 
 arrogance and malice than from necessity in the Catholic 
 countries, and thus we think we have made it appear that 
 the queen was moderate in the point of religion, and that 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 40i 
 
 the change which ensued was not owing to her natui’e, but 
 to the necessity of the times. 
 
 The greatest proof of her constancy in religion and reli¬ 
 gious worship is, that notwithstanding Popery, which in her 
 sister’s reign had been strenuously established by public 
 authority and the utmost diligence, began now to take deep 
 root, and was confirmed by the consent and zeal of all those 
 in office and places of trust; yet because it was not agTeeable 
 to the Word of God, nor to the primitive purity, nor to her 
 own conscience, she, with much courage and with very few 
 helps, extirpated and abolished it. Nor did she do this pre- 
 cipitantly or in a heat, but prudently and seasonably, as may 
 appear from many particulars, and among the rest from a 
 certain answer she occasionally made; for upon her first ac¬ 
 cession to the throne, when the prisoners, according to cus¬ 
 tom, were released, as she went to chapel, a courtier, who 
 took a more than ordinary freedom, whether of his own 
 motion or set on by a wiser head, delivered a petition into 
 her hand, and in a great concourse of people, said aloud, 
 “ That there were still four or five prisoners unjustly de¬ 
 tained, that he came to petition for their liberty as well as 
 the rest, and these were the four Evangelists and the Apostle 
 St. Paul, who had been long imprisoned in an unkno'svn 
 tongue, and not sufiered to converse with the people.” The 
 queen answered with gveat prudence, That it was best to 
 consult them first, whether they were willing to be released 
 or no.” And by thus striking a surprising question with a 
 wary, doubtful answer, she reserved the whole matter en¬ 
 tirely in her ovm breast. 
 
 Nor yet did she introduce this alteration timorously, and 
 by fits and starts, but orderly, gravely, and maturely j after 
 a conference betwixt the parties, and calling a parhament; 
 and thus, at length, within the compass of one year, she so 
 ordered and established all things belonging to the church, 
 as not to suffer the least alteration afterwards, during her 
 reign. Nay, almost every session of parliament, her public 
 admonition was, that no innovation might be made in tho 
 discipline or rites of the church. And thus much for her 
 religion. 
 
 Some of the graver sort may, perhaps, aggravate hei levi¬ 
 ties j in loffing to be admired and courted, nay, and to have 
 
492 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 love-poems made on lier; and continuing this humour longei 
 than was decent for her years : yet to take even these mat¬ 
 ters in a milder sense, they claim a due admiration j being 
 often found in fabulous narrations j as that of “ a certain 
 queen in the fortunate islands, in whose court love wa^ 
 allowed, but lust banished.” Or if a harsher construction 
 can be put upon them, they are still to be highly admired; 
 as these gaieties did not much eclipse her fame, nor in the 
 least obscure her grandeur, nor injure her government, nor 
 hinder the administration of her affairs; for things of this 
 sort are rarely so well tempered and regulated in princes. 
 
 Tliis queen was certainly good and moral; and as such 
 she desired to appear. She hated vice, and studied to grow 
 famous by honourable courses. Thus, for examj)le, having 
 once ordered an express to be written to her ambassador, 
 containing certain instructions, which he was privately to 
 impart to the queen-mother of France, her secretary inserted 
 a clause for the ambassador to use, importing, That they 
 were two queens, from whose experience, and arts of govern¬ 
 ment, no less Avas expected than from the greatest kings.” 
 She could not bear the comparison; but ordered it to be 
 struck out, sa}T.ng, She used quite different arts and 
 methods of government, from the queen-mother.” 
 
 She was, also, not a little pleased, if any one by chance 
 had dropped such an expression as this, That though she had 
 lived in a private .station, her excellencies could not have 
 passed unobserved by the eye of the Avorld.” So unAvilling 
 was she, that any of her virtue, or praise, should be oAving to 
 the height of her fortune. 
 
 But if I should enter upon her praises, Avhether moral ot 
 political, I must either fall into a common-place of virtues. 
 Avliich Avill be unAA'orthy of so extraordinary a princess; or if 
 I Avould give them their proper grace and lustre, I must 
 enter into a history of her life; Avhich requires more leisure 
 and a richer vein than mine. To speak the truth, the only 
 proper encomiast of this lady is time ; Avhich, for so many 
 ages as it has run, neA^er produced anything Like her, of the 
 same sex, for the goAxrnment of a kiagdom. 
 
HENRY. PRINCE OF WALEg. 
 
 493 
 
 THE PEAISE OF 
 
 HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES. 
 
 Henry, prince of Wales, eldest son of the king of Great 
 Britain, happy in the hopes conceived of liim, and now happy 
 in his memory, died on the 6th of ISTovemher, 1612, to the 
 extreme concern and regret of the whole kingdom, being a 
 youth who had neither offended nor satiated the minds of 
 men. He had by the excellence of his disposition excited 
 high expectations among great numbers of all ranks ; nor 
 had through the shortness of his life disappointed them. 
 One capital cmcumstance added to these was the esteem in 
 which he was commonly held of being firm to the cause of 
 religion : and men of the best judgment were fully persuaded 
 that his life was a great support and security to his father 
 from the danger of conspiracies ; an evil against which our 
 age has scarce found a remedy; so that the people’s love of 
 religion and the king overflowed to the prince ; and this 
 consideration deservedly heightened the sense of the loss of 
 him. His person was strong and erect; his stature of a 
 middle size ; his limbs well made ; his gait and deportment 
 majestic ; his face long and inclining to leanness; his habit 
 of body full; liis look grave, and the motion of his eyes 
 rather composed than spirited. In his countenance were 
 some marks of severity, and in his air some appearance of 
 haughtiness. But whoever looked beyond these outward 
 circumstances, and addressed and softened him with a due 
 respect and seasonable discourse, found the prince to be 
 gracious and easy, so that he seemed wholly different in con^ 
 versation from what he was in appearance, and in fact raised 
 in others an opinion of himself very unlike what his manner 
 would at first have suggested. He was unquestionably 
 ambitious of commendation and glory, and was strongly 
 affected by every appearance of what is good and honour¬ 
 able, which in a young man is to be considered as virtue. 
 Arms and military men were liighly valued by him ; and ho 
 breatluxi himself something warlike. He was much devoted 
 
494 
 
 HENRY, PRINC^E OF WALES. 
 
 to the magnificence of buildings and w^orks of all kinds* 
 tbougk in other respects ratlier frugal; and was a lover both, 
 of antiquity and arts. He showed his esteem of learning in 
 general more by the countenance which he gave to it, than 
 by the time wliich he spent in it. His conduct in respect of 
 morals did him the utmost honour; for he was thought exact in 
 the knowledge and practice of every duty. His obedience 
 to the king his father was wonderfully strict and exemplary; 
 towards the queen he behaved with the highest reverence : 
 to his brother he was indulgent; and had an entire afiection 
 for his sister, whom he resembled in person as much as that 
 of a young man could the beauty of a virgin. The instructors 
 of his younger years (which rarely happens) continued high 
 in his favour. In conversation, he both expected a proper 
 decorum and practised it. In the daily business of life, and 
 the allotment of hours for the several offices of it, he was 
 more constant and regular than is usual at his age. His 
 affections and passions were not strong, but rather equal than 
 warm. With regard to that of love, there was a wonderful 
 silence, considering his age, so that he passed that dangerous 
 time of his youth in the highest fortune, and in a vigorous 
 state of health, without any remarkable imputation of gal¬ 
 lantry. In his court no person was observed to have any 
 ascendant over him, or strong interest with him : and even 
 the studies with which he was most delighted had rather 
 proper times assigned them, than were indulged to excess, 
 and were rather repeated in their turns, than that any one 
 kind of them had the preference of and controlled the rest : 
 whether this arose from the moderation of his temper, and 
 that in a genius not very forward, but ripening by slow 
 degrees, it did not yet appear what would be the prevailing 
 object of his inclination. He had certainly strong parts, and 
 was endued both with curiosity and capacity; but in speech 
 he was slow, and in some measure hesitating. But whoever 
 diligently observed what fell from liim, either by way of 
 question or remark, saw it to be full to the purpose, and 
 expressive of no common genius. So that under that slow¬ 
 ness and infrequency of discourse, his judgment had more the 
 appearance of suspense and solicitude to determine rightly, 
 than of weakness and want of apprehension. In the mean¬ 
 time he was wonderfully patient in hearing, eYQxi in business 
 
HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 495 
 
 of the greatest length ; and this vdth unwearied attention, 
 so that his mind seldom wandered from the subject, or 
 seemed fatigued, but he applied liimself wholly to what was 
 said or done, which (if his life had been lengthened) pro¬ 
 mised a very superior degree of prudence. There were 
 indeed in the prince some things obscure, and not to be dis¬ 
 covered by the sagacity of any person, but by time only^ 
 which was denied him ; but what appeared were excellent, 
 which is sufficient for his fame. 
 
 He died in the nineteenth year of his age, of an obstinate 
 fever, which dm'ing the summer, through the excessive hea.t 
 and diyness of the season, unusual to islands, had been ej)i- 
 demical, though not fatal, but in autumn became more 
 mortal. Fame, which, as Tacitus says, is more tragical with 
 resj^ect to the deaths of princes, added a suspicion of poison; 
 but as no signs of this appeared, especially in his stomach, 
 wliich uses to be chiefly aflected by poison, this report soon 
 vanished. 
 
 THE BEGINNING 
 
 OF THE 
 
 HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 By the decease of Elizabeth, queen of England, the issues 
 of Ejng Henry the Eighth failed, being spent in one genera¬ 
 tion, and three successions. For that king, though he were 
 one of the goodliest persons of his time, yet he left only by 
 his six wives three children, who, reigning successively, and 
 dying childless, made place to the line of Margaret, his eldest 
 sister, married to James tbe Fourth, king of Scotland. There 
 succeeded therefore to the kingdom of England, James the 
 Sixth, then king of Scotland, descended of the same Mar¬ 
 garet both by father and mother ; so that by a rare event in 
 the pedigrees of kings, it seemed as if the Divine Providence, 
 to extinguish and take away all envy and note of a stranger, 
 had doubled upon his person, within the cii’cle of one age, the 
 
496 
 
 HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAI^iT. 
 
 royal blood of England, by both parents. This succession 
 drew towards it tlie eyes of all men, being one of tlie most 
 memorable accidents that had happened a long time in the 
 Christian world. Eor the kingdom of France having been 
 reunited in the age before in all the pro^dnces thereof for¬ 
 merly dismembered ; and the kingdom of Spain being, of 
 more fresh memory, united and made entire, by the annexing 
 of Portugal in the person of Philip the Second; there 
 remained but this tliird and last union for the counterpoising 
 of the power of these three great monarchies, and the dispos¬ 
 ing of the affairs of Europe thereby to a more assured and 
 universal peace and concord. And this event did hold men’s 
 observations and discourses the more, because the island of 
 Great Britain, divided from the rest of the world, was never 
 before united in itself under one king, notwithstanding the 
 people be of one language, and not separate by mountains or 
 great waters; and notwithstanding also that the uniting of 
 them had been in former times industriously attempted both 
 by war and treaty. Therefore it seemed a manifest work of 
 Providence, and a case of reservation for these times; inso¬ 
 much that the vulgar conceived that now there was an end 
 given, and a consummation to superstitious prophecies, the 
 belief of fools, but the talk sometimes of wise men, and to an 
 ancient tacit expectation Avhich had by tradition been infused 
 and inveterated into men’s minds. But as the best divina¬ 
 tions and predictions are the politic and probable foresight 
 and conjectures of wise men, so in tliis matter the providence 
 of King Henry the Seventh was in all men’s mouths j who 
 being one of the deepest and most prudent princes of the 
 world, upon the deliberation concerning the marriage of his 
 eldest daughter into Scotland, had, by some speech uttered 
 by him, showed himself sensible and almost prescient of this 
 event. 
 
 Neither did there want a concurrence of divers rare 
 external circumstances, besides the virtues and condition of 
 the person, which gave great reputation to this succession. 
 A king in the strength of his years, supported with great 
 alliances abroad, established with royal issue at home, at 
 peace with all the world, practised in the regiment of such a 
 kingdom, as might rather enable a king by variety of acci¬ 
 dents than corrupt him with affluence or vain-glory; and one 
 
HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 497 
 
 thatj besides his universal capacity and judgment, was notably 
 exercised and practised in matters of religion and the church, 
 which in these times, by the confused use of both swords, are 
 become so intermixed with considerations of estate, as most 
 of the counsels of sovereign princes or republics depend upon 
 them; but nothing did more fill foreign nations with admira¬ 
 tion and expectation of his succession than the wonderful 
 and, by them, unexpected consent of all estates and subjects 
 of England, for the receiving of the king without the least 
 scruple, pause, or question. For it had been generally dis- 
 jiersed by the fugitives beyond the seas, who, partly to apply 
 themselves to the ambition of foreigners, and partly to give 
 estimation and value to their own employments,' used to 
 represent the state of England in a false light, that after 
 Queen Elizabeth’s decease there must follow in England 
 nothing but confusions, interreigns, and perturbations of 
 estate, likely far to exceed the ancient calamities of the civil 
 wars between the houses of Lancaster and York, by how 
 much more the dissensions were like to be more mortal and 
 bloody when foreign competition should be added to domes¬ 
 tical, and divisions for religion to matter of title to the 
 croAvn. And in special, Parsons the Jesuit, under a dis¬ 
 guised name, had not long before published an express 
 treatise, wherein, whether his malice made him believe his 
 own fancies, or whether he thought it the fittest way to 
 move sedition, like evil spirits, which seem to foretell the 
 tempest they mean to move; he laboured to display and 
 give colour to all the vain pretences and dreams of succes¬ 
 sion which he could imagine, and thereby had possessed 
 many abroad that knew not the affairs here, with those liis 
 vanities. Neither wanted there here within this realm 
 divers persons both wise and well affected, who, though they 
 doubted not of the undoubted right, yet setting before them¬ 
 selves the waves of people’s hearts, guided no less by sudden 
 and temporary winds than by the natural course and motion 
 of the waters, were not without fear what might be the 
 event. For Queen Elizabeth being a princess of extreme 
 caution, and yet one that loved admiration above safety, and 
 knowing the declaration of a successor might in point of 
 safety be disputable, but in point of admiration and respect 
 assuredly to her disadvantage, had from the beginning set it 
 
 2 K 
 
498 
 
 HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 down for a maxim of estate to impose a silence toiicliing 
 succession. Neither was it only reserved as a secret of 
 estate, but restrained by severe laws, that no man should 
 presume to give opinion or maintain argument touching the 
 same; so, though the evidence of right drew all the subjects 
 of the land to think one thing, yet the fear of danger of law 
 made no man privy to others’ thought. And therefore it 
 rejoiced all men to see so fair a morning of a kingdom, and 
 to be thoroughly secured of former apprehensions, as a mau 
 that awaketh out of a fearful dream. But so it was, that 
 not only the consent but the applause and joy was infinite, 
 and not to be expressed, throughout the realm of England, 
 upon this succession; whereof the consent, no doubt, may be 
 truly ascribed to the clearness of the right, but the general 
 joy, alaciity, and gratulation, were the effects of differing 
 causes. For Queen Elizabeth, although she had the use of 
 many both virtues and demonstrations that might draw and 
 knit unto her the hearts of her people, yet nevertheless car¬ 
 rying a hand restrained in gift, and strained in points of 
 prerogative, could not answer the votes either of servants or 
 subjects to a full contentment, especially in her latter days, 
 when the continuance of her reign, which extended to five- 
 and-forty years, might discover in people their natural desire 
 and inclination towards change; so that a new court and a 
 new reign were not to many unwelcome. Many were glad, 
 and especially those of settled estate and fortune, that the 
 fears and uncertainties were overblown, and that the die was 
 cast. Others, that had made their way with the king, or 
 offered their service in the time of the former queen, thought 
 now the time was come for which they had prepared; and 
 generally all such as had any dependence upon the late eaid 
 of Essex, who had mingled the service of his own ends with 
 the popular pretence of advancing the king’s title, made 
 account their cause was amended. Again, such as might 
 misdoubt they had given the king any occasion of distaste, 
 did contend by their forwardness and confidence to show it 
 was but their fastness to the former government, and that 
 those affections ended with the time. The papists nourished 
 their hopes, by collating the case of the papists in England 
 and under Queen Elizabeth, and the case of tt.e papists in 
 Scotland under the king; interpreting that the condition of 
 
JULIUS CJSSAR. . 
 
 499 
 
 tliem in Scotland was tlie less grievous, and divining of fclie 
 king’s government here accordingly, besides the comfoi*t they 
 ministered to themselves from the memory of the queen his 
 mother. The ministers, and those which stood for the pres¬ 
 bytery, thought their cause had more sympathy with the 
 discipline of Scotland than the hierarchy of England, and so 
 took themselves to be a degree nearer their desires. Thus 
 had every condition of persons some contemplation of benefit, 
 which they promised themselves—over-reaching, perhaps, 
 according to the nature of hope, but yet not without some 
 probable ground of conjecture. At which time also there 
 came forth in print the king’s book, entitled Bao*At/cor Aujpov, 
 containing matter of instruction to the prince his son touch* 
 ing the office of a king; which book falling into every man’s 
 hand, filled the whole realm, as with a good perfume or in¬ 
 cense, before the king’s coming in; for being excellently 
 written, and having nothing of affectation, it did not only 
 satisfy better than particular reports touching the king’s 
 disposition, but far exceeded any formal or curious edict or 
 declaration, which could have been devised of that nature, 
 wherewith princes in the beginning of their reigns do use to 
 grace themselves, or at least express themselves gracious in 
 the eyes of their people. And this was for the general the 
 state and constitution of men’s ruinds upon tliis change; the 
 actions themselves passed in this manner^ 
 
 4 ^ AU 
 
 W ^ ^ W W W 
 
 T/ie rest is wanting. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Julius Cuesar, at the first, encountered a rugged fortune, 
 which turned to his advantage : for this curbed his pride, 
 and spurred his industry. He was a man of unruly passions 
 and desires; but extremely clear and settled in his judg¬ 
 ment and understanding; as appears by his ready address; 
 to extricate himself both in action and discourse; for no 
 man ever resolved quicker, or spoke clearer. But liis will 
 
 2 k2 
 
500 
 
 JULIUS aESAR. 
 
 and appetite were restless, and ever laiinclied out beyond Iiis 
 acqidsitions j yet the transitions of his actions were not rasli, 
 but well concerted : for he always brought his undertakings 
 to complete and perfect periods. Thus, after having obtained 
 numerous victories, and procured a great degree of security 
 in Spain, he did not sliglit the remains of the civil war in 
 that country ; but having, in person, seen all things fully 
 composed and settled there, he immediately went upon his 
 expedition against the Parthians. 
 
 He was, without dispute, a man of a great and noble soul ; 
 though rather bent upon procuring his own private advan- 
 tage, than good to the public : for he referred all things to 
 himself, and was the truest centre of his own actions. 
 Whence flowed his great and almost perpetual felicity and 
 success : for neither his country nor religion, neither good 
 offices, relations, nor friends, could check or moderate his 
 designs. Again, he was not greatly bent upon preserving 
 his memory; for he neither established a state of things, 
 built lasting monuments, nor enacted laws of perpetuity, but 
 worked entirely for his own present and private ends; thus 
 confining his thoughts within the limits of his own times. 
 It is true, he endeavoured after fame and reputation, as he 
 judged they might be of* service to his designs; but cer¬ 
 tainly, in his heart, he rather aimed at power than dignity, 
 and courted reputation and honours only as they were in¬ 
 struments of power and grandeur. So that he was led, not 
 by any laudable course of discipline, but by a kind of natural 
 impulse, to the sovereignty; which he rather affected to 
 seize, than appear to deserve. 
 
 This procedure ingi-atiated him with the people, who had 
 no dignity to lose ; but, among the nobility and gentry, who 
 desired to retain their honours, it gained him the character 
 of a bold, aspiring man. And certainly they judged right; 
 for he was naturally very audacious, and never put on the 
 appearance of modesty but to serve a turn. Yet this daring 
 spirit of his was so tempered, that it neither subjected him 
 to the censure of rashness, or intolerable haughtiness, nor 
 rendered his nature suspected; but was taken to proceed 
 from a certain simplicity and freedom of behaviour, joined with 
 the nobility of his birth. And in all other respects he had 
 the reputation, not of a cunning and designing, but of an 
 
JULIUS C.^SAH. 
 
 501 
 
 open and sincere man. And though he was a perfect master 
 of dissimulation, and wholly made up of ai't, without leaving 
 anything to nature but what art had proved, yet nothing of 
 , design or affectation appeared in his carriage : so that he 
 was thought to follow his own natural disposition. He did 
 not, however, stoop to any mean artifices, which men un¬ 
 practised in the world, who depend not upon their own 
 strength, but the abilities of others, employ to support their 
 authority : for he was perfectly skilled in all the ways of 
 men, and transacted everything of consequence in his ovni 
 person, without the interposition of others. 
 
 He had the perfect secret of extinguishing envy, and 
 thought it proper in his proceedings to secure this efiect, 
 though with some diminution of his dignity. For being 
 wholly bent upon real power, he almost constantly declined, 
 and contentedly postponed all the empty show, and gaudy 
 appearance of greatness : till at length, whether satiated 
 with enjoyment, or corrupted by flattery, he affected even 
 the ensigns of royalty, the style and diadem of a king, which 
 proved his ruin. He entertained the thought of dominion 
 from his very youth; and this was easily suggested to him 
 by the example of Sylla, the affinity of Marius, the emulation 
 of Pompey, and the corruption and troubles of the times. 
 But he paved his way to it in a wonderful manner : first, by 
 a popular and seditious, and afterwards by a military and 
 imperial force. For at the entrance he was to break through 
 the power and authority of the senate; which remaining 
 entire, there was no passage to an immoderate and extra¬ 
 ordinary sovereignty. Next, the power of Crassus and Pom¬ 
 pey was to be subdued, which could not be but by arms. 
 And, therefore, like a skilful architect of his own fortune, he 
 began and carried on his first structure by largesses; by 
 corrupting the courts of justice; by renewing the memory 
 of Caius Marius and his party, whfist most of the senators 
 and nobility were of Sylla’s faction; by the Agrarian laws; 
 by seditious tribunes, whom he instigated; by the fury of 
 Catiline, and his conspirators, whom he secretly favoured ; 
 by the banishment of Cicero, upon whom the authority of 
 the senate turned; and other the like artifices : but what 
 finished the affair, was the alliance of Ci'tvssus and Pompey, 
 ioined with himself. 
 
 9 
 
502 
 
 JULIUS C^AR. 
 
 Having tlius secured all matters on this side, he directly 
 turned to the other; he was now made proconsul of Gaul 
 for five years, and afterwards continued for five more ; he 
 was furnished with arms, legions, and commanded a warlike 
 province, adjacent to Italy. For he knew that, after he had 
 strengthened himself with arms and a military power, nei¬ 
 ther Crassus nor Pompey could make head against him ; the 
 one trusting to his riches, the other to his fame and repu¬ 
 tation ; the one decaying in age, the other in authority; and 
 neither of them resting upon true and solid foundations. 
 And all this succeeded to his wish; especially as he had 
 bound and obliged all the senators, magistrates, and those 
 who had any power, so firmly to himself, by private benefits, 
 that he feared no conspiracy or combination against his de¬ 
 signs ; till he had openly invaded the state. And though 
 this was ever his scheme, and at last put in execution, yet 
 he did not unmask; but what by the reasonableness of his 
 demands, his pretences of peace, and moderating his suc¬ 
 cesses, he turned the whole load of envy upon the opposite 
 party ; and appeared to take arms of necessity, for his own 
 preservation and safety. The emptiness of this pretence 
 manifestly appeared, when the civil wars were ended; all 
 his rivals, that might give him any disturbance, slain; and 
 he possessed of the regal power; for now he never onoe 
 thought of restoring the republic, nor so much as pretended 
 it. Which plainly showed, as the event confirmed, that his 
 designs were all along upon the sovereignty; and, accord¬ 
 ingly he never seized occasions as they happened, but raised 
 and worked them out himself. 
 
 His principal talent lay in military matters; wherein he 
 so excelled, that he could not only lead, but mould an army 
 to his mind. For he Avas as skilful in governing men’s pas¬ 
 sions, as in conducting afiairs; and this he did not by any 
 ordinary discipline, that taught his soldiers obedience, stung 
 them with shame^ or awed them by severity; but in such a 
 manner, as raised a surprising ardour and alacrity in them, 
 and made them confident of victory and success; thus 
 endearing the soldiery to him, more than was convenient for 
 a free state. And as he was well versed in war of all kinds, 
 and as he joined civil and military arts together, nothing 
 could come so suddenly upon him, but he had an expedient 
 
JULIUS C^AB. 
 
 503 
 
 ready for it; notliing so adverse, but be drew some advan¬ 
 tage from it. 
 
 He bad a due regard to bis person; for in great battles 
 be would sit in bis pavilion, and manage all by adjutants. 
 Wbence be received a double advantage; as thus coming tbe 
 seldomer in danger; and in case of an unfortunate turn, 
 could animate and renew tbe figbt, by bis own presence, as 
 by a firesb supply. In all bis military preparations be did 
 not square bimself to precedents only, but ever with exqui¬ 
 site judgment, took new measures, according to tbe present 
 exigence. 
 
 He was constant, singularly beneficent, and indulgent in 
 bis friendsbips ; but made sucb choice of friends, as easily 
 showed that be sought for those who might forward, and 
 not obstruct bis designs. And as be was both by natui*e 
 and habit led, not to be eminent among great men, but to 
 command among inferiors, be made friends of mean and 
 industrious persons, to whom be alone gave law. As for tbe 
 nobility, and bis equals, be contracted friendship mtb them 
 just as they might serve bis turn; and admitted none to bis 
 intimacies, but sucb whose whole expectations centered upon 
 him. 
 
 He was tolerably learned; but chiefly in what related to 
 civil policy. For be was well versed in history; and per¬ 
 fectly understood both tbe edge and weight of words : and 
 because be attributed much to bis good stars, be affected to 
 be thought skilful in astronomy. His eloquence was natural 
 to him, and pure. 
 
 He was given to pleasures, and proflise in them, which 
 served at bis first setting out as a cloak to bis ambition; for 
 no danger was apprehended from one of this cast. Yet be 
 so governed bis pleasures, that they were no prejudice to 
 bimself, nor business; but rather whetted than blunted tbe 
 vigour of bis mind. He was temperate in diet, not debcate 
 in bis amours, and pleasant and magnificent at public 
 shows. 
 
 This being bis character, tbe same thing at last was tbe 
 means of bis fall which at first was a step to bis rise, viz., 
 his affectation of popularity : for nothing is more popular 
 than to forgive our enemies. Through which virtue, or cun¬ 
 ning, be lost bis life. 
 
504 
 
 AUGUSTUS C^AR. 
 
 AUGUSTUS C^SAR. 
 
 If ever mortal bad a great, serene, well-regulated mind, it 
 v/as Augustus Caesar ; as appears by tbe beroical actions of 
 bis early youtb. For men of a turbulent nature commonly 
 pass tbeir youtb in various errors, and in tbeir middle age 
 first begin to sbow themselves; but those of a sedate and 
 calm disposition may shine even in tbe bud. And as tbe 
 perfection of the mind, like that of tbe body, consists in 
 health, gracefulness, and strength; in tbe latter be was 
 inferior to bis uncle Julius ; but in beauty and health of 
 mind superior. For Jubus Csesar, being of a restless, dis¬ 
 composed spirit, as those generally prove who are troubled 
 mth tbe falling-sicknesses, yet cleared tbe way to bis own 
 ends with tbe utmost address and prudence. His error was 
 tbe not rightly fixing bis ends; but with an insatiable and 
 unnatural appetite still pursuing further views. Whereas 
 Augustus, sober and mindful of bis mortality, seemed to 
 have thoroughly weighed bis ends, and laid them down in 
 admirable order. For first be desired to have tbe sovereign 
 rule, next be endeavoured to appear worthy of it, then 
 thought it but reasonable, as a man, to enjoy bis exalted 
 fortune, and lastly, be turned bis thoughts to such actions as 
 might perpetuate bis name, and transmit some image and 
 effect of bis government to futurity. . Hence in bis youtb be 
 affected power; in bis middle age, dignity; in bis decline of 
 life, pleasure; and in bis old age, fame, and the good of 
 posterity. 
 
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