Containing the Description of VTOPIA, with a large decla­ration of the politike govern­ment, and of all the good Lawes and Orders of the same Iland.

THe Iland of VTO­PIA, The fight and fashi­on of the new Iland Ʋtopia. containeth in bredth in the mid­dle part of it (for there it is broadest) 200 miles. Which bredth conti­nueth through the most part of the Land, saving that by little it cōmeth in, and waxeth narrower [Page 108] towards both the ends: which fet­ching about a circuit or compasse of 500 miles, doe fashion y ^• whole Iland like to the new Moone. between these two corners the Sea rūneth in, dividing them a funder by the distance of 11 miles or there abouts, & there surmounteth into a large Sea, which by rea­son that the Land on every side of passeth it about, and sheltreth it from the winds, is not rough, nor mounteth not with great waves, but almost floweth quietly not much vnlike a great standing poole: and maketh well-nigh all the space within the belly of the Land in māner of a haven: and to the great cōmodity of the inhabi­tants, receiveth in Ships towards every part of the land. The fore­front, or frontiers of the two cor­ners, what with bords and shelves and what with rocke, be jeopar­dous and dangerous. In the mid­dle distance between them both, standeth up above the water a great Rock, which therefore it is [Page 109] is nothing perilous because it is in sight. Vpon the top of this rock is A place naturally [...]eaced, nee­deth one Garrison. a faire and strong tower builded, which they hold with a garrison of men. Other rockes there be ly­ing hid under the water, which therfore be dangerous. The chan­nels be knowne onely to them­selves. And therefore it seldome chanceth that any Stranger un­lesse he be guided by an Ʋtopian, can come into this haven. Inso­much that they themselves could scarcely enter without jeopardy, but that their way is directed and ruled by certaine Land-markes standing on the shore. By turning A politike devise in the chan­ging land­markes. translating, and removing the markes into other places, they may destroy their enemies navies, be they never so many. The out­side or utter circuit of the land, is also full of havens, but the lan­ding is so surely fenced, what by nature, & what by workmanship of mens hands, that a few defen­ders may drive back many armies [Page 110] Howbeit as they say, and as the fashion of the place it selfe doth partly shew, it was not ever com­passed about with the Sea. But King VTOPVS, whose name, as conquerour, the Iland beareth: The Iland of Ʋtopis, so named of King Ʋtopi [...]. For before this time it was called Abrax [...]) which also brought the rude and wild people to that excellent perfection in all good fashions, humanity, and civill gentlenesse, wherein they now goe beyond all the people in the world: even at his arriving and entering vpon the land, forth­with obtaining the victory, cau­sed fifteene miles space of vplan­dish ground, where the Sea had no passage, to be cut and digged vp. And so wrought the Sea round about the Land. He set to this worke: not onely the inha­bitants of this Iland (because they should not thinke it done in contumely and despight) but al­so all his owne souldiours.

Thus the worke being divided [Page 111] into so great a number of worke­men, Many hāds make light worke. was with exceeding marvai­lous speed dispatched. Insomuch that the borderers which at the first began to mocke, and to jest as the vaine enterprise, then tur­ned their derision to mervaile at the successe, and to feare. There be in the Iland fifty foure large and faire Cities, or shiere towns, Cities in Ʋtopia. Similitude causeth concord. agreeing altogether in one tongue, in like manners, instituti­ons, and lawes, they be all set and situate alike, and in all points fashioned alike, as farre forth as the place or plot suffereth. A meane distance betweene City and City.

Of these Cities, they that be nighest together be twenty foure miles asunder. Againe, there is none of them distant from the next, aboue one dayes journey a foot. There come yearely to A­maurote, out of every City, three old men wise and well experien­ced, there to intreate and debate, of the common matters of the Land. For this City (because it [Page 112] standeth just in the midst of the Iland, and is therefore most meet for the Ambassadours of all parts of the Realme) is taken for the chiefe and head Citty. The The distri­bution of Lands. But this now a daies is the ground of all mis­chiefe. precincts and bounds of the Shieres, be so commodiously ap­pointed out, and set forth for the Cities, that none of them all hath of any side les [...]e then twenty miles of ground, and of some side also much more, as of that part where the Cities be of fur­ther distance a sunder. None of the Cities desire to enlarge the bounds and limits of thei [...] [...]ir [...]s. For they count themselves ra­ther the good husbands, then the Husbandry & tillage, chiefly and principally regarded and ad­vanced. owners of their lands. They have in the Countrey in all parts of the shiere, houses or f [...]rmes buil­ded, well appointed and furni­shed with all sorts of instru­ments and tooles belonging to Husbandry. These houses be inhib [...]d of the Citizens, which co [...]ithe [...]o dwell by course. [Page 113] No houshold or Farme in the Countrey hath fewer then fifty persons men and women, be­sides two bondmen, which be all vnder the rule and order of the good man, and the good wife of the house, being both very sage, discreet; and ancient per­sons. And every thirty Farmes or families have one head ruler, which is called a Philarch, being as it were a head Bayli [...]e, Out of every one of these families or farmes, commeth every yeare into the City twenty persons, which have continued two yeares before in the Countrey. In their place so many fresh be sent thither out of the City, who, of them that have beene there a yeare already, and be therefore expert and cunning in husban­dry, shall be instructed and taught. And they the next yeare shall teach other.

This order is vsed for feare that either scarcenesse of victuals, [Page 114] or some other like incommodity should chance, through lacke of knowledge: if they should be al­together new, and fresh, and vn­expert in husbandry. This man­ner and fashion, of yearely chan­ging and renewing the occupi­ers of husbandry, though it be solemne and customably vsed, to thinke that no man shall be con­strained against his will to con­tinue long in that hard and sharp kind of life; yet many of them have such a pleasure and delight The duties of men of husban­dry. in husbandry, that they obtaine a longer space of yeares. Th [...]se husbandmen, plough and till the ground, and breed vp cattell, [...]nd provide and make ready wood, which they carry to the City ei­ther by land or water, as they most conveniently. They bring vp a g [...] of [...] A strange fashion to [...]atching and bring­ing vp of Pulle [...]. and that [...]y [...] poll [...] ▪ cie: for▪ the [...] vpon the egges; but by [...] in a certaine equ [...] they [Page 115] bring life into them, and hatch them. The chickens, as soone as they be come out of the shell, fol­low men and women in stead of the hennes. They bring vp very few horses: nor none, but very The vse. of Horses The vse of Oxen. fierce ones: and that for none o­ther vse or purpose, but onely to exercise their youth in riding, and, feates of Armes: For Oxen be put to all the labor of plough­ing and drawing: which they grant not to be so good as hor­ses at a sudden brunt, and (as we say) at a dead lift; but yet they hold an opinion, that Oxen will abide and suffer much more la­bour, paine and hardinesse, then Horses will. And they thinke that Oxen be not in danger and subject unto so many diseases, and that they be kept and main­tained with much lesse cost and charge: and finally, that they be good for meat, when they be past labour. They sow corne on­ly for bread. For their drinke is [Page 116] either Wine made of grapes, or Bread and drinke. else of apples, or Peares, or else it is cleare water: and many times Meath made of honey, or Licou­resse sodde in water; for thereof they haue great store. And though they know certainly (for they know it perfectly indeed) how much victuals the City with the whole Country or Shire round about it doth spend: yet they A great discretion in sowing of Corne. sow much more corne, and breed vp much more cattell, then ser­veth for their owne vse, parting the overplus among their borde­rers. Whatsoever necessary things be lacking in the Countrey, all such stuffe they fetch oa [...] of the City: where without [...]ay ex­change, they easily obtaine it of the Magistrates of the City. For every moneth many of them goe into the City on the Ho­liday. When their harvest day draweth neare, and is at hand, then the Philarches, which be the head Officers and B [...]iliffes of [Page 116] husbandry, send word to the Magistrates of the City what number of harvest men is need­full to be sent to them out of the City. The which company of Mutuall helpe quickly dispatch­ed. harvest men being ready at the day appointed, almost in one faire day dispatcheth all the har­vest worke.

Of the Cities, and namely Amaurote.

AS for the Cities, who so knoweth one of them, knoweth them all: they be all so like one to another, as farre forth as the nature of the place permitteth. I will describe to you one or other of them, for it skilleth not greatly which: but which rather then Amaurote? Of them all, this is the wor­thiest and of most dig [...]i [...]y▪ [...] [Page 120] another River which indeed is not very great. But it runneth gently and pleasantly: For it riseth even out of the same hill that the City standeth vpon, and runneth downe a slope through the middest of the City into A­ [...]yder.

And because it riseth a little without the City, the Amauriti­ans have inclosed the head spring of it, with strong fences, and Bulwarkes, and so have joy­ned it to the City. This is done to the intent that the water The vse of fresh wa­ter. should not be stopped, no [...] tur­ned away, or poysoned, if their e­nemies should chance to come vpon them. From thence the wa­ter is derived and conveyed downe in channels of bricke di­vers wayes, into the lower part of the Citie. Where that cannot be done, by reason that the place will not suffer it, there they ga­ther the raine water in great [...] sternes, which doth them as good [Page 121] service. The City is compassed a­bout The de­fence of the Towne­w [...]ls. with a high and thicke stone wall full of tu [...]ets and bulwarkes. A dry ditch, but deep and b [...]o [...]d, and over-grown with bus [...], b [...]ers, and thornes, goeth about three sides or quar­ters of the City. To the fourth side the riuer it selfe serveth as a ditch. The streets be appointed and set forth very commodious, and handsome, both for cariage and also against the windes. The Streets, Buildings and Houses houses be of faire and gorgious building, and on the [...] side they stand joy [...]d together in a long row through the whole streete, without any partition [...] seperation. The streetes be [...]v [...]y [...] broad. O [...] To [...] the ba [...] of the house▪ [...]gh the [...] of [...]. Eve [...] [Page 122] on the backside into the Garden. These doores be made with two leaves, never locked nor bolted, so easie to be opened, that they will follow the least drawing of a finger, and shut againe alone. Who so will, may goe in, for there is nothing within the hou­ses that is private, or any mans owne. And every tenth yeare This geare sine [...]leth of Plato h [...] community they change their Houses by lot. They set great store by their Gardens.

In them they have Vine-yards, all manner of Fruit, Hearbes, and Flowers, so pleasant, so well fur­nished, and so finely kept, that I never saw thing more fruitfull, nor better trimmed in any place. Their study and diligence here­in commeth not onely of plea­sure, but also of a certaine strife and contention that is betweene street and street, concerning the trimming, husbanding, and fur­nishing of their Gardens: every man for his owne part. A [...]d ve­rily [Page 123] you shall not lightly find in all the Citty any thing, that is more commodious, either for the profit of the Citizens, or for plea­sure. And therefore it may seeme that the first founder of the City minded nothing so much, as these Gardens. For they say that King Vtopus himselfe, even at the first beginning, appointed and drew forth the plat-forme of the City into this fashion and figure that it hath now, but the gallant garnishing, and the beau­tifull setting forth of it, where­unto he saw that one mans age would not suffice, that he left to his posterity. For their Chroni­cles which they keepe written with all diligent circumspection, containing the History of 1760 yeares, even from the first con­quest of the Iland, record and witnesse that the house▪ in the beginning were very low, and like homely cottage▪ or poore shepheard houses, made at all [Page 124] adventures of every rude peece of timber, that came first to hand, with mud walls, & ridged roofes, thatched over with straw. But new the houses be curiously buil­ded after a gorgious and g [...]llant [...]ort, with [...] [...]es one over another. The out-sides of y ^• wall [...] be made either of hand fi [...]t, or of Plaister, or else of brick, and the inner-sides be well strengthened with timber work. The roofes be plain and [...]t, covered with a cer­taine kind of Plaster, that is of [...]o cost, and yet so tempered that [...]o fire can hurt or perish it▪ & with­standeth the violence of the wea­ther Glased o [...] canvased windowes. better then any lead. They keepe the wind out of their win­dowes with gl [...]ste, for it is there much vsed, and some here also with fine linnen cloath dipped in oyle or amber, and that for two commodities: For by this means more light commeth in, and the wind i [...] better kept out.

Of the Magistrates.

EVery thirty Fa [...]es o [...] F [...]rme, choose them yeare­ly an Officer, which in their old language is called the Sypho­grant, and by a newer name, the Philarch. Every tenne Sipho­grants, with all their thirty fa­milies be vnde an Officer, which was once c [...]lled the Tranibore, A Trani­bore in the Ʋtopian tongue, signifieth a head or chiefe Peere. A me [...]vilous strange fa­shion in choosing Magi­strates. now the chiefe Philarch. More­over as concerning the election of the Prince, all [...]he Siphogrants which be in number two hun­dred, first be sworne to choose him, whom they thinke most meete and expedient. Then by a secret election, they name Prince one of those foure whom the people before named vnto them. For out of the foure quar­ters of the City there be foure chosen, out of every quarter [...], to [Page 126] stand for the election: which be put vp to the Counsell. The Tyranny in a well or­dered Weale pub­like vtter­ly to be ab­horred. Princes Office continueth all his life time, vnlesse he be deposed or put downe for suspition of tyranny. They choose the Trani­bores yearely, but lightly they change them not. All the other Officer, be but for one yeare. The Tranibores every third day, and sometimes, if need be, oftner come into the Counsell house with the Prince. Their counsell [...]ite [...] and [...] ­fies be­tween par­ty & party forth­with to be ended, which [...]w a dares of a set pur­pose be [...] de [...]a [...]ed. is concerning the Common­wealth. If there be any contro­versies among the commoners, which be very few, they dispatch and end them by and by. They take ever two Siphogrants to them in counsell, and every day a new couple. And it is provided, that nothing touching the com­mon-wealth shall be confirmed and ratified, vnlesse it haue beene [...]easoned of and debated, three dayes in the counsell before it be decreed. It is death to haue [Page 127] any consultation, for the com­mon-wealth out of the counsell, or the place of the common Against hosty and rash de­crees or statutes. election. This statute, they say, was made to the intent, that the Prince and Tranibores, might not easily conspire together to oppresle the people by tyranny, and to change the state of the Weale-publike. Therefore mat­ters of great weight and impor­tance be brought to the election house of the Siphogrants, which, open the matter to their families. And afterward, when they haue consulted among themselues, they shew their devise of the counsell. Sometime the matter is brought before the counsell of the whole Iland. Furthermore A custome worthy to be vsed in these daies in our Coun­cels and Parli [...] ­ments. this custome also the counsell vseth, to dispute or reason of no matter the same day that it is first proposed or put forth, but to deferre it to the next sitting of the counsell: Because that no m [...]n when he hath rashly there [...] [Page 130] none other occupation that any number to speake of doth vse there.

For their garments, which throughout all the Iland be of Similitude in appa­rell. one fashion, (saving that there is a difference betweene the mans garment and the womans, be­tweene the married and the vn­married) and this one continu­eth for evermore vnchanged, seemely and comely to the eye, no let to the moving and welding of the body, also fit-both for winter and summer: as for these garments (I say) every family maketh their owne. But of the o­ther No Citi­zen with­out a sci­ence. foresaid crafts every man learneth one. And not onely the men but also the women. But the women, as the weaker sort, be put to the easier crafts: as to worke wooll and flaxe. The more labor­some sciences be committed to the men. For the most part, every man is brought vp in his fathers craft. For most commonly▪ they [Page 131] be naturally thereto bent and in­clined. To what occupation every one is natural­ly inclined that let hi [...]. learne. But if a mans mind stand to any other, he is by adoption put into a family of that occupa­tion, which he doth most fanta­sie. Whom not onely his father, but also the Magistrate doe dili­gently looke to, that he be put to a discreet and an honest hou­sholder. Yea, and if any person, when he hath learned one craft, be desirous to learne also ano­ther, he is likewise suffered and permitted. When he hath learned both, he occupieth whether he will: vnlesse the City hath more need of the one, then the other. The chiefe and almost the onely office of the Syphogrants is, to see and take heed, that no man sit idle: but that every one ap­ply his owne craft with earnest diligence. And yet for all that, Idle per­sons to be driven out of the Weale publique. not to be wearied from earely in the morning, too late in the eve­ning, with continuall worke, like labouring and toyling Beasts. [Page 132] For this is worse then the mise­rable and wretched condition of bondmen.

Which, neverthelesse is almost every where the life of workmen A modera­tion in the labour and toyle of ar­tificers. and artificers, saving in Vtopia. For they dividing the day and the night into twenty foure just houres, appoint and assigne only 6 of those hours to worke, before noone vpon the which they goe strait to dinner, and after dinner, when they have rested 2 houres, then they worke three houres, and vpon that they goe to supper. About eight of the clocke in the evening (counting one of the clocke the first houre After noone) they goe to bed: eight houres they give to sleepe. All the voide time, that is betweene the houres of worke, sleepe, and meate, that they be suffered to bestow every man a [...] he liketh best himselfe. Not to the into it that they should mispend this time in riot, or [Page 109] sloathfulnesse, but being then li­censed from the labour of their owne occupations, to bestow the time well & thriftily vpon some other Science, as shall please them: For it is a solemne cu­stome there, to have Lectures daily early in the morning, whereto be present, they only be constrained, that be namely, cho­sen and appointed to learning. Howbeit a great multitude of e­very sort of people, both men and The study of good li­terature. women goe to heare Lectures, some one and some another, as e­very mans nature is inclined. Yet this notwithstanding, if any man had rather bestow this time vpon his owne occupation, as it chan­ceth in many (whose minds rise not in the contemplation of any Science liberall) he is not letted nor prohibited, but is also prai­sed and commended, as profi­table Playing after sup­per. to the Common-wealth. After Supper, they bestow one houre in play: in Summer, [Page 134] in their Gardens: in Winter, in their common Halls, where they dine and sup. There they exer­cise themselves in Musicke, or else in honest and wholsome communication. Dice-play, and But new a daies dice­play is the pastime of Princes. such other foolish and pernicious games, they know not. But they vse two games, not much vnlike the Chesse. The one is the bat­taile of numbers, wherein one number stealeth away another. The other is where vices fight with vertues, as it were in bat­taile array, or a set Field. In the which game is very properly Playes of games also profitable. shewed, both the strife and dis­cord, that the vices have among themselves, and againe their vni­ty and concord against vertues. And also what vices be repug­nant to what vertues: with what power and strength they assaile them openly: by what wiles and subtilty they assault them secret­ly: with what helpe and ayd the vertue, re [...]i [...]t, and overcome the [Page 135] the puissance of the vices: by what craft they frustrate their purposes: and finally by what [...]eight or meanes the one getteth the victory. But here least you be deceived, one thing you must looke more narrowly vpon. For seeing they bestow but sixe houres in worke, perchance you may thinke that the lacke of some necessary things hereof may ensue. But this is nothing so; For that small time is not onely enough, but also too much for the store and abundance of all things, that be requisite, either The kinds of sorts of idle peo­ple. for the necessity, or commodity of life. The which thing you also shall perceiue, if you weigh and consider with your selves how great a part of the people in o­ther Countries liveth idle. First Women. almost all women, which be the halfe of the whole number: or else if the women be somewhere occupyed, there most commonly in their stead the men be idle. [Page 112] Besides this, how great and how idle a company is there of Priests, and religious men, is they Priests and religi­ous men. Rich men and landed men. call thein? put thereto all rich men, specially all landed men, which commonly be called Gen­tlemen, and noblemen. Take into this number also their servants: I meane all that flocke of stout bragging rushbucklers. [...]oyne to Serving­men. Stur­dy and va­liant beg­gars. them also sturdy and valiant beggers, cloaking their idle life vnder the colour of some disease or sicknesse.

And truly you shall find them much fewer then you thought, by whose labour all these things are wrought, that in mens af­faires are now daily vsed and fre­quented. Now consider with your selfe, of these few that doe worke, how few be occupyed, in necessary workes: For where mo­ney Wonder­full witti­ly spoken. beareth all the swing, there many vaine and superfluous occupations must needs be vsed to serve onely for riotous super­fluity, [Page 137] and vnhonest pleasure: for the same multitude that now is occupyed in worke, if they were divided into so few occupa­tion, as the necessary vse of na­ture requireth, in so great plenty of things a [...] then of necessity would e [...]due, doubtlesse the pri­ces would be too little for the artificers to maintaine their li­ving.

But if all these, that be now busi­ed about unprofitable occupati­ons, with all the whole fo [...]ke of thē that live idlely & sloathfully, which consume and wast every one of them more of these things that come by other mens labour, then two of the workmen them­selves doe: if all these (I say) were set to profitable occupations: you easily perceive how little time would be enough, yea, and too much to store vs with all things that may be requisite either for necessity or commo­dity, yea or for pleasure, [Page 138] so that the same pleasure be true and naturall. And this in Viopia the thing it selfe maketh mani­fest and plaine. For there in all the City with the whole Coun­try, or Shire adjoyning to it, scarcely fiue hundred persons of all the whole number of men and women, that be neither too old nor too weake to worke, be licensed and discharged from la­bour. Among them be the Sypho­grants Not as­much as the Magi­strates liue idlely. (who though they be by the lawes exempt and privileged from labour) yet they exempt not themselves: to the intent they may the rather by their ex­ample to provoke others to worke.

The fame vocation from la­bour doe they also enjoy, to whom the people perswaded by the commendation of the Priests, and secret election of the Sypho­grant [...], have given a perpetuall licence, from labour to learning. But if any one of them prove [Page 139] not according to the expectation and hope of him conceived, he is forthwith plucked backe to the company of artificers. And con­trariwise, and often it chanceth that a handicrafts man doth so earnestly bestow his vacant and spare houres in learning, and through diligence so profiteth therein, that he is taken from his handy occupation, and promoted to the company of the learned. Only lear­ned men called to Offices. Out of this order of the learned be chosen Ambassadours, Priests, Tranibores, and finally the Prince himselfe. Whom they in their old tongue call Barzanes, and by a newer name, Adamus.

The residue of the people be­ing neither idle, nor yet occupy­ed about vnprofitable exercises, it may be easily judged in how few houres how much good worke by them may be done and dispatched, towards those things that I have spoken off. This commodity they have also above [Page 140] other, that in the most part of necessary occupations they need not so much worke, as other na­tions doe. For first of all the buil­ding or repairing of houses as­keth How to a­vo [...] [...]exces­siv [...] [...] building. every where so many mens co [...]ll labour, because that the vnth [...]y h [...]re s [...]lfereth the houses that his father b [...]lded, in continuance of time, to fall in de­cay. So that which he might haue vpholden with little cost, h [...] successor is constrained to build it againe a new, to his great charge. Yea many [...] also the house that stood one m [...]n in much money: and another is of so nice and so delicate a mind, that he setteth nothing by it. And it being neglected, & therefore shortly fal­ling into ruine, he buildeth vp a­nother in another place with no lesse cost and charge.

But among the Ʋtopians, where all thing be set in good order, and the Common­wealth in a good stay, it sel­dome chanceth, that they choose [Page 141] a new plot to build an house [...]p­on. And they doe not onely find speedy [...] quicke remedies for present [...] but also pre­vent them th [...] be like to fall. And by [...] their houses con [...] l [...]st very long with little labour and sm [...]ll reparati­ons, [...]omuch that these kind of workemen sometimes have al­most [...]hing to doe. But that [...]y [...]e commanded to hew tim­ [...]er at home, and to square and [...] vp stones, to the intent that if any worke chance, it may the speed [...]r [...]se. Now Sir, in How to l [...]ss [...]n the char [...]e in apparell. their apparell, [...]k [...] (I pray you) how [...] they need. First [...]ll, while▪ they be at worke, they be covered homely [...]ther, or [...]ki [...], that will [...]st s [...]v [...]re [...] ▪ When they go [...], they c [...]st vpo [...] them [...] hideth the other [...]pp [...]rell. These [...] the [...] I [...] all of o [...] [Page 142] and that is the naturall colour of the wooll. They therefore doe not onely spend much wollen cloth, then is spent in other Coun­tries, but also the same standeth them in much lesse cost. But lin­nen cloath is made with lesse la­bour, and is therefore had more in vse. But in linnen cloath only whitenesse; in wollen, onely clenlinesse is regarded. As for the smalnesse or finenesse of the thred, that is nothing passed for. And this is the cause wherefore in other places foure or fiue cloath gownes of divers colours, and as many silke coates b [...] not enough for one man. Yea, and if he be of the dilicate and nice sort, tenne be too few: where as there one garment will serve a man most commonly two years: For why should he desire more? seeing if he had them, he should not be the better hapt or cove­red from cold, neither in his ap­parell any whit the comlier. [Page 143] Wherefore, seeing they be all ex­ercised in profitable occupations, and that few Artificiers in the same crafts be sufficient: this is the cause that plenty of all things being among them, they doe sometimes bring forth an innu­merable company of people to a­mend the high-wayes, if any be broken. Many times also, when they have no such worke to be occupyed about, an open procla­mation is made, that they shall bestow fewer houres in worke: for the Magistrates doe not ex­ercise their Citizens against their will [...] in vnneedfull labours. For why, in the institution of the Wea [...] publike, this end is onely and chiefly pretended and min­ded, that what t [...] may possibly be spared from the necessary oc­cupation [...] and affaires of the Common-wealth, all that the Citizens should withdraw from the [...]ily service to the free li­berty of the mi [...]d and gar [...]sh­ing [Page 144] of the same. For herein they suppose the felicity of this life to consist.

Of their living and mutu­all conversation to­gether.

But now will I declare how the Citizens vse themselves one to another: what fami­liar occupying and entertain­ment, there i [...] among the people, and what fashion they vse in the distribution of every thing. First, the City consisteth of [...]lie, the f [...]lies most co [...]o [...]ly be made of ki [...]d. For the women when they be married [...] a l [...] ­full [...]ge, they goe into their hus­b [...]ds house.

But the male Children, with all the whole [...] off-spring [...] still in their [...] fi­ [...] [...] be governed of the [...] [Page 145] he dote for age: for then the next to him in age, is placed in his roome. But to the intent the pre­script number of the citizens The num­ber of Ci­tizens. should neither decrease; nor a­boue measure increase, it is or­dained that no family, which in every City be sixe thousand in the whole, besides them of the Countrey, shall at once haue [...]ewer children of the age of four­teene yeares or thereabout, then ten, or more then sixteene; for of children under this age, no number can be prescribed or ap­pointed. This measure or number is easily observed and kept, by putting them that in fuller fa­milies be above the number in­to families of smaller increase. But if chance be that in the whole Citty, the store increase above the just number, where­with they fill vp the lacke of other Cities. But if so be that the multitude throughout the whole Iland, passe and exceed the due number, then they choose [Page 146] out of every City certaine Citi­zens, and build up a Towne un­der their owne lawes in the next Land where the inhabitauts have much waste and unoccupied ground, receiving also of the same Countrey people to them, if they will joyne and dwell with them. They thus joyning and dwelling together doe easily a­gree in one fashion of living, and that to the great wealth of both the peoples: For they so bring the matter about by their Lawes, that the ground which before was neither good nor profitable for the one nor for the other, is now sufficient and fruitfull e­nough for them both. But if the inhabitants of the land, will not dwell with them to be ordered by their lawes, then they drive them out of those bounds which they have limited and appointed out for themselves.

And if they resist and rebell, then they make warre against [Page 147] them. For they count this the most just cause of warre, when any people holdeth a piece of ground voyd and vacant to no good nor profitable use, keeping other from the use and possession of it, which notwithstanding by the law of Nature ought thereof to be nourished and relieved. If any chance doe so much dimi­nish the number of any of their Cities, that it cannot bee filled up againe, without the dimini­shing of the just number of the other Cities (which they say chanced but twice since the be­ginning of the Land, through a great pestilent Plague) then they fulfill and make up the number with Citizen, fet [...]hed out of their owne forraigne Townes, for they had rather suffer their forraigne townes to decay and perish, then any City of their owne I [...]and to be diminished. But now againe to the conversation of the Citi­zens among themselves. [...] [Page 150] hands of their Bondmen: for they permit not their free Citi­zens Of the slaughter of Beasts, we have learned manslaughter. Filth and ordure b [...]ing the injection of Pestilence into Cities to accustome themselves to the killing of beasts, through the use whereof they thinke, clemen­cie the gentlest affection of our nature by little and little, to de­cay and perish. Neither they suf­fer any thing that is filthy, loath­some, or uncleanly, to be brought into the City, left the ayre by stench thereof infected and cor­rupt, should cause Pestilent dis­ease [...]. Moreover, every Street hath certaine great large hals set in equall distance one from ano­ther, every one knowne by a [...] ­verall name. In these hals dwell the Syphogrants. And to every one of the same halles, be appoin­ted thirty families, on either side fifteene. The stewards of every hall, at a certaine houre come into the meat markets, where they receiue meate ac­cording to the number of their hals.

[Page 151]But first and chiefely of all, respect is had to the sicke, Care, dili­gence and attendance about the sicke, that be cured in the hospitals. For in the circuit of the City, a little without the walls, they have foure Hospitals, so big, so wide, so ample, and so large, that they may seeme foure little Townes, which were devised of that big­nesse, partly to the intent the sick be they never so many in num­ber, should not lye too throng or strait, and therefore uneasily, and incommodiously: and part­ly that they which were taken and holden with contagious dis­eases, such as be wont by infecti­on to creepe from one to ano­ther, might be laid a farre from the company of the residue.

These Hospitals be so well ap­pointed, and with all things ne­cessary to health so furnished, and moreover so diligent attendance through the continuall presence of cunning Physitians is given, that though no man be sent t [...] ­ther [Page 152] against his will, yet notwith­standing there is no sicke person in all the City, that had not ra­ther lye there then at home at his owne house. When the ste­ward of the sicke hath received such meates as the Physitians haue prescribed, then the best is equally divided among the halls according to the company of e­very one, saving there is had a respect to the Prince, the Bishop, the Tranibores, and to Ambassa­dours and all strangers, if there be any, which be very few and seldome. But they also when they be there, have certaine severall houses appointed and prepared for them. To these halls at the set houres of dinner and supper, commeth all the whole Sypho­grantie or Ward, warned by the noise of a brazen Trum­pet: except such as be sicke in the Hospitals, or else in their owne houses.

[Page 153]Howbeit, no man is pro­hibited Everyman is at his li­berty, so that no­thing is done by compulsiō or forbid, or after the halls be served to fetch home meate out of the Market to his owne house; for they know that no man will doe it without a cause reasonable. For though no man be prohibited to dine at home, yet no man doth it wil­lingly: because it is counted a point of small honesty. And also it were a folly to take the paine to dresse a bad dinner at home, when they may be welcome to good and fine fare so nigh hand at the hall.

In this hall, all vile service, and all slavery, with all la­boursome toyle, and drudgery, and base businesse, is done by bondmen. But the women of e­very Women both dresse and serve the meat. family by course have the office and charge of cookery for seething and dressing the meate, and ordering all things thereto belonging. They sit at three ta­bles or more, according to the [Page 154] number of their company. The men sit vpon the Beuch next the wall, and the women against them on the other side of the ta­ble, and if any sudden evill should chance to them, as many times happeneth to women with child, they may rise without trouble or disturbance of any body, and goe thence into the nursery. The Nurses. Nurses sit seyerall alone with their young sucklings, in a cer­taine parlour appointed and de­puted to the same purpose, never without fire and cleane water, nor yet without cradles, that when they will they may lay downe the young Infants, and at their pleasure take them out of their swathing cloathes, and hold them to the fire, and refresh them with play. Every mother is nurse to her owne child, vnlesse either death, or sicknesse be the let. When that chanceth, the wiues of the Siphogrants quickly provide a Nurse. And that is not hard to [Page 155] be done. For they that can doe it, proffer themselves to no ser­vice so gladly as to that. Because Nothing sooner pro­voketh men to well doing then praise and commen­dation. that there this kind of peece is much praised: and the child that is nourished, ever after, taketh his nurse for his owne naturall mo­ther. Also among the nurses, sit all the children that be under the age of siue yeares. All the other children of both kinds, as well boyes as girles, that be under the age of marriage, doe either serve at the tables, or else if they be too young thereto, yet they stand by with marvailous silence. That The eles C [...]tt [...]n of yong children which is given to them from the table they eate, and other severall dinner time they have none. The Syphogrant and his wife sit in the midst of the high Table, for as much as that is counted the honourablest place, and because from thence all the whole com­pany i [...] in their sight. For that table standeth over thwart the o­ver end of the Hall. To them be [Page 156] joyned two of the ancientest and eldest. For at every table they sit foure at a messe. But if there be a Church standing in that Sypho­granty, or Ward, then the Priest and his wife sitteth with the Sy­phogrant, as chiefe in the compa­ny. On both sides of them sit young men, and next unto them The young mixed with their elders. againe, old men. And thus throughout all the house, equall of age be set together, and yet be mixt and matched with unequall ages.

This they say, was ordeined, to the intent that the sage gra­vity and reverence of the elders should keepe the youngers from wanton licence of words and be­haviour. For as much as nothing can be so secretly spoken or done at the table, but either they that sit on the one side or on the other, must needs perceive Old men regarded and reve­renced. it. The dishes be not set downe in order from the first place, but all the old men (whose pla­ces [Page 157] be marked with some speciall token to be knowne) be first served of their meate, and then the residue equally. The old men, divide their dainties as they thinke best to the younger on each side of them. Thus the el­ders be not defrauded of their due honour, and neverthelesse e­quall commodity commeth to every one. They begin every dinner and supper of reading somthing that pertaineth to good manners and vertue. But it is short, because no man shall be grieved therewith. Hereof the el­ders take occasion of honest com­munication, but neither sad nor This now adaies is observed in our Ʋ ­niversity. Talke at Table. unpleasant. Howbeit they doe not spend all the whole dinner time themselves, with long and tedious talke, but they gladly heare also the young men: yea, and purposely provoke them to talke, to the intent that they may have a proofe of every mans wit, and toward­nesse, [Page 158] or disposition to vertue, which commonly in the liberty of feasting doth shew and vtter it selfe. Their dinuers be very short: but their suppers be some­what This is repugnant to the opi­nion of our Physiti­ [...]s [...] Mu­sicke at the Table. longer, because that after dinner followeth labour, after supper, sleepe and naturall rest, which they thinke to be of more strength and efficacy to whol­some and healthfull digestion. No supper is passed without Mu­sicke. Nor their banquets want no conceits, nor junkets. They burne sweet gummes and spices or perfumes, and pleasant smels, and sprinckle about sweet oint­ments and waters, yea, they have nothing undone that maketh for the cherishing of the company. For they be much enclined to this opinion: to thinke no kind of pleasure forbidden, whereof Pleasure without bar [...]e, commen­dable. commeth no harme. Thus there­fore, and after this sort they live together in the City, but in the Countrey they that dwell alone [Page 159] farre from any neighbours, doe dine at home in their owne hou­ses: For no family there lacketh any victuals, as from whom com­meth all that the Citizens eat and liue by.

Of their journying or travelling abroad, with divers other mat­ters cunningly reasoned, and wittily dis­cussed.

BVt if any be desirous to vi­site either their friends dwel­ling in another City, or to see the place it selfe, they easily ob­taine licence-of the Syphogrants and Tranibores, vnlesse there be some profitable let. No man go­eth out alone but a company is sent forth togither with their Princes letters, who doe testifie that they have licence to go that journey, and prescribeth also the day of their returne.

[Page 160]They haue a Waine given them, with a common bond­man, which driveth the oxen, and taketh charge of them. But vnlesse they haue Women in their Company, they send home the waine againe, as an impediment and let. And though they carry nothing forth with them, yet in all their journey they lacke nothing. For where­soever they come, they be at home. If they tary in a place longer then one day, then there every one of them falleth to his owne occupation, and be very gently entertained of the worke­men and companies of the same crafts. If any man of his owne head and without leaue, walke out of his precinct and bounds, takē without the Princes letters, he is brought againe for a fugi­tive, or a run-away with great shame and rebuke, and is sharply punished. If he be taken in that fault againe, he is punished with bondage. If any be desirous to [Page 161] walke abroad into the fields, or into the Countrey that belon­geth to the same City that hee dwelleth in, obtaining the good will of his Father, and the con­sent of his Wife, he is not prohi­bited. But into what part of the Countrey soever he commeth, he hath no meat given him untill he have wrought out his fore­noones task, or dispatched so much worke, as there is wont to be wrought before supper. Observing this law and conditi­on, he may goe whither he will within the bounds of his owne City. For hee shall be no lesse profitable to the City, then if he were within it. Now you see how little liberty they have to loyter: how they can haue no cloake or pretence to Idlenesse. O holy common­wealth and of Christians to be fol­lowed. There be neither wine tauerns, nor alchouses, nor stewes, nor any occasion of vice or wicked­nesse, no lurking corners, no places of wicked counsailes [Page 162] an vnlawfull assemblies, but they be in the present sigh [...], and vnder the eyes of every man. So that of necessity they must either apply their accustomed labours, or else recreate themselves with honest and laudable past [...]es.

This fashion and trade of li [...]e, being vsed among the people, it cannot be chosen, but that they must of necessity have store and plenty of all things. And seeing Equality is the cause that every man hath e­nough. they be all thereof partners e­qually, therefore can no man ther [...] be poore or needy. In the counsell of Amaur [...], whether as I said, every City se [...] [...]eth three men a peece yearely, assoon as it is perfectly knowne of what things there is in every place plenty, and againe what things be scant in any place, inconti­nent the lacke of the one, is per­formed and filled vp with the abundance of the other. And this they doe freely without any benefit, talking nothing againe [Page 163] of them, to whom the things is given, but those Cities that have given of their store to any other City, that lacketh, requiring nothing againe of the same City, doe take such things as they lack A common wealth is nothing else but a great hou­shold. of another City, to the which they gaue nothing. So the whole Iland is as it were one fami­ly or houshold. But when they have made sufficient pro­vision of store for themselves (which they thinke not done, vntill they haue provided for two yeares following, because of the vncertainty of the next years proofe) then of those things, whereof they have abundance, they carry forth into other Countries great plenty: as Grayne, honey, wool, flaxe, wood, madd [...], purple died felles, waxe, tallow, leather, and living Beasts. And the seaventh part of all these things they giue franckly and freely to the poore of that Country. The residue [Page 164] they sell at a reasonable and meane price. By this meanes of tra [...]que or marchandise, they bring into their owne countrey; nor onely great plen­ty of gold and silver, but also all such things as they lacke at home, which is almost no­thing but Iron. And by reason they haue long vsed this trade, now they haue more abundance of these things, then any man will beleeue.

Now therefore they care not whether they sell for ready mo­ney, or else upon trust to be paid at a day, and to have the most part in debts. But in so In all things and aboue all things, to the com­munity they haue an eye. doing they never follow the cre­dence of private men: but the assurance or warrantise, of the whole City, by instruments and writings made in that behalfe accordingly. When the day of payment is come and expired, the City gathereth up the debt of the private debtors, and putteth it [Page 165] into the common boxe, and so long hath the use and profit of it, untill the Vtopians their credi­tors demand it. The most part of it, they never aske. For By what policy mo­ney [...]y be in lesse e­stimation▪ It is better either with mo­ney or by policy to avoid warr [...] th [...] with much losse of ma [...]s blood to fight. that thing which is to them is no profit to take it from other, to whom it is profitable, they think it no right nor conscience. But if the case so stand, that they must lend part of that money to another people, then they require their debt: or when they have warre. For the which purpose onely, they keepe at home all the [...]ea [...]re which they have, to be holpen and succoured by it ei­ther in extreame jeopardies, or in suddaine dangers. But espe­cially and chiefly to hire there­with, and that for unreasonable great wages, strange Soldiers. For they had rather put Stran­gers in jeopardy, then their owne Country-men: know­ing that for money enough, their enemies themselves ma [...]y times [Page 166] may be bought and sold, or else through treason be set together by the eares, among themselves. For this cause they keepe an in­estimable treasure. But yet not as a treasure: But so they haue it, and vse it, as in good faith I am ashamed to shew: fearing that mywordes shall not bee be­leeved. And this I haue more O fine wit. cause to feare, for that I know how difficulty and hardly I my selfe would haue beleeved ano­ther man telling the same if I had not presently seene it with mine eyes.

For it must needes be, that how far a thing is dissonant and disa­greeing, from the guise & trade of the hearers, so farre shall it be out of their beleefe. Howbeit, a wise and indifferent esteemer of things, will not greatly meruaile perchance, seeing all their other lawes and customes doe so much differ from ours, if the vse also of gold and silver among them be [Page 167] applied, rather to their owne fashions, then to ours. I meane in that they occupy-not money themselves, but keepe it for that chance, which as it may happen, so it may be, that it shall never come to passe. In the mean time, gold and silver, whereof money is made, they doe so vse, as none of them doth more esteeme it, then the very nature of the thing deserveth.

And then who doth not plain­ly see, how farre it is vnder Iron: Goldworse then yron as touch­ing the ne­cessary vse thereof. as without the which men can no better liue then without fire and water. Whereas to gold and silver, nature hath given no vse, that we may not well lacke: if that the folly of men had not set it in higher estimation for the rarenesse sake. But of the contra­ry part, nature as a most tender and louing mother, hath placed the best and necessary things o­pen abroad: as the ayre, the wa­ter, and the earth it selfe. And [Page 168] hath remooved and hid farthest from vs vaine and vnprofitable things. Therefore if these met­tals, among them should be fast locked vp in some Tower, it might be suspected, that the Prince and the Counsell (as the people is ever foolishly imagi­ning) intended by some subtilty to deceiue the Commons, and to take some profit of it to them­selves. Furthermore if they should make thereof plate, and such o­ther finely & cunningly wrought stuffe, if at any time they should have occasion to breake it, and melt it againe, therewith to pay their souldiours wages, they see and perceive very well, that men would be loth to part from those things, that they once began to have pleasure and delight in. To remedy all this they have found out a means, well as it is agreable to all their other lawes and cu­stomes, so it is from ours, where gold is so much set by, and so di­ligently [Page 169] kept, very farre discri­pant and repug [...]t: and there­fore uncredible, but only to them that be wise. For whereas they eate and drinke in earthen and O [...] full [...]. glasse veslels, which indeed be cu­riously and properly made, and yet be of very small, value: of gold and silver, they make chamber-pots, and other veslels that serve for most vile vse [...], not only in their common hal [...], but [...] eve­ry mans private house. I [...] ­more or the same [...] they make great chaine, s [...], and gyues, wherein they [...] their bond-men.

Finally, whosoever for a [...] [...] ­sence be [...]med, by their [...], Gold [...] repr [...]s. [...]ang [...]g, or gold: vpon their f [...]gers they weare rings of gold: and about their necke [...] of [...]d: & in conclusion then [...] tied with gold. Thus by [...]eanes p [...]ble they p [...]o [...]ure to have gold and [...] among them [...] and [...] [Page 170] And these mettals, which other Nations doe as grievously and sorrowfully soregoe, as in a man­ner their owne lives: if they should altogether at once be ta­ken from the [...], no man there would thinke that he had lost the worth of one f [...]rthing. They gather also pearles by the sea sid [...], and D [...]onds and Car­bun [...]l [...] Gemme [...] and [...] [...]to [...]s, [...] [...]il­dren to play [...] ­all. upon certaine Rocke, and yet they s [...]ke [...] for them: but by chance finding them, they [...]ut and polish them. And therewith they deck their young Infants. Which like as in the first yeares of their childe hood, they make much, and [...] and proud of such [...] so when they be a little [...]ore growne in yeare [...] and dis [...]retio [...], perceiue that [...]o [...]e but children doe weare such t [...]ye and trifles: they [...] them away even of the [...] shame astnesse, with­out [...] [...]dding of their [...] our children, when [Page 171] they waxe bigge, doe cast away nuttes, brouches, and puppets. Therefore these lawes and cu­stome, which be so far different from all other nations, how di­vers fantasies also and minds they doe cause, did I never so plainly perceiue in the Ambassa­dours or the Inemolians.

These Ambassadours came to Amauro [...]e, wh [...]les I was there. A ver [...] pleasant t [...]le. And because they came to [...] ­treate of great [...] weighty mat­ters, those three Citizens a piece out of every City, were come thither before them. But all the Ambassadours of the next Coun­tries, which had beene there before, and kn [...]w the f [...]shions and manners of the Vt [...]pians, among wh [...] they perceived no [...] given to sumptu­ou [...] App [...]r [...]l [...], [...] to be con­temned, gold al [...]o to be [...] ­nied and reproachf [...]ll, w [...]re wo [...]t to come thither in very ho [...]ely and simple array. But the Ine­molians [Page 172] because they dwell farre thence, and had very little ac­quai [...]nce with them, hearing that they were all apparelled a­like, and that very rudely and homely, thinking them not to have the things which they did not weare: being therefore more proud, then wise, determined in the gorg [...]ousnesle of their appa­rell to present very Gods, and with the bright shining and gli­stering of their gay cloathing to dazell the eyes of the silly poore V [...]p [...]ans.

So there came in foure Ambas­sadours with one hundred s [...]r­vant, all apparelled in change­able colour [...]: the mo [...]t of them in [...]kes: the Ambassadours them­selves (for [...]t home [...] their owne Country they were noble me [...]) [...] [...] of gold, with great [...] [...] gold, with gold hang­ing [...] then [...] gold [...] vpon their fingers, [...] and [...] of gold vp [...] th [...], [Page 173] which glistered full of pearles and precious sto [...]ies: to be short trimmied and adorned with all those things, which among the Vtopians were either the punish­ment of bondmen, or the reproach of infamed persons, or else trifies for young children to play withall. Therefore it would have done a man good at his heart, to have seene how proudly they displayed their Peacocks feathers, how much they made of their painted sheathes, and how lottily they set forth and advanced themselves, when they compared their gallant apparell, with the poore r [...]iment of the Vt [...]pians. For all the people were s [...]rmed forth into the streets.

And on the other side, it was no lesse pleasure to consider how much they were deceived, and how farre they m [...]led of then purpose being contrary wayes taken, then they thought they [Page 174] should have beene. For so the eyes of all the Vtopians, except very few, which had beene in o­ther Countries, for some reaso­nable cause, all that gorgious­nesse of apparell, seemed shame­full and reproachfull. Insomuch that they most reverently saluted the v [...]lest and most abject of them for Lords: judged them by then we [...]ing of Golden ch [...]nes to be Bondmen. Yea you should have [...]e Children also, that had cast away their Pearles and precious stor [...]es, when they saw the like sticking upon the Ambassadors caps: digge and push their mothers under the sides, saying thus to them. Looke mother how great a lubber doth yet weare pearles and precious O [...]itty [...]e [...]d. [...]nes, as though he were a little child againe.

But the Mother, yea, and that also in good earnest: Peace sonne, saith shee: I thinke he be some of the Ambassadours [Page 175] fooles. Some found fault at their Golden chaynes, as to no use nor purpose, being so small and weake, that a bondman might ea [...]ily breake them, and againe so wide and large, that when it pleased him, he might cast them off, and runne away at liberty whether he would.

But when the Ambassadours had been th [...]re a day or two, and saw so great abundance of Gold so light [...]y [...]d, [...] lesse reproach, [...] them [...] that, more gold in the [...] and gyve▪ or one [...]gitive bond­man, then all the [...]tly orna­ments of them three [...] worth: they began to abate their cou­rage, and for very sh [...]e [...]ud a­way all that gorgious array, whereof they were so proud. And specially when they [...]d [...]lked familiarly with the [...], and had learned all their [...]hions and opinions. For they [...] [Page 176] that any men be [...]o foolish, as to [...]ull [...]t [...] [...]er [...] [...] an [...] [...]t [...]t [...]y [...] have delight and pleasure in the doubtfull glistering of a little [...] ­ [...]ing [...], which may behold a­ [...]y of the [...], or else the [...] it selfe.

Or that any [...] to [...] the [...] ▪ the [...] three [...], which [...] ( [...] [...]ever [...]) [...] [...]et [...]. Th [...] [...] th [...]t gold, which of the owne [...], [...] [...] so [...]pro­fitable, [...] now among all people in [...] high estimation▪ [...] ▪ himselfe, by whom yea and [...]o [...] the vse of whom it is so much set by, is in much lesse estimation, then the gold it selfe. Insomuch A tru [...]t [...] ­t [...] and [...] [...]itty that a [...]mpish block-head churle, and which hath no more wit then an A [...]e, yea and as full of [...]ughtinesse, as of folly, shall have neverthelesse many wise [Page 177] and good men in subjection and bondage, onely for this, because he h [...]th a great heape of gold.

Which i [...] it should be taken from him by any fortune, or by some subtill wile and cautle of the Law, (which no les [...]e then fortune doth both raise vp the low, and plucke down the high) and be given to the most vile slave and abject drivell of all his houshold, then shortly after he shall goe into the service of his servant, as an augmentation, or over [...] money.

But they much more mer­vaile How much more wi [...] is [...] the [...]eds of the Ʋ ­ [...]an [...], [...] of the com­mon sort of Christi­ans. at and de [...]st the madnesse of them, which to those rich men, in whose deb [...] and dan­ger they be not, doe give al­most divine honours, for none other consideration▪ but because they be rich: and yet knowing them to be such [...]iggish penny­fathers, that they be sure as long as they live, not the worth of [Page 178] one farthing of that heape of Gold, shall come to them. These and such like opinions have they conceived, partly by education, being brought vp in that Com­mon-wealth, whose lawes and customes be farre different from those kinds of folly, and partly by good literature and learning. For though there be not many in e­very City, which be exempt and discharged of all other labours, and appointed onely to learning, that is to say: such in whom e­ven from their very child-hood they have perceived a singuler towardnesse, a fine wit, and amind apt to good learning: yet all in their child-hood be instructed in learning. And the better part of the people, both men and women throughout all their whole life, doe bestow in learning those spare houres, which we said they have vacant from bodily la­bours. They be taught lear­ning in their own natiue tongue. [Page 179] For it is both copious in words, and also pleasant to the eare: The studies among the Ʋtopi­ans. and for the vtterance of a mans mind very perfect and sure. The most part of all that side of the world, vseth the same lan­guage, saving that among the Ʋtopians it is finest and pu [...], and according to the diversity of the Countries, it is diversly al­tered. Of all these Phylosophers, whose names be here famous in this part of the world to vs knowne, before our comming thither, not as much as the [...]me of any of them was come among them. And yet in Mu­sique, Logique, Arythme­tique, Musique, Logique, Arithme­tique, Geonetrie. and Geometrie they have found out in a manner all that our ancient Philosopher, have [...]a [...]gl [...]. But as they in all thing [...] be almost equall to our old and ancient Clarkes; so our [...]ew [...] in subtill inventio [...] have farre passed and gone be­yond them.

[Page 180]For they have not devised one [...]lace [...] to [...] a vp­ [...] of all those rules, of restrictions, amplifications, very wittily in­vented in the small Logicals, which heere our Children in e­very place doe learne. Further­more, they were never yet able to finde out the second inventi­ons: Insomuch tha [...] none of them could ever see man him­selfe in common, as they call him, though he be (as you know) bigger then ever was any Giant, ye [...], and pointed to of us even with our finger. But they be in the course of the Starres, and the moving [...] of the heavenly [...]p [...]ares very expert and [...]ng. They A [...] have also [...] ex [...]ogitated and devised Instruments of divers [...]t among [...] t [...]is [...] [...] wherein is exactly comprehended and conta [...]ed the moving [...] and [...] or the Sunne, the Moone, and of all the other Starres, which appeare in [...] Horizon. But [...] the [...] and d [...] of [...] [Page 181] Planets, and all that deceitfull divination of the Starres, they never as much as dreamed there­of. Raines, windes, and other courses of tempests, they know before by certaine tokens, which they have learned by long use and observation. But of the cau­ses Naturall Philoso­phy is a knowledge most un­certaine. of all these things, and of the [...]bbing and flowing, and salt­ [...]ie of the Sea, and finally of the originall beginning, and na­ [...]e o [...] heaven and of the world, they [...]l [...]. par [...]ly the s [...]me opini­ous that our old Philosophers hold, and partly as our Philo­sophers vary among themselves, so they also, wh [...]les they bring Moral phi­losophie. new reasons of things, doe disa­gree from all them, and yet a­mong themselves in all points they doe not accord.

In that Philosophy, which which intreateth of manners and vertue the [...] reasons and opinions [...]gree with our. They dispure of the good qualities of the Soule▪ [Page 182] of the body, and of fortune. And whether the name of goodnesse may be [...]pplied to all these, or onely to the endowments and guirt, of the soule. They reason The ends of good things. The Ʋto­pians hold opinion that feli­city con­sisteth t [...] honest pleasure. of vertue and pleasure. But the chiefe and principall question is i [...] what thing be it one or more the felicity o [...] man consisteth. But in this point they seeme al­most too much given and incli­ned to [...] opinion of them, which de [...]end pleasure, wherein they determine either all or the chiefest part of mans felicity to re [...]t. And (which is m [...] to be [...]v [...]ed at) the defence of this so d [...]y and [...] an opinion they fetch even from their gra [...]e, sharpe, bitter, and [...]gorous reli­gion. For they never dispute of felicity or blessednesse, but they joyne unto the reasons of Philo­sophy The theo­logie of the Ʋto­pians. certaine principles taken out of religion: without the which, to the investigation of true f [...], th [...]y thinke reason [Page 183] of it selfe weake and unperfect. The im­mortality of the soule, whereof these daies certaine christians be doubt­full. Those principles be these and such like. That the soule is im­mortall: and by the bountifull goodnesse of GOD ordained to felicity. That to our vertues and good deeds, rewards be appoint­ed after this life, and to our evill deeds punishments. Though these be pertaining to religion, yet they thinke it meet that they should be beleeved and granted by proves of reason. But [...] these principles were condemned and disanulled, then without any de­lay, they pronounce no man to be so foolish, which would not doe [...]ll his diligence and endevor to obtaine pleasure be it right or wrong, only avoiding this incon­venience, that the lesse pleasure should not be a let or hinderance to the bigger: or that he labou­red not for that pleasure, which would bring after it displeasure, griefe, and sorrow.

For they judge it extreame [Page 184] madnesse to follow sharpe and As every pleasure ought to be imbraced, so griefe is not to be pursue I [...]ut for ver­tues sake. painfull vertue, and not onely to banish the pleasure of life, but also willingly to suffer griefe, without any hope of profit there­of ensuing. For what profit can there be, if a man, when he hath pa [...]ed over all his life unplea­santly, that is to say, miserably, shall have no reward after his death? But [...]ow sir, they thinke not felicity to rest in all pleasure, but onely in that pleasure that is good and honest, and that hereto, as to perfect blessednesse our nature is allured and drawne even of vertue, whereto onely they that be of the contrary opi­nion In this de­finition of vertue they agree with th [...] S [...]cians▪ doe attribute felicity. For they de [...]ne vertue to be life or­dered according to Nature, and that we be hereunto ordained of God. And that he d [...]th follow the cou [...]e of nature, which in The worke a [...] effect of reason [...]n [...]n. desi [...]ing and refusing thing [...] is ruled by reason. Furthermore▪ the reason [...] and prin­ [...] the lo [...] [Page 185] [...]d veneration of the divine M [...] ­ [...]ty. Or whose goodnesse it is [...]at we be, and that wee be [...]n possibility to attaine felicity. And that seconda [...]ly it both stir­ [...]th and provoketh us to lead [...]ur life out of c [...]re in joy and [...]h; and also moveth us to [...] and further all other in re­ [...]p [...] of the society of nature to [...] and e [...]joy the same. For [...] [...]ever man so earnest [...] [...]llo [...]er of ve [...]e [...] pleasu [...] ▪ that would s [...] enjoyne your labours, wat­chings, and fastings, but hee would also exhort you to [...]a [...]e, [...]g [...]n, re [...]eve to your power, the l [...]ke and misery of others, pr [...]is [...]g the same a [...] [...] deed of hu­manity and pitty. Then i [...] it be a point of humanity, for man to [...]ing health and comfort to man, and specially (which is a vertue most peculiarly belonging to man) to [...]itig [...]te and ass [...]ge the griefe of others, and by taking [Page 186] from them the sorrow and hea­vinesse of life to restore them to joy, that is to say to pleasure: which may it not then be said, that nature doth provoke every man to doe the same to himselfe? For a joyfull life, that is to say, a But now a daies some there be that wil­lingly pro­cure unto themselues painefull griefe, as though therein restedsome high point of religion where as rather the religiously disposed person, if they hap­pen to him either by chance or else by naturall ne­cessity ought pa­tiently to receive and suffer them. pleasant life is either evill: and if it be so, then thou shouldest not onely helpe no man thereto, but rather as much as in thee ly­eth, withdraw all men from it, as noysome and hurtfull, or else if thou not onely must, but also of duty art bound to procure it to others? why not chiefly to thy selfe? To whom thou art bound to shew as much favour and gen­tlenesse as to other. For when nature biddeth thee to be good and gentle to other, she com­mandeth thee not to be cruell and ungentle to thy selfe. There­fore even very nature (say they) prescribeth vs to a joyfull life, that is to say, pleasure as the end of all our operations. And they [Page 187] define vertue to be life ordered according to the prescript of na­ture. But in that, that nature doth all are and provoke men one to helpe another to live merrily (which surely she doth not with­out a good cause: for no man is farre above the lot of mans state, or condition, that nature doth carke and care for him onely, which equally favoureth all, that he comprehended vnder the communion of one shape, forme and fashion) verily she comman­deth them to vse diligent circum­spection, that thou doe not seeke for thine owne commodities, that thou procure others incommodi­ties. Wherefore their opinion is, Bargaines and lawes. that not onely covenants and bargaines made among private men, ought to be well and faith­fully followed, observed, and kept but also common lawes, which either a good Prince hath justly published, or else the people nei­ther oppressed with tyrannie, nei­ther [Page 188] deceived by fraud and guile, hath by their common consent constituted and ratified, concer­ning the petition of the commo­dity of life, that is to say, the mat­ter of pleasure.

These lawes not offended, it is wisdome, that thou looke to thine owne wealth. And doe the same for the common wealth is no lesse then thy duty, [...]f thou bearest any reverent love, or any naturall zeale and affection to thy natiue Country. But to goe about to let another man of his pleasure, whiles thou procurest thine owne, that is open wrong. Contrariwise, to with-draw something from thy selfe to giue to other, that is a point of humanity, and gentlenesse: which never taketh away so much commodity, as it bringeth againe. For it is recompenced with the returne of benefits, and the conscience of the good deed, with the remembrance of the [Page 189] thankfull love and benevolence of them, to whom thou hast done it, doth bring more pleasure to thy mind, then that which thou The mutu­al recourse of kind­nesse. hast with-holden from thy selfe could have brought to thy body. Finally (which to a godly dispo­sed and a religious mind is easie to be perswaded) God recom­penseth the gift of a short and small pleasure with great and e­verlasting joy.

Therefore the matter diligent­ly weighed, and considered, thus they thinke, that all our actions, and in them the vertues them­selves, be referred at the last to ple [...]sure, as their end and felici­ty. Pleasure they call every The defi­nition of pleasure. motion, and state of the bo­dy or mind, wherein man hath naturally delectation. Appetite th [...]y joyne to nature, and that [...]ot without a good cause. For like as, not onely the senses, but also [...]ight reason coveteth what­soever is naturally pleasant, so [Page 190] that it may be gotten without wrong or injury, not letting or debarring a greater pleasure, nor causing painfull labour, even so those things that men, by vaine imagination doe faine against na­ture to be pleasant (as though it lay in their power to change the things, as they doe the names False and counterfeit pleasures of things) all such pleasures they beleeve to be of so small helpe and furtherance to felicity, that they count them a great let and hinderance. Because that in whom they have once taken place, all his mind they possesse with a false opinion of pleasure. So that there is no place left for true and naturall delectations.

For there be many things, which of their owne nature con­taine no pleasantnesse: yea the most part of them much griefe and sorrow. And yet through the perverse and malicious flickering inticements of lewd and honest desires, be taken not onely for [Page 191] speciall and soveraigne pleasures, but also be counted among the chiefe causes of life. In this coun­terfeit kind of pleasure, they put them that I sp [...]ke of before. Which the better gownes they The errour o [...]th▪ [...] that [...]e more for appa­rels sake. have on, the better men they thinke themselves. In the which thing, they doe twise er [...]e. [...] they be no lesse deceived, i [...] that they thinke their gowne the bet­ter then they be, in that they thinke themselves the better.

For if you consider the profi­ [...]ble use of the garment, why should wooll of a fi [...]er spunne [...]eed, be thought better, then the wooll of a course spunne [...]eed? Yet they, as though the one did passe the other by nature, and not by their mistaking, ad­vance themselves, and thinke the price of their owne persons ther­by greatly mereased. And there­fore the honor, which in a course gowne they durst not have lo [...] ­ked for, they require, as it were of [Page 192] duty, for their finer gownes sake. And if they be passed without reverence, they take it displea­santly and disdainfully. And a­gaine, Foolish honour. is it not alike madnesse to take a pride in vaine and un­profitable honours? For what naturall or true pleasure doest thou take of another mans bare head, or bowed knees; Will this case the paine of thy knees, or re­medy the phrensie of thy head? In this image of counterfeit plea­sure, they be of marvailous mad­nesse, which for the opinion of Nobility, rejoyce much in their owne conceit. Because: was their fortune to come of such an­cestors, whose stocke of long time had beene counted rich (for now nobility is nothing else) specially rich in lands. And though their Ancestors left them not one foot of land, or else they themselves have pissed it against the walls, yet they thinke them­selve, nor the lesse noble there­fore [Page 193] of one haire. In this number also they count them that take Pleasure in precious stones must foolish. pleasure and delight (as I said) in gemmes and precious stones, and thinke themselues almost gods, if they chance to get an excellent one specially of that kind, w ^ch in that time of their own Countrey­men, is had in highest estimation. The opini­on and fan­cie of people doth a [...]g [...]nt and dimi­nish the price and estimation of precious stones.

For one kind of stone keepeth not his price still in all coun­tries, and at all times. Nor they buy them not, but taken out of the gold, and bare, no nor so neither, untill they haue made the seller to sweare, that hee will warrant and assure it to be a true stone and no coun­terfeit gemme. Such care they take least a counterfeit stone should deceiue their eyes in stead of a right stone. But why shouldest thou not take e­ven as much pleasure in behol­ding a counterfeit stone, which thine eye cannot discerne from a right stone? They should both [Page 194] be of like value to thee, even as to the blind man.

What shall I say of them, that keepe superfluous riches, to take delectation onely in the behol­ding, and not in the vse or oc­cupying thereof? D [...]e they take true pleasure, or else be they deceived with false pleasure? Or of them that be in a contra­ry Hiders of Treasure. vice, hiding the gold which they shall neither occuupy, nor peradventure never see him more: And whiles they take care least they shall leese, doe leese it indeede. For what is it else, when they hide it in the ground taking it both from their owne vse, and perchance from all other mens also,? And yet thou, when thou hast hid thy treasure, as one out of all care, hopest for joy. The which treasure, if it should chance to bee stollen, and thou igno­rant of the theft, shouldest dye tenne yeares after: all that ten yeares tho [...] liuedst after thy mo­ney [Page 195] was stollen, what mat­ter was it to thee, whether it had beene taken away or else safe as thou leftest it? Truly both wayes like profit came to thee. To these so foolish pleasures they joyne Dicers, whose madnesse they know by heare-say, and not by use. Hunters also, & Hawkers.

For what pleasure is there (say they) in casting the Dice upon a Dice-play table. Which thou hast done so often, that if there were any plea­sure in it; yet the oft use might make thee weary thereof? Or what delight can there be, and not rather displeasure in hearing Hunting and Haw­king. the barking & howling of dogs? Or what greater pleasure is there to be felt, when a Dog follow­eth an Hare, then when a Dog followeth a dogge? For one thing is done in both, that is to say, running, if thou hast plea­sure therein. But if the hope of slaughter, and the expectation of tearing in peeces the Beast [Page 196] doth please thee: thou shoul­dest rather be moved with pitty to see a silly innocent Hare murdered of a dogge: the weake of the stronger, the feare­full of the fierce, the innocent of the cruell and unmercifull. Therefore all this exercise of hunting, as a thing unworthy to Hunting the basest part of butchery among the Ʋtopians, yet this is now in the exercise of most noble men. be vsed of Freemen, the Vtopians have rejected to their butchers, to the which craft (as we said be­fore) they appoint their bond­men. For they count hunting the lowest, the vilest, and most abject part of butchery, and the other parts of it, more profitable, and more honest, as bringing much more commodity, in that they kill Beasts onely for neces­sity.

Whereas the hunter secketh nothing but pleasure of the silly and wofull beasts slaughter and murder. The which plea­sure in beholding death, they thinke doth rise in the [Page 197] very Beasts, either of a cruell affection or mind, or else to be changed in continuance of time into cruelty, by long vse of so cruell a pleasure. These there­fore and all such like, which be innumerable, though the com­mon sort of people doth take them for pleasures, yet they see­ing there is no naturall pleasant­nesse in them, doe plainly de­termine them to haue no affinity with true and right pleasure. For as touching that they doe com­monly moue the sence with de­lectation (which seemeth to be a worke of pleasure) this doth no­thing diminish their opinion. For not the nature of the thing but their perverse and lewd cu­stome is the cause hereof. Which causeth them to accept bitter or sower things for sweet things. E­ven as women with child in their vicia [...] and corrupt tast, thinke pitch and [...]allow sweeter then ho­ney. Howbeit no mans judge­ment [Page 198] depraved and corrupt, ey­ther by sicknesse, or by custome, The kind­nesse of true plea­sure can change the nature of plea­sure, more then it can doe the nature of other things. They make divers k [...]nds of pleasures. For some they attribute to the Soule, and some to the body. To the soule they give intelligence, and that delication, that com­meth of the contemplation of truth.

Here [...]nto is joyned the plea­sant remembrance of the good life past. The pleasure of the bo­dy they divide into two parts. The first is, when delectation is sensible felt and perceived, which many times chanceth by the re­nuing and refreshing of those parts, which our naturall heate dryeth up. This commeth by meate and drinke. And some­times whiles those things be ex­pulsed, and voyded, whereof is in the body over great abundance. This pleasure is felt, when we [Page 199] doe our naturall [...]asement, or when we be doing the act of ge­neration, or when the itching of any part is eased with rubbing or scratching. Sometimes pleasure riseth exhibiting to any mem­ber nothing that it desireth, nor taking from it any paine that it feeleth, which neverthelesse tick­leth and moveth our sences with a certaine secret efficacie, but with a manifest motion turneth them to it. As is that which commeth of Musicke. The se­cond part of bodily pleasure they Bodily health. say, is that which consisteth and resteth in the quiet and upright state of the body. And that tru­ly is every mans owne proper health, intermingled and distur­bed with no griefe. For this, if they be not letted nor assaulted with no griefe, is delectable of it selfe, though it be moved with no externall or outward pleasure. For though it be not so plaine and manifest to the sence, as the [Page 200] greedy lust of eating & drinking yet neverthelesse, many take it for the chiefest pleasure. All the Vtopians grant it to be a right soveraigne pleasure, and as you would say the foundation and ground of all pleasures, as which even alone is able to make the state and condition of life delec­table and pleasant. And it being once taken away, there is no place left for any pleasure. For to be without griefe not having health, that they call unsensibility, and not pleasure.

The Vtopians have long ago [...] rejected and condemned [...]he opi­nion of them, which said, that stedfast and quiet health, (for this question also hath beene dili­gently debated among them) ought not therefore to be coun­ted a pleasure, because they say it cannot be presently and sensibly perceived and felt by some out­ward motion. But of the contra­ry part, now they agree almost [Page 201] all in this, that health is a most soveraigne pleasure. For seeing that in sicknesse (say they) is griefe, which is a mortall enemy to pleasure, even as sicknesse is to health, why should not then plea­sure be in the quietnes of health? For they say it maketh nothing to this matter, whether you say that sicknesse is a griefe, or that in sicknesse is griefe for all com­meth to one purpose.

For whether health be a pleasure it selfe, or a neces­sary cause of pleasure, as fire is of heat, truly both wayes it followeth, that they cannot be without pleasure, that be in per­fect health. Furthermore whiles we eate (say they) then health, which began to be appaired, figh­teth by the helpe of food a­gainst hunger. In the which fight, whiles health by little and little getteth the vpper hand, that same proceeding, and (as we would say) that onwardnesse to [Page 202] the wonted strength, ministreth that pleasure, whereby we be so refreshed. Health therefore, which in the conflict is joyfull, shall it not be merry, when it hath gotten the victory? But as soone as it hath recovered the pristi­nate strength, which thing only in all the sight it coveted, shall it incontinent be astonied? Nor shall it not know nor imbrace the owne wealth and goodnesse? For where it is said, health cannot be felt, this they thinke is nothing true. For what man walking, say they, feeleth not himselfe in health, but he that is not? Is there any man so possessed with stonish [...]nsensibility, or with le­thargie, that is to say, the sleeping sicknesse, that he will not grant health to be acceptable to him, and delectable? But what other things is delectation, then that Delecta­ [...]ions. The pleasures of the mind. which by another name is called pleasure a They imbrace chiefly the pleasures of the mind. For [Page 203] them they count the chiefest and most principall of all. The chiefe part of them they thinke doth come of the exercise of vertue, and conscience of good life. Of these pleasures that the body mi­nistreth, they give the prehemi­nence to health. For the delight of eating and drinking, and whatsoever hath any like plea­santnesse, they determine to be pleasures much to be desired, but no otherwayes then for healths sake. For such things of their owne proper nature be not so pleasant, but in that they resist sicknesse privily stealing on: Therefore, like as it is a wisemans part, rather to avoid sicknesse, then to wish for medicines, and rather to drive away and put to flight carefull griefes, then to call for comfort: so it is much better not to need this kind of pleasure, then thereby to be eased of the contrary griefe. The which kind of pleasure, if any [Page 204] man take for his felicity, that man must needs grant, that then he shall be in most felicity, if he live that life, which is lead in continuall hunger, thirst, itch­ing, eating, drinking, scratching, and rubbing. The which life, how not onely foule and unho­nest, but also how miserable and wretched it is, who perceiveth not? These doubtlesse be the basest pleasures of all, as unpure and unperfect. For they never come but accompanied with their contrary griefes. As with the pleasure of eating, i [...] joyned hunger, and that after no very e­quall sort. For of these two, the griefe is both the more vehement and also of longer continuance. For it beginneth before the plea­sure, and endeth not untill the pleasure die with it. Wherefore such pleasures they thinke not greatly to be set by, but in that they be necessary. Howbeit they have delight also in these. and [Page 181] thankfully knowledge the ten­der love of mother Nature, which with most pleasant delectation allureth her children to that, to the necessary vse whereof, they must from time to time continu­ally be forced and driven. For how wretched and miserable should our life be, if these daily griefes of hunger and thirst could not be driven away, but with bitter potions, and sowre medi­cines, as the other diseases be, wherewith we be seldomer trou­bled? The gifts of nature. But beauty, strength, nim­blenesse, these as peculiar and pleasant gifts of nature they make much off. But those plea­sures that be receiued by the eares, the eyes, and the nose, which nature willeth to be pro­per and peculiar to man (for no other living creature doth behold the fairenesse & the beauty of the world, or is moved with any re­spect of savors, but only for & di­versity of meats, neither perceveth [Page 206] the concordant & discordant di­stances of sounds and tunes) these pleasures. I say, they ac­cept and allow as certaine plea­sant rejoycings of life. But in all things this cautell they vse, that a lesse pleasure hinder not a big­ger, and that the pleasure be no cause of displeasure, which they thinke to follow of necessity, if the pleasure be unhonest. But yet to despise the comelinesse of beau­ty, to wast the bodily strength, to turne nimblenesse unto [...]loa­thishnesse: to consume and make feeble the body with fasting▪ to doe injury to health, and to reject the pleasant motions of nature, unlesse a man neglect these commodities, whiles he doth with a fervent zeale pro­cure the wealth of others, or the common profit, for the which pleasure forborne, he is in hope of a greater pleasure at Gods hand: else for a vaine shadow of vertue, for the wealth and profit [Page 207] of no man, to punish himselfe, or to the intent he may be able cou­ragiously to suffer adversity, which perchance shall never come to him: this to doe, they thinke it a point of extreame madnesse, and a token of a man cruelly minded towards him­selfe, and unkind towards nature, as one so disdaining to be in her danger, that he renounceth and Marke this well. refuseth all her benefits. This is their sentence and opinion of vertue and pleasure. And they beleeve that by mans reason none can be found truer then this, unlesse any godlier be in­spired into man from heaven. Wherein whether they beleeve well or no, neither the time doth suffer us to discusse, neither it is now necessary. For we have ta­ken vpon vs to shew and declare their lores and ordinancies, and not to defend them. But this thing I beleeve verily, howsoe­ver these decrees be, that there is [Page 208] in no place of the world, neither a more excellent people, neither a more flourishing Common­wealth. They be light and quicke of body, full of activity and nim­blenesse, and of more strength then a man would judge them by their stature, which for al that is not too low. And though their soyle be not very fruitfull, nor their ayre very wholesome, yet against the ayre they so defend them with temperate diet, and so order and husband their ground with diligent travaile, th [...] no Countrey is greater increase and plenty of Corne and Cattle, nor mens bodies of longer life, and The w [...]lth [...] de­scirption of the V­ [...]pi [...]s. subject or apt to fewer diseases. There therefore a man may see well, and diligently exploited and furnished, not onely those things which husbandmen doe commonly in other Countries, as by craft and cunning to re­medy the barrennesse of the ground, but also a whole Wood [Page 209] by the hands of the people plucked vp by the rootes in one place, and set againe in another place. Wherein was had regard and consideration, not of plenty, but of commodious carriage▪ that wood and timber might be nigh­er to the Sea, or the Rivers, or the Cities. For it is lesse labour and businesse to carry graine farre by land then wood. The people be gentle, merry, quicke and fine witte [...], delighting in quietnesse, and when need re­quireth, able to abide and suf­fer much bodily labour. Else they be not greatly desirous and fond of it [...]: but in the exercise and study of the mind they be never weary. When they had heard me speake of the Greeke literature or learning (for in Latine there was nothing that I thought they would greatly allow, besides Histories and Po­ets) they made wonderfull ear­nest and importunate sute unto [Page 210] me that I would reach and in­struct them in that tongue and learning. I began therefore to read unto them, at the first truly, more because I would not seeme A wonder­full [...]p [...] nesse to lea [...]g [...] the Vtopi­ans. to refuse the labour, then that I hoped that they would any thing profit therein. But when I had gone forward a little, I per­ceived incontinent by their dili­gence, that my labour should not be bestowed in vaine. For they began so easily to fashion their letters, so plainly to pronounce the words, so quickly to learne by heart, and so surely to re­hearse the [...]ame, that I merv [...]le But now most block beaded Asse▪ be set to lear­ning, and most prog­ [...] [...]its corrupt with plea­sures. at it, saving that the most part of them were fine, a [...]d cho [...] wits, and of ripe age, picked out of the company of the learned men, which not onely of their owne free and voluntary will, but also by the commandement of the Councell, undertooke to learne this language. Therefore in lesse then three yeares space, there [Page 211] was nothing in the Greeke tongue that they lacked. They were able to read good Authors without any stay, if the booke were not false. This kind of lear­ning, as I suppose, they tooke so much the sooner, because, it is somewhat alliant to them: For I thinke that this Nation tooke their beginning of the Greekes, because their speech, which in all other points is not much un­like the Per sian tongue, keeping divers sig [...]es and token of the Greeke language in the names of their Cities, and of their Ma­gistrates. They have of me (for when I was determined to enter into my fourth voyage, I cast in­to [...]he Ship in the stead of mer­chandise a prety far [...]le of bookes, because I intended to come a­gaine rather never, then shortly) they have, I say of me, the most part of Platoes workes, more of Aristotles, also Theophrastus of plants, but in divers places (which [Page 212] I am sory for) vnperfect. For whiles they were a Ship-boord, a Marmoset chanced vpon the booke, as it was negligently laid by, which wantonly play­ing therewith, plucked out cer­taine leaves and tore them in peeces. Of them that have writ­ten the Grammer, they have only Las [...]aris. For Theodorus I car­ried not with me, nor never a Dictionarie, but Hes [...]chius, and Dioscorides. They set great store by Plutarches bookes. Aud they be delighted with Lucianes merry conceits and jeasts. Of the Poets they have Aristopha­nes, Homer, Euripides, and Sophocles in Ald [...]s small print. Of the Historians they have Thucidides, Herodotus, and Herodian. Also my companion Tricius Apinatus carried with him Physicke bookes, certaine small workes of Hippocrates, and Galens▪ Microtechne. The which booke they have in great estima­tion: [Page 213] For though there be almost no natiō under heaven that hath lesse need of Physicke then they, yet this notwith standing, Phy­sicke is no where in greater ho­nour. Because they count the Phisicke highly re­garded. knowledge of it among the god­liest, and most profitable parts of Philosophie. For whiles they by the helpe of this Philosophy search out the secret my steries of nature, they thinke themselves to recciue thereby not onely won­derfull great pleasure, but also to obtaine great thanks and favour of the Author and maker thereof. Whom they thinke according to the fashion of other Artificers, to have set forth the marvailous and gorgious frame of the world for man, with great affection, in­centiuely to behold. Whom The con­templation of nature. onely he hath made of wit, and capacity to consider and un­derstand the excellency of so great a worke. And there­fore he beareth (say they) [Page 214] more good will and love to the curious and diligent beholder, and viewer of his worke and marveilour at the same, then he doth to him, which like a very bruit Beast without wit and rea­son, or as one without sense or mooving, hath no regard to so great and so wonderfull a spec­tacle. The wits therefore of the Vtopians inured and exercised in learning, be marvailous quicke in the invention of feats, helping a­ny thing to the advantage and wealth of life. Howbeit two feats they may thanke vs for. That is, the science of Imprinting, and the craft of making Paper. And yet not onely vs, but chiefly and principally themselves. For when we shewed to them Aldus his print in bookes of paper, & told them of the stuffe whereof paper is made, and of the feat of graving letters, speaking somewhat more, then we could plainely de­clare (for there was none of vs, [Page 215] that knew perfectly eyther the one or the other) they forth with very wittily conjectured the thing. And whereas before, they wrote onely in skins, in barkes of Trees, and in reedes, now they have attempted to make Paper, and to imprint Letters. And though at the first it proved not all of the best, yet by often assay­ing the same, they shortly got the feare of both. And have so brought the matter about, that if they had copies of Greeke au­thors, they could lack no Bookes. But now they have no more, then I rehearsed before, saving that by printing of bookes, they have multiplied and increased the same into many thousands of Copies. Whosoever commeth thither to see the Land, being excellent in any gift of wit, or through much and long journeying, well expe­rienced and seene in the know­ledge of many Countries (for the which cause wee were very wel­come [Page 216] to them) him they receive and entertaine wondrous gently and lovingly. For they have de­light to heare what is done in e­very Land, howbeit very few Marchant men come thither.

For what should they bring thither, vnlesse it were yron, or else Gold and silver, which they had rather carry home againe? Also such things as are to be car­ried out of their land, they thinke it more wisedome to carry that geere forth themselues, then that other should come thither to fetch it, to the intent they may the better know the out lands on every side of them, and keepe in ure the feate and knowledge of failing.

Of Bond-men, Sicke Persons, Wedlocke, and▪ divers other matters.

THey neither make Bondmen A [...] [...]vai­lons [...]quity of this na­tion. of prisoners taken in Bat­taile, unlesse it be in ba [...]ile that they fought themselves, [...]or of bondmens children; nor to be short, of any such as they can get out of forraigne Countries, though he were yet there a bond­man. But eyther such, as among themselves for heynous offences be punished bondage, or else such, as in the Cities of other Lands for great trespasses be cō ­demned to death. And of this sort of bondmen they have most store.

For many of them they bring home sometimes, paying very little for them, yea most com­monly getting them for gramer­cy. These sorts of bondmen they keep not only in continuall work and labour, but also in bands. [Page 218] But their owne men they handle hardest, whom they judge more desperate, and to haue deserved greater punishment, because they being so godly brought vp to vertue in so excellent a common wealth, could not for all that be refrained from mis­doing. Another kind of bond­men they haue, when a vile drudge being a poore laborer in another Countrey, doth choose of his owne free will to be a bondman among them. These they intreat and o [...]der honestly, and entertaine almost as gently, as their owne free citizens, saving that they put them to a little more labour, as thereto accusto­med. If any such, bee disposed to depart thence (which seldome is seene) they neither hold him a­gainst his will, neither send him a way with empty hands. The sicke (as I said) they see to with great [...] th [...]t be [...]. affection, and let nothing at all passe, c [...]cerning either Phisicke or [Page 219] good diet, whereby they may be restored againe to their health. Such as be sicke or incureable diseases, they comfort with sitting by them, and to be short, withall manner of helpes that may be. But if the disease bee not one­ly vncureable, but also full of continuall paine and anguish thē the Priests and the Magistrates exhort the man, seeing hee is not able to doe any duty of life and by overliving; his owne death is noysome and irkesome to other and grieuous to himselfe: that he will determine with himselfe no longer to cherish that pestilent and painfull disease▪ And seeing Ʋoluntary de [...]th. his life is to him but a torment, that he will not be vnwilling to dy, but rather take a good hope to him, and either dispatch himselfe out of that painefull life, as out of a prison, or a racke of torment, or else suffer himselfe willingly to be ridde out of it by other. And in so doing, they [Page 220] tell him he shall doe wisely, see­ing by his death he shall loose no commodity, but end his paine. And because in that act he shall follow the counsel of the Priests, that is to say, of the Interpre­ters of Gods will and pleasure, they shew him that he shall doe like a godly and a vertuous man. They that be thus perswaded, finish their lives willingly, ei­ther with hunger, or else dye in their sleepe without any feeling of death. But they cause none such to dye against his will, nor they vse no lesse [...]iligence and at­tendance about him: beleeuing this to be an honourable death. Else he that killeth himselfe be­fore that the Priests & the Coun­sell haue allowed the cause of his death, him as vnworthy either to be buried, or with fire to be con­sumed, they cast v [...]buried into some stinking marrish. The Of Wed­l [...]. woman is not married before she be eighteene yeares old.

[Page 221]The man is foure yeares el­der before he marry. If eyther the man or the woman be proued to haue actually offended before their mariage, with another, the party that so hath trespassed, is sharpely punished. And both the offenders, be forbidden ever after in all their life to marry: vnlesse the fault be forgiven by the Princes pardon. Both the good man and good wife of the house, where that offence was committed, as being slacke and negligent in looking to their charge, be in danger of great reproach, and infamy. That of­fence is so sharpely punished, because they perceiue that vn­lesse they be diligently kept from the liberty of this vice, few will joyne together in the loue of marriage, wherein all the life must be led with one, and also all the griefes and dis­pleasures cōming therewith pati­ently be taken and born. Further­more [Page 222] in choosing wiues and hus­bands, they obserue earnestly and straightly a custome, which see­med to us very fond and foolish. For a sad and honest patron sheweth the woman be she Maid or widdow, naked to the wooer. And likewise a sage and discreet man, exhibiteth the wooer naked to the woman. At this custome we laughed, and disallowed it as foolish. But they on the other part doe greatly wonder at the folly of all other Nations, which in buying a Colt, whereas a lit­tle money is in hazard, be so cha­ry and circumspect, that though he be almost all bare, yet they will not buy him, unlesse the sad­dle and all the harnesse be taken off, least under those coverings be hid some gall or sore. And yet in chusing a Wife, which shall be either pleasure or dis­pleasure to them all their life af­ter, they be so rechlesse, that all the residue of the womans body [Page 223] being eovered with cloathes, they esteeme her scarcely by one hand breadth (for they can see no more but her face) and so to joyne her to them not without great jeopardy of evill agreeing together, if any thing in her bo­dy after ward should chance to of­fend, and mislike them.

For all men be not so wise, as to have respect to the vertu­ous condition of the party. And the endowments of the body, cause the vertues of the mind more to be esteemed and regar­ded: yea, even the marriages of wise men. Ʋerily so foule de­formity may be hid under those coverings, that it may quite a­lienate and take away the mans mind from his wife, when it shall not be lawfull for their bo­dies to be separate againe. If such deformity happen by any chance after the Marriage is consummate and finished, well, therein no remedy but patience. [Page 224] Every man must take his fortune well in worth. But it were well done that a law were made wher­by all such deceits might be es­chewed, and avoided before hand.

And this were they constrai­ned more earnestly to looke vp­on, because they onely of the na­tions in that part of the world be content every man with one wife a piece. And matrimony is there never broken, but by death: except adultery breake the bond, or else the intollerable wayward Diverse­ment. manners of either party. For if eyther of them find themselves for any such cause grieved, they may by the licence of the Coun­sell, change and take another. But the other party liveth ever after in infamy, and out of wed­locke. Howbeit the husband to put away his wife for no other fault, but for that some mishap is fallen to her body, this by no meanes they will suffer? for they [Page 225] judge it a great point of cruelty, that any body in their most need of helpe and comfort, should be cast off and forsaken, and that old age, which both bringeth sick­nesse with it, and is a sicknesse it selfe, should unkindly, and un­faithfully be delt withall. But now and then it chanceth, wher­as the man and woman cannot well agree betweene themselves both of them finding other, with whom they hope to live more quietly and merrily, that they by the full consent of them both, be divorsed asunder and married againe to other. But that not without the authority of the Councell. Which agreeth to no divorses, before they and their wives have diligently tryed and examined the mat­ter. Yea, and then also they be loath to consent to it, be­cause they know this to be the next way to breake love be­tweene man and wife, to be in [Page 226] easie hope of a new marriage. Breakers of wedlocke be puni­shed with most grievous bon­dage. And if both the offendors were married, then the parties which in that behalfe have suffe­red wrong, being divorced from the adulterers, be married toge­ther, if they will, or else to whom they lust. But if either of them both doe still continue in love toward so unkind a bed-fellow, the vse of wedlock is not to them forbidden, if the party faultlesse be disposed to follow in toyling and drudgery, [...]he person, which for that offence is condemned to bondage. And very oft it chan­ceth, that the repentance of the one, and the earnest diligence of the other, doth so moue the Prince with pitty and compas­sion, that he restoreth the bond person from seruitude, to liberty and freedome againe. But if the same party be taken e [...]soones in that fault, there is no other way [Page 227] but death. To other trespasses no prescript punishment is appoin­ted by any law. But according to The deser­uing of pu­nishment put to the discretion▪ of the Magistrates. the hainousnesse of the offence, or contrary, so the punishment is moderated by the discretion of the Councell. The husbands cha­stice their wives, and the parents their children, unlesse they have done any so horrible an offence, that the open punishment thereof maketh much for the advance­ment of honest manners.

But most commonly the most hainous faults be punished with the incommodity of bon­dage. For that they suppose to be to the offendors no le [...]se griefe, and to the Common-wealth more profit, then if they should hastily put them to death, and so make them quite out of the way. For their commeth more profit of their labour, thē of their death, and by their example they feare other the longer from like offen­ces. But if they being thus vsed, do [...] [Page 228] rebell and kicke againe, then for­sooth they be [...]laine as desperate and wild beasts, whom neither prison nor chaine could restraine and keepe vnder. But they, which take their bondage pati­ently, be not left al hopelesse. For after they haue beene broken and tamed with long miseries, if then they shew such repentance, as thereby it may be perceived that they be [...]orier for their offence then for their punishment: some­times by the Princes prerogatiue, and sometimes by the voice or else consent of the people, their bondage either is m [...]ttigated, or cleane released and forgiven. He that mooveth to adultery is in no lesse danger and jeopardy, then Motion to Adultery punished. if he had committed adultery in deed. For in all offences they count the intent and pretensed prpose as evill, as the act or deed it selfe, thanking that no let ought to excuse him, that did his best to haue no let. [Page 229] They haue singuler delight and pleasure in Fooles. And as it is Pleasure of fooles. a great reproach to doe to any of them hurt or injury, so they pro­hibite not to take pleasure of foolishnesse. For that they think, doth much good to the fooles. And if any man be so sad and sterne, that he cannot laugh neither at their words, nor at their deeds, none of them be committed to his tuition: for feare least he would not intreat them gently and favourably enough: to whom they should bring no delectation (for other good [...]esse in them is none) much les [...]e any profit should they yeeld him. To [...]ocke a man for his deformity, or that he lacketh one part or limme of his body, is counted great dishonesty and reproach, not to him that is mocked, but to him that mocketh. Which vnwisely doth imbraid any man of that as a vice, that was not in his power to eschew, also as they [Page 230] count and reckon very little wit Co [...]terfe [...] beauty. to be in him, that regardeth not naturall beauty and comelinesse; so to helpe the same with pain­tings, is taken for a vaine and a wanton pride, not without great infamy. For they know even by very experience, that no come­linesse of beauty doth so highly commend and advance the wiues in the conceits of their husbands, as honest conditions and lowli­nesse: For as love is oftentimes wonne with beauty, so it is not kept, preserved and continued, but by vertue and obedience. Si [...]e pu­nished and vertue re­warded. They doe not onely feare their people from doing evill, by pu­nishments, but also allure them to vertue with rewards of ho­nour. Therefore they set vp in the Market place the Images of notable men, and of such as have beene bountifull benefactors to the Common-wealth, for the perpetuall memory of their good acts: and also that the glory and [Page 231] renowne of the ancestors may stirre and provoke their posteri­ty to vertue. He that inordinatly The inor­dinate de­sire of ho­nors con­demned. and ambitiously desireth promo­tions, is left all hopelesse for ever attaining any promotion as long as he liveth. They live together lovingly: For no Magistrate is either haughty or fearefull. Fa­thers they be called, and like fa­thers they use themselves. The Citizens (as it is their duty) wil­lingly exhibit unto them due ho­nour without any compulsion. Nor the Prince himselfe is not knowne from the other by princely apparell, or a robe of state, nor by a crowne or diade me Magistrats honoured. royall, or cap of maintenance, but by a little sheafe of Corne carried before him. And so a ta­per of waxe is borne before the Bishop, whereby onely he is knowne. They have but few F [...] Lawes. lawes. For to people to instruct and institute, very few doe suf­fice. Yea, this thing they chiefly [Page 232] reproue among other actions, that inumerable books of laws & expositions vpon the same be not sufficient. But they think it a­gainst all right and justice, that men should be bound to those laws, which either be in number moe then be able to be read, or else blinder and darker, then that any man can well vnderstand them. Furthermore they vtterly The mul­titude of Lawyers super­fluous. exclude and banish all Atturnies, Proctors, and Sergeants at the Law, which craftily handle mat­ters, and subtilly dispute of the lawes. For they thinke it most meet, that every man should plead his owne matter, and tell the same tale to the Iudge, that he would tell to his man of law. So shall there be lesse circum­stance of words, & the truth shall sooner come to light, whiles the Iudge with a discreet judgement doth away the words of him, whō no lawyer hath instruct with deceit, and whiles he beareth out [Page 233] simple wits against the false and malicious circumventions of crafty children. This is hard to be observed in other Countries, in so infinit a number of blind and intricate lawes. But in Vto­pia every man is a cunning Law­yer. For as (I said) they have very few lawes: and the plainer and grosser that any interpretation is: that they allow as most just. For all lawes (say they) be made The intent of Lawes. and published only to the intent, that by them every man shall be put in remembrance of his duty. But the crafty and subtill inter­pretation of them (forasmuch as few can attaine thereto) can put very few in that remembrance, whereas the simple, the plaine, and grosse meaning of the lawes is open to every man. Else as touching the vulgar sort of the people, which be both most in number, and▪ have most need to know their duties, were it not as good for then that [Page 234] no Law were made at all, as when it is made to bring so blind an interpretation vpon it, that without great wit and long ar­guing no man can discusse it? To the finding out whereof, nei­ther the grosse judgement of the people can attaine, neither the whole life of them that be occu­pyed in working for their li­vings, can suffice thereto. These verrues of the Vtopians have cau­sed their next neighbours and borderers, which live free and under no subjection (for the V­topians long agoe, have delivered many of them from Tyrannie) to make Magistrates of them, some for a yeare, and some for fiue yeares space. Which when the time of their office is expired, they bring home againe with honour and praise, and take new againe with them into their Country.

These nations haue undoubted­ly very well and holsomly pro­vided [Page 235] for their Common­wealths. For seeing that both the making and the marring of the Weale publique, doth depend and hang vpon the manners of the Rulers and Magistrates, what officers could they more wisely have chosen, then those which cannot be lead from honesty by bribes (for to thē that shortly af­ter shall depart thence into their owne Country, money should be unprofitable) nor yet be moved either with favour, or malice to­wards any man, as being stran­gers, and unacquainted with the people? The which two vices of affection and avarice, where they take place in judgements, incon­tinent they breake justice, the strongest and surest bond of a Common-wealth. These people which fetch their officers and ru­lers from them, the Vtopians call their fellowes. And other to whom they have beene benefici­all, they call their friends. As [...] [Page 238] and to breake both league and truth. The which crafty dealing, yea the which fraud and deceit, if they should know it to be practised among private men in their bargaines and contracts, they would incontinent cry out a [...] with an open mouth, and a sowre countenance, as an offence most detestable, and worthy to be punished with a s [...]me [...] all death: yea even very they that advance themselves Authors of like coun­saile, is given to Princes. Where­fore it may well be thought, either that all justice is but a base and a low vertue, and which avai­leth it selfe farre under the high dignity of Kings: Or, at the least-wise, that there be two lu­stices, the one meet for the infe­riour sort of the people, going a foot and creeping low by the ground, and bound downe on e­very side with many bands, be­cause it shall not run at rovers. The other a princely vertue, [Page 239] which like as it is of much high­er Majesty, then the other poore justice, so also it is of much more liberty, as to the which nothing is unlawfull that it h [...]steth after. These manners of Princes (as I said) which be there so evill keepers of leagues, cause the V­topians, as I suppose, to make no leagues at all which perchance would change their mind if they lived here. Howbeit they thinke that though leagues be never so faithfully observed and kept, yet the custome or making leagues was very evill begun. For this causeth men (as though nations which be separate a sunder, by the space of a little hill, or River, were coupled together by no so­ciety or bond of nature) to thinke themselves borne adversa­ries and enemies one to another, and that it were lawfull for the one to seeke the death and de­struction of the other, if leagues were not: yea, and that after the [Page 240] leagues be accorded, friendship doth not grow and increase: But the licence of robbing and stea­ling doth still remaine, as faire forth as for lacke of fore-sight and advisement in writing the words of the league, any sentence or clause to the contrary is not therein sufficiently comprehen­ded. But they be of a contrary o­pinion. That is, that no man ought to be counted an enemy which hath done no injury. And that the fellowship of nature is a strong league, and that men be better and more surely knit toge­ther by love and benevolence, then by covenants of leagues: by hearty affection of mind, then by words

Of War-fare.

VVArre or Battaile as a thing very beastly, and yet no kind of beasts in so much vse as to man, they doe detest and abhorre. And contrary to the custome almost of all other na­tions, they count nothing so much against glory, as glory got­ten in warre. And therefore though they doe daily practice and exercise themselves in the discipline of warre, not only the men, but also the women vpon certaine appointed dayes, least they should be to seek in the feat of armes, if need should require, yet they never goe to battaile, but either in the defence of their owne Country, or to drive out of their friends Land the ene­mies that have invaded it, or by the power to deliver from the yoake and bondage of Ty­rannie some people, that be [Page 242] therewith oppressed. Which thing they doe of meere pitty and compassion. Howbeit they send helpe to their friends, not ever in their defence, but some­times also to requite and revenge injuries before to them done. But this they doe not vnlesse their counsell and advise in the matter be asked, whiles it is yet new and fresh, For if they find the cause probable, and if the contrary part will not restorea­gaine such things as be of them justly demanded, then they be the chiefe authors and makers of the warre. Which they doe not onely as oft as by [...]rodes and invosions of souldiers preyes and booties be driven, but then also much more mortally, when their friends marchants in any land, either vnder the pretence of vnjust lawes, or else by the wresting and wrong vnderstan­ding of good lawes, doe sustaine an vnjust accusation vnder the [Page 243] colour of justice. Neither the bat­taile which the Vtopians fought for the Nephelogetes against the Alaopolitanes a little before our time, was made for any other cause, but that the Nephelogete marchant men, as the Vtopians thought, suffered wrong of the Alaopolitans, vnder the pretence of right. But whether it were right or wrong, it was with so cruell and mortall warre reven­ged, the Countries round about joyning their helpe and power to the puissance and malice of both parties, that most flou­rishing and wealthy peoples, being some of them shrewdly shaken, and some of them sharp­ly beaten, the mischiefes were not finished nor ended, vntill the Alaopolitans, at the last were yeelded vp as bondmen into the jurisdiction of the Nephelogetes. For the Vto­pians fought not this warre for themselves. And yet the Nephe­logetes [Page 244] before the warre, when the Alaopolitanes flourished in wealth, were nothing to be com­pared with them. So eagerly the Vtopians prosecute the injuries done to their friends: yea, in money matters and not their owne likewise. For if they by covine or g [...]le be wiped beside their goods, so that no violence be done to their bodies, they ease their anger by abstaining from occupying with that nation, un­till they have made satisfaction. Not for because they set lesse store by their owne Citizens, then by their friends: but that they take the losse of their friends money more heavily then the losse of their owne. Because that their friends Merchant men, for as much as that the losse is their owne private goods, sustaine great damage by the losse. But their own Citizens lose nothing but of the common goods, and of that which was at home plen­tifull [Page 245] and almost superfluous, else had it not beene sent forth. Therefore no man feeleth the losse. And for this cause they thinke it too cruell an act, to revenge the losse with the death of man, the incommodity▪ of the which losse no man feeleth nei­ther in his life, nor yet in his living. But if it chance that a­ny of their men be in any other Country be maimed or killed, whether it be done by a common or a private Councell, knowing and trying out the truth of the matter by their Ambassadours, unlesse the offendors be rende­red unto them in recompence of the injury, they will not be ap­peased: but incontinent they proclaime Warre against them. The offendors yeelded, they punish either with death, or with bondage. They be not onely sory, but also ashamed to atchieve the victory with blood­shed, counting it great folly [Page 246] to buy precious wares too deare. Ʋictory deere bought. They rejoyce and avant them­selves, if they vanquish and oppresse their enemy by craft and deceit. And for that act they make a generall triumph, and as if the matter were manfully handled, they set vp a pillar of stone in the place, where they so vanquished their enemies, in to­ken of their victory. For then they glory, then they boast and crack, that they haue plaied the men indeed, when they haue so overcome, as no other living creature, but only man could: that is to say, by the might and puissance of wit. For with bodily strength (say they) Beares, Lions, Boares, wolfes, dogs, and other wild beasts doe fight. And as the most pa [...]t of them doe passe vs in strength and fierce courage, so in wit & reason we be much stronger then they all. Their chiefe & principall purpose in war, is to obtaine that thing, [Page 247] which if they had before obtai­ned, they would not haue moo­ved battaile. But if that be not possible, they take such cruell vengeance of them which be in the fault, that ever after they be affraid to doe the like.

This is their chiefe and princi­pall intent, which they imme­diatly and first of all prosecute, and set forward. But yet so, that they be more circumspect in auoyding and eschewing jeopar­dies, then they be desirous of praise and renowne. Therefore immediatly after that warre is once solemnly denounced, they procure many Proclamations signed with their owne com­mon seale, to be set vp privily at one time in their enemes land, in places most frequented. In these proclamations they pro­mise great rewards to him that will kill their enemies Prince, and somewhat lesse gifts, but them ve­ry great also, for every head of [Page 248] thē, whose names be in the said proclamations contained. They be those whom they count their chiefe adversaries, next unto the Prince whom there is prescribed, unto him that killeth any of the proclaimed persons, that is dou­bled to him that bri [...]geth any of the s [...]me to them alive: yea, and to the procla [...]ed persons themselves, if they will change their minds, and come into them, taking their parts, they proffer the same great rewards with par­don and surety of their lives. Therefore it quickly commeth to passe, that their enemies have all other men in suspition, and be unthankfull, and mistrusting a­mong themselves one to another living in great feare, and in no l [...]s [...]e jeopardy. For it is well knowne, that divers times the most part of them (and specially the Prince himselfe) hath beene betrayed of them, in whom they put their most hope and [Page 249] trust. So there is no manner of act nor deed that gifts and re­wards doe not inforce men unto. And in rewards they keepe no measure. But remembring and considering into how great ha­zard and jeopardy they call them, endevour themselves to recompence the greatnesse of the danger with like great benefits. And therefore they promise not onely wonderfull great abun­dance of gold, but also lands of great revenues lying in most safe places among their friends. And their promises they performe faithfully without any fraud or covine.

This custome of buying and selling adversaries, among other people is disallowed, as a cru [...]l act of a base and a cowardish mind. But they in this behalfe thinke themselves much praise wor­thy, as who likewise, men by this meanes dispatch great Warres without Batta [...]e o [...] [Page 250] skirmish. Yea, they count it also a deed of pitty and mercy, be­cause that by the death of a few offenders, the lives of a great number of Innocents, as well of their owne men, as also of their enemies, be ransomed and saved, which in fighting should have beene slaine. For they doe no lesse pitty the base and common sort of their enemies people, then they doe their owne: knowing that they be driven and forced to warre against their wills, by the furious in [...]dnesse of their Princes and heads. If by none of these meanes the matter goe forward, as they would have it, then they procure occasions of debate, and dissention to be spread among their enemies. As by bringing the Princes brother, o [...] some of the noble men in hope to ob­taine the Kingdome. If this way prevaile not, then they raise vp the people that be next neigh­bours and borde [...]e [...]s to their ene­mies, [Page 251] and them they set in their necks under the colour of some old title of right, such as Kings doe never lacke. To them they promise their helpe and ayd in their Warre. And as for money they giue them abundance. But of their owne Citizens they send to them few or none: whom they make so much of▪ and love so [...]tirely, that they would not be willing to change any of them for their adversaries Prince. But them gold and silver, because they keepe it all for this onely purpose, they lay it out [...]ranckly and [...]ly: as who should live even a, wealthily, if they had [...]stowed it every penny. Yea and besides their riches, which they keepe at home, they have also an infinite treasure abroad, by reason that (as I said before) many Nations be in their debt. There [...]ore they hire souldiours out of all Countries and send them to Battaile, but chiefly of [Page 252] the Zapolets. This people, is five hundred miles from Vtopia Eastward. They be hidious, sa­vage, and fierce, dwelling in wild Woods, and high mountaines, where they were bred and brought vp. They be of an hard nature, able to abide and sustaine heate, cold, and labour, abhorring from all dilicate dainties, occu­pying no husbandry no [...] tillage of the ground, homely and rude both in building of their houses, and in their apparell, given unto no goodnesse, but onely to the breeding and bringing vp of Cat [...]le. The most part of their living is by hunting and stea­ling. They be borne onely to warre, which they diligently and earnestly seek for. And when they have gotten it, they be won­drous glad thereof. They goe forth of their Co [...]y in great companies together and w [...] [...]os [...] ­ever lacketh souldio [...]rs, there they proffer their service for smal [Page 253] wages. This is onely the craft that they have to get their living by. They maintaine their lives, by seeking their death. For them with whom they be in wages, they fight hardly, fiercely, and faithfully. But they bind them­selves for no certaine time. But vpon this condition they enter into bonds, that the next day they will take part with the other side for greater wages, and the next day after that, they will be ready to come back againe for a little more money. There be few warrs there away, wherein is not a great number of them in both parties. Therefore it daily chan­ceth, that nigh kinsfolke which were hired together on one part, and there very friendly and fa­miliarly vsed themselves one with another, shortly after being separate into contrary parts, run one against another enviously and fiercely: and forgetting both kindred and friendship [Page 254] thrust their swords one in ano­ther. And that for none other cause, but that they be hired for contrary Princes for a little mo­ney. Which they doe so highly regard and esteeme, that they will easily be provoked to change parts for a halfe-penny more wa­ges by the day. So quickly they have taken a smacke in cove­tousnesse. Which for all that, is to them no profit. For that they get by fighting, immediately they spend need [...]esse, unthri [...]ily and wretchedly in ry [...].

This people sighteth for the Vtopians against all Natio [...]s, be­cause they give them greater wages, then any other nation will. For the Vtopians like as they seeke good men to vse well, so they seeke these evill and vi­cious men to abuse. Whom, when need requireth, with promises of great rewards, they put forth in­to great jeopardies. From whence the most part of them never [Page 255] commeth againe to aske their re­wards. But to them that remaine alive, they pay that which they promised faithfully, that they may be the more willing to put themselves in like danger ano­ther time. Nor the Vtopians passe not how many of them they bring to destruction. For they beleeve that they should doe a very good deed for all mankind, if they could rid out of that world all that foule stincking denne of that most wicked and cursed people. Next unto these, they vse the souldiours of them for whom they fight: and then the helpe of their other friends. And last of all, they joyne to their owne Citizens. Among whom they give to one of tried vertue▪ and powers, the rule, governance and conduction of the whole Army. Vnder him they appoint two other, which whiles he is safe, be both private and out of office. But if he be taken or [Page 256] slaine the one of the other succe­deth him, as it were by inheri­tance. And if the second miscar­ry, then the third taketh his roome, least that (as the chance of Battaile is uncertaine and doubtfull) the jeopardy of death of the Captaine should bring the whole army in hazard. They choose souldiours out of every City, those, which put forth themselves willingly. For they thrust no man forth into warre against his will: because they beleeve, if any man be fearefull and faint-hearted of nature, he will not onely doe no manfull and hardy act himselfe, but also be occasion of cowardnesse to his fellowes. But if any Battaile be made against their owne Country, then they put these co­wards (so that they be strong bo­died) in Ships among other bold harted men. Or else they dispose them vpon the w [...]ls, frō whence they may n [...] flie. Thus what for [Page 257] shame that their enemies be at hand, and what for because they be without hope of running a­way, they forget all feare. And many times extreame necessity turneth cowardnesse into pro­wesse and manlinesse. But as none o [...] them is thrust forth of his Country into warre against his will, so women that be willing to accompany their husbands in time of warre, be not prohibited o [...] letted. Yea they provoke and exhort them to it with praises. And in set field the wives doe stand every one by their owne husbands side. Also every man is compassed next about with his owne children, kinsfolkes, and alliance, That they whom na­ture chiefly mooveth to mu­tuall succour, thus standeth together, may helpe one ano­ther. It is a great reproach and dishonesty for the hus­band [...] [...]ome home without his wife, or the wife without her [Page 258] husband, or the sonne without his father. And therefore if the other part sticke so hard by it, that the battaile come to their hands, it is fought with great slaughter and blood-shed, even to the utter destruction of both parties. For as they make all the meanes and shifts that may be, to keepe themselves from the necessity of fighting, or that they may dispatch the battaile by their hired souldiors, so when there is no remedy, but that they must needs fight themselves▪ then they doe as couragiously fall to it, as before, whiles they might, they did wisely avoid and refuse it. Nor they be not most fierce at the first brunt. But in continu­ance by little and little their fierce courage encreaseth, with so stub­borne and obstinate minds, that they will rather die then give backe an [...]nch. For that surety of living, which every man hath at home, being joyned with no care­full [Page 259] anxiety or remembrance how their posterity shall live af­ter them (for this pensivenesse oftentimes breaketh and abateth couragious stomackes) making them stout and hardy, and dis­dainfull to be conquered. More­over, their knowledge in chiual­ry and feates of armes, putteth them in a good hope. Finally the wholesome and vertuous opini­ons wherein they were brought vp even from their childhood, partly through learning, and partly through the good ordi­nance and lawes of their Weale publique, augment and encrease their manfull courage. By reason whereof, they neither set so lit­tle store by their lives, that they will rashly and vnadvisedly cast them away: nor they be not so farre in lewd and fond love therewith, that they will shame­fully covet to keepe them, when honesty biddeth leave them. When the battaile is hottest, and [Page 260] in all places most fierce and fer­vent, The Cap­taine is chiefly to be pursued to the in­tent the battaile may the sooner [...]e ended. a band of chosen and picked yong men, which be sworne to liue and dye together, take vpon them to destroy their adversaries captaine. Whom they invade now with privy wiles, now by open strength. At him they strike both neare and farre off. He is assailed with a long and a continuall assault, fresh men still comming in the wearied mens places. And seldome it chanceth (vnlesse he saue him­selfe by fiying) that he is not either slain or else taken prisoner, and yeelded to his enemies aliue. If they win the field, they perse­cute not their enemies with the violent rage of slaughter. For they had rather take them aliue, then kill them. Neither doe they follow the chase and pursuit of their enemies, but they leaue be­hinde them one part of their hoast in battaile aray, vnder their standards. Insomuch, that if all [Page 261] their whole army be discomfited and over-come, saving the re­ward, and that they therewith atchieue the victory, then they had rather let all their enemies scape, then to follow them out of array. For they remember it hath chanced vnto themselves more then once: the whole power and strength of their hoast being vanquished and put to flight, whiles their enemies rejoycing in the victory haue persecuted them, flying some one away and some another, a small company of their men lying in ambush, there ready at all occasions, haue suddainely risen vpon them thus dispersed and scattered out of array, and through presump­tion of safety vnadvisedly pur­suing the chase and haue incon­tinent changed the fortune of the whole battaile, and spite of their teethes wresting out of their hands the sure and vndoubted victory, being a little [Page 220] before conquered, have for their part conquered the conquerers. It is hard to say whether they be craftier in laying an ambush, or wittier in avoiding the same. You would thinke they [...]tend to file, when they meane nothing lesse. And contrariwise, when they goe about that purpose, you would beleeve it were the least part of their thought. For if they per­ceive themselves overmatched in number, or closed in too narrow a place, then they remove their campe either in the night season with silence, or by some policy they deceive their enemies, or in the day time they retire backe so softly, that it is no lesse jeopardy to meddle with them when they give backe, then when they presse on. They fence and fortifie their campe surely with a deepe and a broad trench. The earth thereof is cast inward. Nor they doe not set drudges and slaves a worke about it. It is done by the [Page 263] hands of the souldiours them­selves. All the whole Army worketh upon it, except them that keepe watch and ward in armor before the trench for sud­daine adventures. Therefore by the labour of so many, a large trench closing in a great com­passe of ground, is made in lesse time then any man would be­leeve. Their Armour or hard­nesse Their Ar­mour. which they weare, is sure and strong to receive stroakes, and handsome for all moovings and gestures of the body, inso­much that it is not unweldy to swimme in. For in the discipline of their war-fare, among other feats they learne to swimme in harnesse. Their weapons be ar­rowes aloofe, which they shoot both strongly and surely, not on­ly footmen, but also horsemen. At hand stroakes they vsed not sword, but Pollaxes, which be mortall, as well in sharpenesse as in weight, both for foynes and [Page 264] downe stroakes. Engines for war they devise and invent wondrous wittily. Which when they be made they keepe very secret, least if they should be knowne before neede require, they should be but laughed at, and serue to no purpose. But in making them, hereunto they haue chiefe re­spect, that they be both easie to be carried, a [...]d handsome to be moved, and turned about. Truce taken with their enemies for a short time, they doe so firinely Of Truces and faithfully keepe, that they will not breake it, no, not though they be thereunto provoked. They doe not waste nor destroy their enemies land with for­ragings, nor they burne not vp their Corne. Yea they saue it as mnch as may be from being overrunne and trodden downe, either with men or horses, thin­king that it groweth for their owne vse & profit. They hurt no man that is vnarmed, vnles [...]e he [Page 265] be an Espyall. All Cities that be yeelded unto them, they defend. And such as they winne by force of assault, they neither dispoyle nor sacke, but them that with­stood and disswaded the yeelding vp of the same, they put to death, the other souldiers they punish with bondage. All the weake multitude they leave untouched If they know that any Citizens counselled to yeeld and render vp the City, to them they give part of the condemned mens goods. The residue they distri­bute and give freely among them, whose helpe they had in the same warre. For none of themselves taketh any portion of the prey. But when the bat­taile is finished and ended, they put their friends to never a pen­ny cost of all the charge; that they were at, but lay it vpon their neckes that be conquered. Them they burthen with the whole charge of their expenses, [Page 266] which they demand of them partly in money, to be kept for like vse of battaile, and partly in lands of great evenewes to be paid unto them yearely for ever. Such revenewes they have now in many Countries. Which by little and little rising of [...]vers and sundry causes, be increased aboue seven hundred thousand ducates by the yeare. Thither they send forth some of their Citizens as Lieft enants, to live there sumptuously, like men of honour and renowne. And yet this notwithstanding, much money is saved, which com­meth to the common treasury: unlesse it so chan [...]e, that they had rather trust the Country with the money. Which many times they doe so long, untill they have need to occupy it. And it seldome happeneth that they de­mand all. Of these lands they as­signe part unto them, which at their rebuest and exhortation, [Page 267] put themselves in such jeopar­dies, as I spake of before. If any Prince stirre up warre, against them, intending to invade their land, they mee [...] him incontinent out of their owne borderers, with great power and strength. For they never lightly make warre in their owne Country. Nor they be never brought into so ex­treame necessity, as to take helpe out of forraine lands into their owne Iland.

Of the Religions in Vtopia.

THere be divers kinds of Religion, not onely in sun­dry parts of the Iland but also in divers places of every City. Some worship for God, the Sun: some the Moone: some other of the Planets. There be that give worship to a man that was [Page 268] once of excellent [...] vertue or of famous glory, not only as GOD, but also as the chiefest and high­est GOD. But the most and the wisest part (rejecting all these) be­leeve, that there is a certaine god­ly power unknowne, everlasting, incomprehensible, inexplicable, farre above the capacity & reach of mans wit, dispersed through­out all the whole world, not in bignesse, but in vertue and power. Him they call the father of all. To him alone they attribute the beginnings, the increasings, the proceedings, the changes, and the ends of all things. Neither they give any divine honours to any other then to him. Yea all the o­ther also, though they be in di­vers opinions, yet in this point they agree all together with the wisest sort, in beleeving that there is one principall GOD, the maker and ruler of the whole world: whom they all commonly in their Country language call [Page 269] Mythra. But in this they disagree that among some he is counted one, and among some another. For every one of them, whatsoe­ver that is which he taketh for the chiefe God, thinketh it to be the very same nature, to whose only divine might and majesty the summe and soveraignty of all things by the consent of all peo­ple is attributed and given. How­beit they all begin by little and little to forsake and fall from this variety of superstitions, and to a­gree together in that religion which seemeth by reason to passe and excell the residue. And it is not to be doubted, but all the o­ther would long agoe have been abolished, but that whatsoever unprosperous thing happened to any of them, as he was minded to change his religion, the feareful­nesse of people did take it, not as a thing comming by chance but as sent from GOD out of Heaven. As though the [Page 270] the God, whose honour he was forsaking, would haue revenged that wicked purpose against him. But after they heard vs speake of the name of Christ, of his doctrin, lawes, myracles, and of the no lesse wonderfull constancy of so many martyrs, whose blood willingly shead, brought a great number of nations throughout all parts of the world into their sect: you will not beleeue with how glad minds, they a­greed vnto the same: whether it were by the secret inspiration of God, or else for that they thought it nighest vnto that opinion, which among them is counted the chiefest. How­beit I thinke this was no small helpe and furtherance in the mat­ter, that they heard vs say, that Religious houses. Christ instituted among his, all things common: and that the same cōmunity doth yet remaine amongst y ^• rightest Christian cō ­panies. Verily howsoever it came [Page 271] to passe, many of them consented together in our religion, and were washed in the holy water of Baptisine. But because among vs foure (for no moe of vs was left aliue, two of our company being dead) there was no Priest, which I am right sory for: they being entred and instructed in all other points of our religion, lacke one­ly those sacraments, which none but Priests doe minister. How­beit they vnderstand & percciue them, and be very desirous of the same. Yea they reason and dispute the matter earnestly among themselves, whither without the sending of a Christian Bishop, one chosen out of their owne people, may receiue the or­der of Priesthood. And truely they were minded to choose one. But at my departure thence they had chosen none.

They also which doe not agree to Christs religion, ferre no man from it, nor speake against any [Page 272] man that hath received it. Saving that one of our company in my presence was sharpely punished. He as soone as he was baptised began against our wils with more earnest affection, then wisedome to reason of Christs Religion: and began to waxe so hot in this matter, that he did not onely pre­ferre our Religion before all o­ther, but also did vtterly despise and condemne all other, calling them prophane, and the follow­ers of them wicked and devilish, and the children of everlasting damnation. When he had thus long reasoned the matter, they laid hold on him, accused him, and condemned him into exile, not as a dispiser of religion, but as a sedicious person, and a rayser vp of dissention among the peo­ple. For this is one of the anci­entest lawes among them: that no man shall be blamed for rea­soning in the maintenance of his owne religion. For King [Page 273] Vtopus, even at the first begin­ning, hearing that the inhabi­tants of the land were before his comming thither, at continuall dissention and strife among them selves for their religions: percei­ving also that this common dis­sention (whiles every severall Sect tooke severall parts in figh­ting for their Country) was the onely occasion of his Conquest over them all, as soone as he had gotten the victory. First of all, he made a decree, that it should be lawfull for every man to fa­vour and follow what religion he would, and that he might doe the best he could to bring other to his opinion, so that he did it peaceably, gently, quietly, and soberly, without hasty and contentious rebuking and inveying against other. If he could not by faire and gentle speech induce them vnto his opinion, yet he should vse [Page 274] no kind of violence, and refraine from displeasant and sedicious words. To him that would vehe­mently and fervently in this cause strife and contend, was de­creed, Sedi [...]ious reasone [...]s punished. banishment, or bondage. This law did King Vtopus make not onely for the maintenance of peace, which hee saw through continual contentation and mor­tall hatred vtterly extinguished: but also because he thought this decree should make for the fur­therance of religion. Whereof he durst define and determine no­thing vnadvisedly, as doubting whither God desiring manifold and divers sorts of honour, would inspire sundry men with sun­dry kinds of religion. And this surely he thought a very vn­meet and foolish thing, & a point of arrogant presumption, to com­pell all other by violence and threatnings to agree to the same, that thou beleevest to be true. Furthermore, though there [Page 275] be one religion, which a lone is true, and all other vaine and su­perstitions, yet did he well fore­see (so that the matter were hand­dled with reason and sober mo­desty) that the truth of the owne power would at the last issue out and come to light. But if conten­tion and debate in that behalfe should continually be vsed, as the worst men be most obsti­nate and stubborne, and in their evill opinion most constant: he perceived that the [...] the best and honest religion would be [...]roden vnder foote and destroyed by most vaine superstitions, even as good corne is by thornes and weeds over grown and choaked. Therefore all this matter he left vndiscussed, and gaue to every man free liberty and Novil [...] o­pinion to be conceived of mans worthy [...]t [...]re. choice to beleeue what he would. Saving that he earnestly and straitly charged them, that no man should conceiue so vile and base an [...] [...] [...] [Page 276] of mans nature, as to thinke that the soules doe die and perish with the body: or that the world run­neth at all adventures, governed by no divine providence. And therefore they beleeue that after this life vices be extreamely punished, and vertues bounti­fully rewarded. He that is of a contrary opinion, they count not in the number of men, as one that hath availed the high nature of his soule, to the vilenesse of brute beasts bodies: much lesse in the number of the Citizens. whose lawes and ordinances, if it were not for feare, he would nothing at all esteeme. For you may▪ be sure that he will study either with craft privily to mocke, or else violently to breake the common lawes of his coun­trey, in whom remaineth no fur­ther feare then of the lawes, nor no further hope then of the body. Wherefore he that is thus minded is deprived of all honors, [Page 277] excluded from all offices, and re­ject Irreligious people se­cluded from all honours. from all common admini­strations in the weale-publique.

And thus he is of all sorts de­spised, as of an vnprofitable, and of a base and vile nature. How­beit, they put him to no punish­ment, A very strange saying. because they be perswaded, that it is in no mans power to be­leeue what he list. No, nor they constraine him not with threat­nings to dissemble his mind, and shew countenance contrary to his thought. For deceit and Deceit and falshood detested. falshood, and all manner of lies, as next vnto fraud, they doe marveilously deject and abhorre. But they suffer him not to dispute in his opinion, and that onely among the common people. For else apart among the Priests and men of grauity▪ they doe not onely suffer, but also exhort him to dispute and argue hoping that, at the last, that mid [...]e [...]se will giue place to reason. There bee also other, [Page 278] and of them no small number, which be not bidden to speake their minds, as grounding their opinion vpon some rea­son, being in their living nei­ther evill nor vicious. Their here [...]ie is much contrary to the A mar [...]ei­lous stronge o­pinion tou­ching the soules of brute beasts. other. For they beleeue that the soules of the brute beasts be im­morall and everlasting. But no­thing to be compared with o­thers in dignity, neither ordained and predestinate to like felicity. For all they beleeue certainly and surely that mans blisse shall be so great, that they doe mourne and lament euery mans sicknesse, but no mans death, vnlesse it be on whom they see depart from his life carefully, and against his will. For this they take for a very evill token, as though To die un­willingly an evill taken. the soule being in dispaire, and vexed in conscience, through some privy and secret forefeeling of the punishment now at hand, were affraid to depart. And the [...] [Page 279] they thinke he shall not be wel­come to GOD, which when he is called, runneth not to him gladly, but is drawne by force, and sore against his will. They therefore that see this kind of death, doc abhorre it, and them that so die, they bury with sor­row and silence. And when they haue prayed to GOD to be mer­cifull to the soule, and mercifull to pardon the infirmities thereof, they cover the dead corse with earth. Contrariwise, all that de­part A willing and merry death not to be la­mented. merily and full of good hope, for then no man mourneth, but followeth the hearse with joyfull singing, commending the soules to GOD with great affec­tion. And at the last, not with mourning sorrow, but with a great reverence they burne the bodies. And in the same place they set vp a pillar of stone, with the dead mens titles therein gra­ved. When they be come home, they rehearse his vertuous man­ners [Page 280] and his good deeds. But no part of his life is so oft or gladly talked of, as his mery death. They thinke that this remembrance of the vertue and goodnesse of the dead, doth vehemently provoke and enforce the liuing to vertue. And that nothing can be more pleasant and acceptable to the dead. Whom they suppose to bee present among them, when they talke of them, though to the dull and feeble eye-sight of mortall men they be invisible. For it were an inconvenient thing, that the blessed should not be at liberty to goe whither they would. And it were a point of great vnkind­nesse in them, to haue vtterly cast away the desire of visiting & seeing their friends, to whom they were in their life time joyned by mutuall loue and amity. Which in good men after their death, they count to be rather in­creased the [...] diminished. They beleeue therefore that the [Page 281] dead be presently conversant a­mong the quicke, as beholders and witnesses of all their words and deeds. Therefore they goe more couragiously to their bu­sinesse, as hauing a trust and a fiance in such overseers. And this beleefe of the present conversati­on of their forefathers and an­cestors among them, feareth them from all secret dishonesty. They vtterly dispise and mocke south­sayings South­sayers not regarded nor credi­ted. Mira­cles. and divinations of things to come, by the flight and voyces of birds, and all other diuination of vaine superstition, which in other countries be in great obser­vation. But they highly esteeme and worship miracles that come by no helpe of nature, as workes and witnesses of the present power of GOD. And such they say doe chance there very often. And sometimes in great and doubtfull matters, by common intercession and prayers, they procure and obtaine them with [Page 282] a sure hope and confidence, and a stedfast beleefe.

They thinke that the contem­plation of nature, and the praise The life contem­plation. thereof comming, is to GOD a very acceptable honour, Yet there be many so earnestly bent and affected to religion, that they passe nothing for learning, nor give their minds to any know­ledge of things. But idlenesse they utterly forsake and [...]schew, The life active. thinking felicity after this life to be gotten and obtained by busie labour and good exercises. Some therefore of thē attend vpon the sicke, some amen [...] high-wayes, cleanse ditches, repaire Bridges, digge turfes, gravell, and stone, fell and cleaue wood, bring wood corne, and other things, into the Cities in carts, and serve not onely in common workes, but al­so in private labours, as servants: yea, more then bondmen. For whatsoever unpleasant, hard and vile worke is any where, from the [Page 283] which labour, loathsomnesse, and desperation doth fray other, all that they take upon thē willing­ly and gladly, procuring rest and quiet to other, remaining in con­tinuall worke and labour them­selves, not embraiding others there with. They neither reprove other mens lives, nor glory in their owne. These men the more serviceable they behave them­selves, the more they be honored of all men. Yet they be divided into two sects. The one of them [...]hat live single and chast, abstai­ning not only from the company of women, but also from eating of flesh, and some of them from all manner of beasts. Which vt­terly rejecting the pleasures of this present life as hur [...]full, be all wholly set vpon the desire of the life to come, by watching, waiting, and sweating, hoping shortly to obtaine it, being in the meane season merry and lu [...]ty. The other sect is no lesse [Page 284] desirous of Labour, but they im­brace Matrimony, not despising the solace thereof, thinking that they cannot be discharged of their bounden duties toward na­ture, without labour and toyle, nor towards their native Coun­try, without procreation of chil­dren. They abstaine from no pleasure that doth nothing hin­der them from labour. They love the flesh of foure-footed beasts, because they beleeve that by the meat they be made hardy and stronger to worke. The Vtopians It is not all one to be wise and good. count this Sect the wiser, but the other the holyer. Which in that they preferre single life before matrimony, and that sharpe life before the easier life, if herein they grounded upon reason, they would mocke them. But now forasmuch as they say they be lead to it by religion, they ho­nour and worship them. And these be they whom in their lan­guage by a peculiar name, they [Page 285] call Bruthe scas, the which word by interpretation, signifieth to vs, Men of religion, or religious men. They have Priests of excee­ding Priests. holinesse, and therefore ve­ry few. For there be but thirteen in every City according to the number of their Churches, sa­ving when they goe forth to battaile. For then seaven of them goe forth with the army: in whose steads so many n [...]w be made at home. But the other at their returne home againe, reen­ter every one in his owne place: they that be above the number, untill such time as they succeed into the places of the other at their dying, be in the meane sea­son continually in company with the Bishop. For he is the chiefe head of them all. They be cho­sen of the people, as the other Magistrates be by secret voices, for the avoiding of strife.

After their election, they be consecrate of their own cōpany. [Page 286] They be Overseers of all divine matters, orderers of religions, and as it were [...]udges and Ma­sters of manners. And it is a great dishonesty and shame to be rebuk [...] or spoken to by any of them, for dissolute and incon­tinent living. But as it is their office to give good exhortations and counsell, so it is the duty of the Prince and the other Magi­strates, to correct and punish of­fenders, saving that the Priests, whom they find exceeding vici­ous livers, them they excommu­nicate Excom­municate. from having any interest in divine matters. And there is almost no punishment among them more feared. For they run in very great infamy, and be in­wardly tormented with a secret feare of religion, and shall not long escape free with their bo­dies. For unlesse they by quicke repentance approve the amend­ment of their lives to the Priests, they be taken and punished of [Page 287] the Councell, as wicked and ir­religious. Both child-hood and youth is instructed and taught of them. Nor they be not more diligent to instruct them in lear­ning, then in vertue and good manners. For they vse with very great endevour and diligence to put into the heads of their chil­dren, whiles they be yet tender, and plyant, good opinions and profitable for the conservation of the Weale publike. Which when they be once rooted in children doe remaine with them all their life after, and be wondrous pro­fitable for their defence and maintenance of the state of the Common-wealth: which never decayeth but through vices ri­sing of evill opinions.

The Priests, unlesse they be women (for that kind is not ex­cluded from Priest-hood, how be­it few be chosen and none but v [...]ddowes and old women) the men Priests, I say, take to their [Page 288] wiues the chiefest women in all their Countrey. For to no office among the Vtopians is there more honour and preheminence giuen. Insomuch that if they commit any offence, they be vn­der no common judgement, but be left onely to GOD and themselves. For they thinke it The Me­jesty and prehemi­nence of Priests. not lawfull to touch him with mans hand, be he neuer so vicious, which after so singuler a sort was dedicate and consecrate to GOD, as a holy offering.

This manner may they easily obserue, because they haue so few Priests, and doe choose them with such circumspection. For it scarcely euer chanceth, that the most vertuous among vertuous, which in respect only of his ver­tue is advanced to so high a dig­nity, can fall to vice & wicked­nesse. And if it should chance in­deed (as mans nature is mutable and fraile) yet by reason they be so few, and promoted to no might nor [Page 279] power, but onely to honour, it were not to be feared that any great dammage by them should happen & ensue to the common­wealth. They haue so rare and few Priests, least if the honour were communicated to many, the dignity of the order, which a­mong them now is so highly e­stetmed, should run in contempt. Specially because they thinke it hard to find many so good, as to be meete for that dignity, to the execution and discharge wherof, it is not sufficient to be indued with meane vertues.

Furthermore, these Priests be not more esteemed of their owne Countrey men, then they be of forreigne and strange Countries. Which thing may hereby plainly appeare. And I thinke also that this is the cause of it. For whiles the armies be fighting together in open field, they a little beside not farre off kneele vpon their knees in their [Page 280] hallowed vestments, holding vp their hands to heaven: praying first of all for peace, next for victory of their owne part, but to neither part a bloudy victory. If their Host get the vpper hand, they runne into the maine Bat­taile, and restraine their owne men from slaying and cruelly pursuing their vanquished ene­mies. Which enemies, if they doe but see them and speake to them, it is enough for the safe­guard of their lives. And the touching of their cloathes defen­deth and saveth all their goods from ravine and spoile. This thing hath advanced them to so great worship and true Majesty among all Nations, that many times they have as well preser­ved their owne Citizens from the cruell force of their enemies, as they have their enemies from the furious rage of their owne men. For it is well knowne, that when their owne Army hath recoiled [Page 281] and in despaire turned backe, and runne away, their enemies fiercely pursuing with slaughter and spoile, then the Priests comming betweene have stayed the murder, and parted both the hoasts. So that peace hath beene made and concluded be­tweene both parts vpon equall and indifferent conditions. For there was never any Nation, so fierce, so cruell, and rude, but they had them in such reverence, that they counted their bodies hallowed and sanctified, and therefore not to be violently and unreverently touched.

They keepe holy the first The obser­vation of holy dayes among the Ʋtopians. and last day of every Moneth and yeare, dividing the yeare in­to Moneths, which they mea­sure by the course of the Moone, as they doe the yeare by the course of the Sunne. The first dayes they call in their language Cinimernes, and the last Ta­permernes, the which words may [Page 282] be interpreted, Primifest and Finifest, or else in our speech, first feast and last feast. Their Chur­ches Their Churches. be very gorgious, not onely of fine and curious workman­ship, but also (which in the fewnesse of them was necessary) very wide and large, and able to receiue a great company of people. But they be all somewhat darke. Howbeit that was not Churches of adimme light, and a reason why. done through ignorance in buil­ding, but as they say, by the coun­sell of the Priests. Because they thought that overmuch light doth disperse mens cogitations, whereas in dimme and doubtfull light they be gathered together, and more earnestly fixed vpon religion and devotion: which because it is not there of one sort among all men, and yet all the kinds and fashions of it, though they be sundry and mani­fold, agree together in the honor of divine nature, as going divers wayes to one end: therefore no­thing [Page 283] is seene or heard in the Churches, but that seemeth to agree indifferently with them all. If there be a distinct kind of Sacrifice peculiar to any severall sect, that they execute at home in their owne houses. The com­mon sacrifices be so ordered, that they be no derogation nor preju­dice to any of the private sacri­fices and religions. Therefore no Image of any GOD is seene in the Church, to the intent it may be free for every man to conceiue GOD by their religion after what likenesse and simili­tude they will. They call vpon no peculiar name of GOD but onely Mythra. In the which word they all agree together in one nature of the divine Ma­jesty whatsoever it be. No prayers be vsed such as every man may boldly pronounce without the offending of any Sect. They come therefore to the Church, the last day of every [Page 284] Moneth and yeare in the evening yet fasting, there to give thankes to GOD for that they have pros­perously passed over the yeare or Moneth, whereof that holiday is the last day.

The next day they come to the Church earely in the mor­ning to pray to God that they may have good fortune and suc­cesse all the New yeare or Mo­neth, which they doe vse to begin of that same holy day.

But in the holy dayes that be the last dayes of the Moneths and yeares, before they come to the Church, the wives fall downe prostrate before their husbands feet at home, and the children before the feet of their parents, confessing and acknowledging themselves offenders either by some actuall deed, or by o­mission of their duty, and desire pardon for their offence. Thus if any cloud of priuy displeasure was risen at home, by this satis­faction [Page 285] it is over-blowne, that they may be present at the Sacri­fices with pure and charitable minds. For they be afraid to come there with troubled con­sciences. Therefore if they know themselves to beare any hatred or grudge towards any man, they presume not to come to the sa­crifices, before they have recon­ciled themselves and purged their consciences, for feare of great vengeance and punishment for their offence.

When they be come thither, the men goe into the right side of the Church, and the women into the left side. There they place themselves in such order, An order for place in the Church. that all they which be of the male-kind in every houshold, sit before the good man of the house; and they of the female kind before the good wife. Thus it is fore-seene, that all their gestures and behaviours be mar­ked and observed abroad of them, [Page 287] by whose authority and disci­pline they be governed at home. This also they diligently see un­to, that the younger evermore be coupled with his elder, least chil­dren being joyned together, they should passe over the time in childish wantonnesse, wherein they ought principally [...]o con­ceive a religious & devout feare towards GOD: which is the chiefe and almost the only inci­tation to vertue. They kill no living beast in sacrifice, nor they thinke not that the mercifull clemencie of GOD doth dwell in bloud and slaughter, which hath given life to beasts to the intent they should live. They burne frankensence, and other sweet sa­vors, and light also a great num­ber of waxe candles and tapers, not supposing this geere to be a­ny thing availeable to the divine nature, as neither the prayers of men. But this unhurtfull and harmelesse kind of worship plea­seth [Page 288] them. And by these sweet sa­vours and lights, and other such ceremonies men feele themselves secretly lifted vp, and incouraged to devotion with more willing and fervent hearts. The people weareth in the Church white ap­parell. The Priest is cloathed in changeable colours, which in workmanship be excellent, but in stuffe not very precious. For their vestments be neither imbrodered with gold, nor set with precious stones. But they be wrought so finely and cunningly with di­vers feathers of fowles, that the estimation of no earthly stuffe is able to countervaile the price of the work. Furthermore, in these birds feathers, and in the due or­der of them, which is obser­ved in their setting; they say, is contained certaine divine my­steries. The interpretation where­of knowne, which is diligently taught by the Priests, they be out in remembrance of the [Page 288] bountifull benefits of God to­ward them, and of the loue and honour which of their behalfe is due to God: and also of their du­ties one toward another.

When the Priest first com­meth out of the Vestry thus ap­parelled, they fall downe incon­tinent every one reverently to the ground, with so still silence, that the very fashiō of the thing striketh into them a certaine feare of God, as though he were there personally present. When they haue l [...]en a little space on the ground, the Priest giveth them a signe to rise. Then they sing praises vnto God, which they intermixe with instruments of musicke, for the most part of other fashions then-these that we vse in this part of the world. Their Church [...]sic [...]ke. And like as some of ours be much sweeter then theirs, so some of theirs doe far passe ours. But in one thing doubtlesse they goe exceeding farre beyond vs. [Page 289] For all their musicke both that they play vpon instruments, and that they sing with mans voice, doth so resemble and expresse naturall affections, the sound and tune is so applied and made agreeable to the thing, that whether it be a prayer, or else a duty of gladnesse, of patience, of trouble, of mourning, or of anger: the fashion of the melody doth so represent the meaning of the thing, that it doth wonderfully move, stirre, pierce, and enflame the hearers minds. At the last, the people and the Priest together, rehearse solemne prayers in words, expressely pro­nounced, so made, that every man may privately apply to himselfe that which is commonly spoken of all.

In these prayers every man re­cogniseth, and knowledgeth God to be his maker, his governor, and the principall cause of all other goodnesse, thanking him for so [Page 290] many benefits received at his hand. But namely that through the favour of God he hath chan­ced into that publike weale, which is most happy and weal­thy, and hath chosen that religion which he hopeth to be most true. In the which thing if he doe any thing erre, or if there be any o­ther better then either of them is, being more acceptable to God, he desireth him that he will of his goodnes let him have know­ledge thereof, as one that is ready to follow what way soever he will lead him. But if this forme and fashion of a Common­wealth be best, and his owne re­ligion most true and pefect, then he desireth GOD to give him a constant stedfastnesse in the same, and to bring all other people to the same order of li­ving, and to the same opinion of God, unlesse there be any thing that in this diversity of Religi­ons doth delight his unsearch­able [Page 291] pleasure. To be short, he prayeth him that after his death he may come to him. But how soone or late that he dare not as­signe nor determine. How beit, if it might stand with his Maje­sties pleasure, he would be much gladder to die a painfull death and so to goe to GOD, then by long living in worldly prospe­rity to be away from him. When this prayer is said, they fall down to the ground againe and a little after they rise vp and goe to din­ner. And the residue of the day they passe over in playes, and exercise of chiualry.

Now I haue declared and pre­scribed unto you as truely as I could, the forme and order of that Common-wealth, which ve­rily in my judgement is not onely the best, but also that which alone of good right may claime and take vpon it the name of a Common-welth or publike weal. For in other places▪they [Page 292] speake still of the Common wealth. But every man procureth his owne private gaine. Here where nothing is private, the common affaires be earnest­ly looked vpon. And truly on both parts they have good cause so to doe as they doe. For in other Countries who knoweth not that he shall starve for hun­ger, unlesse he make some seve­rall provision for himselfe, though the Common wealth flourish never so much in rich­es? And therefore he is compel­led even of very necessity to haue regard to himselfe, rather then to the people, that is to say, to o­thers.

Contrariwise, there where all things be common to every man, it is not to be doubted that any man shall lacke any thing necessary for his private vses, so that the common store houses and barnes be sufficiently stored. For there nothing is destributed [Page 293] after a niggish sort, neither there is any poore man or begger. And though no man have any thing, yet every man is rich. For what can be more rich, then to live joyfull and merrily, with­out all griefe and pensivenesse: Not caring for his owne living, nor vexed or troubled with his wifes importunate complaints, nor dreading poverty to his sonne, nor sorrowfull for his daughters dowry. Yea they take no care at all for the living and wealth of themselves and all theirs, and their wives, their children, their nephewes, their childrens children, and all the succession that ever shall follow in their posterity. And yet be­sides this, there is no lesse pro­vision for them that were once labourers, and be now weake and impotent, then for them that doe now labour and take paine. Here now would I see, [Page 294] If any man dare be so bold as to compare with the equity, the ju­stice of other Nations. Among whom, I forsake GOD, if I can find any signe or token of equi­ty and justice. For what justice is this, that a rich Gold-smith, or an Vsurer, or to be short, any of them, which either doe nothing at all, or else that which they do is such, that it is not very neces­sary to the Common-wealth, should have a pleasant and a wealthy living, either by idle­nesse, or by unnecessary busi­nesse: When in the meane time poore labourers, Carters, yron smiths, Carpenters, and plough­men, by so great and continuall toyle, as drawing and bearing beasts be scant able to sustaine, and again so necessary toyle, that without it no Common-wealth were able to continue and endure one yeare, should yet get so hard and poore a living, and live so wretched and miserable a life, [Page 295] that the state and condition of the labouring beast may seeme much better and wealthier? For they be not put to so continuall labour, nor their living is not much worse: yea, to them much pleasanter, taking no thought in the meane season for the time to come. But these silly poore wret­ches be presently tormented with barraine and unfruitfull la­bour. And the remembrance of their poore indigent and beg­gerly old age kille [...] them vp. For their daily wages is so little, that it will not suffice for the same day, much lesse it yeel­deth any over-plus, that may dai­ly be laid vp for the reliefe of old age.

Is not this an unjust, and an unkind Publique weale, which giveth great fees and rewards to Gentlemen, as they call them, and to Gold­smiths, and to such other, [Page 296] which be either idle persons, or else onely flatterers, and devi­sers of vaine pleasures: And of the contrary part, maketh no gentle provision for poore Plowmen, Colliers, Labourers, Yron-smiths, and Carpenters, without whom no Common­wealth can continue? But af­ter it hath abused the Labourers of their lusty and flowring age, at the last when they be oppres­sed with old age and sicknesse being needy, poore, and indi­gent of all things, then so get­ting their so many painfull wat­chings, not remembring their so many and so great benefits, recompenceth and acquainteth them most unkindly, with mi­serable death. And yet besides this, the rich men not onely by private fraud, but also by com­mon lawes, doe every day plucke and snatch away from the poore, some part of their [Page 297] daily living. So whereas it seemed before unjust to repen­tance with unkindnesse their paines, that they have beene beneficiall to the Common­weale, now they have to their wrong and unjust dealing (which is yet a much worse point) given the name of ju­stice, yea, and that by force of a Law. Therefore when I con­sider and weigh in my mind all these Common-wealths, which now a dayes any where do flou­rish, so GOD helpe me, I can perceive nothing but a certaine conspiracy of rich men procu­ring their owne commodities, under the name and title of the Common-wealth. They invent and devise all meanes and crafts, first how to keepe safely with­out feare of loosing, that they have unjustly gathered together: and next how to hire and abuse the worke and labour of the poore for as little money as [Page 298] may be. These devises when the rich men have decreed to be kept and observed under colour of the communalty, that is to say, also of the poore people, then they be made lawes. But these most vicious and wicked men, when they have by their unsati­able covetousnesse, devided a­mong themselves all those things which would have sufficed all men, yet how farre be they from the wealth and felicity of the Vtopian Common-wealth? Out of the which, in that all the desire Contempt of money. of money with the vse thereof is vtterly secluded and banished, how great a heape of cares is cut away? How great an occasion of wickednesse and mischiefe is pulled vp by the root? For who knoweth not that fraud, theft, ravine, brawling, quarrelling, b [...]abling, strife, chiding, con­tention, murder, treason, poiso­ning, which by daily punish­ments are rather revenged then [Page 285] refrained, doe die when money dyeth? And also that feare, griefe, care, labours, and watching, doe perish even the very same mo­ment that money perisheth? Yet poverty it selfe, which onely see­med to lacke money, if money were gone, it also would decrease and vanish away. And that you may perceiue this more plainly, consider with your selves some barraine and unfruitfull yeare, wherein many thousands of peo­ple have starved for hunger: I dare be bold to say, that in the end of that penury, so much Corne or graine might have beene found in rich mens barnes, if they had beene searched, as being divided among them whō famine and pestilence then con­sumed, no man at all should have felt that plague and penury. So easily might men get their living if that same worthy Princesse Lady money did not alone [Page 286] stoppe vp the way betweene vs and our living, which a Gods name was very excel­lently devised and invented, that by her the way thereto should be opened. I am sure the rich men perceive this, nor they be not ignorant how much better it were to lacke no ne­cessary thing, then to abound with overmuch superfluity: to be rid out of innumerable cares and troubles, then to be be­sieged and encombred with great riches.

And I doubt not that either the respect of every mans pri­vate commodity, or else the authority of our Saviour Christ A marvai­ [...] say­ing. (which for his great wisedome could not but know what were best, and for his inestimable goodnesse could not but coun­sell to that which he knew to the best) would have brought all the World long agoe into [Page 287] the lawes of this Weale publike if it were not the one onely best, the Princesse and mother of all mischiefe Pride, doth withstand and let it. She measureth not wealth and prosperity by her owne commodities, but by the misery and incommodities of o­ther: she would not by her good will be made a Goddesse, if there were no wretches left, over whom she might like a scornfull Lady rule and triumph, over whose miseries her felici­ties might shine, whose poverty she might vexe, torment and increase, by rigorously setting forth her riches. This hel-hound creepeth into mens hearts, and pulleth them backe from en­tring the right path of life, and is so deeply rooted in mens breasts, that she cannot be pul­led out.

This forme and fashion of a Weale publike, which I would gladly wish unto all Nations, [Page 288] I am glad yet that it chanced to the Vtopians, which have followed those institutions of life, whereby they have laid such foundations of their Com­mon-wealth, as shall continue and last not onely wealthy, but also as farre as mans wit may judge and conjecture, shall endure for ever. For seeing the chiefe causes of Ambition▪ and sedition, with other vices, be plucked vp by the roots, and a­bandoned at home there, can be no jeopardy of domesticall dis­sention, which alone hath cast underfoot and brought to naught the wel-fortified and strongly defenced wealth and riches of many Cities. But for as much as perfect concord re­maineth, and wholsome lawes be executed at home, the envie of all forreigne Princes be not able to shake or moove the Em­pire, though they have many times long agoe gone about to [Page 303] doe it, being evermore driven backe.

Thus when RAPHAEL had made an end of his tale, though many things came to my mind, which in the man­ners and lawes of that people, seemed to be instituted and founded of no good reason, but onely in the fashion of their chiualry, and in their Sacrifices, and Religions, and in other of their Lawes; but also, yea and chiefly, in that which is the principall foundation of all their ordinances: that is to say, in the communalty of their life and living, without any occu­pying of money, by the which thing onely all nobility, magni­ficience, worship, honour, and majesty, the true ornaments and honours, as the common opinion is, of a Common-wealth, vtterly be overthrowne and destroyed: yet because I knew that he was weary of talking, and was not [Page 304] sure whether he could abide that any thing should be said against his mind: specially remembring that he had reprehended this fault in other, which be affraid least they should seeme not to be wise enough, unlesse they could find some fault in other mens inventions: therefore I praising both their institutions and his communication, tooke him by the hand, and lead him into supper, saying that we would choose another time to weigh and examine the same matters, and to talke with him more at large therein. Which would GOD it might once come to passe.

In the meane time, as I cannot agree and consent to all things that he said, being else with­out doubt a man singularly well learned, and also in all wordly matter exactly and profoundly experienced: so must I needs confesse and grant, that many [Page 305] things be in the Ʋtopian Weale­publique, which in our Ci­ties I may rather wish for, then hope after.