POESY I.

PROSE I.

PItifully perplex­ed Themista, who can see thee, and not suffer with thee? who can endure to take a view of thy griefe, and not afford thee the tribute of one poore [Page 5] teare for thy reliefe? Shee, who was sometimes more beautifull than the Evening Starre; more amiable than the curiousest and choysest feature upon earth; how is she become darkened? how is her beauty blemished? her glory obscured? her favour perished? her feature blan­ched? Observe but the cor­ruption of the time, and then see if my sorrow be ground­lesse! Consider this univer­sal contagion, & how should my sorrow but be endlesse! Heare the mercenary guil­ded tongue, who stands not [Page 6] much upon the cause, so he may receive his coyne, how he coynes untruths, belyes his owne knowledge, in­veighs against a subject of innocency, to delude the credulous Eare of his too ea­sie Iudge: and all this to en­rich his seldome-thriving posterity, with the injurious revenues of his partiality! There, another seconds a great mans cause with a bra­zen face; where the better cause must fare the worse, because the worser cause hath the better purse. So as justice becomes so perverted, [Page 7] as she may be compared to the Celedonie stone, which retaineth her vertue no lon­ger, than while it is rubbed with gold. The precious stone Diocletes, though it have many rare and excel­lent soveraignties in it, yet it loseth them all, if it be put in a dead mans mouth: so Iustice, which is the sole or­nament and accomplish­ment of State, that sacred­secret cement to knit up all breaches and divisions, though it have many rare and exquisite vertues in it, yet doth this soveraignesse [Page 8] of all princely vertues, loose them every one, when she is put into a corrupt mouth, or a deceitful heart; who guilds Iustice over with pretences; or assuming upon him some awfull command, bindes her to peace, purposely to cram his owne purse. And what is this but Worme-wood Iustice, making that bitter, which is sweetly relishing of its owne nature?

What excellent Hiero­glyphicks were conceited by the antient Ethnicks, to de­signe (amongst other ex­pressions) the right office of [Page 9] justice? The Athenians ere­cted images of Iudges with­out hands and eyes: imply­ing, that Rulers and Magi­strates should neither be in­fected with bribery, nor any other way drawn from that which was lawfull and right. Lame they should bee in receiving a fee, blinde in discerning friend from foe. But alas! all ages could ever better prescribe, than ob­serve: yet of all ages, none more irregular than Here the Originall transcribed Ann. Dom. 1368. fr [...]e­ly g [...]anceth at the cor­ruptions of that pres [...]nt state: which by a long cessation f [...]ō Arms with the Cilic [...] ­ans abroad, and Genu­eses at home, was growne to that fulnes­or surfet, rather, of peace; as plenty the fostermo­ther of Se­curity, had begot in thē with their affluence of wealth, a confluence of vi [...]e. Vid. vit. Mar. Sil. this, where Corruption becomes a custome, and no greater foe to a good cause, than pover­ty, [Page 10] or a powerfull adversa­ry.

Nor can that State be se­cure, where such iniustice raignes. Though the Night silence her, the wals encom­passe her, the curtaines of [...] shrowd her: there can be no darknesse so thick and palpable, (were it like the Cimmerian shade) that the p [...]ercing eye of heaven cannot spye thorow it. Vain is thy hope, thou Scarlet pec­cant, by sinning secretly, to sinne securely. Impiety plays the sycophant with her selfe, when she promiseth her self [Page 11] impunity. That State can­not chuse but bee to misery engaged, where justice is not duely administred.

Should shee pride it with the Babylonian, brave it with the Theban, trade it with the Tyrian, sport it with the Sydonian, or spell it with the Aegyptian; her bra­very shall turne to rags, her glory to contempt, her wealth to want, her sport to discontent, her knowledge to folly; the whole fabricke of her state, to an universall misery. And this is thy mise­rable estate, poore Arcadia! [Page 12] for how is thy former beauty blemished, the comely face of so promising a State dis­figured, by suffering the seate of justice, (Astraeas throne) to be so defiled, the ornaments of vertue stained? Shall wee bemoane thy disconsolate State, while thou senselesse of thine owne misery, per­ceives not that thou art wounded? yes, thy want of sense aggravates our sense of sorrow. O that we were turned all a Niobe, and re­solved into teares, so wee might but extract from thee one sigh, to argue thou hadst a sense of thy sinne! Reflect, [Page 13] we pray thee, upon thy for­mer beauty; and what it was that thus hath blemi­shed thee. Want of conside­ration makes thee thus sense­lesse of thy affliction. Let us wipe thine eyes, that thou maist see thy selfe, and see­ing, loath that which hath made thee so unlike thy selfe. Hither are wee come to re­visit thee, and hopefull were wee to have found thee in the same state, wherein wee did leave thee. But corrup­tion hath seaz'd on thy Bench; thy Scarlet hath got a staine; this is thy state; hence is our griefe.

POESY II.

PROSE II.

[Page 16] BVt present ne­cessity of cure, admits no time of complaint. So as, calling forthwith of her servant Euphorbus, who was there attending her, she delivered to him her mes­sage in these words.

Come hither Euphorbus, we have ever had sufficiēt proof of thy diligence, being at all times no lesse ready to dis­charge our trust, than we to impose our command. Nor [Page 17] are wee ignorant of thy ap­proved care in performing whatsoever may either re­dound to our honour, or be­nefit of the Republique, wherein wee are highly in­teressed. Thou shalt there­fore receive these directions from us (as wee solely rely on thee) the substance wher­of wee shall deliver thee in these particulars.

Thou art presently to re­paire to our Counsell of State; acquainting them with our command, that forthwith all frivolous delayes & un­necessary excuses set apart, [Page 18] they repaire to our Palace, and there attend our plea­sure, in behalfe of the pub­lique service. VVherein, if they become inquisitive what the businesse may be: Thou maist answer them in generall tearmes, that wee are to expect an account from them, in their affayres of Iudicature; wherein, if any of them prove defective, they are for Example-sake to receive condigne censure. Some complaints wee have already heard against them, which how iustly exhibited, wee will as yet suspend, till [Page 19] more frequency of proofe evince them. Informe them likewise, since our descent to Earth, how we have visited their Pretorian, wherein wee found nothing but confusi­on: Their Comitiall Courts like Desarts, wilde and un­exercised; onely some surrep­titious Proctors were there fishing, who knew no me­thodicall course of pleading, nor any Law-Intergatory, but the demand of their un­deserved Fees; whereof re­ceiving no presét discharge, with a Stentors voyce, they re-eccho their vouchers and [Page 20] double vouchers in a clamo­rous Replication. Some de­cayed remnants, or uselesse instruments of discording Iustice, wee likewise found: who had got so much tongue, as Parachito-like, they could cry, Commit him, Commit him, before ever they had heard what hee had done. From whence wee gathered, that ma­ny had aspired to that place, before ever they knew what the definition of justice was: so as, they usual­ly caused the nocent and in­nocent to cast lots whether [Page 21] of them should be punished. Innumerable such Objects of sorrow have we viewed, since wee descended; the sad memory whereof renewes our griefe, and leaves us e­ver with a teare in our eye, a sigh in our heart: nor should we be comforted, but that the knowledge of our owne innocency hath so for­tifide us, as no censure can deservedly touch us. Make haste Euphorbus, and deliver our Message with a cou­rage: meane time, wee shall expect their attendance, with a due and formall account [Page 22] of all their actions. With this Message her faithful servant Euphorbus departed, while she taking her Lute in her hand, to expell melancholy with a straine of melody, and retaine a constant re­membrance of her servants fidelity, chanted out the [...]e Layes.

POESY III.

PROSE III.

NO sooner had Euphorbus dis­patched his mes­sage, than he re­turned answer unto his La­dy: humbly shewing to her Grace, that her whole Coun­cell of State was growne so infirme, some through di­stempers, others through weaknesse of nature, as they could not without apparant [Page 26] danger of death, attend her Grace. What, is their infir­mity so universall, (answe­red Themista) as none of all our Conscript Fathers, whose reverend judgements were sometimes held Oracular, can now tender us their Observance? Pray thee re­late, Euphorbus, how are they handled, or whether they pretend but this onely, to free them from atten­dance.

Truely, (answered Eu­phorbus) so please your Grace, I thinke they doe not counterfeit. For I am per­swaded, [Page 27] little did they expect my comming, yet found I some of them raving, as if taken with some dangerous phren­sie: Others so melancholy and lumpish, as I could scarcely force one word from them in an houre; and when it came, as good as no thing, for it was to no purpose. Others infinitely given to laughter; but none so discreetly sober as might deserve admittance to your presence. Severall were the humors did surprize them, yet not one temperate hu­mour among them. Some [Page 28] were altogether silent, and they the wisest, for they spoke nothing: Others too liberall and lavish of tongue, whose discourse was so dis­joynted, as the Scene of one of their distracted sentences, lay in all the foure parts of the world.

Heavens blesse me (said Themista) is Arcadia, once a seat of Justice, a Treasurie of prudence, and a fruitfull Nurcery of all liberall and free borne studies, become a Fatuano or Bedlam of di­stracted persons? Be our hopes so quickly blasted? [Page 29] But inveterate sores are har­dest to be cured; tell us then Euphorbus, how long may report give out, that these distempers have continued?

Not long, as I heare (an­swered Euphorbus) nor these neither continuate, for they admit intermissions. More dangerous are they (replyed Themista) these interspirati­ons minister new matter to their distemper'd humour to worke on. But pray thee what times are held most vi­olent.

Some of them (answered Euphorbus) are in good tem­per [Page 30] till after noone; their pul­ses beat moderately, their conceits full of quicknesse and pregnancy, their under­standings poized with seri­ous solidity; They can walke, talke, and converse no lesse gravely than grace­fully. But the Meridian hath no sooner overshadowed them, then they have quite lost their former alacri [...]y. Talke they cannot without stammering, nor walke without supporting; yea, they cleane forgot what they did ith morning; and should your Grace aske them a que­stion, [Page 31] they cannot answer you without sleeping. What a soporiferous humour is this (replide Themista?) Sure they have drunke Oppium or Night-shade, or they could never be so heavy-headed: but how stand the rest affe­cted?

Truely Madame (said Euphorbus) some of them are so fierce and violent, as their gates are ever kept bolted; where, if you would bee ad­mitted, you must pay the Porter. Vpon your admit­tance, if you desire to goe farther, you must liberally [Page 32] reward the Doore-keeper; by whom being brought in­to their presence, you shall finde them like so many State-Idols reered up, beck­ning nothing but awfull re­verence. Which made mee remember the saying of Cine­as, That hee never came in presence of the Roman Se­nators, but he verily thought hee came before so many magnificent Emperour [...] Bigge and boysterous are they in their salutes, as thus; Fellow, approach nearer. Whereas poore Snakes, their affrighted Supplicant [...] [Page 33] fearing to come within their reach, or draw neere the side of their grate, (for it may be supposed, they have heard the description of a Caniball) double their re­ward to that commodious Keeper of the Ward, to pro­cure their escape. Yet are not these alwayes thus cruell and untractable. For there were divers mollifying play­sters and other suppling oyles to allay their distemper, and b [...]ing them (as I heard after) to a more pleasing and affa­ble humour: but these were privately applied, and by [Page 34] their most intimate follower [...] practised, or el [...]e they could worke no cure. Trust mee (quoth [...]hemista) howsoe­ver their Natures are to bee suppled, these distempers are worst to be cured: for they partake of two incorri­gible humours; immoderate inflammation of the heart, and insatiate extension of the hand; their bloud there­fore must be cooled, and the nerves of their palmes strait­ned, or they can never bee cured; but how are the last disposed?

Cleare of an other hu­mour [Page 35] (answered Euphorbus) for these seeme ind [...]fferent how the world goe; They are sparing in dispatch, but speedy in repast; the height of their humour is a plente­ous dinner: free they are from anger, or any passi­onate distemper: onely, they feed so liberally, as they g [...]ow unwealdy: they hate no­thing more than businesse, so as their judgements ever close with a reference: yet are they of good dispositions, but through discontinuance growne so useles [...]e, as they cannot possibly give the [Page 36] Grace attendance. Well done, Euphorbus; thou hast freely, though shadowing­ly, discovered their maladies: it rests, that amidst these dis­comforts wee conceive through their misery, wee comfort our selfe with the continuate remembrance of our owne integrity.

POESY IIII.

PROSE IV.

BVt Cures of this nature (said Themista, re­quire present reliefe. There is more ad­van [...]age in dispatch, than de­lay; for by neglect of oppor­tunity, we ever lose the be­nefit that accrues by it. It is not so hard to give comfor­table counsell to the afflicted, as to finde a fit season when [Page 40] to give it. Expedition is the best season in extreames: lest by delaying of our Cure, wee dispatch our Patient. It shall be our first resolve then to goe visit our languishing Iusticiaries, and to employ our best Care for their Cure. It is their inward estate that we tender, for in that con­sists their highest honour. ‘We are not affraid, (to use the words of our sententi­ous Petrarch) to see the [...]ui­nous houses of their de­caied bodies shaken; for we know well their con­dition, with the necessity [Page 41] of their dissolution: so their soules, vessels of pur [...]r substance, though guests of their bodies, farewell.’ We ever hold Critolaus bal­lance for our direction; who poizing the Goods of Body and Fortune in one Scale; and the Goods of the Minde in the other, found those pre­tious & inestimable Goods of the Minde so far to weigh downe the other, as the Hea­ven doth the Earth & Seas. Wee stand still for that rich and curious Cabbinet of the Soule; which, so long as it is not rifled by that vitious [Page 42] Crue of inordinate affecti­ons, all is safe, all secure: but once soyled, hardly re­stored to her former beauty But alas for sorrow! wee cannot chuse but sigh, to see old men so senselesse of their misery. Grieve they cannot for themselves, though they see themselves now descen­ding to their Graves. Vn­comfortable is that afflicti­on, which conceives for it selfe no sensible Compassi­on: and such is these mens case. Their bodies are by age weakened, with rume­rous infirmities enfeebled; [Page 43] there is scarce a day but threatens ruine to their cra­zie Cottages. Yet are they as fresh and youthfully greene for vice, as if they but lately entred this Theatre of vani­ty, and might promise to their sparkling youth more yeares, than they can hours, by all possibility. On then, Euphorbus, wee will vi [...]t them, lest they perish through our neglect. Desist Madame (answered Euphor­bus) from a resolve of such infinite danger. I understand their disease to be infectious; sure I am, their whole family [Page 44] seemes to have a spice of the same malady; Be not then such an enemy to your selfe, as to expose your Honour to apparant danger, and so pe­rish through your owne Er­rour. This, Madame, will turne your visiting of them, to a visitation in your selfe. VVho will goe into an infe­cted house, or tempt the di­vine providence, by subje­cting himselfe wittingly to inevitable perill? And no plague more infectious to the Body, than the Corruption of vice [...]o the minde. Of what strong Constitutions were [Page 45] some of these, who now lye mortally languishing? Able they were to the sight of man to repell all crudities; yet see how soone they were vanquished, and to the in­bred corruption of their own vitious nature, miserably captivated. I know, Ma­dame, that you partake of immortality; yet is there something mortall in you; that may bring you to stoop to that Lure, which, al­though you now loath, by consorting with them, you may hereafter love. And what then safe amongst us, [Page 46] if you should faile, or fall from us? Good Madame then, intend your owne safe­ty: Too much affection may bring you to an infection: Prevention is the life of Po­licy. He is an indiscreet Ge­nerall, who lyes his owne person open unto perill: for his fall makes an end of the battell. Secure your selfe by retiring to your Palace: Let Artists, whose Profession it is to intend these Cures, search their griefes, and ex­pose their persons unto dan­ger; Be it your Care, our joy, to enjoy the safety of your Honour.

POESY V.

PROSE I.

NO sooner had Themista felt the pulse of her diseased Sta­tists, than she perceived their distemper to be of that na­ture, as being a desperate Soare, i [...] required a desperate Cure. Some of their pulses [Page 51] beat faintly; as if Nature were spent in them, & their wasted Lamps neare the snuffe. Others cleare of an other temper, for they beat so violently, as it might bee easily gathered, that their en­raged humour rather labou­red of fury and frenzy, than any other indisposed quality. Diversly found she her lan­guishing Senate affected; but none of them rightly tem­pered; which drove her into these and such like perplexed resolves.

Where (said she) shall we turne us, and see not some [Page 52] heavy Object or other to af­flict us? Every where doe we see a distempred State; every where a growing­groaning malady. And what way may wee cast for their recovery? Hee that visiting his friend, findes him sicke, and will not minister unto him; heavy, and will not comfort him; needy, and will not relieve him; such an one may be rather said to mocke him than bemoane him, scoffe him than cheere him, scorne him than suc­cour him. But alas! we feare much that the nature of their [Page 53] disease far exceeds the mea­sure of our art. Maladies of this quality require an expe­rienc'd hand to afford them remedy. And so tenderly af­fected are wee to their per­sons, as wee shall not have the heart to search their wounds, as a pittilesse Artist should doe: for these griefes cannot be cured, unlesse they be to the bottome searched. Meane time, how worthi­ly may wee bemoane this distracted Estate; when those who should be the Guardi­dians of the Republique, are so besotted and benum­med; [Page 54] or otherwise with some exorbitant passion so trans­ported, as they, who should guard the publique State, cannot guide their own per­sons: but like children, goe by holds, to keepe them­selves from fals? Where may the wronged finde redresse, when hee that doth the wrong, is exempted from censure; either by Corrupti­on, which seales up the mouth of Justice: or Igno­rance, which knowes not how to distinguish of the quality of an offence? Hap­py were those dayes wherein [Page 55] Ba [...]il the Emperour of Con­stantinople lived: for so peacefull was his State in the gracious progresse of his time, that whensoever hee came to his Iudgement-Seat, hee neither found Party to accuse, nor Defendant to answer. But we, to live both in these factious & unpeace­able times; and to bee disti­tu [...]e of such as should cen­sure these crimes, where connivence gives impunity to impiety, and greatnesse be­comes a Subterfuge to guil­tinesse; who can justly blame us, to vye in teares with the [Page 56] Errours of the time; and be­moane that State with a compassionate pitty; which we cānot by our own Ende­vours remedy! Now, should we leave them to théselves, how should they possibly cure their owne Soares, who are insensible of their effects? True it is; that as the Scorpi­on hath in her the remedy of her owne poyson; so the E­vill man carrieth alwayes with him the punishment of his owne wickednesse: which never leaves to torment and affli [...]t his minde, both sle [...] ­ping and waking; as it fared [Page 57] with Apollodorus, Hippar­chus, Pausanias and many o­thers; who were so conscious of their owne enormities, as they were ever in pursuit by their owne Furies. But what of all this? Neither personall shame, nor apprehension of their owne guilt, nor any o­ther subsequent effect, could afford to the publique State, a soveraigne Cure; till these vicious ones were weeded, vertuous ones elected, and the whole forme or modell of the State changed. O my perplexed Spirit, how justly may wee take up the com­plaint [Page 58] of our divinely-morall Seneca! who writing to his friend Lucilius, discovered the face of a corrupted State in this sort: ‘Our newes from Rome are these; the walls of Rome are ruined; the Temples not visited; the Priests fled; the Trea­sure robbed; old men are dead; young men are mad; and vices are Lords over all. O my good friend Lu­ciliu [...], if these things seeme great faults, there be grea­ter yet than these in Rome: and they are, that no man will confesse himselfe [Page 59] culpable of any of these things: but the Dictator layeth fault upō the Con­sul; the Consul upon the Censor; the Censor upon the Pretor; the Pretor up­on the Aedile; and the Aedile upon the Questor: in so much as; because no man will confesse his fault, we have no hope of amendment.’

But fruitlesse are these complaints; our griefes re­quire a speedy hand, and a resolved heart; de [...]terity in the one, and constancy in the other; speedy in apply­ing, [Page 60] and happy in perfor­ming. Wee shall doe well then in resolving to send our Servant Euphorbus for Aes­culapius; by whose incompa­rable skill, not onely means may be made for their reco­very; but directions had for preventing their relapse in­to the like infirmity. Haste then with winged speed, Eup [...]orbus, to that prime Ar­tist of Physicke; present our Loue unto him; the desire we have to see him; how much we relye on him; the necessity of his repair: which shall individually tye us to him.

POESY I.

PROSE II.

[Page 64] NO sooner had Euphorbus deli­vered his Ladies Message to Aes­culapius, who was then en­gaged in sundry Cures of great difficulty, by meanes of Priapus and his dissolute followers, (who had brought a dangerous d [...]ease into that Province where he resided:) then pre [...]ently, this divine Artist repaired to Themista, offering to her his best ser­vice; which was accepted by her with much thankfull [Page 65] entertainement and affectio­nate solace. And sitting to­gether in a delightfull Ar­bour, without more delay, She discovered the cause of her griefe unto him, in this manner.

Renowned Sir, to impart unto you, the grounds of our griefe in every particular, would require an ample vo­lume of Iliads: Neither would time suffice, nor your numerous imployments ad­mit, any such copious relati­ons. In one word, if misera­bly-perplexed Hecuba, whose fortune in her time had no [Page 66] paralell, expressed such dis­con [...]olate effects in the sad ashes of her ruin'd Troy, and her slaughterd Children; We are sure the sorrowfull Scene of our Tragicke mishaps, may deserve some Annals to memotize them, lest conti­nuance of time might burie in oblivion, the heavy issue of such dolefull occurrents. Wee well remember, how Polo the tragedian, acting the part of Electra upon the Stage; and being mourneful­ly to bring in the bones of her brother Orestes in a pot, hee brought in the bones of [Page 67] his owne Sonne lately buri­ed, that the sight of them might wring forth true tears indeed; and by their passio­nate presentment of them, act it more feelingly: for ob­j [...]cts of Ocular passion can­not chuse but worke in the actors person. The same part may wee be truely said to personate: Nor may we possibly so display them to life, whom wee a [...]e here to present, as our afflicted brest conceives: so that, as Pi­ctures receive their life from shadowes, so are you Aescu­lapius to conceive them [Page 68] shadowed, when our tongue cannot reach so high as to have them fully expressed.

But you will say, true pas­sion admits no Rhetoricall introductiō; 'tis true; yet fares it with us in this discovery of our fresh-bleeding woes, as it doth with such, on whom the judgement of death being now pronoun­ced, and now come to that fatall place, where they are to satisfie the Law, and dis­burden their conscious souls [Page 69] of many secret facts, which till then, never came to light, nor admitted a discovery: many trifling delayes will they pretend, purposely to protract time, and enjoy the sweet society of an expiring life: But omitting these, wee will now descend to a free delivery of these our captiv'd and restrained griefes: in dis­covery whereof, pardon our effeminacy, if we drop some teares, to ease the surcharged relapse, of our afflicted heart.

Know (quoth she) thou divine Artist, that we were sometimes styled the Sove­raignesse [Page 70] of justice; and in person, intended our care to the execution of it. Du­ring which time, our impa­ralel'd State flourished, Lawes were duely admini­stred, good men were re­warded, the evill justly pu­nished; the State of [...]ustice so equally poized, as Saturns age seem'd to be revived.

Having thus planted our State, we held our selves se: cure: but too much security gives vice opportunity to make her entry: for no soo­ner were wee removed (re­commending our govern­ment [Page 71] to such, whose fidelity we held so inviolably firme unto us, as nothing could di­vide them from us:) then that blessed State, where be­fore never corruption raigned, no Oily nor Syco­phant tongue ever pleaded, no malady nor distemper raged; became universally diseased. Not one sound Member left uninfected. Sundry vicious and malig­nant humours distilled srom the head to the body: which so distempered the whole State, as nothing could bee more [...]eared than an Epide­micall [Page 72] contagion. To give some wofull instances here­in, that my griefe may ap­peare reall without dissem­bling; truely passionate with­out faigning: what a num­ber of Conscript-fathers lye now desperately languishing; & what small hope have we of their recovering? Sicke, & heart sicke they are; yet like Children, rather would they have their Soares to rankle, corrupt, and putrifie, than have their wounds search'd, and so finde remedy. One wee had (and onely one) who was sound at heart, [Page 73] whose name (and blest be the memoriall of so untain­ted a name) was Parthenius: to them onely odious, who No greater argument of [...] corrupt State, [...]han [...] of M [...]rit. were vicious; by them pro­scribed, who were contagi­ous; by all esteemed, who were truely vertuous. Him they banished in our ab­sence, nor since could hee e­ver be admitted to our pre­sence. Whose pregnancy may appeare by that Poeme which his nimble Notarie Ephepomenos in his person, ingeniously composed, and by a petitionary way in his Exile presented, to expresse [Page 74] the wrongs he had [...]uffered, and how injuriously the Censure of his proscription had beene pronounced; nor shall it a little comfort us, to repeate it, now in his ab­sence (whose memory is so pretious to us) who first ad­dress'd it:

Nor was he more preg­nant in wit, than rich in the supply of all vertues: for all that knew him, will give [Page 76] this testimony of him, that his constancy in opposing strong delinquents, did ex­ile him. For like an impreg­nable Rocke, he stood stout­ly against all Opposition; or like a sweet cooling Spring in a desart, refreshed both himselfe, and others in their affliction, Or like green Bayes in hoary winter, flou­rished still in the most vio­lent and tempestuous season. Such men have our corrup­tedst times brought forth, but those were rare, as Sora­nus and Cannius, Phocion and Socrates; whose survi­ving [Page 77] vertues preserue their memory to posterity; and whose steps our Parthenius hath so well trac'd in acts of justice and piety.

But to you Aesculapius, must wee addresse our re­quest; it is your succour we intreate; whose Experienc'd art hath wrought such admi­rable effects. Be it your Care to tender our Senates Cure. So shall you finde us just in our requitall ofso am­ple a benefit, whensoever opportunity shall so offer it selfe that we may show it.

Whereto Aesculapius re­plied; [Page 78] As pitty moves me to commiserate your Estate (Noble Lady) so shall it ap­peare, that my zeale to your Honour is unfaigned, by the expression of my Cure. Let it suffice, Madame, that I doe here promise my best art and assistance in the ac­complishment of your de­sires: Meane time, comfort your selfe with expectance, till time come that wee pre­sent to your Honour some manifest tokens of successe, by the effects of your pra­ctise.

POESY II.

PROSE III.

[Page 82] THis exquisite Artist Aesculapius, having duely observed their distinct humours, pas­sions, symptoms and dispo­sitions; freely in this manner delivered his opinion, touch­ing his Patients.

It is easie (said he) to col­lect by the outward Physno­my, that there is an inherent Malady: but there is some difficulty in discovering, the true nature or effects of that infirmity, by any conjecture derived externally. Wee of [Page 83] our profession receive espe­ciall notions by the Patients urine, and by other practick meanes, whereof our expe­rienc't Artists make singular use: yet may we erre in these, be our judgements never so cleare; because the Water doth not ever discover the quality of the humour: yea, I my selfe have heard of one within these few years, who was esteemed an Eminent Professor in our art, and of excellent judgement in wa­ters, to have returned his o­pinion, that such a water as was brought unto him, (ra­ther [Page 84] indeed to try him, than any necessity they had to employ him) was the water of one who was deepely fallen into a Consumption, yet was it the Stale of a fat Palfrey, as appear'd after­wards upon discovery. I hold it then very needfull in the whole course of our Practice (if the Patient be not altoge­ther insensible of his owne griefe, by reason of the height or extension of his Malady, or incapably of a­ny such discovery in respect of his infancy) that he free­ly disclose the nature or con­dition [Page 85] of his owne griefe: by shewing in every particular how he is handled; at what times most distemperd; how in his Siedge, how in his sto­macke affected: all which are ever by the Patient him­selfe best discovered, and up­on his relation, by Physicall directions best attempered. My Conclusion then shall be this; forasmuch as no wound can be possibly cu­red, unlesse it be first disco­vered; nor salued, unlesse to the bottome searched: I hold it not onely fi [...], but ne­cessarily consequent, that [Page 86] one after another hee brought forth in a Chaire, and before they receive their meanes of Cure, disclo [...]e truely how they feele them­selves handled▪ that a receit to the quality of the disease might be seasonably mini­stred.

VVhereto, after Themista had condescended, her di­stemper'd Statists were brought forth one after ano­ther, according to their de­gree and order; whom Aes­culapius his Boy comforted with a musicall measure af­ter this manner.

POESY III.

PROSE IV.

NO sooner had that admirable Artist told Themista, what necessity and consequent u­tility there was in the disco­very of a Patients griefes; and how none, were he ne­ver of so quicke and piercing a judgement, could come so fully to the knowledge of their distemper, as when the Sufferer himselfe became the Relator; then this equall So­veraignesse [Page 91] of Iustice; The­mista, caused Metoxos, the antientst of all her Senators to be brought forth, ac­quainting him with her Care for his Cure: Which done, after some comforta­ble exhortations to prepare his feeble and uncomposed minde, She wil'd him to de­clare there unto Aesculapius how he felt himselfe hand­led; how in the state of his body disposed, and to what distempers most subject. Themista was not more rea­dy to command, than Me­toxos was to obey; so as, rai­sing [Page 92] himselfe a little in his Chaire, and borne up with pillowes to give him more ease, with the best voyce that his enfeebled spirits could afford, he begunne to discover his griefe, with the effects, in these particulars.

Seeing Madame▪ (said he) that it is your sacred plea­sure, that I disclose mine owne griefes, which by con tinuance, are growne so ha­bituate, as I solace my selfe in my sufferings, I will hum­bly observe your command. 1 First then, I must ingenu­ously confesse, there is such a [Page 93] secret sympathy betwixt my nature and the temper of that metall, as I can see no gold but my teeth water. 2 There is such an extensi­on likewise of my sinewes, as mine hand is ever open, nor can I for a world shut it together, till some powder of the foresaid Minerall close it. 3 I feare too, a decay in my Lungs; for I am be­come of late very asthmati­call: and am oft times trou­bled with a swelling in my throat (when Saturne is pre­dominant) so as I cannot for the whole world speake for [Page 94] my Client. 4. I am a little troubled with the Migrim, which makes mee I cannot looke steadily upon a just Complainant. And albeit, I must confesse, that I am an old man, and that the very Lampe of my life is nearely spent, yet doe I 5 affect dalli­ance, and am infinitely ta­ken with three Curtezans, Philia, Dusnoia, Aneleuthe­ria: the immoderate haun­ting of whose company hath so weakned my spirits, as it hath driven mee into a Con­sumption.

POESY IV.

PROSE V.

[Page 97] MEtoxos having so freely discove­red his distem­per, Themista caused him to withdraw, and keepe apart from con­sorting with any (being told first by Aesculapius, that his disease was very contagious) and acquainting him with­all, that Aesculapius would take course for h [...]s recovery as well as the rest, after hee had heard a free and parti­cular discovery of every ones distemper & infirmity. [Page 98] Which done, Epimonos was called forth, who discove­ring at his very first ap­proach his refractorie na­ture, after some reluctancy, suiting well with the Pertina­cy of his spirit, shewed after what manner he was hand­led, in this sort.

Since I must perforce, (said hee) addresse my selfe to doe what mine owne na­ture will hardly incline un­ [...]o (though, I must confesse, I had farre rather labour still of my supposed distemper, than be put out of my hu­mour;) I will for once, Ma­dam, [Page 99] become mine owne A­natomist before your Ho­nour, and this reverend Ar­tist, whom you so highly tender. 1. I feele very usual­ly such a stiffnesse or unpli­ablenesse in my selfe, as I would not willingly bee ei­ther led or driven. 2. The more I am mov'd, the lesse I feele. 3. I have got such a buzzing in mine head, as I can heare no mans opinion but mine owne. 4. And now of late, grown so insensible of my malady, as I greatly feare, ere long, to fall into an Apoplexy.

POESY V.

PROSE VI.

SHortly after, up­on Themista's e­speciall com­mand, was Vpe­rephanos brought forth; who, after some arrogant passages distemperately uttered, in holding himselfe exempt from others command, was at last content (with much seeming discontent) to dis­close the nature of his di­stemper.

Although (said he) I know [Page 103] no Soveraignty whereto I am subject, unlesse my own disposition in meere curtsy, give way unto it; or this ab­solute Soveraignesse of justice injoyne it, I will daigne to ranke my selfe with others, (though much inferiour to my ranke) in this naked dis­covery.

So it is with me, 1. that I verily thinke my selfe (espe­cially at the full of the Moone, and when the Dogge—starre rageth) to be Atlas, and that the weight of the whole world lyes upon my shoul­ders. 2. I feare much, that [Page 104] this life shall no sooner leave me, than the world will make an Idoll of me. 3. I feele a perpetuall tinckling and sowing in mine Eares; and these I hold to be the tongues of the State, who are chanting my praises. 4. I wonder how the world was governed before I came into it. 5. I neither see nor heare any, but they admire me; and were I Isis Palfrey, they would adore mee. 6. I finde a windy or flatuous matter neare to the Orifice of my stomack, which ga­thers like a purse, and fals [Page 105] into my bladder. 7. I am troubled with many hume­rous and fantasticke dreams, amongst which, that I have a shuttle-Cocke in my brain; and am swallowing Gudge­ons. 8. And when I awake and walke abroad, I am so taken up with favour and fancy, as when I am my selfe, and in good temper, I doubt verily I shall fall into a phren­ [...]ie.

POESY VI.

PROSE VII.

[Page 108] NO sooner was that vaine glori­ous Statist re­mov'd, being to retire to a private Cell or re­cluse divided from the rest; fearing, belike, his distem­per, which was sometimes furious beyond measure; than Themista (whose Care was ever addressed for their Cure) cals forth Meilixos; who in all humble and sub­missive manner shewed; 1 That from his very child­hood, [Page 109] hee was of a weake constitution; 2. Of an ea [...]ie and facile nature; 3 Ever cold & aguish; 4. Subject to blee­ding; 5. And sinew-shrunk: 6. He [...] was growne so feeble, as he could scarcely support himself: 7. He found a great decay in his sight, and could goe no way but as others led him. Hee would freely submit himselfe to any ex­tremity, so hee might enjoy the least hope of recovery; but hee greatly feared an he­reditary Malady, descending to all his family, and that was an Epilep [...]ie.

POESY VII.

PROSE VIII.

[Page 112] NOt a little was Mei­lixos comforted, by these sweet measures; so as his very Countenance gave promi­sing hopes of his recovery. But being commanded to retire, and with patience at­ [...]end the opportunity of his Cure; Themista forthwith sent for Vpotomos; who pre­sented himselfe with a sterne and rough Countenance: in­different he seem'd who were pleas'd, who displeas'd: full [Page 113] of discontent was his visage: nothing but fire and fury sparkled from his eyes: small was the reverence he shew­ed in the presence of his So­veraignesse. In one word, hee seem'd as if he had falne at oddes with himselfe; so cloudy was his Counte­nance, so distastfull his ap­pearance. Being at last com­manded to discover his griefe (whereof hee retain'd an Index in his face) and in what sort hee felt himselfe distempered; as one incensed with that command, and fixing his Ferret eyes in a [Page 114] furious and dispassionate manner, with much avers [...] ­nesse returned this answer.

It is not my condition to thaw or resolve into teares, nor come with an Humble complaining, like that white­liver'd Senator, whose effemi­nate nature discovers the Ba­bie to be of a poor & irreso­lute téper. I can disclose my griefe without a groane; and my paine without a plaint: which, to satisfie my selfe, next your command, Lady; to whom by our Officiall degrees we owe some Sove­raignty, I shall briefly un­fold. [Page 115] For my Constitution, it is strong and full of vi­gour, unlesse some violent fit of anger bring it to distem­per. From whence some in­cident Maladies arise, which enfeeble the strength of na­ture; and whereof I shall here returne a relation more punctually particular. 1. First then, I can justly complaine of nothing more than inflam­mation of mine eyes, and heat of stomacke. 2. And I verily thinke, that my too long fa­miliarity with one Eris, a neare acquaintance of mine, hath so infected my bloud, [Page 116] as it is impossible to bring it to a right temper; so as this exquisite Artist of yours (Madame) may save that la­bour. For I never yet saw that object, which gave mee delight; nor that Subiect, wherein I tooke content. 3. I am subject to fearefull dreames, which so startle and distract me, that albeit I am but seldome drunke, yet am I never mine owne man, nei­ther sleeping nor waking. 4. I am grievously troubled with stitches, and with that incessancy of passion, as they admit no intermission. All [Page 117] which together, heate my bloud so intemperately, as I much feare a dangerous Plu­ri [...]ie.

POESY VIII.

PROSE IX.

THat sullen discon­tented Malevolo, had no sooner up­pon Themista's command re­tired, [Page 120] being close pent up in a Cave, lest he should quar­rell with the light (a Con­sort much different to his unsociable humour) for pri­vacy was his Lawne, and discontent his Lure: then Themista sent her faithfull servant Euphorbus for Ame­rimnos, the very last of her Patricians, to come unto her; whom hee tooke napping, for he found him sleepingin a corner. Long did he whup and hollow, but all in vaine; Endymion vero si fa­bulas audi­re volu­mus, n [...]sclo quando in Latm [...] ob­dormivit, nondum ut opinor experre­ctus. Cicero lib. 1. Tuscul▪ quaest. Endymion never slept sound­lier on Latmus mount, than this State-crickit did in his [Page 121] Chimney nooke. Many wayes he used to awake him forth of that Lethaean slum­ber, by cramping, tickling under th'eare, applying fumes to his nose; but fruit­lesse was all Euphorbus pra­ctise: till at last, starting sud­denly out of his dreame, hee called aloud Sympotio, Sympo­tio, (for so was the Yeoman of his Cellar called) bring me a lusty Cup of Frontineack, to cleare mine eye-sight this morning; but hee was much mistaken both for the time o'th day, & his liquor; for it was now drawing towards [Page 122] the Evening; and for his Frontineack, there was none such in all his Cellar. How­soever, Euphorbus had pre­vented his Carouse by his Message; being then to de­liver unto him his thanklesse errand.

Long was it, after such time as Euphorbus had ac­quainted him with T [...]emi­sta's pleasure, before this dreaming man could call to minde what that Lady might be; so much had sleep dull'd him, or his darling Sacke besotted him, as a mindlesse▪ oblivion had seaz'd [Page 123] on him, and made him quite forget who first advanc'd him. At last, rubbing his o­ver-steep'd noddle, & soun­ding a retrait to his wan­dring senses, who were gone a wooll-gathering, hee gave eare to Euphorbus message; and with an indented pace (with two Bonsocio's to sup­port him) addressed himselfe with best speed he could, to­wards Themista: by whom being asked the ground of his distemper, after a nod or two, he returned this drow­sie answer.

Madame, I tooke very [Page 124] good rest, before your Ser­vant call'd mee, and should shortly doe so againe, if you would but dismisse mee. Truth is, I am neither great­ly sicke nor well: for mine appetite to eate, drinke and sleepe, did never yet faile me; but it fares with me as with them that are taken with an Atrophie, though I feed well; 1. I thrive ill. In the after­noone, I am ever taken with a 2. dry Hecup: which makes mine head so heavy, as i'm enforc'd to lay my Chin on my Breast: I know not what familiar hath throwne [Page 125] his Clubbe over me, but que­stionlesse, there is some Gip­sie tricke in it, for I can ne­ver heare Iustice talkt of, but I must have a 3. nappe. I am ever 4. dreaming on the Bench, that I am shooting at rovers, which makes me to pronounce judgement at hap hazard: wherein (like a just man) I am ignorantly innocent whether it passe for Plaintiffe or Defendant. The greatest fault I finde with my self, is my 5. defect of memory; so as I verily thinke, I shall play Messala Corvinus, and forget my owne name, and [Page 126] so by degrees fall into a Le­thargy.

POESY IX.

PROSE I.

WHen the Lear­ned Aesculapius had heard this free delivery of their infirmities; turning to Themista, Madam (said hee) I never found more diffe­rent distempers in any State. Through most parts of the whole World have I travai­led, and in my travaile pra­ctised either in my owne person or by mine Agents. Where in my Survey of this Vniverse, and the exercise [Page 130] of my Profession, I encoun­tred with divers Maladies, which had made Fooles of the best Physitians: yet with Cures of more difficulty than these, have I seldome grappled. Personally stood I engaged for the service of Athens, when that great Plague so universally raged, as there sufficed not among the living to burie the dead. Even then, I say, when that flourishing Treopagus, where those jud [...]cious Senators (sur­named Areopagites) exerci­sed judgement was not one­ly left desolately unfrequen­ted, [Page 131] but the very Seates of Iu­stice were with brambles o­ver-shadowed; the publique Market place where such Confluence of people from all Coasts and Countries re­sorted, with grasse covered; those sumptuous buildings, wherein A [...]t seem'd to con­tend with her selfe, utterly re [...]inquished; and those glo­rious Temples of the gods, by rea [...]on of shady Coverts so obscured, as their magni­ficence could not be discer­ned. When (I say) nothing but an universall desolation had seaz'd on that disconso­late [Page 132] City, so as her very ene­mies, who sometimes ma­ligned her happinesse, now melted into teares to see her glory so eclipsed, and to mi­sery reduced. Even then did I happily arrive at Pylae, and by my art so purified the ayre (which was then so in­fected, as the very Birds fell downe dead with corruption of it) as in very short time, the City recovered, the Sena­tors returned, the Citizens re-inhabited their relinqui­shed Mansions.

The like service I did to the flourishing State of [Page 133] Sparta, where they erected a Temple to mine honour; and retaine to this day the memory of me in a sumptu­ous Statue, which they rea­red for me. Bizantium will acknowledge the like cour­tesie; and so will all States, who have at any time beene surprized with any raging malady.

But this I doe not speake of to set my selfe at Sale, or like our Mercenary Moun­tebanke, to erect a Stage for discovery of my Cures; and by a Comick Enterlude with a servile Buffoun, foole my [Page 134] selfe into popular esteeme: or set up in some frequented place, a fictitious Catalogue of my incredible Cures; Or hang up my Picture, to en­force a deeper impression in the taking eye of the vulgar; Or with sophisticated oyles, delude the sight of a bleere­ey'd Spectator. No; I doe va­lue more the honour of my Profession, than to set it at so low a rate as to begge esti­mation: or by sordid means s [...]rue my selfe into opinion. True worth can never ad­mit of Ostentation. It shall be my glory to afford my [Page 135] best art to others necessity; wherein their health shall be my highest gaine, their re­covery my wished goale. And to you, Madam, doe I speake it, who [...]e vertuous fame [...]hall ever endeere mee to your memory (nor was I ever conscious of flattery) that my Practise hereupon these your distempered Sta­tists shall manifest to the world, that effects give the best approvement to all Pro­fessions. But delay ministers fuell to a growing disease; this Preamble, Madam, was but to acquaint you with [Page 136] the method of our Professi­on, who must aggravate the difficulty of their Cure, to procure them the more cre­dit.

Whereat, Themista smi­ling, replied; Renowned Sir, Leave that Method to such novice Artists, who stand in need of a publique Cryer of their Cures; for your selfe, we dare avouch, that so much are you indeb­ted to fame, or shee rather indeered to you, that you cannot be more highly pos­sest of opinion than you are. That fame of Pergamus, your [Page 137] Scholler Galen, hath disperst your glory by the excellen­cy of his art. That joynt name of Sixe renowned Physitians, Hippocrates hath with no lesse repute advan­ced you. That surviving glory of Anazarba, Diosco­rides, whom the familiarity showne him by those prince­ly but unhappy Amorists, Marke Antony, and Cleopa­tra, so highly raised; hath with no lesse art improved your fame. The universall opinion which all Nations retaine of you, may be pro­bably gathered, by those ma­ny [Page 138] Temples erected to your Honour, and entitled by your owne Name, the more to dilate your honour. What Statues have beene reared, what Shrines erected for you? and how severely have punishments beene inflicted on such as have either de­tractively inveyed against you, or sacrilegiously disho­noured you? Which might be instanced in the misfor­tunes of Dionysius; who, though he made a jeast of Sacriledge, and gave easie reines to all prophanenesse, yet his exile from the flowry [Page 139] boundiers of his Empire, re­warded him for his impious designes towards the Gods: amongst which, for the dishonour hee did unto you, Aesculapius, in cutting off your beard, and clozing up his Sacriledge with a jeere, saying, it was unfit, for you the Sonne to have a beard, and your Father Apollo to have none.

It is true, Lady, (answe­red Aesculapius) just was the censure inflicted on Dionysi­us; but undeserved was his impiety towards mee, for those many favours which [Page 140] his Countrey had received from me. Howsoever, you shall know (Madame) that I was never ambitious after fame; which, for the most part, is soonest procured, when it is least desired: for where vertue is the sole ground of our actions, it e­ver drawes to her some dis­cerning Spectators to crown them with a deserving ap­plause. Ever to doe good hath beene mine ayme with­out affectation; for actions done for vaine-glory, lose their desert; but protraction in Cures; gives life to distem­pers. [Page 141] It is more than high time, that we now addresse our selfe to our Practise: wherein, though most of our surreptitious Empiricks, gaine them experience by the death of their Patients; our Patients (so heavens breath on our Endeavours) shall suffer no such fatall prejudice by our Experience.

Nor doe we feare it, Aes­culapius, (answered Themi­sta,) where Theory, Pra­ctise, and Honesty meete to­gether in one Subject, the Cure cannot but promise successe; proceed then hap­pily [Page 142] to your succe [...]ding fame, and your Patients cheerefull recovery.

Aesculapius having thus received Themista's charge, for the Care and Cure of her Consuls; prepares proper re­ceits to be seasonably apply­ed to every Malady. Hee craves Eucrisius assistance; whose presence assures him of successe in his Practise. And first, because first in order, and a distemper of infinite danger, and there­fore requisite to have the expeditest Cure, he cals forth Metoxos, to whom he gives [Page 143] these directions.

Metoxos, you have a foule body, full of vicious and ma­lignant humours, my opini­on therefore (drawne from the seldome erring rule of judgement and practise) is this; that you first be purged, that your body may be bet­ter prepared. Secondly, you must be blooded, that all cor­rupt, clotted and congealed blood may bee removed. Thirdly, you must have a vomit, that all crudities which lye rotting about your stomacke, may bee exhaled. The necessity of which Ex­periments [Page 144] shall appeare (said Aesculapius) by the effects, which each of these pro­duce.

1. For your Siege, the Lake Cocitus, or Stimphalus were odoriferous Bathes unto it. The whole History of A­jax cannot show the like: for the luscious't nutriment ever renders the loath somst excrement.

2. Secondly, for your blood, it is so thicke and corrupt, as Buls blood is of a pure, sim­ple, and subtile quality in comparison of it: which may appeare by the standing [Page 145] colour, or Iewish tincture you have in your face, which be­ing laid on with an Aurum technicum, cannot blush.

3. Thirdly, for the Crudi­ties of your Stomacke; they are so numerous, and those so onerous, as they that see your Eiectments, will hold them meere deceptions of the Sight: for sometimes, you shall cast up a whole Oxe (equall for proportion to Milo's Bull) which stucke so in your throat, as you could not speak, but brought you by meanes of this Ob­struction, in great danger of [Page 146] a Squinancy; other times, a Massie Basen and Eure, all partiall-guilt; Now an hundred or two of Rixe dol­lors; and in the end, when your stomacke is disgorged of these, you shall cast up a whole Covy of Partridge, Ducke and Mallard, Cram'd Capons, with much other both wilde fowle and tame; all which lay fluttering on your queasie stomacke, un­concocted. And all this by the sorcery of your Curtezan Analeutheria.

Having prescribed you these directions; and prepa­red [Page 147] for you a Pectorall of Hearbe of Grace: with a Plai­ster of Liver-wort; (for I con­ceive all these distempers to proceed from an ill liver) I must advise you to be pati­ent in your Cure; which if you doe, I make little doubt, but to work a rare Cure up­on you. For this hath beene ever my positive Conclusi­on in the whole course of my Practise, that there is nothing, which makes dis­eases more incurable, than the negligence or impatience of the Patient: as might bee instanced in Sisambres; which [Page 148] Story, Harmonius, it is my pleasure you relate in a Mu­sicall straine, while I prepare his Physicall ingrediences.

POESY I.

PROSE II.

[Page 152] DIsposed had this judicious Artist no sooner of Metoxos, whose violent distemper required present reliefe; than, leaning a little on his Elbow, as one deepely engaged to some se­rious contemplation, hee in the end burst out into these words.

Madame (quoth hee to Themista) it is an usuall Pro­verbe in these parts, that the Ship had need be free from leakes, where the Pilot is drunke.

[Page 153]What doe you meane by that (answered [...]hemista) Mary thus (quoth Aescula­pius:) your Grace hath here a faire, ample, & flourishing estate; of a large extent is your government; but the members, wherof your State consists, had need bee well disposed, when their heads be so distempered. How doe you thinke of us (answered [...]hemista) we should be the Head? doe you finde any such distemper in our affections? Excuse me, Madame, (reply­ed Aesculapius) There is none that knowes you, but [Page 154] truely honours you; your a­ctions are rightly squared; your affections sweetly tem­pered; your Scale of Justice equally poized: but a sinister hand perverts it. The foun­taine is not to be blamed, if any troubled or brackish wa­ter, partaking of the Earth, not of the Spring, corrupt it. Pure is her nature, and had so continued, had not some impurer mixture soil'd her; which is meerely con­tingent, and no way inhe­rent to her. And how (said Themista) might we restore these corrupted Conduits of [Page 155] ours to their former purity? By preserving and reteining your owne (answered Aescu­lapius:) The Vnicornes horne being dipt in water, cleares and purifies it. In our apply­ing Cures to Subjects of this nature, it must be our worke to imitate, but yours to per­fect. Equall prejudice befals Iustice, either through your absence, or connivence. Where, if a fluxe of humors be not timely prevented, the whole body will become shortly endangered. Trust mee, Noble Lady, had my Patient Metoxos been begun [Page 156] with in time, he might have beene cured with lesser diffi­culty and danger: for there is nought that more hazards us, than giving way to an humour. VVhich I shall re­turne manifest proofe of in the Cure of my next Pati­ent, [...]hose habituate infir­mity will force me to the ut­most of mine art; in trying many conclusions, e're I shall bring him to a perfect recovery. The more are we tyed to your attendance (an­swered Themista) being so full of practise, and those so powerfull and eminent Pa­tients, [Page 157] which remaine un­der your [...]ure, in all parts where you reside: but The­mista knowes how to requite a Curtsie of such high con­sequence; which shall ap­peare in a more reall and ex­pressive recompence. Pre­sents and ample promises are moving objects to mer­cenary Professants (answe­red Aesculapius) but as Nature hath enabled me with gifts of knowledge, so hath shee given me a contented minde, to confine my desires to my present fortune. To doe good shall bee my greatest [Page 158] gaine; more than this I lit­tle need, and to obtaine this shall be mine highest ayme. And so turning him towards Epimonos, who all this while sate bolt upright in a chaire, without any sensible appea­rance of paine, hee freely im­parted his minde unto him, in this manner.

I am not ignorant, Epi­monos, what danger you are in; yet let not this amate you: the more danger in the Cure, the more shall be my Care. Be you confident in hope, as I constant with my best helpe. My directi­ons [Page 159] shall be usefull, & with­all, so experimentall, as be­ing carefully observed, they shall in very short time, be­come (in your particular) so­veraigne and healthfull.

First then, forasmuch as I very well know the pertina­cy of your humour to bee such, as it must be corrected, before any medicine can be properly applied, or usefully ministred: I am of necessity to take this course (for mild­er receits might prove worse) that Lenitive and mollifying plaisters be used to foften the 1. Stifnesse of your arteries; [Page 160] to lay Cantarides to your necke, to sucke away those 2. Crude humours, which by concretion so benumme and stiffen your necke, as you can­not bow it. I am to apply likewise, Goats blood, to dis­solve that 3 adamantine hu­mour congealed within the Membrane or thinne skinne which incloseth your heart. And because, diseases insen­sible are most incurable, I must use a little s [...]arifying, to bring you to a 4. feeling of your griefe, and perfecting my Cure Nor is this all, sun­dry other ingrediences are to [Page 161] be prepared, before a Cure of this difficulty can be pos­sibly effected. I am there­fore to prescribe you a diet drinke, strongly tempered with the juyce of Morphas­mos and Aisthema, hearbs of soveraigne vertue for your Malady. These must be dai­ly applyed, and as hot as you may suffer them: Wher­in I intend to be personally employed, that nothing may be omitted, for the expedi­ting of your Cure. Neither let the long continuance of your Physicke any way dishearten you; it is a con­stant [Page 162] Maxime amongst us; "No taske of difficulty can be effected speedily. Though our course bee slow, it will prove more sure. Our run­ning Empirickes, who kill an hundred e're they come to so much experience as to cure one, would hold you in hand that this were but an easie Cure; yet twenty to one, they would kill you be­fore they cur'd you. For their art is to heale the wound, but never search the Cause: so the skinne be whole, they never thinke of rankling within: But to the honour [Page 163] of your Princesse, to whose service I have devoted my best art, and the benefit of my Patient whom I take in hand, you shall receive a more safe and soveraigne Cure from me. For I may as­sure you, out of my confi­den [...]e of art, and his assi­stance, who gives prospe­rous successe to all arts, that by observing my directions, you shall not onely prevent falling into an Apoplexy, (a spice whereof you have al­ready) but Cure any o [...]her infirmity that hath befalne you, through your owne [Page 164] opinionate pertinacy. For the Physitian conceives hope in Cures most difficult, where he hath to deale with a tem­perate Patient. Whereas, if you will not freely submit to my prescriptions, but with a violent swinge de­cline from my directions, looke upon the danger you incurre, and then thanke your owne opinionate er­ror. Small griefes in an un­toward Patient, become in short time mortally despe­rate: which might be instan­ced in the misfortunes of M. Caelius; the relation wher­of, [Page 165] that his fate may be your Caveat, I recommend to you Harmonius.

POESY II.

PROSE III.

SVrely (said Aes­culapius to Har­monius) thou hast deblazo­ned the Tragicke Scene of Caelius misfortunes in right colours: for he was ever said to have a good right hand, [Page 169] but an ill left hand, because he could plead against a man better than for him. Which procured him no lesse hate, than his mercenary Eloquence purchased him gaine. But our Cures are many, and the day runnes on: we must now addresse our best endeavours for your recovery (quoth he to Vperephanos:) wherein I must tell you freely (nor would I have it to discou­rage you) that your Cure is of greatest difficulty. Your very action, gesture, and discourse puts me in minde [Page 170] of Rhemnius Palaemon, that arrogant Grammarian, or rather Grammatist; who vaine-gloriously boasted, that good Literature had first life by him, and should after dye with him. Or like Gor­gias the Orator, who ever advanced himselfe to the highest place, and arrogated to himselfe the deservingst praise. You have hit his hu­mour rightly (answered Themista) heavens grant you may fit him with as pro­per a remedy: but in good sadnesse, Sir, how doe you finde him affected? Distra­cted, [Page 171] you would say, Ma­dam, (replied Aesculapius.) The Oetean Hercules had ne­ver a more violent beating pulse, after hee had put on that empoisoned shirt of Nessus. Observe the mad­ding motion of his Eyes; how wildely hee lookes! In what a disioynted Circuit his discourse runs on! I can assure you, Madam, for all his silence, hee verily con­ceits at this instant, that the wisedome of all politicke States is confined within the empty circumference of his braine. A dangerous head­piece, [Page 172] trust me! This I am sure of, were the govern­ment of the Vniverse left to the guidance of his Sconce, we should have a mad State. Yet I can tell you Sir, (said Themista) that since our un­happy absence from these parts, he was held the one­ly Oracle of our Court. No­thing was definitely de­cre [...]d; no Censure pronoun­ced; no judgement delive­red; nor any publique Act promulgated; unlesse it were first by him approved: so u­niversally was hee reputed. This it is, and onely this [Page 173] (answered Aesculapius) that hath madded him. Had he beene opposed in his will, we had never beene put to this worke. So dangerous it is to sooth or second some humours, as it fares with these, as the Ape dealt with her darling: They kill them, while they coll them. Shady honours are their beauties; applause is their minion; nor doe they care so much for desert, as opinion. This hu­mour is long rankling before it come to burst out: but this Ery [...]ipelas or wilde fire being once kindled, the flame is [Page 174] not so soon to be quenched.

All this time, sate Vpere­phanos upright in his Chaire, shewing a Supercilious kind of State: and expressing a kinde of humorous action or apish formality, in wink [...], noddes, and other strange gesticulation: which [...] ­lapius well observing, and drawing near him; ask't him how hee did?

Excellently well (quoth Vperephanos) for how is it possible I should doe other­wise? The greedy eyes of the vulgar are fixt upon me; The whole Counsell­Chamber [Page 175] relyes on me; The publique State, hath recom­mended the helme of her government unto mee. If I faile, she fals; her grandeure lyes on my shoulder; in the wounding of whose honour I suffer equally. Goe to (quoth Aesculapius) you know not what you suffer: you are madded with an o­ver-weening opinion of your owne wisedome. Assure your selfe, the State stands in no such neede of you; should you perish, she would flourish. Shee hath other shoulders to support her; [Page 176] other Lights to direct. her than your addle braine. Goe to Sir, would you have your selfe displayde in your owne native colour? I must doe it, and roundly too, or I shall never bring you to a discovery of your selfe. I will tell you then what I feare, though you feele no such occasion of feare in your selfe.

I finde as well by your Cra [...]is as Chri [...]is (with the gra­duall courses of your Parox­ysmes, Symptomes, and other concurring distempers) that you have beene bit by a ma [...] [Page 177] dogge; so as you must 1. eate a piece of his Liver: which must bee stuffed with the leaves of the low shrub Ta­peinotes. You are like wise for certaine dayes together to be 2. tyed Chinne-deepe in La­zarello's poole; where you are to bee kept to a low dyet. Neither can I finde any meanes better to cure your distemper, than to 3. remain there, till all those Bedlam fooles laugh you out of your humour. Howsoever, you must bee patient, or your griefe will grow more vio­lent, as it fell out with Py­theas; [Page 178] whose heavy fate I leave to you Harmonius, to descant on in your wonted manner.

POESY III.

PROSE IV.

MAdam (said Ae [...] ­culapius, tur­ning himself to Themista) this was a mad piece to make a Consul of; but there was never any good wit without some egregious folly. They [Page 182] that would suffer themselves to be troubled at the sight of every mad Statist, would have some thing to thinke on. Wise men can never bee discovered, but by others folly. Venus never shewed more beauty, than when Nais sate by her, and shew'd her deformity.

All this is true (answered Themista) but nothing trou­bles us so much, as to see one, whose judgement should have ministred ad­vice to others, so bleered and blemished in his own. Sure­ly, had you knowne this [Page 183] Vperephanos, when wee first knew him, you would have admir'd him for pregnancy of wit, solidity of judgement, and generality of worth. Nothing was spoke by him, but infinitely became him; ripe hee was of conceit, and rich in fancy.

And it was that (said Aes­culapius) and nothing but that (as I said before which brought him to this dange­rous Frensy. I must tell you, Madame, for mine ancient experience hath found it true: That person had need of a composed spirit, and to [Page 184] have a constant and staid wit, who preserves it untain­ted, when hee is hugged in the Court, honoured by the State, and humoured with applause. The axiome is, "it is rare to bee great and good; but no lesse authentique is this, rare it is to bee popular and wise. Many have beene As Sergius Galba. thought fit to governe, be­fore they came to governe; wise they were in manna­ging, constant in pursuing, and prosperous in atchie­ving, but all this, while they were private men. The Bowl [...] chang'd her Byas, [Page 185] when it came to runne on more steepe grounds.

Promotion is the Touch­stone, Chi ha bi­anco [...]a­vallo, & bella moglie No viue mai sansa doglie. which tryes every mans metall. These preg­nant-piercing wits, have commonly dangerous di­ving conceits: which be­come subject to crackes or flawes, if they be either by competition opposed, or by arrogancy and applause too much tickled. I could in­stance you many eminent Personages here in Arcady, who became subject to this distemper, though during their time of privacy, most [Page 186] sober. The wise Ithacus had the hearbe Moli in store, for an antidote against such Si­renes.

But let this nothing a­mate you (Madame;) wee have so dispos'd of him; as we hope to leave him in far better temper, than wee found him.

He had no sooner spoken this, then Meilixos was pre­sented to him, whom hee received with an affable en­tertaine; and drawing neare him, and gently stroaking his temples with his hand; Take heart of grace to you [Page 187] (quoth hee to Meilixos) my life for yours; there is no such violence of distemper, but I shall quickly allay the decreasing heate of this hu­mour. I could wish that my Patient, whom I had last in hand, were in no greater danger. Looke up man, bee not dejected; within few dayes I doubt not, but to set you on your feete. Milde and moderate hath beene your humour, and I shall fit you with Receits of like na­ture. Alas, good man, how hee trembles before ever ought be applyed unto him! [Page 188] These be Symptomes of a weake and pusillanimous spirit. I am verily perswa­ded, one might work strange conclusions on such a sub­ject: So easily were he to be deluded, if any one would bestow so much time, as to practise upon his weakenesse: Such strong impressions may conceit worke upon a feeble Subject.

It is not to bee doubted (answered Themista) but ve­ry many have been brought to their graves through con­ceit, before ever they came to be sicke: as might be in­stanced [Page 189] in that white-livet'd Emperour Dioclesian, one Diocl [...]siā Dalmata. unworthy of so imperiall a title; with other persons of inferiour quality.

To confirme this (said Aesculapius) I have heard (Madam) of some rare con­clusions tryed upon con­demned persons: who were hoodwinckt, with their armes laid bare for incision, as if they had beene to bee blooded to death. Luke warme water was applyed and sprinckled upon their untoucht veines, by the sup­posed Chirurgion; a strange [Page 186] [...] [Page 187] [...] [Page 188] [...] [Page 189] [...] [Page 190] kinde of whispering or mut­tering was used about him, as if the delinquent were e­ven then expiring. Nothing left undone to delude him: Nor were their endeavours fruitlesse; for conceiving this to be true, as they surmized, with an easie credulity van­quished, meekely but simply hee expired. Or like that Cobler of Mantua, who was brought to bee sicke by per­swasion, when there was no distemper nor weaknesse at all in his constitution.

As they were thus discour­sing, Meilixos (whether [Page 19] through conceit of his owne distemper, or long fasting, I know not) became sensibly fainting▪ which, Aesculapius quickly perceiving, runne to him: and ministring to him out of an Amethist boxe, which hee held in his hand, two or three small pellets of soveraigne vertue to breake winde, and give way to re­spiration; used these words unto him.

What's the matter, Mei­lixos; will you dye in despight of Physicke? you should wrong Nature much, to en­feeble that by conceit, which [Page 192] shee hath so well strengthe­ned and fortifide for your content. Will you dye, be­cause you are not sicke? Or, will you bee sicke, because a groundlesse feare tels you, you are not well? Fye Sir, reflect upon your selfe, and tender your owne estate! Children can play, till their heads ake; and will you lye downe and dye, and feele nothing? But admit you were subject to some exube­rant humours, or dangerous distempers (as all humane respiration passing through such earthen pipes, cannot [Page 191] but by their rubbish receive sometimes▪ obstruction, or some mouldy, & earthly in­fection) these being seasona­bly disclosed, may bee no lesse speedily prevented, than perfectly cured; e [...]peci­ally, to such easie Cures as yours, which are not grown indurate nor habituate, and consequently with more fa­cility salved. Give good at­tention then to my directi­ons, and hold your selfe for safe, if you observe them.

My purpose is ( Meilixos) to prescribe you cordiall and comfortable things; to restore [Page 192] Nature, rather weakned than decayed in you. I perceive your sight likewise, by too much depression of the Op [...]icke part, to bee much darkened, so as I must wash your eyes with Eye bright water, to 1. [...]ecover your sight. Bleeding you are [...]ub­ject to, which I must stench. 2. Annointed must your sinewes be with Nerveoyle, to 3. supple and strengthen them; and all this, to bring you to a better feeling of your [...]elfe. I am likewise, to apply certaine [...] to your temples, and other affected [Page 193] places, to 4. keepe you from cold faint sweats and swou­nings, to which I finde you naturally subject. Nor (to your cōfort) am I any way doubtfull of your recovery, for that I finde a tractable­nesse in you, to follow my directions. Yet withall Sir, observe this Caveat, (for de­clining from it may highly endanger you;) keep home, for these Epileptick passions, to which you are subject, might engage you to mani­fest perils by comming a broad, or walking neare a­ny steepe place, as it fell out [Page 194] with Melotes; the discovery of which Story I commend to Harmonius.

POESY IV.

PROSE V.

YOu see, Ma­dame, (said Aes­culapius to The­mista) what dangers hence occurre, by meanes of a remisse Pati­ent. Who, albeit, hee holds [Page 199] nothing more pretious than health, and seemingly neg­lects all outward respects for purchasing of it: yet are di­rections of health no sooner given, than forgot, no soo­ner prescribed, than negle­cted. So apt is man to forget what most imports him, and entertaine that with delight, which fruitlesly delights him; and in the end destroyes him.

It is true (said Themista) present delights so captivate the Sense, as it will seldome or never suffer us to con­verse with Reason. We love [Page 200] nothing better than life, yet by living ill wee prevent all meanes of living long.

Nature dictates this unto us (answered Aesculapius) that wee should tender no­thing more than health, nor value any directions like those which tend to the con­servation of it; yea, the Poet himselfe could sing:

Nor house, nor ground, nor any store of wealth,

Can relish his distaste, that h'as no health.

What a miserable thing is a rich sicke man? His gold (which hee made his god) [Page 201] cannot allay his distemper, nor afford him one minutes ease [...]or all his treasure. Yet see deluded soules! How they prize the end, and slight the meanes! How Selfe-will exposeth them to millions of extreames! Live they would; and to lengthen their hopes of living, they expresse their bounty to their Physician, by endow­ing him with an ample pen­sion; his Receits, so long as they relish their sickly appe­tite, they receive: but stricter Directions they utterly re­ject, at least, intermit, because they comply not with their [Page 202] humours. Much like that foole of Millain, who prefer­red a sugar pil before his life.

These may be truely said (answered Themista) to have their whole understanding placed in their Sense. They preferre what may please, before what may ease; their will before their weale.

And such is the desperate state of your distempered Statists (said Aesculapius.) Infinitely credulous (besides all this) they are apt to bee deluded, by whatsoever shal be (though never so impro­bable) to their blinded affe­ctions [Page 203] suggested. So as they may wel seem to be ranked, and endenized amongst that credulous Plebeian Society of Margant; who were made ☜ to beleeve, upon the ruines of a sumptuous and magni­ficent Abbey-spire, that the State intended their Spire (though many miles di­stant) should supply it: to di­vert which intendment, in all humble and petitionary manner, with joynt consent, according to their weak con­ceit, they beseeched the State (with ample gratuities to some interceding favo­rites [Page 204] for their better successe) to commiserate their case, and spare their Spire. To which the State, pretending them all favour, after much laughter, pleasantly conde­scended.

Is it possible (said Themi­sta) that any rationall Socie­ty should be so deluded? Ve­ry easily (answered Aescula­pius) as I could instance with many moderne examples: but (Madame) I must crave your patience a little; for I have now to deale with a violent Patient: One, whose imperious▪ disposition hath [Page 205] at all times made his will his law.

Which Aesculapius had no sooner spoke, than hee forthwith caused Vpotomos to be call'd forth: full of fire and fury were his eyes; fierce and revengefull were his threats; bloudy and trucu­lent were his hands; rigid and relentlesse was his heart; full of passionate distemper were his answers. VVhich Aesculapius well observing, willed Vpotomos to be bound; for till such time as he were fast tyed, hee could neither practise upon him, nor the [Page 206] Patient suffer such experi­ments, as were to be practi­sed on him. All which being done, according to his com­mand, and taking him by his strong-beating pulse, hee u­sed these words unto him.

Sir, I must freely tell you, that such is the nature of your distemper, that I must use the art of Chirurgery as well as Physicke, in the per­forming of this Cure. For you must be 1. opened, and a Worme taken out of your gall; the maine cause of your distemper. I am likewise to prepare Cupping-glasses [Page 207] to 2. coole and temper your braine. Then, make a drink well-mixt with the juyce of Metriot and Euchrasia, to 3. remove your Pluriticall stitches. Which done, I am to apply Oppian plaisters, with a certaine quantity of the juyce of Sunneidesis infu­sed, [...] to 4. repell those feare­full dreames which so star­tle and distract you.

But what availeth it to minister these Receits, if you doe not observe them? or to bring you to your feete, if you, through neglect of what is here prescribed you, [Page 208] make way to recidivation, and consequently to your owne undoing? Though Physicians have the body in cure, if the Patient second not their Cure with his care, the Cure is lost, and all those Receits they so artfully pre­scrib'd, reduc'd to nothing. It is one of our Maximes; Art is long in purchasing; Life short in continuing; and Experience subject to decei­ving. But Art is never more lost, than when bestow'd on a carelesse Patient; nor Life more short, than with a Re­creant; nor Experience more [Page 209] deceiving, than when exer­cis'd on him, who admits no government. For, to use the proverbe of that igno­rant man, had you as many lives as Plutarch, all would be quickly lost, where dire­ctions are not observ'd. How many have we knowne fall backe irrecoverably ill, be­cause they presumed they were well: saving their Phy­sitian a labour, by their too speedy payment of their debt to Nature! The onely meanes to preserve health recovered, is to avoid all oc­casiōs of incurring a relapse.

[Page 204] [...] [Page 205] [...] [Page 206] [...] [Page 207] [...] [Page 208] [...] [Page 209] [...] [Page 210]I remember, there were [...] homi­nem fra­gilem non faciu [...]t, sed qualis si [...], osten­dunt. Kemp. two Philosophers of sev [...]rall opinions in this kinde: the one irrefragably, though pa­radoxal [...]y, held, and set his rest upon't, That hee, who would shunne occasion, was lesse than a man: conclu­ding, that he, who could not see Beauty without temp­ting, nor Honour without aspiring, nor Gold without coveting, came farre short of a Reasonable man; because Sense was his guide, and the acquisition thereof his goale. Therefore would he expose himselfe to the liberty of all [Page 211] occasio [...]s, that he might bet­ter soveraignize over Sense by the government of Rea­son.

But the other was of a farre more cautelous na­ture, and (perhaps) of as re­sisting a temper: for hee would not presume too much upō his own strength, nor grapple with tentation in her height, but wisely standing on his own guard, prevent the meanes of being tempted, lest temptation might chance to give him the foile in the end. Playing too long with the Candle, [Page 212] [...]ver ends with a cinged wing. All this I meane to cloze up in one word, by way of application to your owne particular.

Vpon your recovery (as I cannot promise it, lest you become too secure in the purchase of it, yet shall my best art labour it) I could wish you by all meanes to a­void the company of Eris, whose familiarity hath so infected you. For I must tell you, such acquaintance upon renewall, will bring you to a relapse, and make your dis­ease desperately mortall. [Page 213] Which might be confirmed by the Story of Aeacus, the relation whereof I leave to Harmonius.

POESY V.

PROSE VI.

[Page 217] NO doubt of that, an [...]wered Aes culapius, in [...]e­ply to the last Stanza o [...] Harmonius: but he is now in for all the weeke. These be the fruits of all se­vere Mammothrepts, who re­lish nothing but iustice, iu­stice; but never supples it with oyle of mercy. Now, if I should be iudge, all these fiery incendiaries or Law­rackers should bee all made Readers of the Anat [...]my Le­cture in Pluto's Court. There [Page 218] might they finde subjects fit to worke on, and to exer­cise their relentlesse spirits withall. There might the Stage-scourger lash poore Roscius till he smoak't again, and hee himselfe choak't a­gaine with the steame of sulphurous powder, to gra­tifie him for his thanklesse labour. There might hee spend his spirits in the sur­vey and display of others miseries.

Here, a slye Symonist po­ring through a window, im­pained with flaming Lights, and seering his nose with [Page 219] drops of scalding Cement. There, an ambitious fire-flye, catching at an empty clowd, which resolving it selfe into a flashing vapour, fals down, and cingeth his braving Mouchato's for his labour. Here, a frisking flesh-flye, lea­ping at a painted Legge of Mutton, and falling backe, drencheth himselfe over head and eares in a Cornelian tubbe, where he leaves all his hayre. There, a prodigall Land-gull playing at Ducke and Drake in Acheron with his imaginarie pieces; till his fathers Ghost haunt him, [Page 220] and the Furies finde him, and so ends his pastime. Heere, an hydropicke Earth­moale, who being made Tankard-bearer to that for­lorn family, is put to an end­lesse taske, by filling Danaus tubs with water, wherein he consumes his endlesse-dying life to a fruitl [...]sse labour. There, a light liquorish lus­cious Landresse, who set a bucking Pluto's and Proser­pina's linnen, and found▪ faul­ty with one of the Scullery, is injoyned this Pennance, by a judiciall [...]entence; to be publiquely whipt with knot­ted [Page 211] rods of glowing steele in Phaëtons Cart, till she entred suerties to furnish with fresh and cleane Napery, all the infernall Court.

Surely (said Themista) you have made such a free disco­very of Pluto's family, and those proper penalties which are inflicted on the whole Livery, as they shall need no better survey for their socie­ty: yea, wee should verily thinke, but that we are bet­ter conceited of your tem­per, that you have now and then a moneths minde to play the Satyre: not that it [Page 222] complyes with your nature, but purposely to allay more serious studies with the preg­nancy o [...] so piercing an hu­mour.

No surely (answered Aes­culapius) I could never much affect that Study: It was my desire rather (Madame) to intimate unto your Grace, the remorselesse natures of such, as my last Patient was: who ever mixed wormewood with Justice; racking up your Lawes to the highest pinne: and in a word, preferring Execution before Iudgement. These I hold fittest for those [Page 223] Places, where there inhabits none but notorious Delin­quents, and exquisite pu­nishments. Nor doe I misse their humour farre: for one of this Rank, as I remember, stickt not publikely to pro­fesse, and confirme it too with a solemne protest, "That it was his Iubile to "hang many: & that a great Execution, was his Recrea­tion.

It was great pitty (said Themista) but he should make one of the number, seeing an action of that nature, af­forded him such infinite plea­sure.

[Page 224]It is observed by our Phy­sitians (answered Aesculapi­us) that none die of an ague, nor without an ague. But sure I am, that these fiery and furious Spirits are ever pos­sest of an hot fever: and such an one, as partakes no inter­missions. So as, in my opini­on, these may be in some re­spect resembled to Aristides, (though one more tempe­rately just, and judiciously temperate) who dying of the bite of a Weasell, exceeding­ly lamented it was not a Lyon.

As their ambitious spirits [Page 225] are unbounded, and with fu­ry ever distempered; they can indure nothing worse than a contemptible affront, nor receive ought better than a foile from an imperious foe. With what a braving domi­ne [...]ing command, have I observed some of these beare themselves, amongst their Inferiours! How prompt were these to command; and how ready those to obey? So highly had their purple transported them, as they as­sumed more than could be­come them. Whereas, no sooner had they put off their [Page 226] Lyons case, and adjourn'd the Court, then they would daigne to embrace those, whom before they contem­ned; & communicate them­selves to such, as before they sleighted. Especially, where either private ends, or some other particular respects wrought upon the coppy of their countenance. But ad­mit, these were to their infe­riours never so soveraigni­zing, they knew well when to bee supple, and how to veile to the shadow of Great­nesse. No surly looke, nor clowdy aspect; no bended [Page 227] brow, nor contracted front, were then to be seene. Low Congies, humble Salutes, Earth-touching ducks, gave these powerfull Magnifico's all promising entertaine.

Now, what poore Prote­an Patriots are these! Meere slaves to the time, and staines to the face of Iustice. How easie were these to bee wrought to any impression! And these V [...]cers must bee launced, or the whole Body must bee necessarily distem­pered.

It is most true (said Themi­sta!) and hence a [...]e our tears! [Page 228] For, when a precious or gorgeous Case alters the e­quity of the Cause, what a case are we in? These were not the directions which we gave them, when wee last left them. Nor were these, those Conscript fathers wee left sitting, when wee tooke leave of Earth, to mount to Heaven. For what a sweet union of mindes; what fixt resolves for advan­cing Iustice; what a discreet temper in the whole current of all their actions, appear'd then amongst them? No powerfull adversarie could [Page 229] over-beare our Sage and impartiall Senate. Blinde was shee in respect of per­son; lame in respect of Bribes. Constant was she in executing what was right; resolute in suppressing what was unjust. Choice was that harmony, where neither af­fection could draw, nor po­wer over-awe, nor any sini­ster respect deprave.

Would your Grace (an­swered Aesculapius) have your IVSTIARIES blinde and lame? you need not wish it, Madame, for you shall finde variety of defects a­mong [Page 230] them. For some of these grave Senatours, your Grace shall perceive to be so blind, as they can hardly find the right way to the Bench, during all your Sessions. O­thers so lame, as they will vouchsafe to goe hand in hand with their Constables, and both goe downe of one side, and hal [...] in their office.

You make your self plea­sant (said Themista) with our Cr [...]pples: but all this applies no salve to our soare; no Cure to our Care.

But in convenient time, doubt it not, Madam (answe­red [Page 231] Aesculapius) but my art shall produce some sove­raigne effect: I have hitherto gone through all your distē ­pred Statists, One onely ex­cepted; to whom, as I have done to the rest, I shall ap­ply such Receits, with such usefull directions for preser­ving health, as the Cure may every way answer your Ex­pectance, and restore them to their former temper, to your honour, and the ad­vancement of Iustice.

Which Aesculapius had no sooner spoken, than he bids Amerimnos (the last, though [Page 232] not least of all this distem­perd Tribe) to rowse himself up for shame. And the sooner to awake that drowsie & re­misse spirit of his, wherewith he was so much depressed, as nothing sounded well in his eare, that might put his body to any toile; hee caused one to play upon a Iew Trumpe, and to apply the in­strument close to his eare, purposely to keepe him a­wake: which done, hee used these words unto him.

Sir, I must tell you, I can cōpare you to no one thing more fi [...]ly, than to the O­stridge, [Page 233] both for stomack and action. For the Ostridge can digest ought, yet neither fat­ter nor fuller: and for action, though he seeme to have the wings of an Eagle, yet hee never flyes up. This is just your condition, whose long habituate sloth hath made you the very Embleme of a Snayle, who leaves no o­ther print nor impression of pace nor place, but a little slime. But to prevent all growing occasions of a fur­ther malady, & apply a sea­sonable Cure to your stupid and insensible infirmity, I [Page 234] must prescribe you this diet. Your broath every morning before you goe to Hall, must be made of Spinage, Day-net­tles, and Burdocks, to 1. shar­pen your intellect. And to 2. keepe you after noone a­waking, I will prepare for you an Antiopian plaister, with an Epimeleian julip, to lay warm unto your temples. I must enjoyne you at all hands to 3. abstaine from all strong drinks; and never to drinke betwixt meales, but with your teeth shut. I meane to provide you a Night-cap strongly chafed with the per­fume [Page 235] of Cornu-copia; pur­posely to 4. make your sleeps shorter, and your conceit sharper. And because I finde by your Vrine, and other so­poriferous symptomes, that your kidneys are over-lar­ded with oyle of Dormise, I meane by sweatings and suf­fumigations to 5. extract all those viscid & oily humors; for these, by arising from the stomack, and fuming up into the braine, caused Messala Corvinus, by acquainting himselfe with Amnestes, to forget his owne name; And Margites, through a carelesse [Page 236] security, to fall by degrees into a curelesse Lethargy. The report of whose state, I recommend to Harmonius straine.

POESY VI.

PROSE VII.

[Page 241] REndring of thankes is but a naked tri­bute (said Themista) for so ample and extended a curtsie, as you have offered us; for your knowne Expe­rience hath laid on us so con­fident an Expectance, that nothing lesse than a faire and promising Cure may be ex­pected from one of such ex­quisite art, seconded with such constant care. Yet shall not thanks be all; we have a minde as ready to requite, as [Page 242] to receive: So that we vow, as we are just, (for so our title and actions shall ever render us) to returne an am­ple recompence to your suc­cessive diligence. Arts de­serve their rewards: for else should their edge be rebai­ted, and their spirits amated, who doe professe them.

Madame (answered Aes­culapius) I am neither so weake in fortunes, nor ser­vile in my thoughts, nor re­misse in my desire of doing good, as to make reward my Object: for my part, I never yet reared a Stage to vaunt [Page 243] my selfe, or vent my stuffe. Doing good shall bee ever my goale; and the health of my Patient, my gaine. Nei­ther is that fame deserving­ly purchased, which is got by meere Ostentation, or de­sire of popular praise; Nor that gaine well grounded, nor that art well employed, which exposeth it selfe to a price.

O that we had many Pro­fessants of your art and of your minde (said Themista to Aesculapius!) Then should not mercenary Artists so de­lude the State, nor asperse [Page 244] upon the Republike so foule a stain. Where Experiments generally take life from the death of their Patients.

But wee must withdraw our selfe, and addresse our discourse to these our distem­pred Statists; whose present infirmity, as it requires your helpe, so it rests that wee use our exhortation to move them to patience in their Cure, with hope of recove­ry by submitting themselves to your Care.

Wherewith, shee presently caused her sicke-languishing Consuls to be brought forth; [Page 245] and being disposed in seve­rall Couches, according to their degrees, imparted her selfe unto them in this sort.

Servants, and you our sometimes Deputed Assistants in the Execution of Iustice: Even of that Justice, which is the Summarie & absolute beauty of all Cardinall ver­tues. But alas! how much have you detracted from the glory of so divine a Sove­raigne? How farre have you runne astray? yea, how foule­ly have you abused our Com­mission? When the wronged Widow with teare swolne [Page 246] eyes cride for reliefe; you ei­ther slept and could not heare; or were Corrupt and would not heare; or sense­l [...]sse of an higher judgment, and did not feare; what your [...]isguided course had given you just occasion to feare.

But see the fruits of your labour! Observe what you suffer! A fearefull distemper for your precipitate Error! Now are you falne into the hand of the Physitian, by making so cōtinued a league with▪ your transgression: But farre be it from us to in­sult upon distresse, or enliven [Page 247] your griefes with fresh repe­tition of your crimes. As we have hitherto intended our best Care for your Cure, so it rests that wee exhort you to suffer with patience the hand of so experienc't an Artist, that he may the bet­ter perfect his Cure.

The resigned will of a Morigerous Patient makes that Cure easie, which to a perverse Patient would become desperate. Your Physician, whose dispersed fame ha [...]h made him ad­mir'd, where he was never kno [...]ne, gives us good [Page 248] hope of your recovery; al­beit your distempers are of severall quality; which im­plyes, that some of your Cures will be more easie, o­thers of more difficuly. Now as our Exhortation tends to this purpose, to move you to patience, so our desire shall be that upon your re­covery, you redeeme your lost time with redoubled di­ligence. For should you be­come remisse in your Care, upon the perfecting of your Cure, it had beene much bet­ter that you had continued still in your distemper, than [Page 249] to recover health to your more dishonour. Plutarch re­ports▪ that Antigonus had in his Armie a valiant Souldi­er, but of a sickly body. Anti­gonus observing his valour, and grieving that so stout a resolution should bee secon­ded by so weake a constitu­tion, procured his Physici­ans to take him in hand; and he was healed. Now, be­ing sound, he began to fight in some feare, to keepe him­selfe a good distance from danger, no more venturing into the Vanne or forlorne place of the battell. Antigonus [Page 250] noting and wondring at this alteration, asked him the cause of this new cowardize. Hee answers, ‘O Antigo­nus, thou art the cause. Be­fore, I ventured nothing but a diseased corps, and then I choose rather to dye quickly, than to live sick­ly: I invited death to doe me a kindnesse: Now it is otherwise with mee, for I have somewhat to loose.’ Be not you, like this recre­ant Souldier; upon recovery of your health: improve it to the publique wealth. You have lost much time; bewaile [Page 251] that losse with numerous teares; the most pretious and propitious tribute for misspent houres. Feede not on a diseased State; neither reare your foundation on o­thers ruines. It hath beene the condition of many of your Profession (with griefe wee speake it) so they fatned themselves, they car'd little how leane their starv'd Cli­ents were. Which moov'd that Country Boor, far more wittily, than could bee well expected from one of his breeding, to answer one of your ranke, yet of far more [Page 252] integrity, in this manner. It hapned that this Boore dri­ving a Teame of Horses up­on the high way, was en­countred by a pregnant Practitioner in your Profes­sion: who observing his foremost Horse fatte and faire, and bravely Capari­son'd, with a garland in his topping, the more to beauti­fie him; demanded of this conceited Boore, why his fore-horse was so gaily deckt, and so fatte, and those that came behinde, so poore and leane? ‘O Sir, (answe­red the Boore!) my fore­horse [Page 253] is a Lawyer, & these leane jades that follow him, his Clients.’

But such difference of fee­ding brings a flourishing State to ruine. Bee it your care to neglect no meanes for recovery of your enfe [...] ­bled health; nor to omit no time, wherin you may bene­fit the State by your health.

Meane time, it shall be our resolutiō, with our own pre­sence to discharge the place of Iustice, till your recovery shall better enable you for that service. So every one of you to his Couch, we to our [Page 254] Iudiciall Seate: where wee must first play Alcides part, by purging that Augean Sta­ble of the State. Prune the luxurious Vine, that it may thrive the better, and vendi­cate Arcadia's late blemished honour.

POESY I.

PROSE I.

DOe I sleep? or waking, am I deluded? Is it possible that our [Page 26] Metoxos should bee recove­red? Is that Sacred thirst of gold in him so soone quen­ched? Surely, cures so diffi­cult and habitually invete­rate, cannot so speedily bee effected. Wee say, "No taske of importance may admit a speedy dispatch: Yet this, of all others, most intricate, is to a short limit confined. That hee, who could di­stinguish of no other colour but gold; and held no other colour worthy use in Heral­dry; should now hold it adulterate for abusing the State.

[Page 27]Rare experiments, trust me, so they be [...]eall, and not delude mee. Wee know not what to thinke of it, lest wee should perplex our thoughts too much by embarking our selfe upon it. Yet, wee have heard, if any one infected with the Iaundise, shall but looke upon the bird Icterus, he forthwith recovers and re­gaines his former beauty and colour; why should I then doubt, but upon these expe­riments, which the sacred secrecie of art hath discove­red, that my long distempe­red Consul Metoxos should [Page 28] despaire of recovery? Why may not these terrible Pre­sentments worke so much upon his fancie, as the im­pression of them may avert him from what he most af­fected; and adhere to tha [...] which before hee least reli­shed? which effect, should wee see produced, to what height of admiration might wee bee raised? Nor should we close our receit of happi­nesse, without a resolved tender of thankfulnesse; could Harmonius relation (se­conded with such native action) become seconded by [Page 29] an answerable succes [...]e. But fit it were, that what wee heare confirmed by report, wee see made good by en­tercourse to those, with whom wee are to addresse our discourse. Wee purpose therefore to give especiall di­rection, that these our Con­suls bee admitted to our pre­sence, to expresse by their discourse, apparent argu­ments of their Cure, and so­veraigne effects of our Care. And that this may bee done the better, wee will call each of our Consuls personally in their order.

[Page 30]Having said thus, shee gave especiall directions, tha [...] Metoxos, the ancien [...]est of all her Consuls, should be called forth; whom shee no sooner saw approaching, than shee i [...]agined how it was with him. For his very outward posture expressed an altera­tion in his temper. And al [...] [...]he better to try conclusions on her recovered Patritian; shee caused sundry peeces of gold to bee scattered in the way as hee ascended up to their Iudiciall Throne; pur­posely to see whether that metall, wherewith his cap­tived [Page 31] af [...]ections were [...]ormer­ly so much; not onely restrai­ned, but enchained, would take his eye or no; but all these were too inferiour baits for so rectified a spirit. These hee valued equally as dust; and with a noble command, or princely con­tempt of all despicable ob­jects, advancing himselfe with a gracefull presence to­wards Themista, applied him­selfe to her command. Who desirous to gather by his dis­course, what shee had colle­cted by his presence, willed him to declare the manner of [Page 32] his cure, to the e [...]d [...]he migh [...] render a more ample requi­tall of Aesculapius care.

Madam (quoth Metoxos) to relate every particular in­gredience used by this divine Artist, would so enlarge the extent of my discourse, as the relation would appeare no lesse uselesse to the Hea­rer, than tedious to the Rela­tor. To avoid then all fri­volous and fruitlesse amba­ges, which are usually so far from dir [...]cting or enlight­ning the understandi [...]g, as they are made rather for di­stracting or burthening our [Page 33] apprehension, I shall [...] returne u [...]to your Grace [...] just account of the benefits I have received, the incom­parable comforts I have con­ceived; all which may bee easily gathered by those ma­ny infirmities whereto be­fore I stood engaged, and whereof, (thanks to the Su­preame Deity) I am now perfectly cured.

It is not unknowne un­to my Soveraigness [...], with what distempers I was sei­zed; insomuch as, I never came to the Bench of Iustice, but I shewed some apparent [Page 34] argument or other of my weaknes: Which caused some of my nearest to imagine, that I was surely either be­witched or possessed. Your Sacred Medall (the exquisi­test Master-peece of art that ever Arcady produced) be­ing moulded of pure gold did so sympathize with my partiall-gilt nature, as I could never looke upon the Statue, but my teeth did water: No other Object could take me, so much was I devoted to that Plebeian Idolatry. As for my hands, I could never shut them, so much had hope [Page 35] of gaine enlarged them: for I imagined, if they were shut, how could they par­take in any booty, or receive any competible share in a Clients enforced bounty. For my Lungs, they were so de­cayed, as an Asthmaticall Apnaea had surprized them. Besides, a dangerous swel­ling in my throat, when Sa­turne had predominance o­ver the Clientall regiment; with a desperate Migrim, which averted mine Eare from the Suit of a just, but poore Complainant, daily threatned a dissolution to [Page 36] this my weake earthly Stru­cture. Yet could these cōstant Nuntio's of my frailty, little weane mee from mine accu­stomed folly. For though age had wrought many deep fur­rowes in my face; and sun­dry growing infirmities in­cident to age, had enfeebled nature, and engaged mee to a continuate distemper: ye [...] in this my decrepit doting ag [...], was I infinitely taken with three impudent Curte­zans; whose wooing-win­ning enticements had so far prevailed with mee, as that day seemed tedious, which I [Page 37] spent not in Philia's, Du [...]noi­a's, or Analeutheria's compa­ny. Which, though some thought I did purposely to improve and enrich my state; sure I am, their amo­rous embraces, and incessant attendance, much weakned and impaired my strength. Now observe the rare ef­fects of this divine art! By the benefit I received from Aesculapius, to whose espe­ciall Care your Grace re­commended our Cure, I loath nothing more than what I did formerly love; my thirst, which before was [Page 38] onely for Gold, now extends solely to the publike good. Now, would your Ladiship know the meanes which brought mee first to an hate of this fury! Bee pleased [...]o heare mee, and you shall receive a true relation from mee. After such time, as this divine Artist Aesculapius had prepared my body, and ap­plied divers soveraigne re­ceits for my more speedy re­covery; and amongst others, certaine gilded pils, which procured in mee so violent a vomit, as I could not for long time aft [...]r looke upon that [Page 39] Object, but I did highly di­staste it: He bethought him­selfe by what meanes hee might worke the deepest impression upon my ima­gination; which he observed to bee so clouded and trou­bled, as nothing came from me, but distractedly and in­disposedly uttered. Hee ob­served, as the Eyes were the members of the body, so they were the windowes of the minde; nay, that the Eye was a living glasse, or such a representative mirrour, as by reflexion of conceit, the De­linquent might soonest come [Page 40] to the knowledge, acknow­ledgement & amendment of his errour. For this end he d [...] ­vised and artfully contrived certaine curious Emblemes presented to life; which were discovered unto mee in an Ovall; where I might ap­parently see a Picture, as neare resembling mine owne person, in favour and feature, as could bee imitated by art, or first initiated by nature. No part of all mine habit un­displayed; no action or ge­sture by mee used, but there presented. So as, in very truth, I either thought that there [Page 41] was some other Metoxos be­sides▪ mee; or else that some had assumed Metoxos ha­bit and person, purposely to delude mee. But how doe you thinke was the posture of this picture framed? In what manner disposed? This Metoxos, as hee was thus portrayed and personated, seemed to mee bound to a flaming stake; and those three Curtezans, on which I so much doated while I was distempered, standing there like distracted Furies, haled downe whole Laddles of moulten Gold downe his [Page 42] throat; ever and annon bel­lowing forth these words with a fearful voice; ‘ Quench thy thirst Metoxos; here is gold for thee; partiality de­serves such a partiall-gilt bounty.’ This Presentment did not a little startle mee; so as comparing this feature with mine owne; his action gesture and posture with mine owne; those three Cur­tezans, which I tendred as mine owne, with those ex­quisitest torments inflicted upon that Image which re­sembled mine, as nearly as I mine owne; I begunne to [Page 43] recollect my discatered sen­ses, and in this manner to expostulate with my selfe.

‘ Metoxos so fully to life portrayed! And my whole life in this image of Me­toxos so lively displayed? Sure there is something in it, which, as yet, I little dreame of. There is, que­stionlesse, some secret my­sterious Morall cov [...]rtly shadowed in this Present­ment: well, I purpo [...]e to dive farther yet into the depth of this Aenigmaticall Riddle. Discusse then each particular, to the end thou [Page 44] maist become the more au­thenticke Expositor. What may seeme to bee meant by these three Curtezans, and those Laddles of moulten gold, which they are inces­santly powring downe the throat of this personated Metoxos? Are not these the reall personages of those amorous Curtezans, which thou sometimes so miserably affected? Yet, are these they, by whom Metoxos becomes woful­ly tormented. But whence the cause? Eye the impreze, and it will informe thee: [Page 45] FOR PARTIALITY. Examine then every cir­cumstance, and see if the shadow agree not with the substance. Reflect upon thy selfe, Metoxos, and observe well if these have not pro­per allusion to thee! Thine owne forme thou here seest undistinguishably cō ­curring; thy three amo­rous Dalilahs attending and tormenting; with Par­tiality, the cause producing, why these torments are in­flicting. Consider like­wise, how torments are e­ver inflicted, by that sub­ject [Page 46] whereon wee stand most affected. And what was it Metoxos, that in the whole course of thy di­stempered justice, thou most affected? What was it wherto thou stood most engaged? Was it not Gold, Metoxos? yes sure; that was the bait which did on­ly take mee: It was my use to poise the worth of the cause, by the weight of the purse. Gold was the Ce­ment, which souldred Par­tiality with Iudgement. O divine Embleme! This shall worke more rare ef­fects [Page 47] upon my corrupted sen [...]e, than any other Physi­call ingredience. It shall bee my constant resolve to loath, what I did so misera­bly love; that I may fall in love, with what I did so desperately loath. Dis­cretion shall give directi­on to my affection; I pur­pose henceforth never so intentively to fix upon the bye, as to become forget­full of the maine. These presentments tendred mee by so judicious and exqui­site an Artist, shall by the power of him that made [Page 48] mee, worke such impr [...] ­srons in mee, as no time shall raze out the memory of so impressive a chara­cter; nor decline mee from being just, for either lucre, feare or favour.’

Nor was this Embleme onely there expressed; but Midas likewise, with his Asses eares, to life presented; who desiring whatsoever he tou­ched, might to Gold bee turned, received his wish in his dish, and so for want of naturall nourishment, be­came famished. But this wrought no such effect up­on [Page 49] my conceit, as did the former: for so strangely was I unnaturalized, or estran­ged rather from my na [...]ive and in-bred disposition, as nothing appeared more di­stastfull to my sight, than the Object of Gold▪ euer drea­ming of those fearefull tor­ments, which those my dar­ling Dalilahs, complete Cur­tezans, inflicted upon tha [...] Picture, which so nearly re­ [...]embled Metoxos feature.

These soveraigne effects partly derived from those precedent Receits, partly from these impressive Em­blemes; [Page 50] made mee remem­ber that Physicall Maxime so often delivered, by Aescula­pius our great Professor: ‘When a man bleeds at the nose, and through abun­dance of bloud, is brought in danger of his life, the Physitian lets him bloud in his arme, to turne the course of the bloud ano­ther way:’ If love issue out in too violent a streame, it is to be cooled by a temperate expostulation with fancie: or else, by fixing our eye up­on some more at [...]ractive Ob­ject, divert the course of [Page 51] that madding Passion.

Now Madam, such shall ever bee my constant humi­lity, as I must solely ascribe this incomparable benefit of my Cure, to Aeculapius in­cessant Care: Whose exqui­site art produced this incre­dible worke. It rests then, that howsoever my Sove­raignesse bee pleased to dis­pose of mee, i [...] shall bee my fixt intention, utterly to di [...] ­claime my former folly: While I appeale to Isotes whose company I onely ad­mit to rela [...]e my discovery.

POESY II.

PROSE II.

NO more, Isotes, (said Themista) wee are now al­together confi­dent of Metoxos successive Cure; whom to adva [...]ce, (if his infirmity admit no re­lapse) shall bee our especiall Care. Nor can wee joy in any melody comparable to [Page 56] this of Metoxos recovery. But we will see (quoth shee) whether this happy effect hath befallen the rest of our Consuls; and with that, cau­sing Epimonos, her Seconda­ry, to advance himselfe be­fore her; Shee willed him to returne the manner of his recovery; with what espe­ciall receits were applied to cure his Malady. Epimonos, whose long▪ grounded perti­nacy, hade made most of his friends despaire of remedy; in an affable and generous manner, making three low Congies before hee approa­ched [Page 57] Themista's presence, ad­dressed himselfe in this dis­course unto his Soveraign­nesse.

Doe not (imparalleld Princesse) take mee now for that peevish & perverse Epi­monos, whom I did once too actually personate; which Presentment made me most unfortunate. I have now put off that habit; nor will I e­ver (by divine assistance) re­assume it. I confesse, Ma­dam; nor shall it repent mee to confesse it, so I repent mee of it, and resolve never to incurre it, that my long ha­bituate [Page 58] infirmity, by conti­nuance, had brought mee to a meere insensiblity. Such a stiffnesse, or unpliable­nesse I found in every part: that though I felt my selfe unwealdly; every faculty most averse from perfor­ming her proper duty: yet in [...]his case (see my prevaricate misery!) would not I either be led or driven by any. The more I was moved, the lesse I felt; so insensible grew I of my present estate. An inces­sant buzzing I had got in my head, which barrocadoed mine Eare from inclining to [Page 59] any ones opinion but mine owne. This t [...]at ever-living Artist, to whose divine Cure wee were all recommended, had no sooner observed, than hee prescribed such choice Physicall directions to cure my growing infirmi­ty, that I became within short space to have some lit­tle feeling of my selfe, from which I was before so estran­ged, as I held my selfe most healthfull, when most di­stempered; best resolved, when most distracted; and seemingly in my perplexed estate most happy, when most distressed.

[Page 60]My Morning draughts, w ^ch used to bee F [...]ntineake, were resolved into Diet-drinks, strongly tempered with the cooling juyce of Eucampes, with other simples immixed [...]o allay the distempered heat of my bloud; and to restore nature so much weakned. Having made this introdu­ction to his Cure, and now set mee on my feet, by the continuance of his diligence and care; to the end I might come to a more full survey and discovery of mine owne folly, he framed this device: That one Demophon, who [Page 61] was naturally of an humour different to all others, should bee in a Shrine portrayed, and in a window presented, where I made my Prospect. But so nearely resembling mine owne Person, was this featu [...]e, as I should dis­claime mine owne P [...]ysiog­nomy, to confesse any re­semblance liker. Long a [...]d in­tentively did I eye the Pi­cture. Nothing could I find in it, but might personate my selfe; nor ought in my selfe, which might not al­lude to it. So as, not able to containe my selfe any lon­ger; [Page 62] nor to conceale my thoughts from my picture; like another Narcissus, not doating but doubting, or perplexedly discoursing with his shadow, I addresse my demands in this manner.

‘How's this? One swea­ting in ashade, and shaking in the Sunne! This sure, is meant by Demophon, yet doth the Embleme beare the figure of Epimonos. And rightly so it may; for who ever, being man, was more averse from the na­ture, more contrary to the humour of man? What [Page 63] was it that eve [...] yet plea [...] thy conceit, which thou saw pleasing to another? Or what ever afforded thee delight, and complide wi [...]h anothers conceit? Nay, un rivet the secret Cabine [...] of thy retired'st thoughts, and observe how much thou hast abused the State, depraved thy Consul-sea [...] by adhering too much to thy sel [...]e, and perverting ju­stice, by opposing others to please thy selfe? What Edict didst thou ever heare pub­lished? What Direction for State government ever [Page 64] divulged? What Iudge­ment upon a convicted Delinquent pronounced? Or what Act soever pub­likely concluded, which thou traduced not, be­cause by others more wise, but lesse opinionate, ap­proved? What a strange Mould, Epimonos, was this, wherein thou wer [...] casten, thus to dislike, what others liked; thus to affect, what others hated? was thy wit either so quicke and preg­nant? or thy judgement so strong and constant? Or thine experience so tran­scendent? [Page 65] Or thy p [...]rson so precedent, as all others [...] to [...] to thin [...] [...]? No, this was not it, but thine own [...] [...]-will which made th [...]thus opi­on [...]te. O how harshis his condition, whose sole de­light is Opposition! What can h [...] [...] that [...] give content; when nothing but his owne dev [...]e plea­seth his con [...]it? O the folly of a poore wo [...]mlin? Who, i [...] [...]ise, can [...]teeme thee fo [...] more wise, in see­ing thee so desi [...]ous to op­pose? Womans strength [Page 66] consists in Tongue; should a mans consist in Will? Protogenes could never hold his hand from the Pi­cture; nor thou an envi­ous eye from anothers la­bour. Is it wisdome enough to traduce, or to oppose what others approve? Bee the Antipodes in this only happier than we, because they walke in an opposite course against us? Say, say, Epimonos, how many poore Delinquents; nay, meere innocents, hath thy perti­nacy doomed to death; for no other cause, but that [Page 67] thy Colleague [...] lenity [...] life? Againe, to how many hath thy aversnesse breathed life, to whom Consuls vote, Commons voice, and the mouth of Iustice had doomed deat [...]? It is the saying of a Philo­pher, that every one should have a f [...]iend, and an ene­mie; that his friend may tell him the truth; and hi [...] enemie make him mor [...] observant of his wayes. Yea, that his friend might seasonably correct him; and his enemie by his in­dig [...]ities exercise him. Bu [...] [Page 68] how [...]arre became I e [...]tran­ged from this Philosophi­call Tenet! for as he [...] could not possibly bee my friend, who applied not himselfe to my opinion; so could hee bee no lesse than mine enemie, who sought to mould mee to his instru­ction. My friend and Mo­nitor hee could not bee; how might he then correct mee? My Enemie and im­prover hee could not bee; how might hee then exer­cise mee? It is true, that th [...] Prienean Sage wished ra­ther to be a Iudge amongst [Page 69] [...]is [...]oes [...] his friends: and his reason was, that the affection, and intimacy, hee bore to his friends, might incline him to con­nivence; whereas, the jea­lousie h [...]e had of his foes, would cause him to bee more cautious in the ex [...] ­cution of Iustice. But what power had these respects with mee? It was neither friend that I esteemed, nor foe that I feared, but my darling Will, whereto I be­oame solely wedded; and which to second, my best endevours were ever ad­dressed. [Page 70] I have oftentimes wondred at the patience of an indulgent Magistrate, to give such [...] of speech even to a pretended Delin­quent: or to suffer himselfe to bee opposed by way os reason; as if his place were not of sufficient strength to exercise his power without farther rea­son. And as children are tied to rules in their argu­ing; so I held th [...]m chil­dish Consuls, who stood confined to these restricti­ons in their judging. But now, (thanks to Aesculapius [Page 71] d [...]vinest Theorie!) my outward conformity clo­sing so sweetly wi [...]h in­ward unity, may assure my Soveraignesse of an infalli­ble recovery. I am taught now, how to sweat in the Sunne, and shake in the shade; to submit my opi­nion to others judgement; to disclaime mine owne for insufficient; to desist from standing too long in argu­ment, and to encline to reason, whensoever produ­ced. All which, as ample testimonies of Aescul [...]pius Care, and pregnant demon­strances [Page 72] of my Cu [...]; I have here no lesse briefly, than plainly returned▪ to you, divine Lady, with the manner of my recovery, the benefit whereof I free­ly ascribe to your furthe­rance and bounty.’

Nor shall you ever have cause to tax mee (if so you please to imploy mee) either of pertinacy, or of any il [...]e­gality; for by all my hopes I vow, since these incredible effects were wrought on me; I have disvalued mine owne opinion; beene so jealous of mine owne weaknesse; as I [Page 73] [...]ave applied my selfe to no­thing more, than a seeming privacie or retirednesse [...]rom businesse. Howbeit, as I am not borne for my selfe, but for her honour, by whose meanes I am now come to myselfe, Madam ingage me, wherein, if you shall con­ceit that my employments may fall short from per­fecting ought which may re­dound to your reputation: I shall here become silent, by a modest restraint of selfe­approvement, and ingeni­ously appeale to Epieices opinion.

POESIE III.

PROSE III.

[Page 78] A Maxime there is (said Th [...]mista) and wee finde it now fitly closing with our conceit: "what wee affect, exceeds all estimate; Now, what was it on Earth wee more affected, than to see this our selfe­ [...]pinionate and distempered Epinomos so rectified. as to conforme his will to ano­thers bent? What might comparably so overjoy us as to become an ocular wit­n [...]sse of such a successive, but unexpected change? Never [Page 79] did teeming moth [...]r con­ceive more comfort in the view of [...]er long laboured birth; nor the hazardou [...] Merchant in his safe arrivall to land; nor the industrious Husbandman, who is frui [...] ­full in hope, before hee par­take the benefit or fruit of his Crop, than wee in the appre­hension of this so much de­sired change. It is most true▪ that without the influence of divine grace, we can doe no­thing, no more than the bird can flie without wings, the ship saile withou [...] wind or tide, the body move with­ou [...] [Page 80] the soule. From which▪ how much is hee estranged, whose opinionate pertinacy him confident of his owne makes strength, and conse­quently a dangerous Pione [...] to his owne estate. We know right well, that it is one thing to fall into light sins through occasion onely, or human [...] frailty: and another thing [...]o fall through affected negli­gence and security: bu [...] worst of all to fall through a precipitate will, and mall­tious obstinacie.

Needs then must it over­joy us, to [...]ee one (and one [Page 81] whom wee held so tender) after so perillous a fall to re­cover, and in his recovery, quite to shake off his di­stemper. And may heaven so propitiously smile on our wishes, that the like effect my bee produced from the rest of these our patient­Consuls; whose late infir­mities, as they did much af­flict us, so shall the visible arguments of their recove­ry, no lesse entrance us.

This said, shee willed Vpe­rephanos, (whose Cure was conceived to be of greatest difficulty) to appeare in [Page 82] publike presence, and shew some apparant effects of his attempered malady. Whose humble Obeisance, at the very first blush, infinitely tooke her: Wondring more at his lowly carriage, affable coun­tenance, and winning ob­servance, than at any of all her recovered Patients. But being againe required by his Soveraignesse to relate the mediate or effectuall meanes for cure of his distemper; with a composed gravity, and well-seasoned humility, hee proceeded in this man­ner.

[Page 83]It is not unknowne (Ma­dam) to any personage o [...] quality within your whole State, how that my distem­per was not naturall but ac­cidentall; for a long time did I sit in the seat of Iustice; du [...]ing which time I appeale to such as then knew mee, whether I discharged not my Place with all integrity and uprightnesse. Vertue I ever cherished; Vice I chasti­sed; the good I encouraged; the evill I disheartned, and the publike good secured. But being in that populous State where I was, retaining [Page 84] that name which I had, and transported with that ap­plause I heard; one morning walking forth to take the ayre, (no common ayre, but the breath of popular ap­plause) it chanced that I was bit by a mad Dog, (a pricke ear'd Cur of Phro [...]ema's Lit­ter) whose poysonous fang begun so to rankle, as the ve­nome dispersed it selfe tho­row every part, till at last it seized on my very braine; and so drove mee into a miserable distraction. "I thought every shady-tufted branch, forced by a pleasing [Page 85] gale, bowed it selfe with a low salute to give mee a Congie. Those ayerie Qui­risters, the Birds, chanted and chirped out my praise. In a word, so terribly was I mad­ded, so highly distempered, as my fellow-Consuls forbore to sit with mee; my in­timately-professed friends withdrew themselves from mee, after such time as they had laboured to winne and weane mee, but could not prevaile with mee. Onely some Alleyes of Thopeias, meer [...] insinuating Foists, (as I afterwards well perceived) [Page 86] clunge neare mee, feeding, like Horseleaches, on my di­stemper; and raising them­selves by my ruine and dis­honour. Yet were these my friends on which I fawned; the shadowes which I fol­lowed; the Snakes I foste­red: all which found fresh fuell to my furie; new mat­ter to my humour, to feed my distemper. Thus did I rove; thus did I range; no constant nor setled thought lodged in mee. I was so blowne up with the bladder of Alazoneuma, as I moun­ted aloft with the wings of [Page 87] selfe-conceit; imagining this inferior Orbe to be a Spheere too low for my unconfined spirit. What others (were it never so usefull to State, or conducing to publike good) propounded, my irreiraga­ble opinion sleighted. For that deare Minion whom I so religiously served, and to whose observance I had en­deered my nearest resolves, had so bewitched mee, as no power could countermand the power of my will; or encroach so farre on the bounds of my irresistable authority; as those whose [Page 88] better tempered thoughts well deserved priority in opi­nion, were disesteemed by the precipitate torrent of my ambition.

Being thus carried on the wings of the wind, I be­came so hardned through the habit of mine infirmity, as nothing better relished mee, than to feed my distem­per with whatsoev [...]r might best agree with the quality of mine indisposed humour. But this had our exquisite, and fame-eternized. Artist no sooner discovered in me, than according to your di­rections [Page 89] (most divine So­veraignesse) hee addressed himselfe to my Cure. Which to effect the better, hee first sought out the cause of my distemper: this found, hee applied such soveraigne re­ceits to my long exulcerate sore, as the expeditenesse of his Cure, expressed the infi­nitenesse of his Care: all which (to observe in my dis­course some methodicall de­cencie or order) was perfor­med in this manner. Hee first applied to mee certaine medicines of a corrading qua­lity, to bring mee to a more [Page 90] sensible feeling of my selfe; for all that time, wherein I laboured of my distemper, I had no feeling at all of my infirmity, and therefore in­different, or rather secure for any remedy. For being bit (as I said before) by a mad Dogge, whose rancorous and envenomed tooth had spred a dangerous malignant hu­mour thorow every veine of mine infected body; that un­comparable Artist caused the Dogges liver to bee smally minced, and with the prime leaves of the low shrub Ta­peinotes, to bee mixt: which [Page 91] was my break-fast for many Mornings together, till I be­gunne to have some little fee­ling of my distemper. But subject I was ever and anon to fearefull relapses and reci­divations: Which my Phy­sitian soone perceiving, cau­sed mee for certaine dayes together to bee tied chi [...]ne deepe in Lazarllio's Poole, where I was kept to a low Diet, purposely to coole my inflamed bloud, and quali­fie my violent distemper, oc­casioned by the infection of my Liver. For I must freely confesse, that an ill Liver was [Page 92] the onely occasion o [...] all my distemper. By this time had I suffered many a cold Bath: so as my bloud became coo­led; my inflammation cea­sed, my corrupt Liver resto­red; while one day, in a pri­vate Arbour where I usually reposed, after my time of re­covery, I might behold a cu­rious Tablet, purposely de­vised by Aesculapius especiall direction, as I afterwards perceived. Wherein was en­graven Tarquinius Superbus, to his full body; in his po­sture walking, and with a little rod lopping the tops of [Page 93] Poppies: while on the other side of this Tablet, stood Atlas supporting the world; but under his burden, at the first seemingly fainting, and afterwards utterly failing and falling.

Having seriously fixed mine eye on these Statues, I begun to reflect upon my selfe, and to examine mine owne thoughts, whether there were not something that might have proper relation to my selfe in the delineature of those features: And thus I privately conversed with mine owne affections.

[Page 94] ‘Say, Vperephanos, is there nothing here presented to thine eye, which thou maist not u [...]efully convey to thine heart! Is not this very Tablet, a mirrour of thy late distempered hu­mour? Canst thou eye this Tablet, and not discerne thy selfe in it? Or observe this Embleme, and peruse it without a blush, seeing it displayes thine own shame? Canst thou eye these mounting Poppies, whose height surpasse others, how soone they are pruned; and can thy boundlesse [Page 95] ambi [...]ion or selfe-admi­ring hold it selfe secured? By these Poppies were sha­dowed eminent Peeres, whose rising height was Tarquins eternall hate; so as, their height was the sole occasion of their sinister fate. Inferiours were secure, while these [...]uffered; ex­empt from danger, while these perished. Had their heads never mounted a­bove others, they had been as safe from perill as others. Apply this Embleme to thy selfe; for Narcissus ne­ver had a fuller view of his [Page 96] owne beauty in the Fount, by which hee perished; than thou hast here of thine owne deformity, by which thou maist bee tru­ly cautioned. For say, Vpe­rephanos, who ever moun­ted higher in selfe-conceit? Who more selfe-admiring, or others lesse esteeming? yet in this thou fell short of their goodnesse and hap­pinesse, whom thou ob­servest in this Embleme shadowed. For the [...]e Pe [...]res whom Tarquin gave dire­ction to his Sextus, in so co­vert and darke a manner to [Page 97] cut off, were not onely great, but good. Their glo­ry was their Countreyes honour, which they ever laboured to advance by their owne danger. Their desires had a more glori­ous Object, than popular praise: so as, with a sweet, though a sad Evening, they closed their dayes. Whereas, they delight was not to be really good, nor improve the State, but to bee great, though it were to the ruine and subversion of the State. O the misery of an hot and high spirit! Where [Page 98] our owne aimes are meer­ly titular, affecting nothing more than to bee popular. Reflect then, unhappy Vperephanos upon thine owne disposition, and in this Embleme, eye the dis­covery of thine owne per­son. Desire rather to bee ranked amongst those low Tamrisks, than rising Poplars. But if this Em­bl [...]me, or historicall allusi­on can worke no deepe im­pression on thee; observe that por [...]raiture of Atlas, and then see if thy life bee not personated in that Fa­ble. [Page 99] Atlas is heere shrinking under his burden: and to whom may this allude more properly than thy selfe? For how long, (mi­serably-deluded soule) hast thou supposed out of thine arrogant, and selfe-admi­ring conceit, that the whole Fabricke of this Vniverse solely leaned on thy shoul­ders; and that it could not subsist without thy sup­portance? Resolve then in­to teares; Pride not thy selfe in thy distemper, see­ing fooles and mad-men laugh at thine humour. Be [Page 100] so farre now from prefer­ring thy selfe before ot [...]rs, that thou esteeme thy selfe the worst of all others. Blush at thy former folly; and those friends which thou hast lost by pride, regaine by humility. Strengthen thy intentions with divine resolves; that nothing may worke more on thy minde, than redee­ming of time: which, by how much more precious, by so much more carefully employed. In a word, seeme not to be good, un­lesse thou beest that which [Page 101] thou [...]eemest: for sem­blance of goodnesse, how­soever it deceive the eye of the beholder, it ever asper seth most blemish on the owner, when Policy hat [...] lost her vizard, hypocrisie her colour.’

Thus, Madam, to my selfe I discoursed; and thus eve [...] since have I resolved. Nor is it my desire, that your Grace should only rely on my rela­tion; or give such easie cre­dit to my pretended conver­sion, as to receive no other approvement: for I shall no lesse humbly than f [...]eely ap­peale [Page 102] to Tapeinos his judge­ment, whom I religiously vow, onely to admit into my company, to deliver his opinion touching my re­covery.

POESY IV.

PROSE IV.

PERPLEXED, and 'twixt hope and feare devided, stood all this [Page 107] time Themistâ, as one [...]earefull whether these so pleasing Objects were not meere Phantasies and de­ceptions of sight: but no one of all these inforced in her so impressive a motive of wonder and amazement as the strangely altered and me­ [...]amorphos'd Condition of Vperephanos: the more she [...] observed him, the lesse shee beleeved what shee saw in him: for shee thought, how the Wolfe might probably change his haire, but hardly his condition: especially, ha­ving beene so strengthened [Page 108] by custome, and an in nate malevolency of disposition, as it promised lesse hope of recovery, by reason of the continuance of his infirmity. Wonder she could not suffi­ciently at his lowly Carriage, assable Countenance, and winning observance; where­with shee was more taken than with any of all her re­covered Patients. For to see one, whose ambition had mounted the Clowdes, and whose Selfe-conceit excee­ded the confidence of Mor­tals, fall so farre off from preferring himselfe before o­thers, [Page 109] as to esteeme himselfe the unworthiest of all o­thers; Nay, to avert his Eare from his owne praise, and make Humility his onely prize; to knit his discourse so firmely with the Cement of discretion; and so sweetly sea [...]on it with Moderation, as in a wise diffidence, to sub­mit himselfe ever to others Opinion; to blush at his former impertinences, and strengthen his well-disposed intentions with divine re­ [...]olves; Briefely, to relin­quish all such infectious Consorts, as fed him most [Page 110] in his humour, and with the b [...]llowes of Sycophan­cy, kindled th [...] Flame of his distemper; and to supply them with the vertuous so­ciety of Tapeinos; one, whole humility well deserved e­steeme in the eminenst Fa­mily. I say, to see all these concurring in One, and one of whom there was least hope, could not chuse but much transport her, and so much the more over joy her, as it was least expected by her. Desirous then to heare the happy iss [...]e of this gene­rall Cure, after shee had in­finitely [Page 111] rejoyced in this unex­pected recovery of her Con­sul Vperephano [...], which Cure shee held to bee of greatest difficulty, shee forthwith commanded that Melixos should bee brought into the Presence-Chamber; Who, upon his Princesse com­mand, related the issue of his Cure, after this mann [...]r.

How weake I was of con­stitution; how unconstant in my resolves; how despe­rately-diffident of mine owne abilities; how flexibly­yeelding to any ones propo­sition, were it never so averse [Page 112] nor devious from reason, your Gr [...]ce cannot be igno­rant. Meagre, lea [...]e and ex­hausted was my consumed body; no Faculty but de­sisted from preforming her due office, because in each of them I had a diffid [...]nce. Goe upon mine owne legs I could not, for they would not support mee; nor direct my course any way, but as others led me, I would not, so much had distrust wroght on mee. Bleede I would, if I should but see any Spectacle of griefe, for a whole day to­gether: and with an effemi­nate [Page 113] effluence o [...] teares, d [...] ­cover my childish nature. This our Fame-crowned Artist, Aesculapius observed, and with Receits duely ap­plied, laboured by all means to effect, what his divine art hath now perfitted. Cordi­all and Comfortable things he prescribed, to restore Nature so much decayed; mine Eies with Eye-bright water hee daily washed, to recover my Sight almost perished; Hee stanched my incessant blee­ding; strengthened my si­nues weake and declining; And applyed certaine Fo­mentations [Page 114] to keepe me from cold Sweats and Swouning. Nought was wanting to b [...]ing my Cure to perfecti­on. Patient I was of idlenesse, impatient of businesse. No­thing so relished me, so dis­tempered was my Palat; no­thing digested with me, so raw was my Stomach. But having now at last by his e­speciall Care, beene brought to a Sense of my griefe, and probable expectance of Cure; I was permitted, at certaine seasons, to walke abroad and take the ayre; but never without a Guide, who still [Page 115] attended mee, lest by being left unto my selfe, some dis­aster might befall me. One day, as I was walking in an open Gallery, my Keeper shewed mee an excellent piece in Porphyrite Marble; wherein was portrayed the dwarfe Inus, bearing the Gyant Iphiclus on his shoul­ders. Which Statue as I inten­tively eyed, so I personally applyed, for I found my selfe presented in it: being pur­posely invented and erected by my Physitian, that in it, as in a Mirror, I might see mine owne Condition. Re­questing [Page 116] therefore my Guar­dian to retire a little, and to leave mee to my selfe: in a private & familiar discourse, after this sort I uttered mine owne thoughts, wishing no Eare but the subtle Ayre to partake my complaints.

‘A Picture! yes Meilixos; and in it thine owne fea­ture. How! Inus suppor­ting Iphiclus! a weake Co­lumne for such a Colosse. The Morall without in­version may be thus appli­ed. When a Statist suffers himselfe to be overswayed by a Pleibeian; or out of a [Page 117] setled jealousie of his owne Weaknesse, inclines to every vulgar opinion; or out of a various wandring Conceit what he now decrees, hee presently revokes; or out of a disesteeme of his owne judgement, will not main­taine what he usefully pro­pounds; hee in his owne person presents this Em­bleme.’

‘Now reply to thine owne thoughts, Meilixos, and observe, if thou be not the Person here shadowed! How much hast thou ever relyed on others opinions, [Page 118] were their judgements ne­ver so shallow nor defe­ctive; their Conditions never so obscure nor Ple­beian? What judgement didst thou ever pronounce, which thine owne Weake­nesse did not make thee re­pent; or some inferiour op­position did not cause thee recant? Tell mee then, if thou see not here the Gyant Iphiclus borne a loft on the dwarfish Inus his shoulders? Who ever more confident of anothers opinion, or more diffident of his owne? Who ever depen­ded [Page 119] more on others Sup­portance, or trusted lesse his owne strength; occasi­oned meerely by his owne remissenesse? Who ever mannaged a State with more coldnesse, or censu­red Delinquents with more indulgence? Who e­ver suffered himselfe to be more deluded by the ad­vice of weakenesse, or misguided by simple di­rections? And what else was this, but to bee borne on dwarfish shoulders? Ir­resolute was I ever in my designes; nothing could [Page 120] I doe which seemed not better undone than done. For, whatsoever the pre­ceeding day effected, the fol­lowing day ever distasted. In competition for offices, I stood ever divided, which to adhere to.’

‘Such a Newter among the Romans, was that famous, but various Orator, who could not resolve, whether hee should take Caesars or Pompeies part. Such among the Grecians, was Titides, who could not determine whether he shuld joyn him­selfe with Achilles or Hector.’

‘Thus like a Top which [Page 121] alwayes rnnnes round, and never goes forward un­lesse it be whipt, traversed I my ground in a doubtfull Circuit: never lesse resol­ved then when I had least occasion to doubt.’

But lest I, should become too tedious to your Grace, by too much enlarging my discourse, you may under­stand by the effects, the pro­ficience of his care. For as his Receits, had prepared me, so these moving Emblemes wrought such deepe impre­ssion on mee, as I now hate nothing more than Pusilla­nimity, [Page 122] to which I was for­merly engaged, [...]steeming resolution and constancy the highest honour of a Consul. I neither approve of Draeco's Lawes, writ in bloud, nor Theano's writ in Sand. In all Politique States, I shall e­ver hold Law to be the Line, Execution the Life: but Law without Execution a Leaden sword in a Golden sheath.

It now repents me of my time so remissely lost; nor shall the remainder of my time be wanting in resolves, to regaine by some industri­ous act, what my Security [Page 123] or Childish Lenity hath lost by neglect.

But what are golden pro­mises, but faire flourishes, be­ing coldly seconded by actu­all performance? It shall bee my constant taske rather to practise than to talke. As your Graces Care hath brought mee to partake in the benefit of this Cure; it shall be my continued En­devourto addresse my em­ployments wholy to your Honour. The infirmity of mine age may make mee [...]aint, but my integrity shall never faile.

[Page 124]Now to strenthen your conceit in my recovery; I shall willingly disclaime my selfe, and ingenuously ap­peale to Iscuros, to deliver his opinion to you my Sove­raignesse, touching my Cure; with an immutable resolve to redeeme my many mis­pent houres with a redou­bled Care.

POESIE V.

PROSE V.

REceits, said Themista! yes; these are choice receits indeed, and such as minister no lesse com­fort to the Agent than Patient. What exquisite Cures are ef­fected, where art is by discre­tion seasoned? How various­ly were these our Langui­hing Consuls distempered? [Page 129] [...]d by what [...] Experiments recovered? I [...]a­lous wee were (and Love it [...]as that made us jealous) of their recovery: wherein Art hath performed more than our hopes could expect; by making wisemen of Fooles, and such as were utterly lost in an overweening Concei [...] of their owne wit, to becom [...] sensible of their own [...] want Sundry effects were produ­ced from these distempers, and no lesse sundry recei [...]s applyed to cure their distem­pered humou [...]s. Some were wise enough, had they no [...] [Page 130] hrough too much arrogance, knowne it too well; others [...]oo were wise enough, but through too much diffidence, they knew it not well. Some so selfe-opinionate, as they could never brooke oppo­si [...]ion; others so selfe-diffi­dent, as they ever appeal'd from their owne opinion. Some were conceited of [...]aving what they had not; others of not-having what they had. Some contem­ned all dangers, and death it selfe, with more courage, than judgement; others trembled at the shaking of a [Page 131] Reede, preferring the shadow of an opinionate fear [...] before all judgement. But to what [...]nd doe we spend th [...] time in repetition of thei [...] distempers? That darke Cloude of our Sorrow i▪ now dispelled, those duski [...] vapours of [...]ur discomfor [...] dispersed. Now may wee cheerefully breath, when wee live in th [...]m, in whom the State may prosperously breath. All other are bu [...] Se­condaries to these comforts. Yet, howbeit we are perswa­ded of the recovery of some, we are not altogether confi­dent [Page 132] of all. Wee are yet to take Survey of other two; the one whereof, for Severi­ty, the other for Security, may equall if not surpasse the Ex­amples of any. Vpon which words, turning her Eye a­side, shee caused Vpotom [...]s to bee celled forth: whom at his first approch, shee thus encountred.

Now Vpotomos, how goes the world with you? is your boundlesse fury ought at­tempered? your dispassi [...] ­nate violence allayed? Can you converse with patience; or teach your unconfined [Page 133] spirit obedience? Can you suffer in anothers woe; or rejoyce in a [...]others weale? Can you drop a teare with a sorrowfull deli [...]quent; or wi [...]h that a poore arraig [...]ed Captive may prove inno­cent? Can you favour life with a candide censure; and take no felicity in denoun­cing a sentence of rigour. Are you so farre from insul­ting o're a dejected offender, as you can partake in com­passion with such a sufferer? Can you cheerefully brea [...]h on the face of innocency▪ and with an attentive Ea [...]e▪ [Page 134] heare a wronged Planti [...]e without roughnesse? Can you put off the dresse of an imperious presence; and en­terteine your Equals with mildnesse? Could you wish; while you sit on your judi­cia [...]l Bench, to your priso­ners a solemne Iubile; so the State might not suffer [...]hrough such impunity? Could you finde in your heart, personally to suffer for the State; so the State might not suffer for impiety? In one word, could you wish rather to bee private and re­tired; than to prejudice the [Page 135] State by being eminent or publike? Could you forgoe all honour, to improve your Countries fame by your dis­honour? If so, then happy is Themista in her Vpotomos; if otherwise, shee must cheere­fully content herselfe with the hopefull recovery of the rest of her Patients.

Vpotomos all this while with a grave and well-com­posed behaviour, gave all at­tention to his Soveraignesse; and now with a low andre verend Salute, kneeling on his knee, as became the Ma­jesty of such a Person, befo [...]e [Page 136] w [...]om hee was to [...] his discourse, he begun to re­late the happy disposure and attemperature of his distem pered humour, after this manner.

It is most true, Madam, that never any who sate a [...] the helme, or st [...]r'd the rud­der of so [...]lourishing an estate [...] a ever subject to more un­ [...]uff rable enormities than I have beene. Never I say, was Stat [...]sman more distempered [...]nd in his distemper mor [...] domineered, for what wa [...] it I more affected, than t [...] have mine owne humour sa­tisfied: [Page 137] which to effect, how much hath the line and level of justice beene made croo­ked. The course of equity perverted? Hence proceed my tears! Hence my feares! Teares, in a sensible remorse of my guilt; feares, lest the remainder of mine houres should no [...] regaine what my former foliies have lost. Nor is the remembrance, Madam, of mine actions to any on [...] more distastefull, than they are to me hatefull. Worthy was that answer of the in­vincible Alexander to his Mother; who desirous to [Page 138] execute an innocent-harme­lesse man, the better to pre­vaile with him, remembred him that herselfe for the space of nine moneths had carried him in her wombe, nourished him with her owne bloud, and painfully laboured in his birth; and for these reasons hee must not say her nay. Aske (saith hee) good mother, some other gift of mee, and I will grant it: for the life of a man can by no benefit be recompenced.

But how farre was this sentence of just compassion from me estranged; when I [Page 139] desired nothing more than to inflict punishment equally upon the innocent as on the delinquent? Iulian the Apo­stata once answered very wittily touching the liberty given accusers; If onely to accuse, it were sufficient, who could be innocent? But wha [...] a free [...]are have I ever given to accusers? What liberty to their suggestions? An [...] how easily have I credited their improbable surmises? No­thing relished better than thunder and torture. Nor did I read any discourse with more delight, than the ex­ [...] [Page 140] inventions o [...] those Tyrants, who bestowed the [...]r time, or allo [...]ted large Pensi­ons on others in their time, for contriving rare and un­heard-of torments, for their supposed Delinquents.

Phereclus, and Perillus were [...]y Minions; thei [...] projects were my parternes Dennis the [...]yrant (as Plu­tarch witnesseth) gave his Enemies no other torme [...]t, but salt meat to eat, and no drinke ro drinke; and made them labour hard and not sleepe. And these relations were my choicest Recreati­ons [Page 141] at retired houres: When either businesse, or State gave way; or mine owne de­sires affected repose. Yet see! Whatsoever affected mee most by day, ever affrighted mee most by night. Those two severe and cruell senten­ces which my fury had pro­nounced, were ever to mee in my sleepe in bloudy Cha­racters presented. Not with­standing all this, Demadis I ever taxed, for finding faul [...] with Draco's lawes, for being writ in bloud: For (said I) if Offenders cover their foule actions with inke, why [Page 142] should not justice colour them with bloud? But as the ☞ Sicut pro­ [...] probitas ipsa est prae­ [...]ium: ita impro [...] ne­quitia ipsa est supplici­ [...]m. [...]. de Con [...]ol Phi­los. Scorpion hath in her the re­medy of her owne poyson, by natures secret infusion; so the evill man carrieth alwayes with him the pu­nishment of his owne wic­kednesse, which never leaves to torment and afflict his sur­prized minde, both sleeping and waking: all which in numerous instances occur­red to mee (if I could have made use of what was pre­sented to mee) in the tragicke stories of Appollodorus, Hip­parohus, Pausanias, and many [Page 143] others, recommended to the memory of approved Hi­storians. Night [...]y night was I startled with fearfull visi­o [...]s; presenting the persons of such as had received any cruell censure from mee. Yet did I fleight all these visions, as children dreames; th [...] next day begot a new doom; the Scene wherein I acted, was ever tragicall to the De­linquent. Thus I raigned, ranged and raged, till mine eyes grew inflamed, my sto­macke swolne up and puf­fed; my bloud, by too much familiarity with Eris, a was­pish [Page 144] Sorceresse, infected. All out of temper; thus I conti­nued for many moneths to­gether: till your fame-spred Artist, to whose especiall care, and effectuall cure, wee were all commended, sought out the grounds of my di­stemper. Intollerable paine I suffered, yet was I scarce sen­sible of the causelesse which I suffered. All which time, hee omitted no opportunity to restore me to my selfe; who, howsoever I was seldome drunke, yet was I never mine owne man.

Nor did hee professe lesse [Page 145] Art i [...] Chyrurgery than Phy­sicke: for having by way of incision opened mee, hee tooke a worme out of my gall; the mainest cause of my distemper. Then hee ap­plied Cupping-glafses [...]o coole and temper my braine; the heat whereof had so en­raged mee, as no object, were it never so pleasi [...]g no [...] eye-taking, could delight mee. A Diet-drinke too, hee prepared mee, well mixt with [...]he Soveraigne ju [...]ce of Me triot and Euchrasia, to re­move those Pluriticall stit­ches, wherewith I was in­cessantly [Page 146] annoyed: [...]pplying withall, Oppian Plaist [...]rs, with a proportionable quan­ [...]ity of the juyce of Sunnei­desis infused to my sto­macke, to repell those feare­full dreames, which so migh­ [...]ly start [...]ed and affrighted mee, as not one houres rest could secure mee, one mi­nutes quiet solace mee. These receits by degrees brought mee to some little conceit or apprehension of mine owne distemper; So as, in short time I was suffered to walke abroad, and to refresh my crazie-co [...]sumed body with [Page 147] moderate recreation; of which I was before debar­red, being fast tied, and t [...] such strict restraint confined▪ as I was neither permitte [...] to take the benefit of the fresh ayre, nor to enjoy the society of any; so intolle­rable was my rage, so bound­lesse my fury.

And being now in good hope of recovery, which en­larged my late restraint to more liberty; it hapned one day as I walked in a private Garden, purposely a [...]lotted mee (for each of us had ou [...] distinct walks, lest our di­stracted [Page 148] and distempere [...] [...]umours, upon our encoun­ [...]ring one another, might be­get some fearefull inconve­nience) that in the lowest border of the Garden, I might see a curious Orbell, all of Touch, wherein the Sy racusan tyrants were no lesse artfully portrayed, than their severall cruelties to life dsi played: Nothing was omit­ted, to discover Tyranny in her owne naked feature; nor expresse cruelty in her truest nature. Diamater-wis [...] on the other side of the Co­lumne stood Argestes strucke [Page 149] with thunder, just as hee was pronouncing his bloudy censure.

Twice had I path'd my border-walke, when this Sta­tue first presented it selfe un­to mee; yet with a slight and carelesse eye I passed by it, as if the act of mine owne li [...] had no relation at all unto it. But in the end, being al­wayes in mine eye, which could not chuse but convey some impressive conceit to mine heart; I beganne t [...] discusse, by way of conje­cture, the allusive meaning of these Emblemes: which, [Page 150] a [...]er some more serious ex­postulation with mine owne thoughts, I returned in these words.

‘What should this meane Vpotomos? Dost thou feele any shaking or shuddering in thine owne flesh, that it should intend any relation to thy s [...]lfe? Eye thine owne nature, and com­pare it with the feature. Say, say, Vpotomos, what were these Syracusan ty­rants? Cruell to their foes, and scarce constant to their friends. Exquisite for in­venting torments to sate [Page 151] their [...], but unapt to in­cline their eare to a sui [...] of mercy. Prone to sp [...]ll, but slow to spare. Such, as never joyed but in a bloudy banquet. The Stage, where these acted their inhumane parts, was ever hung about with Blacks; their very private Arbours stucke with Ebon sprigges, to put them in minde of their blacke de­signes. But what are all these to thee? yes, Vpoto­mos, reflect upon thine owne inhumanity, and in these thou shalt finde thine [Page 152] owne A [...]atomie. Then actions, with change only of time and person, were thine. Indeed, they were more eminent, because ad­vanced to an higher Orbe of gov [...]rnment. But this leffeneth nothing thy guil [...], but ra [...]her aggravates thy shame. The higher these werein honour, the more they had to follow their humour. The body o [...] greatnesse never walkes without an extensive sha­dow. But thy command had no such boundier. Thy power was confined [Page 153] yet to the highe [...]t pin o [...] ex­tremity screwed. Read then thy selfe in this Syracusan piece. But if this worke not effectually with thee, nor enforce those bloud­shot eyes to view thy insati­ate cruelty; then looke on that Statue of Argestes. Wherein observe his qua­lity and vocation; and thou shalt finde it to side with thine; his Ca [...]astro­phe and utter ruine, and be­ware it be not seconded by thine.’

‘ Polo the Tragedian (whose living memory [Page 154] breaths yet to posterity) acting the part of Electra upon the Stage, and being mournfully to bring in the bones of her brother Ore­stes in a Pot, he brought in the bones of his owne son lately buried, that the sight of them might wring forth true tears indeed, and by the passionate presentment of them, act it more famously. For objects of ocular pas­sion, cannot chuse but work in the Actors person.’

‘Apply this, Vpotomos, and that impartially; here thou seest thine owne life [Page 155] acted in an Embleme. Let it worke so much true pas­sion in thee, as the fore-past memory of thy selfe may make thee hatefull to thy selfe. Let that which thou here seest occularly presen­ted, and to thy selfe proper­ly applied, become a motive to d [...]terre thee f [...]om what thou formerly so much af­fected, an inducement to allure thee to what thou lately so much distasted; a wile to weane thee from what thou so dearly loved; a Lure to win thee to what thou so deeply loathed. [Page 156] Delay may b [...]get dang [...]r; take hold then of opportu­nity to prevent this danger.’

Nor did I remit what my resolution had fixt: for so well had Physicke corre­cted mine h [...]mour; and so strongly had these Emblemes wrought on my conceit, as I forth with disclaimed all fa­miliarity with Eris, from whom arose the very first ground of mine unhappi­nesse. For her malitious na­ture it was, had corrupted my bloud, infected my vi­tall parts, and wholly estra [...] ­ged mee from the sensible [...]eeling or compassionating [Page 157] the infirmities of man. Since the sleighting of whose favour, meerely proceeding [...]rom [...]he correction of mine humour, I feele my selfe cleare changed, and quite of another temper: for I am turned all Niobe, so as my la [...]e relentles spirit is now resolved into teares; I can wish unto others as to my selfe: Commiserate others griefs, as if they had relation unto my selfe: truly imagining, that as I see [...]he image of every man in my selfe, so I am to partake i [...] their affections, as if they were presented in my selfe. [...] I conceit, nor shall any [Page 158] pleasing pride, sprung from the knowledge of mine owne weaknesse, make mee lesse cautious in shunning all occasion of falling into like infirmities.

Now Elecmon, to you I ap­peale, with whom friendly importunity is hopefull to prevaile; that as you are best acquainted with these pas­sages by mee delivered, (see­ing you attended on mee du­ring my infirmity) so to re­late to Themista the manner of my distemper, and grounds of my recovery.

To which Elecmon at the [Page 159] first seemed altogether un­willing, till long importuni­ty had so wonne him, as ad­dressing himselfe to Themi­sta, in Aesc [...]lapius honour, hee related the circumstan­ces of Vpotomos recovery, in this manner.

POESY VI.

PROSE V.

[Page 165] QVestionlesse (said The­mista) under favour, this is not Vpotomos, whom you describe after this man­ner. Can a relentlesse dispo­sition bee so soone tamed, as to affect what hee before so mortally hated? Who would not conceive infinit pleasure in the alteration of such a temper? What a glorious li­berty that infranchised mind enjoyes, who puts off man to converse more freely with heaven? But if wee must be­leeve [Page 166] Vpotomos nature to bee th [...]s altered, wee would faine know where his old condition is now seated. Sure, if that ancient Pythago­rean opinion hold firme, that there is a transmigration of soules into other bodies, there is some body much distem­pered with his humour: ha­ving either left what hee had unto another, or made an exchange with anothers na­ture. But happy is such a losse, which brings the Los [...]r gaine! Precious such a change, which admits no change, but to the Repub­like [Page 167] a constant choice! Re­doubled is our joy, to re-pos­sesse what our conceit had utterly lost: and to finde in him whom wee held for lost, what wee b [...]fore all o­thers incomparably prize.

But let us not forget our last Consul, though (per­chance) security hath made him to forget himselfe.

Which said, shee cals Ame­rimnos to come be [...]ore her, whom her servant Euphor­bus had sometimes found sleeping in a corner: whom shee no soo [...]er beheld ap­proaching towards her pre­sence, [Page 168] then shee thus accoa­sted him.

Amerimnos, wee should willingly addresse our dis­course unto you, all the bet­ter to satisfie our selves how those artfull experiments have wrought with you; which have already pro­duced such admirable effects in the rest of our Consuls, who laboured of no lesse dangerous distemper than your selfe. But much wee doubt your drousie attenti­on would dampe our dis­course with a sleepie con­clusion. Much like that over­watcht [Page 169] Epicureall [...], who being to give his opi­nion in a businesse of high consequence, betwixt Plain­tiffe and Defendant, but slept all the time it was in plead­ing; as one suddenly awakt, but unprepared of a discree­ter answer; return'd his opi­nion in the selfe-same Ele­ment, whereof hee had pro­bably dreamed, in this man­ner: All Cumaea ha's not a piece of sounder Ra [...]ie wine.

This smooth, but smart conceit, caused all such as were there present to bite the lip, but with a secret silent [Page 170] smile to passe the j [...]st over, for the reverence of their So­veraignnesse, and civill feare, lest they might dash Amerim­nos out of countenance. But hee little amated, though conscious enough of the quicknesse of the conceit, with a decent and well-com­posed gesture, after three low Congies made to her Ho­nour, delivered his minde in these expressions unto her.

It is said of the silk-worme (Madam) that shee surcea­seth from spinning for cer­taine dayes together, that she might after so retired a rest, [Page 171] spinne the better. And Cha­rity will judge that I have slept all this time, purposely to watch the longer.

Though Endimion kissed Hee made recourse to the M [...]one, to kn [...]w the course of the Moone. Luna on Latmos Mount, and for a long time together slept in her lap, yet did this sleepy Swaine at last returne to his flocke, and redeeme the time by redoubling his care, which his security had lost.

I confesse, Madam, the whole Progresse of my life, hath been a continued sleepe. Nothing was ever more op­posite to my nature, than to impose my selfe a taske, or [Page 172] some diurnall [...]abour. Long Epicur [...]all feasts were my onely delightfull repasts; my sole taske was to please my taste; which made mee ofttimes sleep, when I should have watched for the pub­like State: So as, those very Geese, who with their gagling preserved the Capitoll, were more praise worthy in their generation, than the security of my remisse and state retired condition. In cases of Iudica­ture, such as were of necessity to make repaire to my Bench, sticked not to say that they came thither as to a Lottery; [Page 173] [...]or causes were there deter­mined at haphazzard, not by equity. For as Law­yers pleaded, while I slept and heard not; so awaking I gave sentence in what I un­derstood not. In a word, the whole State both of my minde and body was grie­vously distempered. For though mine appetite increa­sed, my digestion failed; my judgement became weakned; my memory decayed; and the whole fabrike of this little man fearefully languished. All which Aesculapius, that inimitable Artist no lesse [Page 174] observed, and by your Gra­ces direction, seasonably pre­vented. For first, h [...]e regu­lates mee to a prescript diet, with Elixir'd broaths every morning to shar­pen mine understanding; Hee prepares me next, Anti­opian plaisters to keepe mee the afternoone awaking; After these, Epimeleian julips laid warme to my temples; whieh with fumes of strong liquor, were ever aching. These applied, hee injoyned me to abstaine from all strong drinkes, and (what was most averse from mine [Page 175] hydropick nature) never to drinke betwixt meales, b [...] with my Teeth shut. Whic [...] prescription I no lesse cu [...] ningly eluded than evaded, for I practised with a profe [...] Tooth-drawer, to pull m [...] out two of my broadest teeth: by meanes whereof, and the benefit of a Can [...] though my teeth were shu [...] ▪ to observe his direction, I plenteously flowed in mine afternoones potation. Hee provides too a Night Cappe strongly chafed with the Lemnian powder of Cornu copia; purposely to make my [Page 170] sleepes shorter, and my con­ceit stronger. And because hee found by my Vrine, and other soporiferous symp­ [...]omes, that my kidneye were overlarded with oyle of Dormise (whose society I ever so much affected, as I admired their condition) by meanes of Sweatings and Suffumigations, hee extract­ed all those viscid and oyly humours.

By meanes of these receits so physically applied, I begun to have some little feeling of my selfe; and to hold up my head, which before, like a [Page 177] perpetuall Penthouse, hung drilling and dropping o're my brest, leaving ever some asper [...]ions on my venerable skirts. My Physitian, who never tyrannized over his Patients, but upon their re­covery, enlarged their re­straint, to solace their weak­ned spirits with a discreet li­berty; gave directions to my Keeper, that I should take the aire, and refresh mine over-wasted, and wearied body with some temperate recreation. This granted me, and walking one day in a delightfull Spinet, beautified [Page 178] with shady Poplars, I might se [...] a curious peece of an­tique worke, seemingly cut out of a naturall rocke, and over-growne with Ivie, to prove her antiquity. The Device was this; An aged man, bearing the name of Silenus, sleeping in a Cave, matted round with Mosse; round about him were sha­dowed fruits of all kinds; and below him silver springs flowing with delicious li­quours; yet still so desirous seemed hee of rest, and so infinitely addicted to sleepe, as hee would not so much [Page 179] as heave up his head either to those luscious fruits, tha [...] grew so delightfully dang­ling above him, nor inclin [...] it to those delicious liquours that flowed so plentcously playing under him. Neare to this Cave was por [...]rayed a speckled Aspick, with a winding-circling pace, cree­ping towards him, and shoo­ting out his venomous sting to wound him; which an industrious Emmet obse [...] ­ving, seeks to prevent, by awaking him with a gentle touch, to preserve him from the Aspicks mortall sting. [Page 180] Long I mused on the depth of this Embleme; wherein I fou [...]d such intricacy, the more I dived into it, the shor­ter I came of it. Till one morning (whom wee no lesse truly than properly cal [...] the Muses Minion, the con­ceits pregnantest Da [...]ling) expostula [...]ing with my selfe no lesse seriously than secret­ly, what this might meane; I fell into a parley with mine owne thoughts, which I di­gested and dilivered in this sort.

‘Awake, Amerimnos, for thou seest here Silenus (and [Page 181] in him thine owne Em­bleme) long since awaked. How! Silenus! in a Cave sleeping, with fruits grow­ing above him▪ Fountaines flowing under him; an Aspick creeping towards him; and a wary Emmet with a friendly smart awa­king him! What may all this meane? Thou canst not see thy selfe, Amerim­nos, but thou must needs understand it.’

‘ Silenus, that mirrour o [...] Security, whose whole life was an incessant sleepe; whose Cave was his Com­monweale; [Page 182] and whose sole delight was in a sens­lesse sur [...]er.’

‘Now reflect upon thy selfe, Am [...]rimnos, and see what affinity thou hast with Silenus! What hast thou done but spent thy time in a car [...]lesse slumber? [Page 183] how remisse in thy charge? how respectlesse of thine honour? Didst thou ever (to unrivet this Embleme) partake of those rich fruits growing ab [...]ve thee; State­affaires, employments o [...] publike safety? Or sip o [...] those Chrystall-gliding Ri­volets flowing under thee, those Low Rils, humble soules, objects of compas­sion and pity? No; thes were estranged from thee; thy onely taske was fruit­lesse security. Thus thou slept, while the subtill As­pick takes advantage on [Page 184] thy mis-employed privacy. For loe! with a snakie pace hee drawes towards thee, purposely to sting thee, and that mortally: did not the Emmet (that native Em­bleme of industry) with a friendly remembrance raise and rouze thee. Make use of this then to thy benefit, lest by neglecting the op­portunity offered, thou be­come irreparably lost and ruined. Which, the better to effect, make industry thine Harbinger; Tempe­rance thy Caterer; Mode­ration thy Monitor: so [Page 185] shalt thou not onely re­deeme the time thou hast lost; but bestow the re­mainder that is left, to the benefit of the State, and improvement of thine ho­nour.’

Nor did the impression of this Embleme work on mee, as other Presentments usual­ly doe; which, as in eying objects in a glasse, are no soo­ner left than lost: for as by those Receits formerly ap­plyed, my decayed memory became restored; my dull and unactive spirits revived; my love to employment in­flamed: [Page 186] so the sight of tha [...] [...]bleme hath so powerfully wrought on my thoughts, as I am rosolved (nor doe I feare but Heaven will ever breath on such divine re­solves) with this small re­mainder of dayes that are left, to redeeme the time I have lost. For I hold no­thing lesse seemely than one who is ancient in yeares, and hath no other argument to shew for his age, but his yeares. This then, seeing practise is the lise of know­ledge, shall be my Position. "No day without a line; no [Page 187] line wi [...]hout a rule. This my couclusion: "I could wish, that as I spent my former time in sleepe, I might now addresse mee to continuate action without sleepe: if it might stand with the con­servation of natu [...]e, without rest to endure labour.

But modesty bids mee to bee spare in mine owne ap­provement, being to r [...]ceive life and light, not from ours but others judgement. I ap­peale then [...]o Epimeles, to d [...] ­liver his opinion to you my Soveraignesse, personally, positively, and impartially, [Page 188] touching my nature, temper, and recovery.

POESIE VII.

PROSE VII.

CLouds so clearly dis­persed; distempers▪ so soundly cured joyes so unexpectedly ten­dred [Page 193] (said Themista) can­not Eò N o­ganti fi [...] p▪ r­ [...]us [...], quò tractas maris [...]. Niobis effi­ [...]ies. 8. not chuse but worke strange effects upon our conceit. For as griefes before thought les­sen their burden; so [...] reduced to joyes, [...] our affection. To finde what probability tels us wee may finde, can never over­joy us; but to finde what all possibili [...]y discourageth us to finde, must needs infi­nitely in [...]rance us.

Which spoke, with a Prince­ly affectionate grace, shee re­ceived her late distempered, but now recovered Consuls into her favour: conferring [Page 194] upon them, according to their distinct qualities, di­stinct honours. Which con­ferred, making a sudden stop, as if somewhat had beene left undone, which she intended, shee unfolded her resolves in this sort.

Wee have read (quoth she) that an experienced Generall is worth a whole Army; an expert Mariner the suc­cour of a Navie; a discreet Master the honour of his Fa­mily. Yea, that an Army of Harts with a Lion to their Leader, is better than an Ar­my of Lions with an Hart to [Page 195] their Commander. Lest ther­fore, you my revived Consuls, should like the Bird Ibis, re­ceive the excrement you have egested, by returning to the vomit you have relin­quished, our purpose is to re­call our trusty and welbelo­ved Parthenius from exile, where hee hath beene too long de [...]ained; and to create him Prime-Consul, as his acti­ons have ever merited: see­ing his defence of goodnesse was the onely cause hee be­came proscribed.

Which directions given, that hee should bee forth­with [Page 196] called home, to the end, her late-reformed Sena­tors might bee better infor­med, and in their good re­solves confirmed; with a gracefull reverend aspect mounting her judiciall Throne (having first com­manded Cletor the Pretorian Cryer, with three O's Ace to command silence) shee addressed herselfe to a pub­like prepared CHARGE, in the assembly of her Consuls, with an huge confluence of other Plebeians, after this manner.

It is not unknowne (grave [Page 197] Iusticiaries) how upon our especiall trust reposed in you, wee did sometimes make choice of you to bee of our Commission, to execute ju­stice, and to doe your Coun­try & us all faithfull service. But how remisse you were in your Care, how neglectfull of your Charge, wee will not here relate: for it shall bee our glory to see our perishing hopes revive in your reco­very. But what is it to suffer incision, corroding pow­ders, or experiments above humane sufferings; and through distemper to make [Page 198] all these receits uselesse, by giving free issue to those ran­corous wounds, which be­fore were closed. If Statues bee not daily wiped, they will with dust become ble­mished: so, if those impres­sures of manly vertues, which you now seemingly retaine, bee not afresh revi­ved, and by all industrious meanes preserved, your glory will become darkned, your memory obscured.

You hold it unseemly to stampe your Princes image in base mettall: And what lesse doe you, when you [Page 199] staine our purest robes of justice, with your impurest actions? O my Patritians; should you but consider how much wee tender our honour, which receives not her beauty from any out­ward lustre, but from the inward purity of her divi­nest nature; no doubt but you would suffer the worst of all extreames, before you would incline by the croo­ked line of your actions, to blemish so royall and reall a beauty. Yea, should you but thinke in what neare oblige­ments you stand engaged to [Page 200] ou [...] bounty, [...] whence, after your first-being, you [...]ave received your well-be­ing; no doubt but you would ing nuously agnize (if thankfulnesse retained the least touch or tincture in you) that you stood more bound [...]o our Grace for your breeding, than to your naturall [...] for your first-being. For if any one love his carnall father, from [...]hom hee one­ly had a mortall body, how much ought hee to love such an one, from whom hee shall receive immortall glory? If so much a mother, who [Page 201] brought him a man full of miseries into this world; how much more one, who shall conduct him full of joyes into another world? If so much your carnall bre­thren, who by partaking with you in an earthly inhe­ritance, make you poorer; how much more on [...], who by conferring on you a [...] heavenly inheritance, shall make you richer? If so much a sonne, for whom you so much labour, not knowing whe [...]her you may perfect ought in him that may de­serve your favour; or whe­ther [Page 202] hee will hereafter reve­rence you as a father; or whe­ther he will oppose you, or render evill unto you for the good hee hath received from you; how much more one, who will eternally reward & recompence you, for a few houres service received from you? If so much a Wife, who (perchance) loves another better than you; how much more such an one, who will never estrange her from that love shee beares you? For us, you are especially to love, without whom no civill so­ciety can either subsist or [Page 203] live. All which may bee ea­sily proved by this necessary consequence. For if you love him so much, who bestow­eth a portion of his estate on you; how much more such an one, who could finde in his heart to leave friends and kinsfolks, and to goe into a strange Countrey; yea, to engage their owne body to gaine you liberty? Now have not wee expressed our love amply in arguments of this [...]ature? Have wee not left our owne native Countrey (those beauteous Mansions of Astraeas glory) for your [Page 204] succo [...]r, sa [...]ety and secu­rity? Have you not reco­vered through us, what you had once lost; to the end you might become happy through that, which you va­lued least? But wee will not upbraid you with our cour­tesies; bee it your care now after the dispatch of your cure, that this judiciall place, whereto you are now resto­red, may bee by your acti­ons dignified; the pulike State, where you are depu­ted, rectified; and your many neglected houres, with a nu­merous supply of vertues, [Page 205] carefully redeemed, which the better to effect, two things bee solely necessary: an unspotted conscience to­wards your selves; and an untainted fame in respect of others. By which meanes, you may not onely redeem [...] time, but improve your own fame, to the imitable exam­ple of others.

Nothing, you know, more precious than time; ye [...] what more disvalued? No thing more perillous than neglect of opportunity; yet how easily incurred? Bee the expence then of your [Page 206] houres, your constantest cares. And because medi­cines ever worke best by their contraries; and vices are ever best cured by their contrary vertues: What­soever you shall finde in you irregular, prevent the growth by a seasonable remover. Vices can never possibly bee cured, unlesse they bee cur­bed: nor ever supplanted, un­lesse they bee timely weeded. Which the better to effect, it shall be now ou [...] task briefly and plainly to addresse our discourse to each of you in particular; that by a more [Page 207] free survey or discovery of your nature, you may be­come Masters of your owne passions, and better rectifi [...]rs of your errours.

And to you first, Metoxos, (to observe order) whose very name renders partiality, a vice whereto you have been addicted naturally. Ly­sanders saying was this, C [...]il­dren must bee deceived by Dice and Blanks, men by oaths. Now Sir, open your owne naked bosome, and there examine your selfe, how your beha­viour hath beene in the ma­nagement of your place! [Page 208] How many have you delu­ded with promises; nay, se­conded those bare promises with bold oaths, that you would stand for them in the justnesse of their cause, by defending them against the enmitie of powerfull Op­ponents? But how soone were those golden promises dissolved, when apparent hope of reward was presen­ted? So prevalent was the power of gaine, as it caused innocencie to give place to guilt. Now reflect upon this, Metoxos, with your cleare eyes; for before they were [Page 209] bleared with rewards: and stretch out your hand to th [...] releefe of the poore, but draw it in from receit of bribes. And take ever along with you those two sayings o [...] two grave Sages; ‘ Doe no thing for love of money:’ and, ‘ Staine not justice with parti­ality. Periand. Se [...]c.’ What untimely, but de­serving fates, some, even of your Profession have encoun­tred, whose tongues wer [...] [...]ipt with gold, and mad [...] gaine their goale; might be [...] instanced in sundry Perso­nages of eminent ranke, bu [...] ignominious life. Some [Page 210] whereof have b [...]ene sudden­ly stabbed; others privat [...]ly strangl [...]d; others openly pi­stoled by their injured Plain­tiffes, whose unredressed wrongs winged their enra­ged fury with too speedy re­venge. Nor were these scarce bemoaned while they peri­shed. And of these our Ro­man Annals are plenteous in examples. Amongst which, nothing more bloudy than that slaughter which was made by the Germans upon [...]heir revolt from the Roman Empire, through the Woods a [...]d Marishes; nothing more [Page 211] intollerable than the insul­tings of the barbarous, speci ally (to instance the evenging aimes of popular fury) a­gainst the Pleaders at the Barre, plucking out the eyes of some, and lopping off the hands of othersome; one had his mouth stitcht up, af­ter his tongue was first cut out, which the savag [...] Actor grasping in his hand, said to it; Thou Viper, at last give over hissing. So implacable was the fury of a barbarous Nation, upon innovation of government, against persons of your profession. Which, [Page 212] as it is an honour to that State, where justice is equal­ly administred; so it detracts from her, where partiality is priviledged.

But admit, these forraine instances should not worke strongly enough upon your conceit, Metoxos; Draw homeward, by recalling to mi [...]de that tragicke Story of Sisambres, so m [...]sically des­canted by Harmonius: with those pleasing Paeans of thankfulnesse delivered by Isotes.

Now to you, Epimonos, whose very name displayes [Page 213] your pertinacious nature; be never so tied to your owne opinion, as to avert your [...]are from reason. How can hee ever possibly improve himselfe, who shuts his at­tention from all but him­selfe? To what purpose were Counsels or Assemblies of State, if one mans private opinion should bee onely delivered, and all others si­lenced? Learne then (for this lesson will infinitely pro­fit you) to submit your selfe to others judgement, to humble your selfe in o­thers approvement; for so [Page 214] by hearing others, you may become enabled in that wherein you are naturally most defici [...]nt. Nor will it bee amisse, while others read Books, for you to read Men; even that unhappiest of men, M Caelius, so passinate­ly described by Harmoniu [...]: with those soule-reviving Epods of your Epieicies.

For you, Vperephanos, whose Name suted well with your thoughts; as your cure seemed to us of greatest dif­ficulty, so you give us no lesse occasion to joy in your recovery. The foolish are [Page 215] ever taken most with arro­gance and applause; and such was your condition. Whose unconfined great­nesse could not want his pa­rallel shadowes to follow it. But these deceitfull Syco­phants, who make pretences Employers of all their senses, are not unlike the Herbe Sardonius, of which Solinus reports, that it maketh th [...] eaters thereof to looke as if they laughed, but in laugh­ing die. Properly may wee stile them Brokers of old stuffe, or Barterers of con­temptible ware: who sell [Page 216] their Masters at any rare for their owne advantage. An­tisthenes said truly of them, that it was better to fall into the clawes of Ravens, than such [...]ame Rooks: for Ra­vens feed onely upon dead Carkasses, but flatterers upon living men. Alexander Seve­rus (a great enemy to these) caused his corrupt Courtier Turinus in the open Market to be fastned to a stake, and and stifled with smoke; the Cryer thus crying to the people, Let him perish with that hee sold to the Parish. So dealt Dionysius with his Da­mocles, [Page 217] by ever putting him in perill of his life; lest his perillous practises should en­danger the State.

But a kinde Physitian ever contends with the disease, but never contests with his Patient; beware of these, Vperephanos; you are now set againe on your feet: for inclining to them may bring you to an untimely fate. " Deere are ever most fearfull in their best Laires: doe not in the fatnesse of your estate feed them, lest they feed on you, whose immeriting fa­vour did first raise them. Lay [Page 218] aside the presence of con­tempt and disdaine; put on an affable and humble coun­tenance; bee full of comfort to an oppressed Client: So shall these honours re-con­ferred on you, become per­manent. Envie, the soules impostume, eating up the heart and marrow of her Master, let it never nestle in your bosome: Rejoyce ever in others risings; so may princely compassion steere your course, and shield you from ruine. In a word, de­meane your selfe thus, and good men will love you; [Page 219] the evill stand in feare o [...] you; and the whole State, upon acknowledgement of your integrity, honour you. Meane time, bee not forget­full of the heavie fate of Py­theas, so pithily chanted by Harmonius: which, if it taste of too much heavinesse, al­lay it with those divine aires of your Tap [...]inos.

For you, Meilixos, whose very name resolves it selfe into Pusillanimity, the onely ground of your infirmity, raise your selfe from earth, and eye the place to which you are advanced. The Quaile [Page 220] (a bird on whose nature re­flect sundry mysterious Em­blemes) as hee flies over the Sea, feeling himselfe beginne to bee weary, lights by the way into the Sea: then lying at one▪ side, hee layes downe one wing upon the water, and holds up the other wing towards Heaven: lest hee should presume to take too long a flight at the first, hee wets one wing: lest hee should despaire of taking a new flight afterwards, hee keepes the other wing drie. Apply the morall to your selfe; so shall you neither [Page 221] faint too much, by distru­sting your weaknesse: nor pride your selfe too much in the discharge of this pub­like service. Which done, as wee are confident of you, so shall you finde us none of those unthankfull ones, to sucke your milke like Mules, and then to kicke you with our heeles. Wee know well how to bestow our favour to the proportionable merit of every ones labour. Looke up cheerfully then Meilixos! Let not an imperious Grande, who sets his face in his ruffe; knits his browes; and with [Page 222] winks and nods deciphers his command, over-awe you; nor make your tongue falter in pronouncing his di­stastefull censure. For in any Cause wherein you desire to please us, you are not to feare evill men; whose course hath beene ever opposite unto us.

Thales compared Lawes to Spider-webs: but such are ever to bee spunne in a corrup [...] State. Ours are [...]. Speaking Lawes, that dare tax a Delin­quent, bee hee never so po­tent▪ And herein shew you [...] resolution: that our State [Page 223] may see you truly changed, and worthy the supportance of that charge wherein you are entrusted. But especially retaine in minde the sad Sto­ry of Melotes, sung so lately to you in such apt measures by Harmonius: whose pen­sive straines you may swee­ten with tho [...]e musicall mea­sures, of Iscuros.

Now, for you, Vpotomos, in whose very Name was portrayed the rough Scene of your life; and whose steeled heart could sometimes, like a Spring-locke, shut it selfe, but never open to the least [Page 224] thought of compassion: as you have go [...] a Niobe in your eye, and a Philomels thorne to your brest: So addresse your selfe to mercy, and ne­ver hereafter give receit to cruelty.

Demosthenes being de­manded what men had, that most resembled God? He an­swered, To be charitable, and embrace the truth. Retaine in you this resemblance, so shall your place receive more ho­nour from you, than you from it. For as justice is (as all other vertues be) a meane betwixt two extreames; Le­nity [Page 225] & Severity: So we rather incline to his censure, who mixeth justic [...] with favour, than his, who thundreth no­thing but Iudgement & Rigo [...]. O how hatefull hath the ve­ry name of Cruelty bin in all ages! Which, howsoever som [...] Parasites, for the Tyrants sake, have sometimes applau­ded, they as soon cōdemned? Antiochus was at one time sa­luted [...] and [...], a glo­rious Prince, and a furious Tyrant. And Plutarch repor­teth, that when Dionysius the Tyrant, asked the Wise men of his Court which Copper was the best; Antiphon an­swered [Page 226] very readily, that in his opinion that was the most excellent, whereof the Athenians had made the Pi­ctures of the two Tyrants, Others report, that two Sta­tues were erected in honour of these two Persons, for doing their Countrey such good service, as ridding her from the unsuffera­ble tyranny of Pisistra­tus. Armodius and Aristogiton: implying, that their Statues were to bee preferred before their Persons; their Buriall before their Government.

There is nothing that may more highly content us, than to see the members of our Nostra sit familia can­dide [...]ucun­da, conditè secunda, prosperè fae­cunda, mo­dicè irácun­da, Crit [...]l Oeconom. family, affably pleasing, seasonably thriving, prospe­rously succeeding, mildly re­proving.

Yea, know Vpotomos, that [Page 227] it is the part of a good man, to bee able to say, that hee hath rather spared, where he might have spilled; than to have spilled, where he might have spared. Especially, where good natures are brought on the Stage, who are com­monly wonne more by cle­mency, than severity; by af­fabilit y and favour, than ex­tr [...]mity and rigour. Put on then a more lovely looke; [...]uit your selfe with a more lightsome dresse. Shew l [...]sse fire in your eye; lesse fury in your heart. Estrange your selfe from the company of [Page 228] Eris; Inure your memory to the censorious fate of Aeacus, so lively chanted by Harmonius: Ever now and then refreshing your rectifi­ed disposition with those [...]ree and friendly expressi­ons of Elecmon.

Lastly, to you Amerimnos, a drowsie name for a watch­full Centinell; whose secure sleepe would have ruined the most flourishing State. After so long a sleepe, you must now prepare your selfe for as long a Watch. Better w [...]re it never to enjoy life, than to make life a conti­nued [Page 229] image of death. Now sleepe & death are termed two sisters; and Night the Mother of them both. The Poet cal­led one of the sonnes of sleep, [...], a terrifier of men. What then might you besti­led, Amerimnos, whose [...]ole felicity was security; and in a lasting dreame, summed up the dayes of your morta­lity? What was this else, but to make a trifle of time; and to bestow the precious oyl [...] of your life, on the [...] delights of Sloth? Much better it were not to be, than fruitlesly to bee. But where [Page 230] the Evening can make no good account of the day, Youth must needs runne in great arrerages with Age. Now, such an one may more properly be said to have slept a long sleepe, than to have led a long life. For what should life bee but a conti­nued day-taske? Where, as eternity depends on a mo­ment; so should this mo­ment of time ever addresse it selfe to eternity. For know, howsoever this temporall Sunne which you here see with your eyes; and directs you in your journals and [Page 231] wayes, after it hath set, may rise againe: yet when the Sunne of your life shall once set, never looke for a rising of it here againe: being once closed, it becomes for ever to this life darkned and benigh­ted. Time lost cannot then bee redeemed; nor the fruit­lesse ex [...]nce of your profu­ser houres regained.

It is said of Demonax, a Philosopher who flourished in the time of Adrian, that he naturally eschewed money and solitarinesse: which wee never remember, but wee wish that Metoxos our first [Page 232] Consul, and you Amerimnos the last in order, had equal­ly partaked of his nature: that as disesteeme of the one might have begotten in him an hate to cove [...]ousnesse: so your dislike of the other might sharpen your desires to a love of businesse.

But as in him an [...] [...]he rest, so in you, Amerimnos, bee our wishes crowned; for wee see your desires how much they are to employment enfla­med; and how your lateun­active spirits become now quickned. Nor doe wee doubt, but that these good [Page 233] re [...]olves by your constant endeavours, will grow so richly improved, as wee shall have cause to apply the say­ing o [...] that famous Athe­ [...]ian to you; You had peri­shed, had you not perished. For as his youth was exposed to all sensuality, wantonnesse and lib [...]rtie, so hee excelled in the maturitie of his time, in policie, martiall prowesse and vertue.

Bee it then your honour [...]o shunne whatsoever may redound to your dishonour. Neglect no opportunitie, whereby you may any way [Page 234] benefit the state. Apply you [...] selfe to that publike service; the discharge whereof may produce in you incompara­ble solace. Make choice one­ly of such for your acquain­tance, where you have hope either to better them, or to be bettered by them. A [...]d be not too familiarly versed in the works of Aristom [...]chus: they treat too much of Wine, but too little of wit. Lastly, remember that fearefull di­stemper of Messala Corvinus, with the dishonour of lazie Margites, rendred in that dainty Canto of Harmonius: [Page 235] which you may discreetly temper with those industri ous dimensions of Epimel [...]s.

Now, as out of our Prince­ly and affectionate grace, we have received you our late distempered, but now reco­vered Consuls, into our fa­vour: and here given you in CHARGE, how you are to demeane your selves in af­faires of State; with a free declaration of what the State requires at your hands: and justified [...]ithall, upon all and every such particular defects, whereto you were formerly subject: so now our exhor­tation [Page 236] shall bee, that you bee cautious of a relapse. And to the end you may lesse erre in your affaires, ever submit your selves to the discreet ad­vice of Parth [...]nius; whom I have purposely placed over you, not onely in matters of doubt and difficulty to re­solve you, but in all your de­portments of State, to in­forme you. Experience is a good Mistresse; and so an­ciently and irreproveably hath hee borne [...] in businesse of State, wherin we have ever employed him (till in our absence some Liber­tines [Page 237] of our time had exiled him) to his honour, and our improvement; as none ever yet knew him, were they never such rigid Cen­sors of others actions, who could justly tax him, eithe [...] of partiality to friend, or pas sion towards his foe. Receiv [...] him then; for it shall not de­rogate from your wisdomes It is the highest glory of a flourishing State, to reward a deserving Patriot. to have embraced such a Pa­triot, who makes the publike good his highest object.

Now, whereas wee have here set you as Beacons or Watch-to [...]ers to foresee danger from a farre, and [Page 238] timely [...]o prevent it before it come to our doores, you are hence to understand, how all mens eyes are on you; and how light errours in you are most irregular, be­cause exemplar.

Drops are but small things, yet joyned together, they will in time rise to a River. Graines of Sand are but small bodies, yet if much Sand bee heaped together, it not onely presseth, but op­presseth the under-lyer. Y [...]e say, you have a voided grand crimes; take heed yee be no [...] overwhelmed with small [Page 239] Sands. Time is precious un­to all, but most unto age: for where few houres are al­lotted, fit it were that they were well bestowed. Bee yee then men of that setled▪ sea­soned, and well-composed temper, as to fix and termi­nate your thoughts on that sole-Soveraigne good, which may fully close, s [...]ale and sate your desires. For tell us, good fathers, what can be a more contemptible thing than man, if hee erect not his thoughts above man! So, as the very Locust or Grashop­per (creatures of emptinesse [Page 240] and feare) are no greater slaves to the wind than man. How varying in his re­solves; how delaying in his performance; being oft­times prevented by death, before hee beginne what hee so long resolved? But of all ages, most varying is hee in age: which we may properly illustrate by this similitude: when the Sunne is in the Me­ridian, and the beames of it perpendicular to our bodies, shadowes change not sud­denly; but when it beginnes to decline to the fall, every moment almost, they vary. [Page 241] Mans life is a spanne; a nar­row spanne, which hee shall n [...]ither fall short off, nor ex­ceed; no, not one little or point of it; not the br [...]adth of the smallest haire, or atome; no, not the [...] Gothsimere▪ or any other ex­tenuate or imaginary thi [...] ­nesse whatsoever. Now, how should any man, if endued with naturall capacity, think but this vapour of Smoke, this light-vading breath, may promise to it selfe any long continuance; especially, when the threed of life is not onely spunne thinne, but [Page 242] worne small? When Age goes poring on the ground, as if hee were looking for some place where he should lie? But hope of living long is that universall Antidote, that makes many a Mithri­dates venture on poyson. Of this both Age and Youth doe equally surfet. For no decrepit groundling is so old, but hee hopes hee may live one yeare longer.

But higher bee our hopes in you, who hold that life to bee most blessed, wherein whatsoever is best, is both loved and injoyed. These, [Page 243] as most deluded Mor [...]alls commonly bee, being fed with a deceiving hope of living long, become altoge­ther secure of living well: whereas you, who preferre a good life before a long life, and esteeme nothing wor­thy prizing here, but what may highly conduce to your safe conduct elsewhere: make no other aestimate of life, then as of a Scene; which being wel and brave­ly performed, crownes th [...] Exit with an applause.

The best and principallest Blessing confirmed by the [Page 244] authority of Herodotus in Cleobulus and Biton, Tropho­nius and Agamedes? and that pithy conclusion of Silenus, who being taken Prisoner by King Midas, pai [...]d this ran­some, teaching the King ‘the best thing, that might chance any man, was ne­ver to bee borne, the next to die as soone as might bee.’

What are we then to think of you, who being borne to the State, live to support it, love to advance it, and re­joyce to see it? implying an auspicious birth, a gracious [Page 245] life, ever expiring with a glo­rious cloze. Bee your lives then long or short, they can­not redound to your shame, because employed to the im­provement of the State. Live you would not, but for it; and dye you would wil­lingly to secure it.

The most potent Princes that ever breathed, have showne but weake preroga­tives against fate; Nought but vanitie was to bee attri­buted to them, retained they never so much earthly glory on them, who dwelled in houses of clay, whose foun­dation [Page 246] was in the dust, which are crushed before the Moath. Were they never so numerously attended; with the bankes and barres of the Sea surrounded; at home and abroad secured; yet could they not from mortality be [...] exempted. Which no sooner seazed on them, than they were soonest left by those, who seemingly clove the closest to them. Now, what were these temporizing Fawnes, but such as made Dialls of their Masters? So long as the Sunne shone on them, and could afford [Page 247] them a shadow, they lookt on them; but no sooner had the Sun left them, than they were left by them. So quick­ly they past by them with a carelesse neglect, from whom they expected no fur­ther benefit. But vertues are your attendants, which will survive the memory of all monumentall structures.

Thus you have heard (to draw in our Sailes, and apply our Oares to the shore) how the reputation of a State is preserved by a wise Councel; and how you may advance your Countreyes glory by [Page 248] this your restauration & re­covery: Pacis oli­vam, Palla­dis palmam Partheno­pis lauream quas omnes fluctuantis Status Hy­ems decerp­serat, amae, niore cultu sereniore conditione, Aestus resti­tuerit Hya­cinth. be it then your task to put in practise what you have heard. Never was their fairer opportunity offered: nor an ampler reward for a shorter service, t [...]ndred. Now then, in this your Evening send out some beamelins of your deserving. That as Iu­stice, whom you serve, is compared in beauty to the Evening starre, so you may show your selves beautifull starres in the Evening. Short is your labour, perpetuall shall be your honor. Cheere­fully then entertaine the one [Page 249] that you may more happily enjoy the other.

Now to cloze with thank­fulnesse (for ungratefull are they who will not ingenu­ously acknowledg such am­ple curtesies) wee vow by Themista's Throne, to erect a lasting Trophie to Aescula­pius memory; that succee­ding ages may record how ready wee were to requite. So wee leave you, but never leave to love you, so you love the State, for whose Service and Solace wee have re-ad­vanced you.

So Themista ascended; [Page 250] her Senators descended; where their Office of Iustice became so well discharged, as it was well for the State that her Consuls madded, be­ing ever after better manna­ged, than before such time as they fel first distempered.