CHAP. I.
That Peace and Vnion, are Gods Attributes, and the perfection of nature.

THAT supreame God who made the Heavens, chro­niclers of his glo­ry, and greatnesse; to give us by his visible effects some knowledge, and notice of [Page] the invisible treasure, deposited in the deepe treasures of his owne omnipotency. In all his operations, as well internall, or (as the Divines doe terme them,) ad intra, which are the generation of the word, and pro­duction of the holy Ghost; as also in the externall, as the crea­tion, the providence, the preser­vation, and the like, sheweth us, that his most essentiall and pro­per attribute is Union. Since the reall distinction, admitted by sacred Divinity, betweene the Divine persons is not sufficient to make the Son not to be the same with the Father, and both one with the holy Ghost. Nor doth that infinite variety of divers na­tures, whereof this artificial frame of the world is composed besides the universall dependen­cy, [Page] which they have from one be­ginning, refuse the bond of peace, wherewith they are straightly joined together. For proof of the first, the efficacy wherewith the same God, did so much give in charge and urge unto his chosen people the unity of his divine nature, shall serve me for a con­cluding reason, he saying unto them a thousand times; Hear­ken O Israel! thy God is one, and one is his name. Which wordes as they are most true, and un­reproovable witnesses of this truth, shall save me a labour of proving it by naturall, and theo­logicall reasons.

The second, which is the de­pendency which all creatures have, from one onely beginning, may be plainly demonstrated by that which historicall Moses writ [Page] the beginning of his sacred histo­ry, attributing the creation of the world to one sole cause. Which truth that great Mercurius Tris­megistus did also leave engraven in pure Emerald, beeing there in followed by the whole troop of Philosophers, who unani­mously confessed one first cause, eternall, independent, and im­mortall; needing therein no other Tutor, but onely the light of na­turall reason. And if any curious man should aske me the proof of the third point, he may yeeld himselfe satisfaction, by consi­dering the streight bonds, and intrinsecall union, wherewith all natures doe linke themselves one with another▪ untill they come unto the first linke from whence they were taken. Nor let any one thinke this union, and [Page] naturall concord of the crea­tures to be a borrowed perfe­ction; or accidentally belong­ing unto them: seeing that the su­preame architect, who made all thinges deliberately, and with wisdome, and measure; having set every one of them in their owne poste, and place conveni­ent for their natures, gave unto them all joined together union, for the center of their preservati­on. And that so properly, and intrinsecally, that if the said uni­on could be broken, the whole frame of the world whose har­mony consisteth in the recipro­call consonancy of all its parts, would be brought to nothing.

He that shall with particular attention consider the seven rings, or linkes, whereof the chaine of this world is compo­sed, [Page] shall easily finde out this marvailous bond of union. Be­ginning from the first and last, which is God; who though he be generally united to all crea­tures, which live in him, subsist by him, and move through him; yet by a more particular assi­stance, he is united unto the An­gelicall nature, as the perfectest of all creatures. This joyneth it selfe with the nature of the hea­vens, which by reason of its in­corruptibility, is the most perfect next unto the Angelicall. To the celestiall enterlaceth it selfe the elementall, in whose linke con­sisteth the diameter of the chain; as that, which according to the order and perfection of nature, is farthest from the first. The fifth is composed of the last element, which is the earth: and this is [Page] the first linke, which begins to turne towards it beginning, and it is the vegetative nature which intresseth it selfe with the sensi­tive, and that with the rationall, which uniting it selfe immedi­ately with God, shuts up the chaine and circle of this successi­on. And because the last knot or linke of this chaine was to u­nite it selfe with God, and be­twixt God and the creature there could be no proportion of equa­lity: therefore the eternall wis­dome created the soule, which being immortall and incorpore­all, should have some resem­blance of God, and so uniting it selfe perfectly with him, the chaine of the fabricke of this world should so close up and shut. And in case, that some curious body, not content with [Page] the generall union, of the seven rings or linkes, which have bin set downe, should desire more particularly to finde out the point of this trueth, he may sa­tisfie himselfe, with the internall searching out of each nature and linke of the said chaine. And be­ginning from the first, he shall finde in it an infinite abysse of perfections and attributes, which are Wisedome, Omnipotency, Justice, Goodnesse, Glory, Mer­cy, and innumerable more, which are all with an unspeakeable in­comprehensibility gathered in, and united unto the indivisible latchet of the most simple divine nature.

Concerning the second linke, which is the Angelicall nature, he may very well apprehend, not onely by the light of faith, but [Page] also by the strength of his owne understanding: the marveilous order, & perfect concord, where­with those Angelicall spirits are united together; the Cherubins joyning themselves to the Sera­phins, the Seraphins to th' Arch­angels, they to the Angels, Thrones, Powers, Dominions, & the other kinds of the twelve quires of Angels, with such great uniformity and concord, as may be presumed in that heavenly commonwealth. Then if we shall cast our eyes, on the contempla­tion of the third linke, which is the nature of the heavens, we shall plainly see (if Ptolomie de­ceive us not) that the primum mo­bile, is united to the Christalline heaven, this to the eight spheare, the eighth spheare to Saturne, who joyneth himselfe to Jove, [Page] Jove to Mars, Mars uniteth him­selfe to Sol, Sol adheres to Ve­nus, Venus to Mercury, Mercu­ry to Luna, from whose hollow superficies takes it beginning: the fourth linke of th' Elementall nature, joyning it selfe unto the annexed fire, it unto the ayre, whom the element of water fol­loweth, untill it comes to unite it selfe unto the earth, which is the universall center of al heavie and ponderous things.

From the earth beginnes the fifth linke, to goe upwards a­gaine, and this is the Vegetative Nature; which, like unto the rest, keepes it dependance and suc­cession united unto all her spe­cies and kindes, beginning from the biggest trees and of greatest fruit, even to the lowest, hum­blest, and poorest grasse of the [Page] field. In this vegetative nature consists the basis and foundation of the sensitive, which is utterly unable to put in practice th' ope­rations of moving, and feeling without it. This likewise is not different from the first, and hath it kindes and degrees of successi­on and dependency, the noblest, and perfectest of them, which is the Lyon, uniting himselfe to the poorest worme of the earth. This sensitive nature, linkes it selfe at last with the rationall, which being (by meanes of the soule) spirituall, exceeds in per­fection; the corporeall, vegeta­tive, and nutritive, remaining at last united with God. So that the aforesaid union is not onely to be found in this whole univer­sall frame, but also in every one of its parts. It being impossible [Page] that there should be any one not linked and united to the rest, by the analogie of some attribute, which is indifferently proper to them all.

The little microcosmos of man may be an example of this, her being an epitome and cipher of the whole fabricke of the world, in whom all natures are united, he being participant of each vertue and perfection; for he hath his body of the heavens, elements and stones; his vegeta­ting or growing, from the plants; his feeling from beasts, his dis­course from Angels, and the i­mage and likenesse of God. And passing to that which is proper unto this nature, we shall finde that all his actions have a depen­dency one from the other; the understanding being not able to [Page] understand any thing, unlesse it unite it selfe to the sences; nor these produce any sensations or feelings, unlesse they joyn them­selves, by meanes of the species and image, which presents it selfe unto them, with the object. And according to the Philoso­phers doctrines, the object unites it selfe to the externall sence, the externall transmits it to the com­mon, the common represents it to the phantasie, from whence comes the names of phantas­maes: With these imaginations doth the active intellect joyne it selfe, illustrating them, and with taking away all their materiali­ties, makes them of sensible, in­telligible. The active intellect unites it selfe with possibility, which cannot operate, unlesse the active disposeth it to it, by [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] representing the species unto it, disrobed of all matter and singu­larity. From thence the intellect or understanding being disposed produceth its first operation, which is the simple apprehensi­on; and this coupleth it selfe with the second; which is affirmation or negation; from whence grow­eth the third, which is discourse. The discourse goeth united with the will, which could not pro­duce any act of love, or hatred, or election; if discourse had not gone before, it being impossible to will or refuse that which hath not before bin knowne. So that all things which are inclosed within this frame of the world, are nothing but union, accord, and amity; not onely through the dependency which every thing hath from one sole begin­ning; [Page] but also through the lov­ing correspondency, which they hold amongst themselves.

And if any one shall aske me the reason of this marvailous linke, and intrinsecall love wher­with so many, and so different natures are linked together, I will not answer them with that which is ordinarily said, that God had so ordained. But I wil say, that the supreame artificer, having deter­mined in the creation of the world, to make a perfect and du­rable compound; variety and u­nion were very requisite there­in: it being impossible to make any thing beautifull, which was not composed of varieties, or du­rable, if it were in and against it selfe divided. To this end he appointed all creatures (at the least the corporeall ones) a na­turall, [Page] and proper meane, which hindereth all that which is con­trary to the union, and preserva­tion of this world. And this is that prima materia, argued upon by all, but (as I beleeve) knowne by none. This materia (which some say, is pura potentia; others an entitative act; others, that it is neither quid nor quantum, nor quale) is a beginning, in the which stand united all corpore­all or bodily natures. It is not ingendred, nor it doth not cor­rupt; for so the union and paci­ficall harmony of the world might come to be lost, whose preservation is grounded upon the incorruptible unity of this matter. It hath bin created, but not from everlasting, as Plato, and others have affirmed; it be­ing impious to give or attribute [Page] the glory of eternity, and of be­ing, without a beginning, unto a creature, which is due onely to God. Finally, it is sufficient for us to know, without engulfing our selves into any other meta­physick, that the matter whereof all corporall things are framed, is of one and the same kinde; and by that reason, all your materiall species or kindes, are united and coupled together.

And because that the formes of the compounds, which must necessarily be sundry and diverse to make a perfect and faire com­pound, should not deviate from that unity, which God ordaines, and nature pretends: The su­preame Artificer determined that they should all come forth of the entrailes of the materia▪ or (as the Divines call it) de poten­tia [Page] materie, that so in all their al­terations and changes, they might be tributary unto that beginning, out of whose bowels and en­trailes they came: the power of corrupting, engendring, and al­tering, resting onely in it, as not being subject to goe out of the bounds of union and peace.

By this doctrin, is confuted the opinion of many moderne Phy­losophers; who judging by the sence, that which is contrary to reason; beleeve that the formes of the Elements, have no other end, then to destroy and corrupt. As for example, the fire, which we see consumes, and devoures all as it findes, living in perpetu­all warre with the water; as also the earth with the ayre: For if we leave that seemingnes, which sence sheweth us, and examine [Page] the trueth with reason, we shall finde, that the elements being constitutive parts, whereof all your mixtes are compounded, it is repugnant, and contrary to them, to have destruction be their end, their nature being es­sentially ordained to compound. Whence is concluded, that the naturall end of the Elements, is nothing but union. And al­though there ordinarily seemes to be a continuall enmity be­tweene them, destroying one another, yet we must hold for a certaine, that this warre is onely made for the preservation of peace and union; since the fire in seeking to persecute its contrary, doth nothing but seeke a tempe­rament, to the rigor of his proper strength; and any thing else which might hinder the union [Page] and conjunction, whereby the compound is preserved.

So that we will conclude this Chapter, saying, that Union is an attribute of God, the treasure of nature, the naturall center of creatures, and chain of the whole world This unites the mortall with the divine; as the eternall Word with humane nature. The mortall with incorruptible, as the body with the soule. The materiall with the spirituall, as the understanding with the sen­ces. The living with the insensi­ble, as beasts with the earth. The heaven with their elements, the elements with man, & man with God. And finally, from God, to God, there is nothing but peace, concord, union, agreement and love.

CHAP. II.
That enmitie and discord are mon­sters of nature, and the divels owne children.

FRom the precedent Chapter, we may by very good conse­quence inferre, that, which we seeke to prove in this: For if u­nion and peace (as we have prov­ed) be Gods attributes, and the perfection of nature, it is plaine, that enmity and discord (capitall enemies of union) must of neces­sity be contraries to God and na­ture, being altogether averse to the noblest perfection that our understanding can conceive in God, which is unity and simpli­city; wherewith his divine at­tributes and perfections, are so [Page] indivisibly united together, that no manner of distinction can be admitted betweene them, either reall, formall, or fundamentall, as Divines doe terme them; un­lesse we should allow of the di­stinction of reason, which our un­derstanding licenciously frameth conceiving that to be distinct, which in it selfe is indivisibly one. Daily experience sheweth us, the great repugnancy, and contrariety that is betweene dis­cord and nature, either of them shewing it by their effects: see­ing the proper and principall end of the one, is to corrupt, di­minish, ruine, and undoe. Of the other, to generate, to joyne, to multiply, and unite all wordly things, with the most firme bond of peace. Because that knowing by evident induction, that discord [Page] and enmity, are enemies unto God; and the very plagues of nature, we may, with good rea­son, conclude them to be, the workes of the divell, wrought by his owne hands: so pestilent a fruite doubtlesse proceeding from such an accursed tree.

The Apostle did in three wordes admirably set downe the genealogie, and discent of this fierce monster, saying, that through the divells envy, death was come into the world. Wherein we must note, (accor­ding to the exposition of some Doctors) that the Apostle in this place, calleth dissention, and discord, by the name of death: And that very properly, seeing that the Doctors meaning by death, as well the soules, as the bodies death, we shall [Page] finde death to be nothing else, but a wretched separation, and unfortunate divorce tending to ruine, and perdition. And as for the death of the body, none can be so ignorant, as to deny this truth, beholding with his owne eies, the dissolution of the streightest, and internallest friendship, as humane under­standing can conceive; and af­ter that, the miserable accidents which ordinarily accompany a dead carcasse. And if this pas­sage bee taken for spirituall death; it being an enmity, and divorce, between God, and the soule, and not an ordinary di­vorce, but an infinite one by rea­son of the infinite distance, that is between God and a sinner: we still conclude that death, and discord, are one, and the selfe [Page] same thing; and both daugh­ters to the divell, and envy, as the Apostle saith, the motive which moved the divell, to bring this accursed dissention in­to the world, was a cruell, & im­patient rage against man: being not able to endure, that God should grow enamored, of so ugly, base, and wretched a na­ture, as humane nature is; and that he should enrich it, with so many extraordinary favours & priviledges, as unite himselfe hypostatically to it, and make it the instrument of redemption; denying that favour, to the An­gelicall nature which is more noble and perfect, then the hu­mane: and so being desperately enraged, he contracted matri­mony with envy, in which wedlocke, death was borne: so [Page] that death, or discord, hath the divell for her father, and envy for her mother: her grandfa­thers were pride, and contempt, and her first root was ambition.

This cursed plant was the first Angels plague, and that which made him to exceed the bounds of his owne nature: rashly ope­ning the way unto an unbridled appetite, and ambitious desire, to climbe up unto the heaven of divine perfection, to place his throne above the starres, and to be like unto the most high. Making the consideration of himselfe, and the beauty, and perfections, wherewith he was enriched, the instruments of so blinde a pretence, and proud ab­surdity. Judging himselfe there­by, to be worthy of so great an honour: out of which conside­ration [Page] grew pride, which aug­menting the raging fire of her mother ambition, caused the An­gell to forget the respect and ho­nour due unto his creator, and to become the heire of contempt. These two fierce monsters of nature, Pride and contempt, made such a slaughter of that faire creature, that they left not in him the least signe of perfecti­on and goodnesse▪ yea, they did so deprave and pervert his will, that seeing himselfe banished out of heaven, and condemned to a perpetuall priva [...]ion of God, and [...]o the terrible habitation of those darkesome prisons of hell▪ hee enragedly protested to be reven­ged. And being unable to execute his vengeance against God▪ his infinite perfection and greatnesse, being not to be reach­ed [Page] unto; he purposed to wreake his vengeance upon man, as the creature in most favour, not be­ing able to endure those particu­lar favours and prerogatives wherewith he perceived God did intend to honour him. Out of which consideration sprung envie▪ the Divels spouse, and mo­ther of death.

With such weapons doth this fierce Leviathan persecute man­kinde, and with them he brings to an end all his pretences: sub­jecting unto his empire and com­mand, all the Provinces of the earth. It being most certaine, that cities subject to discord and dis­sension, cannot be free from the divels bondage, and consequent­ly subject to ruine. The epithets which the Prophet Nahum gives unto the citie of Niniveh, shall [Page] be sufficient, and faithfull wit­nesses for me herein; when he cals it the citie of blood, the ci­tie of misery, the city of death and perdition; attributing the cause of these wretched effects, to nothing but to the discord and division of her inhabitants. And he doth with so much efficacy, insist upon this point, that he pro­nounces an infallible curse upon that citie, which shall stand divi­ded and in discord. The same doth the Prophet Hosea, conclu­ding by an enthymeme the ru­ine which comes through dissen­sion, saying, Their heart is divi­ded, and therefore they shall pe­rish. And if this be not sufficient, let us consider that wretched tricke he served our first fathers, in the beginning of the world; where it being a hard taske to [Page] beat downe such knowledge and wisedome, so perfectly infused, as Adam & his wives was, he u­sed no other weapons then these, perswading them, that God had enjoyned, upon paine of death, not to taste of the tree of life; onely through an artificiall ma­lice, because that none should be so wise as himselfe: which he could so well, and with such live­ly reasons perswade them, that (being already moved with an ambition and desire of know­ledge) they conceived such en­mity and hatred against God, that casting away the respect and obedience which they knew was due unto him, they did contrary to that which was commanded them; remaining thereby sub­ject unto death, and their poste­rity to an abysse of miseries.

[Page] Let him that is curious, observe for the confirmation of this truth, the sentence which God pronounced against the Serpent; when as being willing to punish him by way of retaliation, or as they say in Latine poena talionis. He tooke for a meanes of the pu­nishment, the same way as the Serpent had taken, to make man fall from his originall justice and state of innocency; saying unto the Serpent, I will set enmity be­tweene thee and the woman; as if he should more plainly say, thou hast procured through thine ac­cursed perswasions and lyes, to set hatred and enmity betweene the woman and I, to make her a slave, and all her posterity sub­ject to thy will and tyranny. And I say unto thee, that thou shalt be chastized with the same punish­ment, [Page] for I will sowe such terri­ble hatred and deadly antipathy betwixt you, that you shall al­wayes live in continuall warre and enmity, she endeavouring with all her might to breake thine head, and thou to set snares for her heele.

Finally, by meanes of enmity and hatred, the divell did catch Cain, never letting him rest un­till he tooke away his brother A­bels life. By meanes of these two, he stirred up Esau his anger a­gainst Iacob, Saul his revenge a­gainst guiltlesse Duvid. Pharaohs hardnesse against the children of Israel. And with dissention, dis­cord and ambition, the divell hath brought under his domini­on and obedience, the most no­ble and fruitfull Provinces of the earth; burning up the fruits [Page] of peace, respect, feare, reverence and zeale of the publike welfare towards them, to whom they were subject, by divine and hu­mane lawes.

Many times have I considered that excellent and admirable in­vention which Samson used to revenge himselfe upon the Phi­listines; and I truely finde, that it is the same as the divell useth to be revenged upon man; since, if that I well remember the story, Samson having sought all the su­rest wayes, to be revenged of the wrongs he had received, could finde none more effectuall then division, verily beleeving, that thereby he should ruine all his enemies goods and wealth; and to that end he tooke a number of Foxes, and binding firebrands to [Page] their tailes, he let them run into the Philistines corne fields: The beasts feeling themselves loose, began to sever and divide them­selves in the fields, with such dis­order, that there were not two left together, all taking severall wayes, fixing their eyes towards their owne homes and terriers. Which division was the cause that all the corne was burnt up, leaving the land spoyled, and Samson revenged. With such like industry doth the Divell subject unto his Empire, all the countries of the world; over­throwing the best things he can finde in them, and leaving them utterly unable to helpe them­selves. Seeing that to turne a quiet and peaceable citie into a citie of bloud and wretched­nesse, [Page] the first thing he doth is to stirre up ambition in them whom he findes most disposed thereun­to, and alluring them with their owne proper interests, he kindles the fire of discord and dissention in such sort, that it being impos­sible to pacifie and unite it: the feare of God, the zeale of pub­licke welfare, the respect and o­bedience due to the Prince, and the charity towards ones neighbour, are all beaten down: whence immediatly followeth, the totall perdition and ruine of the common-wealth.

By all this which we have said, we may surely inferre, that since discord and division produce no other fruit but bloud, ruine, per­dition and death, they cannot be positive effects of God, to whom [Page] is repugnant to be the authour of evill: Nor yet of nature, whose treasure consists in unitie; but meerly the Divels, who seekes nothing but to oppose himselfe to all goodnesse and perfection, which God or nature brings forth in this world. The con­trary effects also, which are found in both, may beare suffici­ent witnesse to this truth, since that all which God and Nature pretend, is nothing but peace and union: that which the Divel professeth, is nothing but warres, and dissention. Nature loves preservation; the Divell ruine; that to generate, this to destroy. Nature finally desires to make e­very thing like unto it selfe, by means of peace, love and union: the Divell strives to subject eve­ry [Page] thing under his dominion, by meanes of division, hatred and discord. Therefore such effects being directed unto such a dete­stable and perverse end as de­struction, wee cannot attribute them to God; to whom, by rea­son of his infinite goodnesse and perfection, is not onely repug­nant to be authour of evill, as the Apostle saith, but also to will it or desire it.

And if any selfe-weening, or peevish man should contrary this, alledging the words of the Prophet, who said, There is no e­vill done in the Citie but God doth it: and likewise the words of the Apostle in the ninth chapter to the Romans, where he seemes to prove, that God is cause of the evill which is done in the world: [Page] he may satisfie himselfe with the Fathers of the Churches ordina­ry exposition of those places; considering that in evill, or sin, there are two things, whereof the one is the materiall of it, which is the physicall action, or reall execution, to which God doth positively concurre, it be­ing impossible for the creature to doe any reall act without the or­dinary concurrencie of the Crea­tor: Since that all that is in the world, lives and is preserved through him: and in this sense are to be understood those texts which prove God to be the cause of evill.

But the formall, and malicious part of sinne, as the deformity of it, and privation of righteousnes, depends onely from our free and [Page] absolute will, and not positively from God. Because if that were so, God should not onely goe a­gainst his supreame perfection of being God, but should also bee unjust in punishing man; he not being the true and immediate cause of sinne. And so we must freely confesse, that the proper and essentiall cause of sinne, is the maliciousnesse of our will, depraved both by it selfe, and by the Divels temptations.

And though we finde in holy Scripture, that many times God punisheth one sinne with ano­ther, as Pharaohs insolencie with the hardnesse of his heart; the Pharisees incredulity with blind­nesse, we cannot for all that say, that God is the authour of evill; because that although those [Page] which God punisheth with, con­sidered in themselves, are sinnes; yet if they bee considered as ef­fects of the divine justice, to which belongeth to reward and punish every one according to their desert, they ought not, nor cannot be so called. And so our conclusion alwayes remains true, that enmities, warres, discords, divisions, and other such like ac­cidents, are workes of the Di­vell.

CHAP. III.
That it is monstrous in Nature for one to persecute another that is of his owne likenesse.

ANY speculative understan­ding, will bee quite astoni­shed, and full of wonder, if hee [Page] consider the abysse of chime­raes, falshoods, deceits, persecu­tions, and garboiles, which pride and ambition doe breed in the heart of man, to so detestable and perverse an end, as the de­struction of the particular crea­tures of the same kinde: A thing so horrible, monstrous and ter­rible, that it goeth beyond the nature of the fiercest beasts of the earth; amongst which you shall hardly finde any that will abuse and persecute another of the same species or kinde. And therefore he said very well, who left it to us for a Proverbe, that man with man is like unto a Wolfe; since that this beasts cruelty in tearing in peeces a poore Kid, is not greater then the rigor and tyranny of a bruitish [Page] and soule-lesse man against ano­ther man. Another said, that one man against another, is a Lion: and a third, who would expresse the venome of his heart, said, that one man towards another, is a man declaring unto us that his fiercenesse surpasseth the fierce­nesse not onely of these, but also of all other beasts, whereof there is not any that abhorreth from the preservation of its owne spe­cies and nature.

And if we doe, in truth con­sider this point, we shall finde, that among creatures there is not any; which hath more ground, or reason to humble it selfe, and to love the particu­lers of its kinde; nor lesse rea­son to grow proud, and perse­cute them, then man. Since [Page] that pride hath alwaies for her seale some noblenesse, prero­gative, or excellency, whereup­on she builds her close preten­ces, and presumptions. And man is farre from all these: his com­position, and first frame being of the lowest, basest, grossest, and vilest drosse of the world, which is the earth; out of the slime, and ordure of which man was framed. And there­fore the monstrousnesse, and violence of pride, is no lesser in man, then if one would exalt the element of the earth, above the heavens.

And if we will shew his begi­ning, state, and end, we shall plainly see this truth, reduced into a short and compendious de­finition, which most patient Iob [Page] made of him, saying, that the nobility of man consistes in be­ing borne of woman; to whom the expositers upon this text doe attribute variablenesse, fragility, imprudency, and all manner of imperfections. In having a short life, and full of miseries, calami­ties, and afflictions; there being none of Adams children, that can glory, of having had the least shadow of pleasure, and content, which he hath not paid for, with a thousand griefes, and bitternesses; in a most incre­dible inconstancy, and variabi­lity, because he never continu­eth in the same state, and pur­pose, but is wholly a disordered, and confused chaos, which hath no determined nor sure end. And finally, it is a brickle, [Page] and unsafe vessell, into which, as the Prophet David saith, the treasure of life is deposited, and which one, and that a very small stone, is able to breake, and reduce to nothing. Be­cause that though his phantasti­call prides be all of gold, and silver, and doe reach up to the heavens; yet the foot, and basis thereof being of clay, like Ne­buchadnezars statue, some smal stone of weaknesse, or disaster, hitting against it, they straight­waies come downe with their whole frame, and all their chi­meraes; and fall into a poore, and stinking grave: so that if we consider him from the top, to the toe, we shall finde nothing, in him, but is contrary, and re­pugnant to pride. Whence fol­loweth [Page] that man, having no ground whereupon hee may grow proud, he cannot have a­ny, for the persecuting of o­thers, persecution being the daughter of ambition, and ar­rogancy; but that the basenesse of his composition, should ra­ther invite him to peace, amity, and love.

And though these foreal­ledged reasons, should not move man, to withdraw himself from such an execrable, and cruell montrousnesse, as to be the but­cherer of his owne kinde: yet his equality, and similitude, with all the rest, might move him to procure peace and amity; the holy Ghost in S [...]lomons bookes, and nature it selfe, tea­ching us, that all thinges doe [Page] love their like; which being most true, it shall also bee more reprehēsible in man, to persecute one another, then in any other creature: seeing that amongst all the created species, there is not any that hath its particulars more like, equall and proportio­nable then man, reserving its si­militude and quality so wel, both in the beginning, middle and end; that there is not the least tit­tle of difference: For as for the beginning, it is well knowne, that they all came out of the dust, or slime of the earth, and that they were all borne naked, and came into the world weeping. The e­quality of the end may bee known by the universall attribute which all Adams posterity doe owe unto their birth. Since that [Page] neitehr Scepter, nor Miter could ever finde any Antidote, or spell against death. And as for the middle, which is from the time of their birth, untill death, wee have already said with Iob, that mans life is a continuall warfare, full of all manner of afflictions, and calamities, as may bee de­vised or imagined. And this is universall and common to all, there being none exempt from crosses.

So that there being in man a perfect, and totall similitude with all his particulars, and all agreeing in one, and the same degree of misery, basenesse, and calamity, there being none in this more noble, or priviledged then others; we conclude that pride, and persecuting of his like [Page] in man, is a monster, and pro­digy of nature and a frenzy of the understanding. Hee being by his basenesse bound to hum­ble himselfe; and by his equali­ty tyed to love those of his owne species. Whence I doe inferre, that your naturallists doe with very good reason, call the Lyon King of the Beasts; and preferre him before other Beasts for ge­nerosity and strength; because God made him advantaged, and shewing oddes of the rest, but by what reason can one man esteeme himselfe to bee more then another? What preroga­tive or excellency did nature grant unto him, which she deni­ed to other men? which being most certaine, wee may securely say, that a man which is proud, [Page] and at enmity with another; is worser then the Divell, or to say better, pride, and ambition, is not so unproper for the Divell as for man. Because if Lucifer did pre­tend to set his throne above the starres, to be like unto the most high, and had other foolish fan­cies, and rash propositions; though hee had no true nor reall ground for it, the creature be­ing incapable of the creators perfection and noblenesse: yet he saw, and knew in himselfe some likelihood, and colour for his unbridled appetite; know­ing himselfe immortall, incor­poreall, and the most beautifull of all creatures; being as Isaiah saith, not onely a bright shining starre, but Lucifer unto the morne, and the most perfect of [Page] all other angelicall spirits. More­over the whole army of Divells is united, and concordant in the persecution of the soule, one not entermedling in the others of­fice, nor endeavouring to di­sturbe or crosse the temptation, that another shall intend.

Whereby it is proved, that man being the most abject, and wretched creature, and having nothing but what other men are also partakers of; growing proud, and persecuting another man, hee goeth beyond the na­ture of a brute beast, and is wor­ser then the Divell himselfe.

CHAP. IV.
Of the noblenesse of man.

THE conclusion of the pre­cedent Chapter, gives us great occasion to treate in this Chapter of the noblenesse of man, and of his excellencies, by reason of a motive any one may have to wonder at our last pro­position, wherein we concluded, that man is the most abject, im­perfect, and wretched creature of the world: Which being considered at the first sight, see­meth quite contrary to that which both Scripture and com­mon Philosophy teacheth us, Canonizing man for the noblest and perfectest creature. And truely if we doe with particular [Page] attention consider, that high sublime and lofty degree of no­blenesse and perfection which man attained unto by that Hy­postaticall union, which the di­vine word made in the incarna­tion, wee shall freely confesse that it is the noblest and per­fectest of all creatures; since the angelicall nature did not onely remaine inferior to it, but also subject to adore it in Christs hu­manity. Whence (as some Do­ctors testifie) the first Angell tooke occasion to rebell against his Creator, not being able to brooke the exaltation of humane nature, and the extraordinary and exquisite favors, which by revelation hee knew God would communicate unto it.

Neither is that proofe which [Page] is ordinarily brought by them who thinke man inferiour to the Angell, of any great force or power; for whereas the vulgar translation saith: Thou hast made him little lesse then the Angels, the Hebrew hath it, Thou hast made him little lesse then Eloim; which according to some Rab­bins interpretation, signifies, that man is little lesse then God: be­cause that the word Eloim signi­fies many times God, and many times Angell. And that exposi­tion is not much out of purpose, but grounded upon very good reason: for if we attentively con­sider that marvellous union which God made with our na­ture, we shall finde that Gods E­pithetes were thereby so appro­priated unto man, that it may [Page] truly be said, that man is little lesser then God; which thing the Angell cannot glory in, hee be­ing deprived of so notable a fa­vour.

And although in all creatures there bee in some fashion a cer­taine resemblance of God, yet it is more perfect in man then in a­ny of the rest, since that in none but man is to be found the Word incarnate. His composition con­sisting of Soule, whose three powers are correspondent to the three divine persons; and of bo­dy, which united to the soule, is correspondent to the divine Word, in which are divinely u­nited Body, and Divinity. And of all this the Angell is incapa­ble, because he is incorporeall.

[Page] The Divines call these perfe­ctions, perfections of meere grace, because that God would out of his will and mercie so fa­vour this nature, though shee could no way deserve it by any vertue or excellencie. And in this all cōfesse, that human nature is more noble then the Angeli­call, since God did not bestow so many favours upon the An­gell, as hee did upon man. But if wee consider both these natures of themselves, without any re­spect to grace, many, or almost all will say, that the Angell is more perfect then man. In the deciding of which question, I cannot resolve my selfe, but with a distinction: Noting first, that in man there are two things to be considered, the Soule and [Page] the body. Of the soule some say, that it is of the same substance & nature as the Angels are, incor­poreall and rationall as they; but that is not a compleat sub­stance (as Logicians call it) wherein it only differs from An­gels.

Others ingulfing themselves into an abysse of Metaphysickes, say, that the Angell is more per­fect then the soule, since he is not subject to the imperfections and miseries of the soule, and hath his will, not indifferent to good or evill as the soule hath, but one­ly frame himselfe to doe that which is good and just. Which reason I cannot allow of: For considering the Angell accor­ding to his owne nature, or in pu­ris naturalibus, as Divines tearme [Page] it, he is as indifferent to good or evill, as the rationall soule; which is evidently proved by holy Scripture, which saith, that Luci­fer and all his followers did sinke themselves into hell, and Michael and other good Angels remained in Paradise. For if the Angell by nature had been impeccable, and could not have sinned, hee could not have damned himself, nor much lesse save himselfe, if his will even from the instance of his creation had beene pre­cisely determined to evill. Besides the Scripture telleth us that there be good and bad An­gels, and that the last fell from Heaven for the sinne of pride: whereby is concluded, that the nature of Angels precisely con­sidered, is peccable, and may [Page] sinne, being indifferent to good or evill, as well as the soule. Yet the Angel being now confirmed in grace, loses the indifferency which he had, and his will re­maines now governed and sub­ject onely to good. And all this may the Divine finde to bee likewise in the soule punctually: there being none so foolish as to imagine that in the blessed there is any indifferency or possibility of sinning. So that by the fore­said reason it is not concluded that the Angell is more perfect than the soule.

And if the curious person will give me leave to speake my opi­nion freely, in this case I will say (alwayes subjecting my selfe to the doctrine of the Fathers, and correction of the Church) that [Page] the soule in this world, even with its indifferency of sinning or not sinning, is more perfect then the Angell, though he neither doth nor can sin. The reason is, be­cause the soule having the power to sin and not sinning, gaines a greater excellency and perfecti­on then shee should otherwise have, if she were good because she could not be bad, as the An­gell is: So that the indifferency which is in the soule, and her be­ing subject to so many temptati­ons which daily fight against it, argues an excellency of perfecti­on; whereby making her victo­ry more glorious over her ene­mies, her reward shal be so much the greater. For I would faine know what great commendati­ons is it for a man to be quiet and [Page] peaceable, when there is no bo­by strives against him? Or what is it for one to be good, when there is no body to provoke or entice him to bee evill? And what perfection shall it be not to sin, when the will is so tyed and subjected as that it cannot sinne? None verily: Whereby I con­clude, that the soule even in her owne nature is more noble than the Angels. True it is, that if we will consider in Angels that which is accessory, and conco­mitates this their unaptnesse to sin, which is glory, and the bea­tificall vision, in this he shall bee more perfect than the soule, and there shall be as much difference betweene them, as there is be­tweene him that is blessed, and him that is not: whereof I intend [Page] not now to discourse. But if we will consider the counterprises and inconveniences whereunto the soule is subject whilst it lives within this mortal body, (I mean the dependency it hath upon the senses in all her operations) then questionlesse the Angel being incorporeall, and without any dependency, is more perfect then it. Yet otherwise the soule exceeds all other creatures in noblenesse, amongst which shee onely participates somewhat of God.

Of this noblenesse of man in respect of other creatures, I doe not purpose to discourse, but on­ly by the way; it being a thing which requires much metaphy­sick, and speculation; where­fore laying it aside, we wil treate [Page] of that, which it hath in respect of its owne individui, that is one man, in respect of another: seeking wherein consists the noblenesse of man: that is to say, who amongst men may justly call himselfe noble, and what requisites he ought to have, that deserves such a title, and name. I am moved to speake of this by reason of the conceit every one hath of himselfe, of what qua­lity soever he be, esteeming himselfe noble, and well borne. And this evill is growne so common, that if you aske a Cob­ler an accoumpt of his genealo­gie, and discent, he shall puffe up like a Peacock, answer you, that he is descended by a direct line, from the Emperour Sigis­mond, or Alexander the great: [Page] and he will speake it with such confidence, and ostentation, that even he shall bee bound to beleeve him, that knows it to be false. I will not say, that Noble­nesse is repugnant to a mechani­call artificer, nor to him that lives by his hand labour; Yea I hold them to be in a great error who ordinarily stile country men and those people who live by their labours, to be peasants, and base people, banishing them out of the number, and compa­ny of the noble, by reason of their vocation. Since it is cer­taine that the noblest of all men that ever were, was Adam, and he had no other quality, nor trade but a labourer: being for­ced to eate his bread with the sweat of his brow. The sonnes [Page] of Adam were noble, and they exercised themselves onely in mechanick and base trades: as as to bee Smiths, and the like. Noah was by all men held to be noble, yet his recreations were nothing, but planting of vine­yards, and sowing of fields. A­braham and his children were noble, seeing that from them came the Jewish nobility, yet had they no other meanes to live, but what they got by la­bouring: Saul, and David, were noble, and Kings, yet were no­thing but sheapeards. Finally, all the ancient nobility was occupi­ed in bare and mechanicall exer­cises: wherby I conclude, that they are deceived who judge of nobility by their exercises and trades. Neither doth true no­bility [Page] consist, in being private, or in favour with Kings: since there are many who not onely are out of favour with Kings, but also are persecuted by them; yet their nobility, stands still firme, alive, and secure. Neither doth it consist in learning; since that ordinarily the most learned, and wise, if they have nothing else but learning, are the most vile, and contemned of a common wealth. Whence I draw this conclusion, that true nobility consists in every ones generous actions, be he rich, or poore, Cittizen, ignorant, or learned. So that he may lawfully be called noble; who shall be most no­ted for some heroicall enter­prise, either of fidelity, or va­lour, or any other rare vertue. [Page] And it is reasonable and just that such a ones memory should bee preserved in his posterity, all of his linage holding the name of Noble.

This is the true nobility which is called discreet and wise mens nobility; because those that are so, ought to hold or esteem none but such to bee noble: But the vulgars nobility, which this day is practised in the world, is not this, but wealth; so that in this our wretched age, hee is onely esteemed noble, that is rich. And if the discreet and wise reader will give mee leave to prove the noblenesse of wealth by the basenesse of the contrary, which is poverty, hee shall clearly see, that the vulgar sort are not much deceived therein, since there is no [Page] mis-hap nor misery can be equal­led to a poore mans. Poverty is the quintessence of contempt, the root of all worldly miseries, and the grave of vertue. Give mee the valiantest and couragi­ousest man in the world, if he be poore, a Hare shall not bee more timorous or cowardly then hee. If hee bee honest and mannerly, there is none, but seeing him poore, will esteeme him an hy­pocrite. And finally, povertie comming to any mans doore, the world knowes him not: his kin­dred denies him, his friends re­tire from him, his servants for­sake him, and hee seemes a stran­ger to all, the world flying from him, as if hee had the plague a­bout him. Poverty is the mother of Infamy: for finding a man [Page] poore, hee will bee apt to worke any deceit or roguery, and at­tempt any treachery: his ordina­ry companions being dishonour, cruelty, ignorance, contempt, falshood, infidelity, treacherie; which, and the like, a poore man shall bee apt to commit. What difference is there betweene a poore man and a withered tree, a bow without a string, a ship without tackling, a cart with­out wheeles, a bird without wings, or a body without a soule? Surely not any: Since hee remaines as unable to doe any good thing, as the above­named things. Since therefore these are the effects which po­verty produces in man, with ve­ry good reason the vulgar sort affirme, that nobility consists in [Page] the want of nothing. And what doth man desire more, then with nobility to enjoy those priviled­ges which wealth bringeth with it: For let a man be the most in­famous fellow under the Sunne; yea, let him be a hangman, if hee be a rich man, and in prosperity, he shall straightwayes be a Ca­valier, Noble, and well descen­ded from the line of Alexander the Great, and the first of the Baldwins: Let him never have taken sword in hand, nor seene battle, unlesse it were drawne in some picture; and they shall pre­sently say, that hee is a valiant Captaine, and that in the Gulfe of Lepanto hee overcame the Turkish Armie, and tooke the King of Miramamolin prisoner. Let him not know the first letter [Page] of the A. B. C. and they shall suddenly canonize him for a Mercurius Trismegistus. Final­ly, being rich, he shall in the vul­gars eye, have all the vertues, e­minences, and noblenesse in the world: for all will respect and reverence him, pulling off their hats to him a mile off. If hee comes into the Church, they will all make way for him, and give him their places. At ban­quets they place him at the upper end of the table; when he speaks, they all stand attentive, and hear­ken to him, as if a Cicero were speaking.

The rich mans house is fre­quented by all men, his children are made much of, his servants are respected, and stiled gentle­men; if he be sicke, the City is [Page] turned upside downe to find out presents to bring him; his gate stands full of foot-clothes, his hall full of visiters, his tables at­tended on with musicke; and in conclusion, as all manner of mi­series accompany the poore man, so all contents, favours, and pri­viledges belong to the rich, since in this wretched age money is the absolute Lord over all our actions. This commands, go­vernes, and keepes in subjection all the world, and all things, as Salomon saith, obey it. It attaines to all things, makes all things ea­sie. Money is the object, mo­tive, and end of all mans cares and desires; towards it are bent all his endeavours and employ­ments, and every thing is gover­ned by it. This makes the bitter [Page] sweet, the impossible easie, the little great, the false true, and fi­nally of nothing it makes all things; and by reason of its great power and worth, all the world loves it, seekes it, and adores it, tormenting and even martyri­zing themselves for to obtaine it. What moves the Souldier to march up to the knees in water in the winter time, loaden with iron, nigh dead with hunger and thirst, broken and bruised all in peeces, with death daily before his eyes, but only money? what makes the Labourer to break his armes, yea his whole body, tea­ring up the earth with his labors, but onely money? What makes the mechanicall artificer passe continually the winter nights in working, but onely money? [Page] Who makes the Merchant ven­ture his life upon two inches of planck, and suffer so many storms and tempests, but onely money? Who makes the Lawyer lose his sight in studying Bartolus and Baldus, the Physician Hippocra­tes and Galen, but onely money? Who makes the Councellour confound his braines to defend his causes per fas & nefas, but onely money? In conclusion, money is the end towards which man directs all his actions and endeavours. The Physicians Recipe, the Apothecaries misce, the Lawyers Bartolus, the Scri­veners Pen, the Notaries &c. the Logicians Ergo, the Grammari­ans Nominatives, the Astrolo­gians Heaven, the Philosophers infinitum, the Metaphyficians [Page] unum verum & bonum, the Shoo­makers Nawle, the Taylors Needle, the Plowmans Plough, the Noblemans Gentility; and finally, life and death it selfe lies in the hands of money: since re­ward is able to condemne a just man to death, and to give life to one that is condemned to dye. Whence finally I conclude, that the vulgar sort speakes not much out of purpose, when it attributes all the noblenesse of the world unto money, since in the world infinite wonders are wrought by it.

CHAP. V.
Of the Noblenesse and Worth of the French and Spanish Na­tions.

IT were fitting and reasonable to leave this chapter unto fame, as a lawfull Chronicler of this heroicall enterprise, it being one­ly reserved for her to end that which my pen could not in an age beginne. For if true noble­nesse consists in the generosity of actions, as wee have said in the precedent Chapter, the actions of these two Nations are so ma­ny, so excellent, and so heroicall, that it would bee impossible al­most in an age to rehearse the least part of them. I will not [Page] now stand to set downe the be­ginning and descent of these two most noble Nations, it being no­torious unto all, and ordinary for them who have written of this matter. I will only insist a little upon the contemplation of the rare and perfect vertues which God infused into them: of which he may come to have knowledge and notice, who will attentively consider the marvellous order which God held in the six daies of his Creation, in which time he had beautified the large field of this world with so many va­rieties of nature; and that they might make shew of the perfe­ction which hee had granted them, hee made the fourth day two faire and bright lights, to which hee gave certaine vicars [Page] and substitutes, giving them full licence to assist the day and night, dividing, ordering, and appoin­ting times and seasons, and pro­ducing those marvellous effects which daily experience presents unto us in the theatre of this vi­sible world. The greatnesse and perfection of these two Lights might sufficiently be proved by the onely knowledge of the sen­ses: since he must be altogether blinde, that opening his sight to­wards heaven, doth not know, that the Sunne and Moone are authors of all the rejoycings and gladnesses of this world▪ and of all the varieties, changes, and al­terations that are seene in the foure elements: and that their absence causeth many troubles and sorrowes amongst men, [Page] which the horror of the night, and nightly impressions may testifie by the sunnes absence, together with an infinite com­pany of other effects, which for brevity sake, I do omit. Notwith­standing the strongest meanes I have to prove the excellent per­fection of these two lights, is to see that the Prophets, and the whole Scripture, when they would make us conceive the greatnesse of the Creator, they know not to whom better to compare him, then to these, cal­ling him Sunne, and Moone, and Astrologie teacheth us, that all the starres, and luminous bo­dies receive their light, and splendor from them, and that from them proceed all the al­terations, and motions, of all [Page] that hath, or hath not life.

These and infinite other greatnesses, shall the contempla­tive man find in these two great lights which God placed in the celestiall globe, so noble, faire, and bright, that an acute under­standing can not sufficiently praise them, but onely by ad­miring them. For if those doe enlighten all visible and materi­all thinges; these doe enrich, and governe the reason, and the actions of the will, which are so much above the sensitive, as the being free, and voluntary ex­ceeds the naturall, and depen­ding. These have for their ends generation, corruption, variati­on, and change; these to eter­nize, to conserve, and also to at­taine to the infinite, since they [Page] doe produce marveilous effects, as vertue, counsell, understan­ding, learning, and doctrine, which eternize the soule with God. Those have their seat and place, in an incorruptible, yet materiall substance; and these hold dominion over humane nature, for whose service the first were created; and because that the middle, or meanes, can­not be more perfect then the end for which they are ordai­ned, the heavenly lights with all their influences, and vertues, being onely created for man, it is certaine they must bee lesse perfect then man.

Yet we will compare the noblenesse of these two earthly lights, which are the Spanish, and French nations, with the [Page] two heavenly ones, there being more amongst creatures which may better represent their rare perfection, seeing that the one hath such proportion, and cor­respondency with the other, that it seemed the divine archi­tect tooke from these the origi­nall▪ which had ab aeterno bin framed in his divine minde, to produce in time their pourtra­cture, and place it in the first, and fourth spheare. These are they which in rigor of justice deserve the name of two great lights; that which now vertue, learning, and ad­vice, doe publish the truth: so that the Evangelick faith hol­ding her seate betweene these two most firme, and inexpug­nable columnes, that is between [Page] a Catholick, and a most Chri­stian, she stands firme, and se­cure, out of danger of being stained by any cloud of infideli­ty, or persecution. They doe command the day, and the night, since there is no nation from one pole to the other, which doth not obey them, spreading their names into all, both barbarous, and catholicke provinces, as the feare of the Lions voice amongst the other beasts of the wood.

CHAP. VI.
Of the noblenesse, and valour of the French.

LET Christendome publish the strength of the valiant French arme, and let faithfull [Page] Europe exalt her famous acts, let not England altogether con­temne her valour, and let Ger­many celebrate her fearlesse as­saults, let Italy solemnize her va­liant endevours, and let perfidi­ous Turkie divulge without pas­sion, her heroikall enterprizes and actions, wherewith she doth daily eternize her immortall va­lour: let the same fame also speak (if it doth not through passion grow dumb) and tell that which my tongue and rough pen can­not: let the powerfull Ottoman aright confesse this truth, which holds it selfe unconquerable by having one company of French Souldiers. And let not great Persia dissemble the qualities and valour of this great Nation, since it studies nor labours for [Page] thing more then to imitate their manners and warlicke hardi­nesse.

The memorie of Roman an­tiquity is now forgotten, her proud command, her so renow­ned acts, through the singular prowesses and rare generosity of the unconquerable French nati­on. Fame which was once so ap­passionate of the excellent enter­prises of Alexander, and Caesar, remaines now tributario unto the heroicall and immortall actions of great Henry the fourth, father of his countrey, pillar of Chri­stendome, scourge of the Infi­dels, and shade of the whole world. And from such a foun­dation and premisses, let them begin and continue unto this houre, to sing and praise the rare [Page] prudence and extream wisedome of great Lewis, worthy sonne of such a father. Let the seaven Planets, and all other starres of biggest greatnesse, which in this French firmament receive their brightnesse, and light from this Sunne, speake, and communicate unto the world his peregrine va­lour, that every one may admire it. Let that almost infinite num­ber of Princes, which like bright starres adorne this sky, discover the magnanimity of his bright influences, that the wise may conjecture the beauty of the whole, by the beauty of the parts. Let the Earth eternize thy renown, since the Heavens, as an elect vessell of perfection, do be­stow singular favours upon thee, beautifying thee with all those [Page] conditions and requisites which belong to a just and lawful King. And if one (as the Scripture saith) would have excused him­self from being King, saying that he was no Physitian, neither was there bread in his house: that cannot bee spoken of thee, who art abundance it selfe, and furni­shest other nations with bread, wealth, nobility, infinite valour, vertue, knowledge, mercy and piety. And to this plenty is ad­ded thy being a Physitian, wher­by thou doest arrive to the non plus ultra of thy greatnesse; re­maining upon earth the mirrour of Christians, the scourge of In­fidels, the fire of thine enemies, the death of the envious, the ha­ven of the passionate, the com­fort of thy subjects, the protector [Page] of thy orphans, the justice of thy wronged.

None can tax thee, unlesse it be some one, who bursts with en­vy, or rages with passion. When did ever the poore, wretched, or needy come to thy doore, to aske for succour; but that thou diddest with a free and liberall hand, remedie their necessities? when did the afflicted, ever lay open his griefes, and sorrowes, unto thee; but that he found thee alwaies disposed like a piti­full mother to yeeld her a reme­dy? when ever did oppression, wrong, or subordination dwell within thy breast? was there e­ver any affect found in thee, to­wards thy children other then clemency, liberality, generosity, and vertue? can there be ought [Page] found in thee to obscure the least atome of the perfect splen­dors? No surely, thou art the quintessence of greatnesse, and valour, thou art the Infinitum in actu of worth. Finally, thou art the content and harmony of this our hemisphere.

The last attribute belonging to these lamps of heaven, which is to cause changes, alter the times, and produce divers ef­fects, belongs also to this nati­on, may easily be proved, with­out spending many wordes, by the quotidian experiences, and marveilous effects, which her glorious enterprises doe worke amongst all nations; since that every time as France takes arms in hand, other nations present­ly, confused, and changed, and [Page] with a deadly heart beating double their garrisons, fortifie their wals, renew their muniti­ons, give orders, and prepare themselves with such care for defence, as if they looked for a new deluge in the world. The fierce roaring of the Lion in the night, doth not more affright the other beasts of the wood, then the sound of the French trum­pet, or drumme, affrighteth o­ther kingdomes: what light­ning broke out of a cloud, comes downe whirling more furiously through the aire, then the fearlesse, and warlike French doth in setting upon an enemies campe? what Kingdome, Na­tion, or Province, is upon the earth, that having France on his part, hath not Mars in his armes, [Page] a Lion in his breast, an Eagle in his handes, a crowne on his head, and an assured victory on his side? are the treaties, com­plots, expeditions, and underta­kings of other nations, power­full and strong enough, if French valour doth not aide, and con­firme them? No surely, since we see that as the sunne beames doe dissolve the Chaos, and obscu­rity of the clouds; even so the French strength, and industry, once beginning to shew it selfe, breakes, splittes, and annihilates, the plots, and stratagems of all other nations: so that they doe if this will, they have if this gives, they get if this suffer, they conquer if this helpes, they lose if this go from them and finally, if this persecutes, they are de­stroied.

[Page] I could say much more, though it would all be too little, if feare of being tedious, did not stay my tongue, and the discretion which a writer ought to suppose in the reader did not secure me, as also the infinite disproportion, which is betwixt the grosse en­ergie of my tongue, and the su­preame valor of this nation. So all that which I have said, and all that which Rethoricke could set downe, if she did undertake the taske, would be but a begin­ning of an infinite, an atome of an immensity, a point of a line, an instant of eternity, a shadow which passeth, and like a no­thing in respect of the whole. And since the subject of my Booke will not suffer me to con­ceale any thing of this noble na­tion, [Page] I shall be forced to imitate the industry of that famous pain­ter, who being commanded to draw out a Giant in a little space, finding that it was impossible to draw him out whole, he resolved to draw onely one of his little nayles, so as by that proportio­nably might be knowne the de­formity and greatnesse of the Giant. Let those therfore which reade this Chapter know, that if I have said any thing that seem­eth too much to any one, that all this is but the least part of the whole, which might be spoken in praise of this Nation.

CHAP. VII.
Of the noblenesse and valour of the Spanish Nation.

THe complaints of my mo­ther Spaine begin now to buzze in mine eares, as offended by my having bent all my forces in praysing of France; imagining that being drawne by some pri­vate interest, passion, or subor­nation, I have with silence pas­sed over all her greatnesses. I al­ready see the Lords of Spaine angry with me, canonizing mee in their assemblies and congrega­tions, for the most ungratefull, faithlesse, and forgetfull man of the world, perswading them­selves that against the naturall law of my Countrey I have ta­ken [Page] Cesar his due from him. On the other side, me thinks I meet the French quite puffed up, ima­gining that which I have spoken to bee proprium quarto modo (as your Logicians terme it) belon­ging onely to them and not to others. I also know that some malicious Sophister, enflamed with passion, stands waiting with great impatience to see whether I will expresse my selfe, and tell which of the two Nations is the Sunne, and which is the Moone, which shall have the title of the greater, and which of the lesser Light.

But my intention being not to kindle the fire of enmity be­tweene these two Nations, but rather to quench that which is, and onely to treat of the excel­lency [Page] and noblenesse of each of them, without offending either of them: I say (shunning com­parisons, which are odious) that betweene these two most noble Nations there is neither greater nor lesser, great nor little, since they are both great Lights, faire, and resplendant. And that there­fore all that I have spoken of the French Nation, must also be un­derstood of the Spanish, without diminishing any the least perfe­ction as may be thought of.

And to shew the great pro­portion which these two nations have with the two Lights of hea­ven, upon which I have groun­ded my discourse, it shall suffice that the holy Scripture saith, that God created two great Lights, without seeking out any other [Page] particulars, or Metaphysicall di­stinctions. Yet to satisfie the malcontent, and those which are too curious, who will not be con­tent till they know which of these two Nations is the Sunne, and which the Moone; which governes by day, and which by night, I shall be forced to shew a point of Philosophy, by which your delicate and appassionate understanding shall be satisfied, and shall confesse that there is neither greater nor lesser be­tween these two noble Nations, being both great, and of exceed­ing worth and dignity.

Your Schollers know that the whole Homogeneon, or alike, is of such nature and property, that the integrant parts of it have the same faculty, name, and being [Page] which the whole hath. As for example, water which stands in many vessels, bee they great or small, still all or each of the parts retaines the same name and ver­tue of water, there being no at­tribute that can bee imagined which doth not equally befit all the parts. In the same manner we shall see that the light being a homogeneall and like quality, all the parts of it, though placed in several subjects, have the same nature, name, and vertue. And therefore it would be a great ab­surdity to imagine the light of the Sunne to be different, or of any other quality then the light of the Moone, since God made them both the fourth day, shining with the same light which hee had created the first day. Which [Page] may admirably bee proved by those words of the Psalm, which say, Per diem Sol non uret te, neque Luna per noctem, giving us to un­derstand, that the vertue of hea­ting is in the same manner com­mon to both, as well as the shi­ning, the having its influences, and the lighting. And in that sense must those words of Moses be understood, Fecit Deus duo luminaria magna. There are not­withstanding three things to bee considered in each one of these lights, the influence, the manner, and the light. The two first are different enough, the Moone en­ding her course in eight and twenty dayes and odde houres, and the Sunne in a yeare, and therefore there must needs bee some difference in them, and [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] therefore holy Scripture calleth the one the greater light, and the other the lesser; but as concer­ning the light, they are both great, and shining. The same Philosophy may be found in our two earthly lights, I meane in the French and Spanish Nations, to whom God did impart worth, perfection, and noblenesse, with such liberality, that he left them great, and wholly perfect, noble­nesse and vertue being as proper to either of them, as the light is to the Sunne and the Moone. The truth is, that in some parti­culars there may be some diffe­rence, and may likewise by turns bee called one greater then the other, no otherwise then the Philosophers affirm the heavens to be more perfect then man, by [Page] reason of his incorruptibility, but as being a living creature, not onely man, but even the least worme of the earth is more per­fect. In the same manner some things may bee found in the French Nation which may cause it to be called the greater, and so likewise the Spanish may have o­thers which may give it the same name and title. Yet these diffe­rences being accidentall, doe not undo the greatnesse of the other, agreeing both in the essentiall perfection, of being both most noble and advantaged. And ther­fore all that which hath beene spoken of France, & much more which might have beene spoken, may without diminishing of the least tittle bee also spoken of Spaine.

[Page] And if that the enmity and naturall antipathy, rooted in the hearts of these two Nations, for so many ages, shall dazle the eies of some passionate, and will not suffer him to know the reason, I wil satisfie him with experience, the true mother to give satisfacti­on and faithful witnesse of truth, by setting downe some little par­cell of that most pure & unspeak­able brightnesse which this great light communicates to all the world, to bring forth in it those vertues and marvellous effects which are in it. Of whose unli­mited strength, the Eagles and the Lion, which great Philip ca­rieth in all his devices, shall bee witnesses, giving us thereby to understand, that his command, worth and strength, flies through [Page] all parts of the world, there be­ing no part within its spacious map, wherein his light, feare, signiorie and noblenesse is not knowne.

A thousand times have I had in remembrance those words of David, who saith: In omnem ter­ram exivit sonus corum, & in fines orbis terrae verba corum, which though they bee construed by the Doctors, for the Apostles, and preaching of the Gospell, yet I may bee suffered to apply them to the singular vertue of this noble Nation, they seeming to bee spoken onely to this pur­pose; for if we attentively hear­ken to the cries which are heard in all the parts of the world, there is nothing heard but Viva Spain and Viva Philip. If you ask Eu­rope [Page] who is her father, shep­heard, refuge, tower & strength, and who keepes in awe a many of young Lions, Wolves, Ti­gers, and Foxes that would bite him, it will surely bee answered, that it is none but this couragi­ous Lion. If wee come into Af­fricke, wee shall heare nothing but a terrible and timorous ru­mour of warre, accompanied with a squadron of confused and untuned voyces, which in de­spight of them, call for mercy, and cry, Viva Spaine. If we turn our hearing towards fruitfull A­sia, we shall heare it doe nothing but lament the continuall slaugh­ter which the Spanish policie and valour makes there. And if we aske newes of this great na­tion in America, it will answer [Page] with lowd voyces, that she is in­debted unto it for the light of the Gospell, and Christian reli­gion, and for taking of it out of the Divels hands: and finally, for making of it a new world. And if curiosity do draw us to inform our selves of what is spoken up­on the brinish and wide seas, questionlesse we shall heare, that Spaine enriches her Islands, de­fends her gulfes, and makes the passage easie to all nations. Final­ly, the claws, strength and valour of this great Lion, reach to the ends of the world, since that A­merica obeyes is, Affrick feares it, Asia desires it, and Europe ho­nours it.

And as wee have said above, that it is proper to the heavenly lights, to order times, divide sea­sons, [Page] and enrich the world with divers effects, to whom can this better be attributed, then to this valiant Nation, whose noble­nesse, wisedome and quicknesse of wit is such, that it specifies each speculative understanding? Since that all nations, even her greatest enemies, confesse, that Spaine is a harbour of vertue, a treasure of understanding, a sea of discretion, a garden of noble­nesse, an abysse of sciences, and a wonder of the world. And fear of not ending my discourse, I should once engulfe my selfe into the heroicall attempts, and noted actions by the Spaniards, did not hinder me, it would ap­peare that those of Mars would be abased by theirs; and all those which have been written of [Page] from the creation of the world to this day, compared with theirs, would be but as a shadow of the body, and a draught of the originall, there being no fi­delity, obedience, respect, gene­rosity, wisedome and prudence in the world, which compared with the brightnesse and splen­dor of this light, bee not darke­ned, ecclipsed, and do not vanish away.

And if any one judging mee to be suspect through being pas­sionate and partiall, shall disallow of these my reasons, let him take the depositions of her very ene­mies, as eye-witnesses, and hee shall see, that there never lodged feare or pusillanimity in the heart of a Spaniard; nor was there ever any Spaniard, that did [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] not valiantly spend his life in ser­vice of his king, and defence of his countrey, which the conti­nuall heart-beatings, and mortall slaughters wherewith they af­fright the Moores, can well wit­nesse, whose frontiers doe water their fields with the bloud of their inhabitants, in stead of wa­ter, spilt by the unconquered ar­my of Spaine. Who tames the unlimited desires, and unsatiable thirst of the Ottoman Wolfe, but the strength of this majesticke Lion? Who humbleth and a­bateth his proud ambition, bea­ting downe his designes, discom­fiting his armies, casting his thoughts to the earth, and cau­sing him, like a frighted Wolfe pursued by Dogges, to beat a re­treat, but the supreame valour of [Page] this Spanish Monarch?

I finally conclude the praises of this great Light, with that Maxime of Aristotle, as true as proper to this Nation, which saith, that in every kinde, there is a thing which is the rule and di­rection of all the rest, and which containes in it selfe all the perfe­ction which severally the rest have in themselves. As for ex­ample, amongst the Beings of God, amōgst substances the An­gels; amongst soules, the ratio­nall; amongst the heavens, the Emperiall; amongst the Planets, the Sunne; amongst the Ele­ments the fire; amongst living creatures, Man; amongst men, Christ: Amongst bruit beasts, the Lion; amongst fishes, the Sturgeon; amongst birds, the [Page] Eagle; amongst metalls, Gold; amongst pretious stones, the Carbuncle; amongst colours, Azure; and amongst Nations, the Spanish, which is the modell and major of all the rest, and that which hath in it selfe all the pre­rogatives and eminences, and is the noblenesse of all the nations of the world.

CHAP. VIII.
That the French, and Spanish Na­tion, being the beginning of the other Nations, naturally ought to be opposite.

IT beeing concluded in the precedent Chapter, that the French, and Spanish nations, are the beginning, and spring of all the other; It must through [Page] necessary consequence follow, that they ought to bee opposite, and contrary; as likewise the two great lights of heaven are, upon which the discourse of this my booke is grounded: The end of the contrariety which is in the heavenly ones being none other, then the variety, whereby the spacious garden of the world shewes faire, and enamelled with divers colours, with infi­nite variety of natures, and kindes, yet with such order, and art, that all united together seem nothing but individuum of one onely thing. And so it was re­quisite that their influence, and motion should be various, and divers; it being certaine that there can be no difference in the effects, if the causes be not dif­ferent; [Page] which punctually be­longs to these two nations, which as the beginning, and modell of the rest, must have some contrariety, in their cere­monies, humours, fashions, of cloathing, conversations and the like, that other nations which looke on these in a glasse, might be various, and so humane na­ture, by reason of the said varie­ty, should be beautified, and de­lightfull.

And though this truth be cleare to any one that shall looke on it; yet I will confirme it by Aristotles authority, who saith, that beginnings ought to be dif­ferent, saying when he defineth them, that contraries or begin­nings, are they, which are not made by any, neither any of [Page] them is composed of the other, but of them all things are made; which definition squares excel­lent well with these two nati­ons: since we cannot say, that they are composed of any other; that is that they have taken any perfection, vertue or noblenesse, from them which were before them; seeing it is plaine that since the creation of the world, there never was any nation flo­rishing in learning, wit, subtilty, policie, or other laudable exer­cises, more then these two. And so it seemes that God did with particuler providence make them in this world, bestowing on them immediately with his owne hand, those perfections which they have. Neither can it be said, that the one is compo­sed [Page] of the other, since that nei­ther France takes anything from Spaine, nor any way seeks to imi­tate it, nor Spaine likewise from France: yet other nations are composed of them, receiving all the good they have, from these two beginnings, and fruitfull springs, so that it agreeing so well, with these two nations to be beginnings, they ought also to be of their nature, that is to be contrary.

I hold it certaine, that this variety and opposition of nature, which is in these two nations, was by divine providence. For if all were of one minde, and one humour, either all would stay at home, and would have no desire to see the world, or all would be wandring, and forget [Page] their homes, and families, against the law of nature, & preservation of humane kinde: and the effects of the world not have that beauty which is in them, if they were all alike. And therefore this be­ing the pretended, and in the creation of the universe, God made these two beginnings, and nations so contrary, and shared all favours, and graces, amongst them so equally, that the one cannot prevaile against the o­ther, like two contraries of e­quall vertue; that cannot over­come one the other.

Neither let any one deceive himselfe so farre as to thinke that the contrariety which is in these two nations as originalls, be any imperfection, but that it is in them the greatest excellen­lency [Page] that may be, seeing that if we consider it well, they have no other end, then peace, and preservation, it being a thing infallible that since they cannot overcome, nor conquer one a­nother, by reason of the equali­ty, strength, and valour, they will preserve not onely them­selves, but these nations also which depend on them. It be­ing most certaine that a Pro­vince favoured, and protected, by Spaine, shall not be destroied by France: nor likewise by Spaine, any nation favoured by the French. And therefore wee shall finde that this contrariety is ordained for the peace, and pre­servation of the world: and if God had not made these two originall, these two nations con­trary, [Page] and communicated unto them their valour, with full e­quality, I verily beleeve that a great part of the world would be left: for if God had not tem­pred the fury, and violence of the French, with farre degrees lesse of Spanish patience, and solidity, they would question­lesse be soveraigns of the world. And contrariewise if Spanish patience were not mixed, with a slow, and flegmatick delibe­ration, there is no doubt but they would bring all the king­domes of the earth in subjecti­on. And that therefore God, who with an equall ballance, measure and wisedome made all thinges, sweetly disposing of them, ordained that the world should be preserved in peace by [Page] meanes of this contrariety, divi­ding the goods so equally be­tweene these two Nations, that that which the one wanted, the other abounded in, that so like two perfect originals they might give peace and preservation unto other Nations.

This Philosophy wil not seem harsh to them who shall consider in the foure Elements the con­trariety and order wherewith they mix themselves, to produce and preserve those things which are composed of them; for hee shall in them finde their qualities tempered and divided with such art, that the one hath that which the other wants. God gave the Element of fire heat (as the Phi­losophers call it) in summo, and drinesse inremisso. For if it were [Page] extreame, as the heat, it would with its power and activity de­stroy all the other. And there­fore to withstand that disorder, he left the fire with a remisnesse. If the earth had coldnesse in ex­treame, as it hath drynesse, it would by reason of its clammi­nesse & hardnesse be intractable, and altogether incapable of com­pounding any mixt. He left the water with a remisse humidity, giving the same to the ayre in summo. So that with this distri­bution of qualities, God made them originals of peace and pre­servation. The same art did hee use in these two Nations: for he gave the French the extreame of valour, force, and gentilenesse, yet accompanyed with the re­misse of variability and incon­stancy.

[Page] He placed in the Spani­ard courage, stability, and con­stancy in a supreame degree, but tempered with a remisse delibe­ration. I would lay open the point more diffusedly, if I did not feare thereby to animate, by tel­ling of the truth, the two nations one against the other, who will not confesse that they have any thing in a remisse degree, but all perfection in summo. And so we are to beleeve that it was by hea­ven ordained that gifts should be so entermingled betweene these two Nations, that neither France nor Spaine should have all the power in either of themselves, but equally divided betweene them, that knowing themselves to be no stronger one then the o­ther, they should alwayes live in [Page] peace, and should not attempt any thing whereby they might get broken heads. The truth of this admirable peece of worke was rarely set downe unto us in two words by the wise man, who con­sidering the fabrick and ordering of the world, and the wonderfull meanes which God ordained to preserve it, said that hee had set one against one. Which was questionlesse done, because no one should overtop the other, go­ing beyond his bounds and con­fines. And so considering well the whole frame of the world, we shall finde that there is no one kinde or nature in it, but hath its contrary. God having set against a hell, heaven; against a Lucifer, Michael; against vice, vertue; against an Adam, Christ; against [Page] an Eve, a Mary; against the fire, water; and finally, against the Spanish the French nation, from which two, as from beginnings, yet contraries, should issue such plentifull streames of valour, ge­nerosity, & noblenesse, as should beautifie and make fruitfull all mankinde; since that if any light of faith hath spread it selfe a­mongst infidels, it hath beene through the diligence and labour of these two most noble Lights.

CHAP. IX.
How the Devill envying the noble­nesse and perfection of these two Nations, turned the naturall contrariety into a mortall anti­pathy.

OUr Lord God created these two noble Nations in the a­foresaid degree of perfection, that they might communicate and distribute that light and beauty which he had granted to them. But the old Serpent, mor­tall enemy unto peace, knowing the marvellous good and notable profit which these two Nations might have broght to the world, [...]f they had agreed and lived to­gether in peace, fearing lest they [...]hould with their great learning [Page] and holinesse, cause the true faith and Christian religion to spring up in all Heathen countreyes, and by that meanes get them from under his subjection, whom by meanes of idolatry and bestiality wherewith he deceived them, he yet kept: hee gathered strength out of their weaknes, and sought to hinder this fruit, making use of the powerfullest arms he had, which were enmity and hatred: which hee rooted so deeply in these two Nations, that he con­verted his art into a nature, lea­ving them enmity and persecu­ting of one another as heredita­rie, there being no signe or to­ken left of amitie, peace and uni­on betwixt them; so that the smoke and dust, as Saint Iohn saith in the Revelation, that cur­sed [Page] starre fell from heaven, hath raised, is gotten up to the fourth spheare, and darkened the Sun. This is the cloud of enmity and mortall hatred, which the Divell sowed between the Spanish and the French, which obscured the Sunne and light of these two na­tions. Since, if had not been this cursed seed of enmity, whence groweth the distrust of one ano­ther? They had, being both uni­ted together, conquered most Kingdomes and Monarchies of the world, dissipating the dark­nesse of infidelity in many pro­vinces and kingdomes which want the light of the Gospell, and had offered an acceptable sacrifice to God, of an infinite number of soules, which they would have drawne out of the [Page] way of perdition, and brought them into the way of salvation and eternall life.

It is therefore lamentable to see, that this accursed Leviathan should finde so much aptnesse in such wise nations, to swallow his mortall poyson, and bring them from their first perfection, that hee could bee contented to set them at variance, and in hatred; but hee hath also with his pow­erfull diligence converted them (at least in outward shew) into himselfe: seeing that although a Frenchman be the same with the Spaniard, in that which is of the essence, that is rationalitie; yet hath the Divell so disguised this nature in such sort, and hath so maliciously defiled, and changed her accidents, humours and con­ditions, [Page] that now a Frenchman in a Spaniards eye seemes to bee no man; and a Spaniard a Divell in the Frenchmans eye.

And if the Divell would have been contented with setting en­mity and discord onely in the humour, cloathing, commerce, and other particular ceremonies of these two nations, it were no great matter, for it might easily have been remedied; but he was so cunning in sowing this mor­tall dissention, that with his deadly punctures and poyson, he converted that into nature, which before were but accidents, ma­king it passe by succession, from the fathers to the sonnes, & from these to the grand-children, like originall sinne. So that as the Chicken flieth from, and is a­fraid [Page] of the Kite, although hee doth not know him: or as the gentle Lamb scarcely come out of the mothers belly, seeing the Wolfe a great way off, retires fearfull and timerous, flying him as a mortall enemy, having ne­ver seen him before, nor recei­ved any hurt by him, nor any having shewed him any enmity and antipathy. In like man­ner the hatred of the French to the Spaniards, and the Spaniards to the French, is growne so natu­rall, that even in children hang­ing on their mothers breasts, there seemes to grow a naturall instinct to know a Spaniard a mile off, crying out as lowd at the sight of him, as if hee did see some strange vision or appari­tion.

[Page] From this naturall antipathy commeth that to either nation, the customes, cloathing, & man­ner of living of the one, seemes evill-favoured, improper, and al­together abominable to the o­ther, though the things of them­selves bee good, joyning them with the three ordinary fruits of hatred, which are, unbeliefe, de­traction and contempt. For if one tell a Frenchman of any vi­ctory, any strong hold, or citie which the Spaniard hath taken, or any other famous & heroicall enterprizes, which this nation ordinarily performe, none shall make him beleeve it, no not if an Angell should come down from heaven to verifie it. And if he be either by common report, or o­ther credible relations forced to [Page] beleeve that the thing is true, hee will say, they yeelded without resistance, or that all in the hold were asleep, that the watches and centries betrayed it, or that there were but thirty of the enemies souldiers, and the Spaniards were three thousand: or finally, that there were many Frenchmen in the Spanish army, by whose ad­vice and industry the battell was given, and the victory obtained. Howsoever, hee will never con­fesse, that the victory was truly gotten, but by some accident, or mischance.

So againe, if the Spaniard heare any such like newes of the French, he will say that some ri­ver broke her bankes, and drow­ned the enemies campe, or that thirty peeces of ordnance brake [Page] and killed halfe their army, or that the plague, or some other contagious disease, was amongst them: so that he will not con­fesse that the victory was obtai­ned by any strength, valour, or industry, but by meere misfor­tune.

All the world knowes that Spaine is more barren then France, by reason of the great droughts, and small store of raine, that falls there: wherefore some yeares there comes corne, and other victualls out of Lan­guedock, and Provence into Catalonia, and France, come your hollands, cloth, linnen, cambrick, and a thousand other commodities which Spaine hath not: yet you shall not finde a Spainard who will confesse, that [Page] France is a better land, or more abundant, and rich. The same weaknesse we also finde in the French, seeing that the greatest Prince of that nation, that day as he will make shew of his great­nesse, he adornes and beautifies himselfe with things which come out of Spaine: if he have any brave horse, it is Spanish, if he have perfumes about him they are Spanish, if he be cloa­thed in fine cloth it is Spanish, if he drinke good wine it is Spa­nish, and will scorne at play to carry any money about him but Spanish pistolets; and yet though all this be true, they will not be­leeve, but that Spaine is a wret­ched country, and Spaniards a cunning, malicious, and no way curious nation. And when they [Page] are convinced by experience, they will say, that all is good in Spaine which cannot speake.

All Spaniards hold the French liberty, mirth, and affability, to be base, contemptible, disho­norable, and of small esteeme, and almost madnesse, and yet is a wonderfull perfection, where­in they excell all other nations; for by that meanes any one bee hee never so poore, may come to speake to the King, and relate his grievances to him when hee will, without any let. The French gives like judgement of the Spaniard, calling his gravity, and continency, pride, and mad­nesse; yet it standeth with rea­son, that every one should know what he is, and not give occasi­on to suffer too much liberty, [Page] to breed [...] and disre­spect.

The Spaniards accompt your French liberality in great feasts, and banquets, to be an unreaso­nable gluttony; it being very true as I my selfe have seene, that they are very abundant, and de­licate in their foode, especially your Nobility; their ends in these excesses beeing no other then to keepe their houses, ser­vants, and families, satisfied, con­tent, and merry; which are things properly belonging to generosi­ty. The French beleeve that to abstaine from these excesses, and the rule and order which the Spaniards keepe, proceeds from basenesse, and avarice, onely to avoid expence: and yet it is ma­nifest that this is no vertue, like [Page] unto sobriety, and parsimony, as well for the commendation it particularly hath in holy Scrip­ture, as also for the spirituall and bodily benefits, which proceed from it.

If you aske a Spaniard what he thinkes of the French habit, and fancy, he will not onely hold them to be ill favoured, but will be scandalized at a thing which causeth mirth, and at­tracts the mindes. For to see a troope of French upon a festivall day cloathed in such variety of colours with a thousand kinds of feathers, jewells, embroderies, fringes, ornaments, and gold la­ces with so many hundred of je­wels, diamonds, pearles, rubies, emeralds, and topaces, that one would thinke the Indies were [Page] landed in France; is even as one should see a garden enamelled, and enterlaced most artificially with divers flowers, or a faire field full of dazies, lillies, and violets, whose faire shew, wa­kens the sences, keepes the mind in suspence, and enamoures the very soule: Yet the Spaniard will say, that it is the greatest fol­ly in the world. I doe not won­der at it, because that in Spaine your civill habit is so much used, and wearing of colors so abhor­red, that they force the hang­man to weare colours, for a marke of his shame, and infamy. And if we have a French mans judgement concerning your Spanish habit, and manner of clothing, he will say that to goe alwaies in black is a signe of des­paire, [Page] the marke of a widdow, or a decayed person, yet blacke is one of the most honourable colours, and argues modesty, re­putation, authority, and under­standing.

Let a French man truly consi­der the effect of the looke, mo­desty and curtesie of a Spaniard, his deliberatenesse in his speech, his reservednesse, his affectuous conceipts in his discourses, his gravity in his gate, his patience in his businesse, his measuring of his words, his attentive heark­ning to his reasons who speakes to him, and he shall truly finde that all is but civility and curte­sie; yet he will say that Spani­ards would seeme to be wise but are not. And if a Spaniard looks upon the actions of a French­man, [Page] his never standing still, his unquietnesse and impatience, his flinging away, though he knows that under such actions there is a great deale of wit, capacity, sub­tilty, and wisedome, yet he will say, that Frenchmen neither seeme nor are wise.

If a Gentleman go to a friends house to visit him, he will scarce be in, but with a great deale of mirth he asketh for breakfast, if it bee in the morning, or accor­ding to the time of the day, wherein hee shewes his liberty and friendship, seeing that to eate in one dish, and drinke in one cup is a signe of fidelity and friendship. Now this would be abominable and disgracefull to the Spaniard, who would rather starve for hunger and thirst, then [Page] aske for it in a friends house. Yea there are some so shame-faced, that will sit a whole meale with­out drinke, onely because they will not aske for it: as it happe­ned to certaine countrey people, who being invited to a Bishops house, after they had eaten went to drinke at a river, because they were not so bold as to aske for drinke at the table. If we aske a Spaniard what he thinkes of the manner and fashion which the French use in saluting of Ladies, kissing their facess, comming neare them and touching them with that freenesse as is used in France, he will lose his patience, and he will by no meanes be per­swaded that such ceremonies can have any civility or curtesie in them: it being a maxime among [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] them, that who parleyes will yeeld the hand, who yeelds the hand will yeeld the face, and who yeelds the face will yeeld the rest. And yet it is most cer­taine true, that such actions are void of malice, and ancient cu­stomes, practised even in the A­postles times. As also when they salute them afar off, going back­wards, raking their feet upon the ground, with such like honest, wise, and just ceremonies, where­in there cannot be the least occa­sion of any rash judgement: yet I doe not wonder at this ordina­ry contrariety, seeing the Devill hath so taken away all manner of liking betweene the two Nati­ons, with envie and hatred, that he makes that seem evill and de­testable unto them, which indeed [Page] is commendable and honest.

CHAP. X.
Of some things which befell the Author in France, touching the enmity of the two Nations.

I Know that every one will be­leeve the antipathy which I am describing, without urging mee to prove it by any of those many particulars which happened un­to me. Yet I will a little digresse from the theory, and (as by the way) delight the Reader with some passages, which when I re­member I cannot forbear laugh­ing, and afterwards to fall into a strange admiration, in seeing how much the name and sight of a Spaniard hath beene, and is ab­horred in France.

[Page] I went out of Spaine, drawne by that curiosity to which the desire and appetite of knowing inclines unquiet mindes. And being told that in France I might satisfie my desires, I was not slow in taking my journey that waies, it being neare unto Spaine, and there being also ordinary com­merce betweene them. I under­tooke my journey with as much ease as my poverty could afford me, which was not so great, but that I did ride on horseback, and had some money, though not much, which I also was forced to lay out to make me a suit of cloths. I beleeved that as soon as I should come into France, with­out any other art or ostentation, that onely seeing of me in Spa­nish habit, would make all the [Page] world affect me, and strive who should first have me home to his house. I thought that a spanne of ruffing which I wore stiffe star­ched, would serve me for bill of Exchange; beleeving that ha­ving them on, none durst deny to lend me money, if I desired to borrow of him.

Then I assured my selfe that I should be esteemed of, respected and in a manner feared, by rea­son of six palms of rapier which hanged by my side, raking with the chape upon the ground. At last I arrived into France, cloa­thed in Spanish habit, as may be presumed of one that went into France with a pretence of find­ing favour, onely because hee was a Spaniard. I travelled all the way from Burdeaux to Paris, [Page] without any accident worth the writing, unlesse it were some base words they gave mee when I paid my reckonings at Innes; which because they were of no great importance, and spoken by people which could not offend me, I bore with patience. I came into Paris with that desire which the citie deserves all men should have, which come to see it. I be­gan to walke the streets with a Spanish gravity, state and garbe: yet I was faine to leave it, and ha­sten my pace, forsaking my won­ted gravity: for I had not scarce gone twenty paces, when I heard a noyse behinde me of children that called to me, Senor Senor de la Burrica pany Ravanicos: Sir, Sir, out of your budget bread and radishes, with a thousand o­ther [Page] injurious words, and such untuned voices, that I was by ne­cessity forced to goe into the first house that I found open, leaving the doore and court as full of little children and men, as if it had been the Councell chamber gate. By misfortune there were three little boyes playing in the entry, who seeing mee in a habit which they were not accusto­med to, did entertaine mee with such out-cries, fears and shreekes, that with their noise many began to look out at the windows: then came a groome, who thinking▪ I had done those children▪ some injury, strook me such a blow on the head with a Curry-comb he had in his hand, that he had al­most astonied me. I thought to excuse my self in those troubles, [Page] with some humble reasons; but it was a kinde of preaching to a desart. And so after I had made my complaint to 30. or 40. that were come into the entry, they resolved to put me into the street, and turn me over to my first tor­mentors, who waited at the doore for me, whose number be­ing by the one halfe increased, they began to follow mee up a­nother street, with such a noise and tumult, that from all sides came an infinite of people to see the cause of this extraordinary tumult, thinking I was some fel­low that was whipped up and down the streets. I was so trou­bled, and besides my selfe, that I had not the wit to aske where I was; and though I could have done it, yet that accursed com­pany [Page] of Humble-bees did not give me time to doe it: so that all as I could doe, was to hasten my pace, endevouring to finde some gate of the Citie, taking it for my last remedy, to goe out of it. But my evill fortune not yet satisfied, (to my greater confusion) caused me to see a Church which stood open, and a Priest saying Masse in it, and many hearing of him; I went in, thanking God a thou­sand times for the favour he had done me, in delivering mee out of the hands of so many Calde­ans. I was scarce gone up the se­cond step, but there began such a laughter amongst the poore lame people that stood begging at the Church doore, that they which were within the Church very attentive at masse, turning [Page] their backes to the Altar, began to gaze upon me, and second the others laughter, whereat I re­mained so astonished and confu­sed, that I stood a great while still in the midst of the Church, turning my selfe no way; and I had stood so a great while lon­ger, if one of them as stood next to me had not come to mee and bid me make cleane my cloke.

So I went into a corner of the Church, where looking upon my selfe from head to foot, I found a hares scut and a peece of a sheepes gut pinned upon my cloake, and the rest of it embroi­dered with spittles and other filth, which together with my habit, had beene the cause of the tumult in the street, and laughter in the Church; the sudden mur­mure [Page] of them which heard masse was so loud, that the Priest loo­ked about three or foure times, to see the motive of this newes, and because I perceived he knew that I was the cause of that whisper­ing and noise, every time he tur­ned himselfe about to the people and cast his eyes upon me, mee thought he reproved me as a dis­quieter and disturber of that spi­rituall rest. Which did so trou­ble me and make me so ashamed, that I repented a thousand times that I was come into the Church. Once amongst the rest, when the Priest turned towards the peo­ple, he looked upon me, and whether it was true, or but onely my imagination, I thought that in stead of saying Dominus vo­biscum, hee had said to mee, [Page] Why doest not thou get thee hence? with which impression I suddenly went out of the Church so enraged, astonished, and trou­bled, that not looking what was before me, nor regarding where I set my feet, as I came out of the doore I hitting my head against a Friers nose, who stood in the middle of it, begging with a box in his hand, and gave him such a knocke, that he fell on his hands and head to the ground, and the box tumbled downe the steps, at the bottome whereof stood ten or twelve foot-boies holding their masters horses, who enra­ged against me for the knocke I hit the Frier, began to make a tu­mult, and hold up their rough cudgels against me: and surely they would have evill entreated [Page] me, if my laying hands on my patient sword, and the sacrednes of the place where they stood had not stayed them. Yet using their tongues for instruments of revenge, they followed me down the street with such injurious words and speeches, as were able to have scandalized the despera­test fellow in the world: And they did not leave me, till cros­sing of a street, I shut my selfe up in a Cookes house, where I staid all night, yeelding infinite thanks to God for being gotten out of so great a feare and confusion.

The day following I resolved to take another way, thinking that of the last day to have been unlucky. And so with hope of better fortune I tooke heart, and came out of the house with the [Page] same gravity and statelinesse as I used before: yet still looking e­very way, to see if I met with any of mine enemies. Truly that day was lucky, for none followed me in the streets, onely the Shoo­makers, Coblers, and Taylors in every street as I went by, would leave their worke, and standing upon their doore sills, would hisse, scoffe, and laugh at me till I was gotten out of their sight. Whereof I made small account, it seeming but a pastime to that was past.

This manner of contempt and scorne lasted all the while I went in Spanish habit, which was al­most two months, during which time my very soule was tormen­ted with divers affronts, fictions, and jests, whereto I could by no [Page] meanes finde any remedy: so that the remainder of that time, I was forced to goe in the evenings af­ter Sunne setting, like a night-Bat, or a man that hid himselfe for debt, it being impossible by day to goe in the street an hun­dred paces, without having twice as many boyes about me. Once that I presumed to goe over a market place, the sight of mee was such a novelty, and seemed so strange to certaine women which sold radishes, salads, and egges, that comming neare one who was weighing of a Cheese of ten pounds, she so wondred, and was so affrighted at the sight of me, that the scales fell out of her hands, and both scales and cheese fell upon a basket of eggs which stood under them, out of [Page] which immediately began to runne a streame of whites, and from her mouth issued more ex­communicate curses then doth come from an Exorcist to one possessed of the divell: the egs were another womans who stood by her, and perceiving her ware upon the ground, with­out scolding with the other, tooke hold of three or foure of her cheeses, which stood there upon a little table, so that the one striving to take them away from her, and the other to keepe them, they strugled so long that both they, the table, cheeses, and basket, and all came to the ground, and falling with their heeles upwards, discovered &c.

I stood by looking on, and [Page] laughing with the rest, who stood by looking upon the skir­mish, which lasted above a quar­ter of an houre, struggling, and scratching upon the ground, with the skirts of their coates over their heads, so that those that came at last could not per­ceive what it was, seeing no­thing but their buttocks and their feet. The battaile ended with some little bloud, bruises and losse of much haire on both sides; and having wiped their faces which were all bedaw­bed, with butter, egs, durt, and bloud: seeing me there, and re­membring that I was the first cause of the skirmish, they both with one accord tooke up the broken egs which lay on the ground, and ranne towards me [Page] with their haire about their ears▪ and barefoote throughing them at me: after them arose all the rest, and beleeving I had beene the cause of all that mischiefe, they began to showre upon me so many stones, onions, peares, whole cabidges, and peeces of poore John, that they made me looke blacker, and more disfigu­red then they; and I remember I could make no more use of the cloake nor the hat, seeing a whole army of women upon me, so enraged as they were, I sought to escape from them run­ning as nimble as a Deere, for­getting that gravity, and state­linesse which I professed.

By good fortune in this my trouble I met with a gentleman, who questionlesse had beene in [Page] Spaine, and moved with com­passion, tooke me into a friends house, which by chance was at the end of that street, for me un­fortunate, and commanded cer­taine groomes to make cleane my cloake, and clothes. I came out againe, timorous, and angry; fearing to commit some infa­mous action, as really I had done if I had drawne my sword a­gainst ten or fifteene women, who warred against me with nothing but onions and cabid­ges; and I had scarce gone a hundred paces, but a farre off I espied a troope of people who very silently stood hearkning to a long and set discourse which a blinde man had with a dogge tied to his girdle in a chaine. The dogge hearkened to him [Page] attentively, that he truely see­med to have judgement and ca­pacity to apprehend all that was said unto him. So having made him dance to the sound of a cymball which he carried at his backe, he began to aske him certaine questions, and a­mongst the rest, he said unto him what wilt thou doe for the King of France? Then the dogge be­gan to dance and skip, and make such shew of rejoicing, that if it had beene a man as indeed it was a beast, he that had seene him would have judged him to be mad or frantick, seeing how he danced and stirred about. This question being past, the blinde man asked him againe, what he would doe for the King of Spaine? Lord! who could [Page] relate the foolish noise which that beast made with barking? truly the haire upon the ridge of his backe began to bristle, hee grinned with his teeth, turned his eies awrie, pricked up his eares, and began to gape so wide that he seemed to have a legion of divells within him. I could look on no longer, I was so enra­ged & even smothered with an­ger, to see that the hatred & dis­dain against the Spanish nation, should be a means for blind men to get their livings in France. Whereupon I resolved to cloath my self after the French fashion, and conforme my self to the use of the country, perswading my selfe that I might thereby pre­vent a thousand inconveniences.

I went away from that com­pany, [Page] thinking that my habit gathered more people toge­ther then the blinde man and his dogge: and so taking my way homewards, I found at the end of a narrow and un­frequented street, a woman sitting upon her doore sille, and giving her child pappe, who being froward, and untoward, would by no perswasions eate his pappe. The poore mother vexed with the childes obsti­nacy, seeing all the faire means she could use, could not make it take that which she would give it, made use of the present occa­sion, and when I was neare her she said to it, see the Spaniard that comes to carry away little boyes that will not eate the pap: in truth that little crea­ture [Page] was so affrited when it saw me, that full of feare with a panting heart hee held up his little hands, as a signe to his mo­ther to give him all the pap at once: This thing made mee laugh so heartily that for two houres after, I did nothing but laugh and wonder at it.

But if I should particularize unto you, the broiles, the de­cepts, and cousenings, which the inkeepers used towards mee, I should never have done. I never came into an Inne but I came out of it, with a quarrell, was cousoned, and yet forced to aske all those that were present for­givenesse: The quart descu in my hands, or rather in their handes was worth ten sols: a relon of ten sols was converted into a [Page] halfe quart d'escu, and this into a royall, and that of five royalls into five sols: and if I chanced to reply any thing, they would turn towards me like Lions, chiding me, and saying, that if I did not know what value coynes were of, I should learne, and not con­test with honest people that fea­red God, and caried a good con­science: and they would tell me I had no skill in Arithmeticke, and especially in subtraction. Many times I should buy some wares which I knew would not waste at the ayre nor the fire, yet within a quarter of an houre in a pound I should finde foure oun­ces wanting. With these and the like deceipts I passed my first dayes, till knowledge and pra­ctice of the countrey shewed me [Page] what meanes I should use to free me from these evils.

CHAP. XI.
The contrariety and antipathy of the soule and body of the Spa­niards and the French.

I Have thought a thousand times to aske the midwife in what manner the French came out of their mothers bellies, for seeing the contrariety that is betweene them and the Spaniards, mee thinkes it is impossible for them [...]o be borne in the same manner, seeing one can hardly presume, [...]hat having the middle and the end, the body and the soule, yea [...]nd their very death contrary, they should have their naturall [Page] beginning, which is their birth, alike. This contrariety is so great and so remarkable, that to define a Frenchman, one cannot doe it more properly, then to say he is a Spaniard the contrary way. For there the Spaniard makes an end where the Frenchman begins, as I shall shew in the following chapters. As for the soule I must confesse that they are all created in tempore, and that they are all of the same species, and that God doth with one action create and infuse them into the organicall body. And if faith did not teach me, I should never beleeve, that French and Spanish soules were of the same nature. Yet I finde, that if we consider the soule of it selfe, and without any reference to the body of either Nation, the [Page] soule it selfe is neither French nor Spanish: And this specifi­call unitie which Divinity ad­mits between them, is not against that which I say; for considering the soule within the body, it is no more indifferent, but deter­mined to bee either Spanish or French.

Wherefore I say, that the soule determined into a French body, hath her powers quite contrary to a Spanish one. First the French understanding hath its apprehen­sion very quicke, and with a great deale of ease will goe through any difficulty that can be proposed unto it: yet it goeth no further, nor entreth into dee­per discourses, which depend upon the same difficulty: But with the same speedinesse as hee [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] did apprehend it, with the same it goeth away and is forgotten. Contrariwise, the Spaniards un­derstanding is slow in apprehen­ding the difficulty, but having once understood it, he will hold it fast, drawing a thousand con­sequences out of it, and sifting every point of it.

The Spaniard his understan­ding is altogether speculative, since that in all his actions, his end is no other but the contem­plation of things, without after­wards directing or settling of it upon any servile or mechanicall worke. Wherefore you shall finde few naturall Spaniards of any mechanick trade, as Shoo­maker, Taylor, Cobler, Joyner, Inne-keeper, or the like. For which I call the French to wit­nesse, [Page] who goe into Spaine, and come backe againe offended, be­cause they finde no Alehouses nor Innes as they have in France, so that sometimes they may tra­vell three dayes and not come at an Inne, whereby they are con­strained to carry meat with them in their bags, and wine in their bottles. The French understan­ding is altogether practicall, be­ing it is not content with the on­ly knowledge of things, but learnes them for to make use of them therein, where he may reap some profit by it, and so is not idle, but to avoid idlenesse em­ployes it selfe in any manner of exercise; and thence growes the variety of trades in that Nation. The greatest part of your French wits addict themselves to the stu­die [Page] of the Law and Canons, and very few study Positive or Schoole Divinitie. Amongst the Spaniards few study the Law, and almost all Divinitie.

The French understanding, though it receive and hold things concerning Faith and Religion for infallible, yet it cannot stay and fixe it selfe on them, but will see, consider, and also judge whe­ther that which faith sayes is as he meanes, and finding some dif­ficulty, he runs his boat a ground, beleeving himselfe onely, and denying that which others hold. The Spaniard his understanding is fearfull, and humble in that which concernes faith, and de­termination of the Church. So that as soone as any Article of faith is propounded unto him, he [Page] presently sets bounds to all his knowledge, wisedome, and dis­course, and not onely strives not to know whether that bee so or no, which the faith sets downe, but useth all the meanes hee can to avoid speculation thereon, fearing to fall into some errour through the frailty of his under­standing. Whence groweth the punctuall obedience which the Spaniards yeeld to the Church of Rome, and the difference and dissention that is thereupon a­mongst the French.

The French man will re­solve upon businesses of grea­test importance, when he is in most company, being not di­sturbed by any tumult, noise, or outcrie: so that I have noted in this nation, that your Princes, [Page] Lords, and other persons of quality, will dispatch their com­missions, and other weighty bu­sinesses sitting at table, the eating being no disturbance to the au­dience which they give to a thousand people: and sometimes they will sit at meales and have one of each side of them, who at the same time will talke to them, and they will answer them all as punctually, as if they were shut up privately in a chamber, without any distur­bance and had nothing to doe, but to hearken to them, which speake to them. All this is con­trary to the Spanish understan­ding, who if hee have any busi­nesse of consequence, retires himself into some solitary place, and is such an enemy of compa­ny [Page] and tumult, that if a fly comes buzzing by his eare, when he is in the depth of his businesse it is enough to hinder his resolution.

In the second power of the soul which is the memory, there is contradiction, & antipathy, since the French mans is altogether concerning the present: I mean, that all his actions have none other end, but that which they then have and possesse, remem­bring neither that which is past, nor that which may happen: and so for a content and pleasure in hand, they forget all past adversi­ties, and make no count of any thing which may come, though they know assuredly, that that very occasion once past, it shall surely happen to them. The Spaniards are quite contrary, [Page] who weigh all their actions with the scale of what is past, and what is to come; not plunging themselves, in the content, and enjoyment of the present, with­out thinking, weighing, or e­steeming all inconveniences which may ensue: and there­fore reducing this point to two words, I say: that the French mans memory is about the pre­sent, if one may beare present things in memory: and the Spa­niards is of that which is past, and is to come: the French will easily remember, or forget a thing, being quickly angry for any present wrong done to them, and easily forget and par­don it: Your Spaniards must be much urged before they will re­member an offence, but once [Page] had in minde, they will hardly forget it. I could make a whole book and a large volume, of the contrarieties, and antipa­thies which are in their wills, if I might speak all that which truly I might, without distasting of neither nation: I will there­fore be content, without tou­ching the vertues or vices, which might bee found in either, God onely being perfect, and with­out fault, to say that there is no nation in the world so patient, and suffering, as the Spanish na­tion is; so that it will never quar­rell nor contend, unlesse it be upon a more then urgent occasi­on, which must prick him on to it. The French contrariwise, if you doe them but a haires breadth of offence or injury, he [Page] presently makes a breach, and will never rest till they be reven­ged by fighting.

The Spaniards are true, firme, and constant in their loves; so that many times they goe be­yond the bounds of affection, adoring that which they love, and with so much fidelity, that they would bee afraid to annoy it so much as with a thought, and they inviolably preserve this faith; no chance whatsoever, be­ing able to remove them from what they professe, yea they are so affected to their will, that ma­ny times they lose their judge­ment, which never happens to the French who are so mutable in their wills, and purposes, and so voluble that having set their affection upon one, they will [Page] settle it upon a hundred more, if so many should come to them. And if any there be, as there are many, that have not this defect: yet their affections are to changeable, that the least anger in the world, will change their fire of love into a colder snow, then that which is in winter upon the Pyrenean mountaines.

A French man that is in his Mistrisses favour, will doe what he can to let his friendes and all the world know his being in fa­vour, and his being acceptable unto her: a thing much abhor­red by the Spaniard, who if he be in any such predicament, with all care and diligence, will seeke to hide his content from his friends, and all the world, and e­ven from himselfe, if it were pos­sible. [Page] Finally, in this particuler they have two contrary moti­ons; The French man seekes to have that seene, which lies hid­den. The Spaniard seekes no­thing more, then to hide that which is outward and in light.

The Spaniards delight ex­treamly, in outward apparance, and honour, caring more to sa­tisfie the world, then for their owne interests; so that they care not for suffering want or misery, so that it be not known: and there are some who being in places that they must goe abroad, handsome in cloathes, want will bring them to that extremity, that they will fast two daies to have a handsome cloak, and a starched ruffe, to goe abroad in, and they will carry themselves [Page] so lustily, well disposed, and haughty, that you would thinke they had kept a very good house. Contrariewise the French have no other end in their actions, but their proper interest, and plea­sure, so that if he may but fare well in his diet, he cares not what the world can say: and if necessity sorce him to it, he will sell his cloake, his sword, yea his very shirt, and drawers; and af­ter he hath consumed them, hee will goe forth naked if need be into the street, to give his friends satisfaction; holding it no dis­grace to say that he hath sold them to buy food. If a Spani­ard be so neere driven that hee must sell his cloathes, to buy food; hee will first sell his shirt▪ seeing that with his doublet, and [Page] ruffe, he covers the want of it; and if his need increases he will sell his doublet, covering his bo­dy with his cloake, after his doublet goes his sword, after that his ruffe; and the last thing of all is his cloake. But the French man when he is in want, doth quite contrary, beginning where the Spaniard ends, and the first thing hee sells is his cloake, next his doublet, then his britches, and last of all his shirt: in want there is none more valiant and fearlesse then the Spaniard; nor is there any are more timorous then the French, if he want victualls. A Spaniard will live three daies upon a peece of bread, and will not bee dismaid, or shew losse of cou­rage, but if the French man [Page] wants his pottage but one day he thinkes himselfe lost and un­done.

A Spaniards generositie is no­table when he begs an almes; see­ing hee will never confesse hee doth it for necessity, but by some accident or disaster; that he was forced to save his life and his honour, to cloath himselfe in a poore habit, & beg in the streets; and the words he useth when he begs shall bee these or the like: Please you, Sir, to doe some cur­tesie for a poore cavallier, who is come out of his Countrey for such a mischance; that hee hath beene forced to cloath himselfe in this habit as you see: And when you know who it is that begs (as long it shall not bee be­fore you doe know) you will [Page] thinke your selfe happy that you pleasured a man of my conditi­on and qualitie; and if by chance he that hears him, and hearkens to his complete speeches, aske him who hee is, and what mis­chance he hath had; having first made him sweare that he wil not discover him, he will answer that he is nephew to an Earle or Duke, or brother to the Admirall of Castile, and that a great Prin­cesse falling in love with him, he conveyed her out of her fathers house in mans apparell, which being discovered by her parents, he was forced to absent himselfe and live in that fashion unknown, till his friends had made peace; and hee will say that he hath fif­teene or twenty thousand crowns a year, and eight or ten Baronies: [Page] Finally, the Spaniard then shews his generosity most, when hee sees himselfe most crossed. But if a Frenchman comes to that passe, that he hath not a peny, nor any thing to sell for food, good Lord who can rehearse his inven­tions! his stratagems, his wry mouths, and shruggings, to make his misery knowne, and to draw men to bestow an almes upon him? Hee will shrinke up his shoulders, crosse his hands, fall on his knees, beat his breast, weepe, and with a dolefull hum­ble voice full of anguish, will de­sire you to give him a farthing, to buy him bread, seeing he hath eaten nothing in three dayes; he will say he hath nothing in this world that he can depend upon, nor any that can afford him any [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] comfort, that hee is altogether wretched, forsaken of his kind­red, parents and friends: finally, he shewes so much lowlinesse, and faints so, that hee should bee harder then any stone, that hea­ring a relation so full of compas­sion and misery, should not be­stow something upon him.

The contrariety of body which is betweene the French and the Spaniards is so manifest, that it would bee time lost that were spent in discoursing long upon it; it being manifestly seene, that the most part of Spa­niards are little, and your French tall. Your Spaniards are brown, your French faire: your Spani­ards brave blacke haire, your French red or flaxen: your French weare long haire, your Spaniards [Page] short: your French have spare legs, your Spaniards fleshy, see­ing a Spaniards calfe of his legge will bee as big as a Frenchmans thigh: your French let their beard grow, your Spaniards cut it, leaving nothing but the musta­choes and a little tuffe in the middle: your French are cho­lericke, your Spaniards flegma­ticke: your Spaniards are slow, your French quick: your French are light, your Spaniards solid: your French are merry, your Spa­niards melancholy: your French are bold, your Spaniards shame­faced: your French are preci­pitious, your Spaniards warie: your French liberall, your Spa­niards sparing. From these may bee considered infinite thinges which shall alwayes [Page] be found wholly contrary.

CHAP. XII.
Of the contrariety that is betweene the French and the Spaniards in their clothing.

IF one consider a Spaniards ha­bit, you shall finde it quite con­trary to the French; the Spaniard from the waste upward being broad and thicke, and the French man contrariwise, from the mid­dle upwards is slender, his dou­blet being very close and strait. Amongst a thousand Spaniards you shall finde none but weares a cassack, and amongst a thou­sand French, you shall not finde one that will weare it: there is not a French man but will in [Page] summer weare his doublet open before and behind, holding it a stately thing to shew their shirt: The Spaniard although there should fall lances of fire, will never unbutton himselfe, hol­ding it disgracefull to shew ones shirt: A Spainards hat is high in the crowne, and narrow in the brimmes; the French quite con­trary: The neck and collar of a Spaniard is close before; the French mans open: That which the Spaniard weares upon his armes, the French man weares it upon his thighes, wearing long sleeves, and short breeches▪ and the French man wears very long breeches, and his doublet sleeves very close: The Spaniard wears garters, and the French man weares none at all: The French [Page] fancy weares two great roses which cover almost all his shoo: The Spanish pompe is to weare such a small latchet that you can scarce perceive it: your French weare high hollowed and pointed heeles, your Spani­ard weares them low, broad, and flat: The Spaniard weares his stockings drawne up smooth, that you can scarce take hold of them with a paire of pincers, the French man lets them fall loose, desiring to have foure plaites just above his heele: The Spaniards weare a long cloake and let it hang downe; the French weare it short, and so tuckt up, that you can scarce see any thing of it but the cape: A French man cannot hold his armes under his cloake as he walkes the streets, the Spa­niards [Page] never hold them out: your French weare a little sword and with small hilts, and han­ging before them: your Spani­ards weare their rapiers with large hilts, and weare it upon their side: your French man weares his dagger on the middle of his girdle: your Spaniard hangs it on the one side: your French man when hee goeth to fight in duell, will put of his doublet, and his shirt too: the Spaniard wears his shirt, his dou­blet, his coate, and his jacke of maile: the French man begins to button his doublet from the necke downe towards the waste: the Spaniard begins at the waste and ends at the necke: the Spa­niard when hee makes himselfe ready puts on his doublet first; [Page] the French man last: the French man in cold weather puts on a wastecoate in the night, and puts it off in the day, because he will not seem thicke wasted: The Spaniard weares it the day, and pull it off at night.

CHAP. XIII.
The contrarieties in eating and drinking.

THE Spaniards ordinary rule is to eate twice a day, a [...] at dinner and at supper: The French man foure times eating besides those two meales a [...] breakefast, and afternoones nun­ching: The Spaniard brings in fruit at the beginning of meales, your French at the latter end: [Page] your Spaniards have every one their severall dishes to eate pot­tage in: your French eate all in one platter: The meate which is set on a Spaniards table is cut in small peeces: The French mans is whole: your French will put all their fingers in the dish to take out a sop, your Spaniard will very carefully take it up with two fingers, if he have no forke: the Spaniard reserves what good meate remaines at dinner, for supper: the French man never brings meate to the table againe: the French man eates his boiled meate first; the Spaniard his [...]ost meate: the Spaniard eates [...]allads onely at the supper, and at the beginning of it: your French man at every meale, and at the [...]atter end: the French man after [Page] meals walks and goes: the Spa­niard rests and sleeps: when the Spaniard drinks he fils water out first, and then wine; the French the wine first, and then the wa­ter: the French man alwaies talkes while hee is eating; if the Spaniard speakes a word it is a wonder: the French man cals a­loud for his drinke, the Spaniard beckens, and saies nothing: the Spaniard eates much bread, and little meate, the French much meate and little bread: the Spa­niard eates very leasurely; the French man very fast.

CHAP. XIIII.
Of their Antipathy in going.

IT is a strange thing to see a company of French men wal­king in the street; for they will all, if there were a hundred, walke side by side, taking up the whole bredth of the street, and they goe as close as grapes in a cluster, stumbling, falling, and rising, yet never forsaking their ranke; neither advancing for­wards, nor tarrying behinde, though they meet with other company, and bee justled by them; or though they justle, and be ready to overthrow one ano­ther: The Spaniards doe quite contrary; for if they be above [Page] three in company, they will goe together but onely two and two, so that when they are many, they make as it were a procession: when the French walke alwaies in their turnings they keepe their places: the Spaniards change at every turne, those going into the middle which were on the sides: the French ordinarily walke as fast, as if they had Sergeants at their heeles: the Spaniards walke with such leasure and gravity, that they that see them, thinke they have lately beene sicke, or have yet some quartane ague: your French use to walke about the city booted and spurd, the Spaniards cannot indure it; and if they doe chance to walke in bootes, they will not weare spurs: your French when they [Page] are a horseback, ride alwaies a full trot: the Spaniards ride lea­surely: The French mens foot­boyes runne after their Masters when they ride: the Spaniards go before: your Spaniards on horse­backe weare their cloakes and swords, and their mans sword too: amongst the French, the Page carries his Masters sword and cloake: if a French man walkes pensive, he lets his cloak hang upon one shoulder, and holds his hand upon the pom­mell of his sword, the Spani­ard casts out his legs, and turnes up his mustachioes: when your French goe together in the street they leape, laugh, and make a noise, that you may heare them a mile off: the Spaniards walke upright, stiffe, and grave, say no­thing, [Page] nor make any uncivill or unmodest action: the French man when he meets a friend, sa­lutes him with his whole body, bending downe his head, kissing his hands, and making legs, and stand halfe an houre in such a­ction: the Spaniard holds his body and his head, as stiffe as a stake, & only with the pulling off his hat, requites the prolixe cur­tesies, and reiterated ceremo­nies of the French: a French man though noble will make no difficulty, to pull an apple out of his pocket, or buy it in the street, and eate it before all the world: a thing so abhorred by the Spa­niard that hee would not doe it for the world, fearing to offend them that look upon him: when the French man seeth some body [Page] a farre off and would becken to him, he lifts up his hand towards his shoulders: the Spaniard casts his hand downe, holding it towards his feet.

CHAP. XV.
Of the contrariety in speaking.

HE that would discourle of all the particulers, which might be spoken of in this point, must of necessity make a great volume of it, wherefore to shun prolixity to which I am an ene­my, I will only touch the proper­ty of these two languages, & also of the third which is the Italian: Some curious wits faine that these three languages had their originall with the beginning of [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] the world, and that they were all three used between God, the serpent, and man: They say that when God commanded Adam he should not eat of the tree of knowledge, he spake to him in Spanish, shewing thereby that the property of that language was gravity, imperiousnes, com­mand, and noblenesse: after God had given him this command they say the serpent, the better to induce him to sin, and to dis­obey Gods command, spake to him in Italian, to shew us that a­mongst all languages there is none so perswasive, sweet, and affected, as the Italian: after our first parents had sinned God called them, and asking them the cause of their disobedience, they answered him in French, [Page] there being no language to free and excuse themselves like un­to it.

As for the rest it is seene by experience that the French ordi­narily do speak much, and aloud, the Spaniards a little, and softly. If one aske a Spaniard why hee came out of Spaine, hee will an­swer that the King sent for him, because he should go treat about some businesse of great impor­tance. And if you aske a French­man the same question, hee will say he went a pilgrimage to St. Iaques in Galicia, or to visit the holy Crucifixe of Burges, and that his fellow dying in an Ho­spitall, he staid behinde looking for some company to goe home into his Countrey with him. Fi­nally, you shall get nothing out [Page] of a Spaniard that is out of Spain, but greatnesse, nobility, and au­thority; and from a Frenchman when he is in Spaine, you shall heare nothing but abasing of himselfe.

Your Spaniards have a noted property, different from all o­ther Nations, which is, that be­ing out of their Countrey, they love one another, honour, and re­spect one another extreamly, though at home they have beene mortall enemies. And if any one questions him cōcerning his fel­low, asking him who, and what he is, though you question him about the poorest fellow in the world, and the sonne of a cobler, he will answer with great admi­ration, and say, Is it possible Sir that you doe not know that ca­vallier, [Page] and that you have not heard of him (though perhaps he hath never a shooe on his feet) I dare lay a wager, that there is scarce in the City or Kingdome a childe of five yeares old but doth know him, at least if he bee of any fashion. You shall under­stand Sir, that he is sonne to the Maggiorasco of Castile, and of the greatest families of Spaine; and there are many that say, hee is second cousin to King Don Se­bastian: yet hee goes disguised, and in the habit you see, by rea­son of some mischance; and I beseech you, Sir, not to discover him: for if the King should know of it, hee would take it very ill, that he did not goe directly to a­light at Court: and hee would not for all the world be known. [Page] If a Frenchman, or any of ano­ther Nation, meets with another Countrey-man out of France, presently they become mortall enemies, speaking the worst they can one of another; and if any one desires to know, and be in­formed what his companion is, he will with all manner of con­tempt, say: Sir, that is a French­man, a poore Carpenters sonne, whose fathers goods were all ta­ken away for debt, and had not above eight or ten crowns left, with which hee bought that suit at the Brokers, which makes him seeme to bee some fine fellow; but before foure dayes comes to an end, hee will sell it, and then you shall see him goe a begging: and so will speake the worst hee can of him.

[Page] All the industry in the world cannot make a Frenchman keep a secret, but that hee must needs reveale it: And all the drugges in the Indies shall not get a secret from a Spaniard. Finally, all the Spaniards actions are contrary to the French, and there is no con­cordancie nor resemblance in a­ny of them.

CHAP. XVI.
Of the fruits of the said Anti­pathy.

THe aforenamed, and many other contrarieties, which manifest the hatred and mortall enmity between these two Na­tions, were sowen by that accur­sed Satan, the enemy of man­kind, [Page] planting this accursed root between them, that so the head being infected, all the members might also bee out of order, and overthrowne, with such extrava­gancie of Religions, Customes, and Lawes, as wee now see over all the world: since that we may freely say, that the liberty which barbarous nations have to mul­tiply their beastly Customes, Statutes and Edicts, proceeds from nothing else, but from the enmity and disagreement of these two: and that the greatnesse of many Princes, who at this time have great dominion and command in divers parts of the world, groweth from the small confidence these have in one a­nother, each doubting to lose their owne, whilest they engage [Page] themselves in the conquest of o­thers.

Who makes any question but if they would with one accord have communicated that won­derfull talent, of knowledge, ver­tue, and learning which God hath bestowed upon them, but that they might have gotten out of the divells hands an infinite number of soules, which for want of teaching, lie now buri­ed, in the darknesse and chaos of ignorance and error? And wee see that by reason of our sinnes, and to the great affronting of the valour and greatnesse of these two nations, a barbarous and ti­rant King governes all the East: Christendome also in part yeel­ding him obedience, hommage, and tribute, and all the world [Page] honours, and holds him for a great Lord, to the great dispa­ragement of the honour due to the Catholick faith, her chiefe, and defenders: yet it hath no o­ther ground nor cause, but this accursed hatred, and pernicious enmity: For the strength and va­lour of these two nations lying buried in themselves, necessarily their enemies must increase, and so innumerable heresies, errors, sects, and unbeleefes spread themselves abroad in the world, by which the body of the Church is daily persecuted and evill intreated: wherefore the divell being cunning and well experienced, made use of the in­vention and strategeme of the good shepeard, when a troope of wolves fall upon his sheepe, [Page] which is to set his dogs, and mastifs upon them, that whilest they two fight, his flocke may passe securely and untouched: A cunning and marveilous in­vention of the divell to come to his accursed ends: He saw plain­ly, that if he left the strength and mouthes of these two valiant Li­ons unmuzelled, they would have swallowed up all infidelity and barbarisme, filling it with all manner of holinesse and vertue, so that there would have nothing redounded unto him but shame and confusion: wherefore fear­ing to lose the command he had over the infidels, he caused ha­tred and discord to come be­tween these two nations, and so diverted them, that they might not disturbe the increase and [Page] prosperity of his vassals, and truely when I consider this point, I am astonished with won­der, being not able to imagine or think, what vaile or cataract, so blinds these Nations, as that they cannot see these evills; and that they will suffer their enemies to grow great, and exalt themselves before their faces; to the blemish of that reputation they hold in the world; it being thought that they are the two greatest Mo­narchies of it.

And if the zeale of their own honour did not move them to open their eies, and to take it ill, that they being stiled the one most Christian, and the other most Catholick; a barbarous infidell and tirant, should usurpe and command the holy Sepul­chre, [Page] and that he should entitle himselfe grand Signior: and the continuall cries of poore Grecia, Bulgarie, Sclavonia, and Arme­nia, and many other poore Chri­stian Provinces, which onely implore the favour, and protecti­on of those two Nations or ei­ther of them, for to bring them out of the wretched slavery and servitude wherein they live: yet might they be moved to com­passion; by reason that it is one of the easiest & securest enterprises that is in the world; as it is well knowne to them who have been in those parts.

This is the snare wherewith the divell keeps tied the strength of these two Nations, and the vaile which hee hangs before their eies: there being at this [Page] time an infinite number of vali­ant souldiers buried in sloth, who study nothing, but how to undo and breake the Spanish power, and policy: who if they were imploied against the infidells would performe more heroicall exploits then Homer writes of Hector and Vlysses. With such perswasions and deceits doth this cursed enemy bewitch a great number of Cavalliers & Gentle­men that live contented with their meane fortunes, who if they would employ their valours and warlike courages in Turky, would not make plaine Cavalliers, but mighty Monarchs. In the same manner are in France many Il­lustrious Princes, and magnani­mous Lords, which following the ordinary course of the Court, [Page] and service of their King, live at home, who if they did put to ex­ecution the inclination of their noble mindes in Africke or in Asia, would conquer more Pro­vinces then Ferdinand Cortese did in America. Wherefore I know not by what diabolicall witchcraft such noble understan­dings are blinded, that they doe not perceive that by this hatred and enmity, both Nations lose many Crownes and Kingdomes which they might have subject to their dominions. And that their union should not onely not suffer themselves to hurt one an­other, but neither of them to bee hurt by other Nations, but be as­sured also, that such a concord and amity could have no other end nor issue, but the service of [Page] God, the exaltation of his Church, the peace of the world, the banishing of infidelity, and the increase of the common good. Things which this pesti­ferous venome of enmity, trou­bles, and hinders, there redoun­ding from it nothing but multi­plicity of heresies in Europe, in­stitution of sects and religions in the East, the observance of beast­ly and salvage customes and sta­tutes in those parts of Libia and Ethiopia, the exaltation of Ma­homets law in Africke and Asia, the Turks swelling pride in Con­stantinople, the little respect and discourtesie of the King of Fesse and Marocco, the poore Chri­stians miseries which live among the infidels, the captivity of the holy Sepulchre, the martyrdoms [Page] and torments of an infinite num­ber of slaves in heathen lands, the multitude of Lordships and States, which know no Kings nor Lords, the persecution of the Catholicke Church, the pertur­bations and commotions of com­mon-wealths, the small security of neighbours, the contempt of those who are farre off, and the boldnesse of vassalls. All these things happen by reason of the hatred and enmity of these two nations, which certainly if they were as well united in conformi­ty of wills, as they are in confe­deration by way of marriage, scarce the world were able to re­sist the force of such an union. In witnesse whereof I will alledge a reason which an old and wise Moore told me upon a Friday in [Page] Constantinople, who after hee had long questioned with mee concerning the manner of living of the Kings of Europe, and par­ticularly of these two kingdoms, which they confesse to bee the chiefe and the most powerfull of Christendome, he told me that every time they came into their Moscheas to say their prayers, they prayed to God that the ha­tred of these two Nations might last for ever, that the one being continually suspicious and mis­trustfull of the other, they might not remember them, nor thinke upon taking armes against them.

CHAP. XVII.
Of the cause of the enmity and an­tipathy of the Spaniards and the French.

I Have endeavoured divers times to finde out by speulati­on the fundamentall cause of the disdaine and hatred betweene these two Nations: Because that though it is true, that the Divell hath been the principall authour of this antipathy and discord, to hinder the fruit which might grow through their union, yet we must presume, that hee found in them some ground and root to increase such a cursed dissention, and pernitious poyson.

Some doe attribute this con­trariety to the difference of the [Page] starres, and their influences, as their universall cause, and say, that the situation of the heavens, and constellation of Spaine, be­ing farre different from that which the French have, conse­quently the temperament and humours of both must bee very different. They confirme this with Hippocrates doctrine in his booke de Aere, Aquis & Locis, which saith, that the divers con­stitutions of the starres, is cause of the variety of temperaments, complexions and humours of man. And verily hee that con­siders the humours of these two Nations in order with the con­stellation and change of time, shall find some likelihood in this reason; seeing that in Spaine, if hot weather once begins, it con­tinueth [Page] in the same vigour three or foure months, there being in all that time no notable change; and of the same compasse is the Spanish humour: seeing that set­ting upon a purpose, hee keeps himselfe firme in it, without any change or alteration at all. It is otherwise in France: for there, bee it Winter or Summer, the cold nor the heat, nor the faire weather, never lasts three dayes together; but the variablenesse of this constellation is such, that a man can never perceive what time of the yeare it is. The inha­bitants of Paris know this to bee true, because that in one day there you shall have the weather change eight or ten times, the morning or day breake being ve­ry faire, and two hours after there [Page] falling a deluge of rain: after the which, the Sunne will appeare more bright and resplendent then in the month of June: and hee shall scarce have spread his beams, but you shall heare a noise of thunder, lightning and winde, as though the world were sink­ing: and therefore there being a dependencie from the influence and constellation, the French, as subjected to an inconstant cly­mate, must needs be voluble and inconstant in their determinati­ons. And therfore hee that will assigne for the reason of this An­tipathy and hatred, the diversity of climates, will say, that the Di­vell grounded his malice upon nature, making use of the diffe­rences of the starres.

This reason, though in appea­rance [Page] it bears some shew of truth, yet it doth not resolve our que­stion: seeing that though the starres have dominion over na­turall things, yet they do not ex­tend their force to acts of abso­lute command of the will, which are hatred and love, and therfore we must confesse, that those who bring this reason, that the starres encline things subject unto them, (yet naturall ones) and by reason of the league, which it hath with their wills, this influence may somewhat touch them, moving them in some manner, but yet it cannot force them.

And since this matter gives me occasion of speaking of a dif­ficulty, which is commonly handled by curious and learned men, I will not passe it over with [Page] silence, without speaking that which my small talent will af­foord me. All the world almost marvailes at some things which the Astrologers fore-tell, which depend on mans wil, over which no constellation, influence, or ce­lestiall vertue, hath power to move it or force it; but contrari­wise the will and discourse com­mand and governe the starres with their influences. Whence came that common Proverb, Sa­piens dominabitur astris: and yet wee see that many times they prognosticate the truth, and so punctually, as if the starres did directly enforce mans will [...] whence holding such predicti­ons to bee miraculous, they call the Astrologians Magicians, no [...] beleeving that such things may [Page] be known by naturall reasons, thinking it impossible, that the command of the starres should go beyond materiall things, un­der the which are not compre­hended the powers and actions of our soule.

Surely they which finde great difficulty in this, doe it not with­out great ground: but if they [...]hall consider the order which our understanding and the will [...]old in producing of their acti­ [...]ns, they shall finde, that it may [...]e done only by the perfect spe­ [...]ulation of the starres; without [...]oing beyond the bounds of na­ [...]re. Since all will yeeld to me, [...]at the starres have their influ­ [...]nces in sublunary things; and [...]at they have great power over [...]aturall things, they being go­verned [Page] by them: and that being true, the consequence followes, that the celestiall vertue and in­fluence, shall have command o­ver that which is natural in man, as might bee the body with the senses, to which our soule is so linked, and so depends upon them, that it can produce no act without them, representing unto them the matter, which is the in­telligible species; it necessarily followes, that by reason of this union and streight bond of ami­ty which they reciprocally hold, the soule must somewhat partici­pate of the dominion which di­rectly falls upon the senses. And although by this meanes they do not force, but onely incline, ye [...] our will, after sinne, remained so contrary to the law of Reason [Page] and so annexed to the sensitive appetite, that it seldome with­stands or contradicts it, repro­ving those things which it pro­pounds unto it; which senses be­ing governed by the influence and power of the starres, as sub­ject and depending on them, the will must needs follow that which the appetite propounds unto it. And therefore the A­strologers judging the actions of the will by the influence which governes the sensitive appetite, many times prognosticate the truth, though absolutely it de­pend on the will of man.

From this doctrine, though true, it followeth not, that the in­fluence of the starres onely, and the diversity of the clymates are the fundamentall causes of the [Page] hatred & antipathy of these two nations: being there are many o­ther nations in the world, farre more different in climates, and constellations, which have not so much hatred and contrariety a­mongst themselves, as these two: we must therefore find out some other reason, more powerfull, then this of the starres.

I remember I have read in the histories of France, that King Lewis the eleventh, came to meet the King of Castile upon the confines of France, to con­fer with him about some busi­nesse of importance. This King though magnanimous and gene­rous, had notwithstanding his particuler humour, as other men have, and so he ordinarily wore a leaden medall in his hat, his [Page] cloathes, and other French mens who were his followers were ordinary, and of meane stuffe; so that he was but meanly cloa­thed without any statelinesse or pompe: the Spaniards did cloath themselves the best they could, using all the pompe they could, beleeving that the King of France would have come with­all the greatnesse and variety as they expected from so great a King: and seeing him other­wise, they began to despise him, and strangely to scoffe the French men; where they concei­ved such hatred against the Spa­niards, that they could never since forget this disgrace and af­front: and if we will say that the devill at this meeting grounded the enmity, and antipathy which [Page] now a daies raignes, we shall not say amisse, seeing a farre lesser ground then this will serve his turne.

To all that is said before may be added a great motive which these two Nations have had to contemne and abhorre one ano­ther; which is that in times past, there came not out of France in­to Spaine any people of sort and note, but onely poore beg­gerly and needy people of the frontiers, as Guascons, Biernois, and others, who went as they do to this day in white round caps like a trencher upon their heads, bare legged, with wooden shoos which they call esclops upon their feet; these with a base kind of avarice will put themselves to any base office, as keeping of [Page] cowes, and hogs, to sweepe chimneies or the like, and though in their eating they bee sober e­nough, for with an onion, or a head of garlicke, and a peece of bread they will passe the whole day, yet in their drinking they are unreasonable, and all their gaines goeth in wine, which be­ing strong and heady, presen [...]ly makes them drunke, so that for the most part of the day they go reeling and falling about the streets, to the great scandall of the Spaniards, amongst whom there is no greater infamy or dis­honour then to bee drunke: wherefore the Spaniards who saw no other French men but these, & thought that all the rest had been like them, did abhor them, and conceive much enmi­ty [Page] against them, and contempt of them; the same occasion had the French, for very few or no Spaniards of fashion going into France, and they seeing none but poore and wretched people who went to bee touched for the Kings evill, verily beleeved that all other Spaniards had been of the same kinde; and so from that basenesse they tooke occasi­on to hold the Spaniards in little esteeme; and besides this con­tempt to encrease this mortall enmity; each of these foresaid reasons in my minde, are suffici­ent occasions and motives of the hatred and disdaine we finde be­tween these two Nations, espe­cially the divell mixing his care and industry with it: But if I should speake mine opinion, I [Page] think there cannot be a more po­werfull reason given for this an­tipathy, then the naturall contra­riety of these two Nations hu­mors: and so it being so hard a thing to force nature with rea­son, I doe not wonder, if the will in which consists hatred or love, keeps company with nature, and followes her steps, obeying her contrarieties and repugnances; and we must imagine, that to move the will so much the more to the contrariety of humors, the divell did helpe forward all the forenamed accidents; so that the constellation, the diversity of humours, the contempt of both nations, and the divell joi­ning together, there could no­thing be hoped for, but a mor­tall hatred, and the antipathy [Page] which now we see; the remedy of which lieth in God only; see­ing I doe not beleeve that on earth there is any antidote for such a pestilent poison.

CHAP. XVIII.
That the conjunction, and confe­deracy of these two crownes, is a thing which proceeds from hea­ven.

AMongst the great and infal­lable truths which the A­postle St. Paul writ, to lift us up towards the knowledge of God, me thinkes that is a marveilous one when he saith, Invisibilia Dei per ea quae facta sunt intelle­ctu conspiciuntur, which is as much to say, that in all and eve­ry [Page] creature; shines the infinite power of the divine wisdome; and that they are all like so many tongues, to declare unto us, what the almighty power of their author is; wherefore that must be a grosse and materiall under­standing, which by the contem­plation of things created, could not reach to the knowledge of the perfection and noblenesse of of him that made them.

The same was the royall Prophet his intent when he said, Coeli enarrant gloriam Dei & ope­ra manuum eju [...] annuntiat firma­mentum: whereby is knowne the imperfection and misery of our understanding, subject only to the knowledge of the materia­lities of this world, and unable to reach at the knowledge of [Page] things which are beyond natures bounds; since that in these (as A­ristotle saith) he is as the owle or the night-bat is with the sunne beames, when it shines most cleare and bright: and the same Psalmist knew this truth, when he with such great fervency cra­ved of God; Revela oculos meos & considerabo mirabilia de lege tua: holding it for a certain, that it was impossible to arrive to the knowledge of such high myste­ries, with the imperfection of nature onely; wherefore the su­preame architect finding that there could bee no equality nor proportion found between his greatnesses, and our humane un­derstanding, they being infinite, and this materiall & limited: he ordained that man should come [Page] to the knowledge of his infinite power, by meanes of the visible effects of this world.

Whence we shall see by this reason that God at all times did communicate himself to men by materiall, and visible means, as in the guiding of the people of Isra­el, by day with a pillar of cloud, & by night with a pillar of fire, making mount Sinai to shake whē he gave the Law, affrighting them with thunder & lightning, sending fire from heaven, the deluge and the like, by which he did accommodate himselfe to the imperfection of our un­derstanding. For if God should not use materiall things, and ea­sie to bee understood, perhaps the understanding of man, would either attribute such ef­fects [Page] to some other cause, or would not know from whence they proceeded. For it is cer­taine, that when God decreed to destroy the world with the floud, hee could as well have an­nihilated and destroyed it with­out filling of it full of water, or doing any other manifest and vi­sible action; but it would not have seemed so great a wonder to men, if they were all fallen dead without any manifest cause, as the rivers over-flowing of their bankes, and the opening of the cataracts and windows of heaven was.

And though God could have destroyed those accursed cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, with­out any apparent signe, with making them fall simply, with­out [Page] any other visible effect; yet he would have their ruine be by meanes of a materiall cause, which should manifest the great power of him who sent to doe such an execution, as that was, to make fire (as the sacred text speaketh) and brimstome to come downe from heaven, a signe that hee could make even the grossest understanding know what the power of divine justice was: for if God had used some insensible meanes, the cause would not have been knowne, nor his great might and power. So also when hee gave the Israe­lites their freedome, taking them out of Egypt, hee could in the night have opened the gates of the citie, and made them come out, or by day have blinded all [Page] the people of Egypt, that they might not have seene them, or finde some other meanes to free them out of bondage; but if he had done so, hee had not caused that feare which materiall means did, and the visible tokens which he shewed, in turning the waters into bloud, filling the land with Locusts and Frogges, and Flies, with other marvailous wonders & effects; by means of which, all that barbarous people, and even Pharaoh himselfe confessed the omnipotencie of the God of the Hebrewes, and besought Moses, and his brother Aaron to pray for them, that those plagues might be taken away from them, and that they would obey him. And if God had used some other signe as had not been so plaine [Page] and manifest as this, and that which hee used at the red Sea, peradventure the Egyptians would not have attributed the deliverance of their slaves to the power of God: nor the people of Israel, who was rough and of a hard beliefe, would have belie­ved that he by his omnipotence onely could have wrought any such effect.

In the law of Grace God used the same meanes to make him­selfe knowne, seeing that all the miracles which hee wrought (as the Evangelists set them downe) were done by sensible and mate­riall signes; from which every grosse and rough understanding might gather the greatnesse and the supreme power of the Crea­tor. For who could be so grosse, [Page] but seeing sight restored to a blinde man with onely laying a little dirt upon his eyes, might not know that the dirt of it selfe had no such vertue; and that therefore hee who applied that medicine, had a command above nature? And who will but say, seeing a Lazarus, who had lyen in the grave foure dayes, raysed onely by saying, Lazarus come forth, that hee had power over death? And that the satisfying five thousand people with five loaves and two fishes, onely by blessing of them, doth not infer supreme worth and power? And that seeing the healing of one, the restoring of sight to another, turning water into wine, banish­ing death by naturall means, doe not presuppose that this is a su­pernaturall [Page] power and vertue? And if that Christ had done these wonders without visible and materiall meanes, onely by his absolute power, peradventure his infinite power had not beene knowne: and therefore let us conclude with Saint Paul, that by meanes of visible and materiall things, wee come to the know­ledge of the invisible things of God, as his Infinitenesse, his Im­mensity, his Goodnesse and Om­nipotencie. And if in all nature there be any visible thing which sheweth us this divine power, it is the miraculous conjunction of these two Nations, so prodigious a one, that any grosse understan­ding may plainly perceive, that it is an immediate worke of Gods omnipotencie, which only could [Page] undoe that which the Divell with so much diligence and art had done: since we cannot ima­gine that any secondary causes could have so much worth, in­dustry and power, as in an instant to unite two natures so infinitely distant one from the other, and make them come frō an extream hatred and enmity, to the other extreame of union. And seeing that if the discord and contrarie­ty of these two Nations, had been a new or superficiall acci­dent, the onely consideration of good understandings, and the perspicuity of wise and prudent persons, might have been suffici­ent to remedy it, but being nature and antipathy, which like origi­nall sin goes by succession from the Fathers to the children, and [Page] so to the grand-children; and e­specially being fostered and maintained by the Divels ma­lice, we must infallibly beleeve, that it is the worke of heaven, and that this union was onely re­served to God, for to prevent an abysse of evils and miseries, which by the said enmity were threatned. And so God, to whose goodnesse it belongeth to dis­pose sweetly of things, having created and preserved the world by means of the union and peace of his creatures, seeing that the discord of these two Nations was sufficient almost to ruine it, stayed through his omnipoten­cie, the fury of this raging evill, and through his goodnesse and mercie, provided such a perfect and salutiferous remedy as this [Page] divine union is, that so the world might not only be freed from its imminent ruine, & the calamities which threatned it by reason of this enmity, but might also bee enriched with those pretious fruits which from this union may be expected.

And as the end which God pretended in this confederacie, is no other but this: so it is plainly knowne that the Divell with all his followers, hath not had power to hinder the execu­tion of it, though hee raised a thousand inventions, pretences, and feares, both amongst the common people, and also the most Noble, egging them on with the fire of enmity and ha­tred, to oppose themselves with all the power as might bee, a­gainst [Page] Gods decree, the Com­mon-wealths repose, and the good of the whole world: and though the Divell went loose, and puffed up, holding the victo­ry certaine with his forces, a­gainst that small aid which was promised; yet his care and labour being against the will of God, and the universall peace, I won­der not that God did send a wo­man to breake his head, through the wisdom of so good a physiti­an, whilest hee laid wait and snares for her heele.

And though there were no o­ther reason to prove that this confederacie came from heaven, this would of it selfe be a suffici­ent proofe, that wee see it was gloriously effected, against all humane endevours, and pro­pounded [Page] difficulties, and against such great oppositions, as I will now leave to the wise mans con­templation, and the pennes of o­thers, who peradventure will write of this matter. Where­fore I conclude, saying, that this conjunction being made at that time, when this antipathy was most rooted between these two Nations, wee must needs con­fesse, that it was done by divine power, since neither hatred, nor disdaine, nor the diversity of climates and humours, nor the variety of customes, nor mistrust, nor the Divels endevours were able to hinder it.

CHAP. XIX.
Of Gods marvailous invention to unite these two Nations.

IT will not be hard to perswade an understanding man, that this so important & so glorious con­federacie comes from heaven, & was ordained for the generall good of mankinde; the effects, circumstances & means of effe­cting it, having been such, and so mysterious, that they prove it to be true: and that which now stu­pifies mans understanding, is the marvailous and divine invention which God used in uniting those two Nations, so different a­mongst themselves, a meanes so [...]ngenious and soveraigne, that it [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] not bee hoped nor looked for from any other place th [...]n from that inaccessible and majesticall Consistorie of the holy Trinity: seeing that in it God hath shew­ed three effects of his immense God-head, which are, Omnipo­tencie in uniting from an infinite distance. Mercie in preventing an abysse of mischiefes, which threatned the world: and Wise­dome in establishing an union & indissoluble marriage. Where­upon wee are to consider, that God was not contented (by fin­ding out of such a way & means) to remedy the present evill, but like a good Physitian hee left an antidote and medicine to pre­serve these two Nations from a­ny infirmity or danger as might ensue.

[Page] This healthfull medicine which God sent into the world is matrimony the most effectuall and strong meanes that could be found in nature, the wills be­ing thereby so straightly knit to­gether, that they being two that are united, come to be one flesh, and so conformable and united, that it causeth one to forget fa­ther and mother and brethren, to forsake his country, his own in­terest, and even himselfe; for married folkes many times de­prive themselves of their owne liberties, to subject themselves to the content and desire of one another; wherefore marriage bringing forth such effects, wee may say that God by meanes of it uniting these two actions, found an extreame and exquisite [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] remedy, for an extreame and ex­quisite disease, there being joy­ned to it by succession an eter­nall and perfect union, out of danger of ever being lost, by reason of the stability promised in those thinges which come from heaven; where I dare say there could not have been found an inventiō more to the purpose, or more secure then this was; seeing there is nothing in the world that can mortifie the fire of enmity and discord more then the matrimoniall knot, which once contracted between two e­nemies, when they thinke the grievances and distastes which are past, they quite forget them againe, having not the heart or minde to persecute or offend so much as in thoght, those that are [Page] of their owne blood, or have any dependency of it.

The Romans (as histories re­port) made use of such remedies, when they saw themselves most persecuted by the Sabines, a­mongst whom there was so much enmity, hatred, and perse­cution, that they did destroy and ruine one another, burning their corne, spoiling their vines, and killing one another wheresoever they met; whereby other nati­ons which were not subject to them grew the stronger, and en­creased through their two en­mities, and discords: so that at the last they perceiving the dam­mages and wrongs they did themselves by persecuting one another, and the triumphs and glory which other nations got, [Page] grounding their happinesse and greatnesse upon their dis­cord, they agreed to use for a remedy the same meanes which God had used with these two nations; which was, that the Ro­mans determined to give their daughters in marriage to the Sa­bines sonnes, and the Sabines held it for an excellent good re­medy to give their daughters unto the Romans sons, that so by this mixture the evill might bee remedied, & the nations remain in peace and concord: and it is certain that though the Romans remembred the wrongs, & inju­ries, they had received at the Sa­bines hands, & that through this remembrance there might some appetite and desire of revenge be stirred up: yet when they saw [Page] that if they executed their rage and fury, they must doe it upon their owne blouds, having their daughters amongst the Sabines, they staied themselves from do­ing them any hurt: which consi­deration served also for a bridle to the Sabines, knowing that they could not use their swords against the Romans without spil­ling of their owne bloud; and so by meanes of marriage and con­federacy they forgot all passed enmity, and remained intimate and hearty friends: such and ma­ny other good things ought wee assuredly to hope for; through the meanes and confederacy which God hath ordained be­tween these two nations; for they being linked together with so firme and effectuall a knot, as [Page] matrimony, we may be sure that Spaine having matched her daughter with the sonne of France they will quite forget all enmities, rancors, & hatreds, as hi­therto have troubled their peace and quiet, to their great wrong, and dimunition of the renowne which they might have gotten if they had agreed; and will u­nite themselves, with such indis­soluble and firme amity, that there shall not be seen any signe or shadow of what is past; and their wils will be so well ordered and disposed, that neither of them will have any more intent to attempt warre, persecution, breach of faith, or any other manner of deceit against the o­ther, each of them binding their hands to their girdles for feare [Page] of doing hurt, and harming their owne bloud: moreover none can imagine but that by this con­federacy the antipathy and en­mity which was, will be quite extinguished, and ended; seeing that marriage in all respects both of law and reason, ought to bee more powerfull and effectuall in subjects that are so noble, gene­rous, prudent, Christian, and fearing God, as these two nati­ons are, then amongst barbarous, heathen, and idolatrous people, as the Sabines and the Romans were; whereby all those who are well affected to these two nati­ons, may assuredly promise themselves and hope for so per­fect and compleat a peace, and agreement, as the like hath not been seen in the world, with all [Page] the fruits and properties that from it (as proceeding from hea­ven) may or ought lawfully to be hoped for. In so happy a confede­racy I contemplate the supreame and extraordinary love that God hath shewed to these two nati­ons, giving unto them the same meanes & manner for peace and union, as hee himselfe tooke, when he was most at enmity with the world: not onely Di­vines but others also know the continuall warre and enmity which was between God and man before the incarnation of the word; they employing them­selves in nothing else but in of­fending him, with all the sinnes and wickednesse as they could, neither feare, nor shame, nor any thing else being able to refraine [Page] their disordered appetites; and these sins were so great, that there could not be five righteous men found in Sodom, no nor one to stay the vengeance of heaven; but mans nature was so corrup­ted and depraved, that God see­ing their wickednesses and sins, said in Genesis, poenitet me fecisse hominem: not that he repented, for he being exceeding perfect, was uncapable of griefe, repen­ting, change, or imperfection, but it was as if he had said: I see humane nature so disobedient, ungratefull, and bent to evill, that were I capable of repenting I should repent that I had crea­ted it: so that at that time men did so obstinately contemne Gods commandements, that they offended him without any [Page] care, and on the other side God was extreame severe and rigo­rous in punishing of faults; which the names that were then given him in holy Scrip­ture may witnesse, calling him the God of armies, the God of vengeance, the strong, rigorous and severe God: which titles were accompanied with the fury of his power, as it was seen in the generall Deluge of the world, in the fire which descended from heaven to punish Sodome, in the number of the Jewes which hee caused Moses to kill when they worshipped the Calfe, in the four hundred yeares that he kept his people in slavery in Egypt, in the number of the Egyptians which he drowned in the red Sea: and infinite other examples which [Page] the Scriptures teach us; so that God doth nothing but punish, and men nothing but offend. So that seeing hee had created man­kinde to save it, and his divine goodnesse being more inclined to mercie, and love, then to ju­stice and crueltie, hee tooke pitty and compassion upon hu­mane nature, and determined to make a peace, by meanes of the most glorious and admirable marriage as could be conceived; which was to marry his Sonne, the Divine Word, unto our Daughter, humane Nature, and to unite himselfe with it so in­trinsecally and perfectly, that hee never left it, nor will ever leave it (as great Anselmus saith) by which consederacie and hy­postaticall union our nature was [Page] so extolled and favoured, that it surpassed the spirituall degree of Angels, from whose greatnesse, (as wee have said) the first An­gell tooke an occasion to rebell against his Creator. By meanes of this divine & supream league, Gods justice and divine wrath was converted into mercie and compassion: Mercie and Truth (as David saith) meeting, and Peace and Justice giving each o­ther sweet kisses: Yet there re­mained in man an Obligation of never offending God, but al­wayes to serve him; taking as a motive thereunto, Gods extraor­dinary mercie and clemencie shewed to Man, in espousing himselfe to humane nature our daughter: so that in offending him, besides the disloyalty and [Page] ungratefulnesse wee shew, wee doe also offend our owne bloud and nature; And by this selfe­same union was God moved to use sinners mercifully, staying the rigour and punishment, by reason of the matrimony which his Sonne contracted with our Nature, holding it for a certaine, that this great Advocate which we have in heaven with the Fa­ther, which is Christ, doth ob­taine forgivenesse for our sinnes: and in consideration of his me­rits, the everlasting Father be­stowes those favours and mer­cies upon us which we feel eve­ry day.

Hence it is, that holy King▪ David, when hee implored the Divine favour, was alwayes wont to say, Protector noster, aspi­ce [Page] Deus, respice in faciem Christi tui. As if hee had plainly said, God of my soule! my stay, my protector, and only refuge, look on me with the eyes of thy di­vine mercie; but doe not looke immediately upon me: for thou shalt see nothing but sinnes, ini­quities, disobediences, and wic­kednesses, which will provoke thee to wrath and anger; but cast thine eyes upon thy Sonne: for seeing him wedded to my nature, questionlesse thou wilt bee moved to mercie and com­passion. Finally, with this mi­raculous league, God remedied the enmity which was betweene man and him, and left man for­tified with eternall peace and a­mity. All this may in some sort bee seene by the heavenly con­junction [Page] which God hath made betweene these two Nations, which hee hath of his infinite mercie protected; it being cer­taine and sure, that they being u­nited by divine meanes and in­vention, they shall live in perpe­tuall peace, and continuall con­cord, triumphing over their ene­mies, and leaving unto posterity memorable enterprizes, and acti­ons of Noblenesse and Genero­sitie.