DEath is equall in all men; ob­livion and glory make the difference (said one) who sought renowne by temerity, Making glory and oblivion contraryes, and judging him onely to bee inglorious, who was forgotten, as if obli­vion were not by some much more to bee desired, then to have the memory of them to vive.

Some doe so abhorre the being out of the world, that to stay in it death is horrid unto them, even then when it should be most de­sired and accepted, as the onely remedy and period of all their miseries and evills. And though necessity would force him out of it, yet is he desirous to remaine in it, and when sometimes he should desire an everlasting oblivion, hee seekes eternall fame even out ofnotorious infamy. Nothing is so tormen­ting to him as death, and he judges it farre better to leave an abominable memory be­hind [Page 2] him, then to dye unremembred; As it were in dispight of fate fantastically be­sotted with his body, though extreamly af­flicted; and desirous to survive in others memories, though with shame. And the worst remembrance is more acceptable unto him, then none at all.

Annihilation is an enemy to man, not so much in respect of being nothing, as of not being what he is. VVe shall not peradven­ture find a subject so unfortunate, that would be contented to be changed into a­nother individium, no not to exchange his fortune; because the changing would be the annihilating of him. Yet it seemes harsh, that a man should have a recourse to wickednesse to make him remaine in the world; to that which is not, and to no­thing, because he would not be so: and yet some do it, and attaine to it; whether it be because some writers willingly set downe any thing that is great or notorious, some­times to raise their stile with the relation, sometimes to attract mens attentions with the rumour, and with the great motion, awake, please, and raise up the understand­ing: they awake it, but violently; they raise it, but to something which naturally, and directly it abhorres; they please it, but often times corrupt it; or whether it pro­ceed from that all men take delight in such [Page 3] kind of relations; the most wicked are comforted through the similitude; the lesse bad extenuate their badnesse by com­paring it; the contrariety encreases the good mans merit. Great actions, though bad, do in the matter, communicate with good ones, and with advantage, because they do not find it limited as these last doe, and so they deceive: and those who think they can give instruction to others by laying them open and blaming them, are oftentimes deceived: They might doe some good in teaching of morall vertues, if vertue, as it hath a particular forme to distinguish it from vice, had also a particular matter to worke upon. Vertues matter is open and manifest, vices is for the most part hidden and concealed, and he is sometimes de­ceived in it that operates, and he also that almost continually sees the operating. One should not peradventure lose his labour in the teaching of morall vertues, if there were no meanes to teach their contraries, and that one might learne onely by example of imitation, and not of shunning and avoyd­ing: There being onely one rectitude, makes it a secure judge of obliquity. Its having latitude makes it a deceitfull judger of rectitude: Nature is inclined to evill, and evill actions include a certaine acritude in themselves, and if they be great, and [Page 4] have a prosperous successe, cause more to follow, then to beware of them, and make more emulators then enemies.

They merit but little of posterity, that will relate evill actions causing that to be heard, which themselves would unwilling­ly have seen. Many evill things would be thought to have bin impossible to be done, did not Historians set them down as done: and how much better were it (to avoyd fal­ling into them) to live deceived, then warned? Simplicity is a great vertue, and ignorance is wisedome. True it is, that if the knowledge of the will which is done be taken away, it makes a man sometimes runne into it; but if the manner of doing it be [...]ncealed, it alwayes keepes one inno­cent. There are times wherein bookes would bee cancelled and some men who ought not to be mentioned; and seeing it is not in our power to forget them, let us at least not mention them. The ancient Ro­mans did so, but to what purpose was it? if writers made mention in their Annals, e­ven of those men whom the Senate had can­celled out of its bookes: undoing that which the Common-Wealth had done, by rela­ting that it had done it. Is it not to be ad­mired that those seven brave men, which affected fame and renoune, by erecting wonders in the world, could not attaine to [Page 5] it: and he that impiously burned but one of them for that purpose, did get it in des­pight of all Greece, which then strove with its uttermost might to have him blotted out of all mens memories. A pestilent body leaves a contagious corps behind, and though men leave being wicked, yet they leave not producing of more, and a delict when it is done, and past, serves yet for an example.

An infected body often communicates its infirmity, but never its health, though it be never so exquisitely cured. I know not whether it be because that nature in provi­dence drives away the evill from it selfe, and thriftily reserves that which is good; Or by reason that evill proceeds from any cause, and that which is good from a sound and entire one onely. The perfect mixt will have what is wholsome, unwholsomnesse p [...]oceeds from a corrupt mixt, in the first humility, bounded by the naturall heat, is fixed, in the latter it flies unbounded; This comes forth with its malignity, and being a fumid vapour it takes hold, and cleaves too, the other retaines what is good, and if it doth chance to come forth, being a dry exh [...]lation it doth not fasten nor take hold. This which befalls the body, is also practised in the mind: A good fame and renoune resembles rest, the bad and great [Page 6] is like motion, one is like a cleare and calme streame, which (though it be deep) glides smoothly in its channell: the other like a fierce torrent, which swell'd and troubled, runs violently precipitous with much noise. Cur corrupt nature inclines to evill, violently forceth it selfe to any good: And seeing rest leaves no such im­pression as motion, a cleere smooth streame drawes not with such violence, as a troub­led rough one, and nature defends it selfe from its contrary, and followeth its like, we need not wonder if good examples sel­dome cure, but evill ones doe for the most partinfect.

The renoune which remained of Alcibia­des, the membrance of his Counrry, Pa­rents, Nurse, & Tutors, when there was not any memory left to posterity of any of his companions, no not so much as of their names, causeth Plutarch to esteem him to be a man of eminent vertue.

Of such men (I know not whether it bee because all things which belong to a great one are esteemed great, or peradventure infamous) the Country, Parentage, and Tutors, are much enquired after, and sometimes also what influence of the hea­vens he was borne under. Or because wee should conceive, that greatnesse is not attained, is not the purchase of man him­selfe, [Page 7] but the gift of the influences of hea­ven, of the nature of such a temperature, of the assistance of Tutors, and as accidentall not to bee valued in him: As if he did not in himselfe include the seed of greatnesse; and that to become conspicuous he must be aided by the nature of the soile, the in­fluence of the stars, the temperature of his Parents, and the education of his Tutors; as if he were a plant no way excelling ano­ther, were it not planted in a better earth, nourishing by a more industrious hand, and hath a more benigne influence of the hea­vens. Man is prone to deprive himselfe of his understanding, and will, and annihilate (I was almost going to say) his free will, unman himselfe, and grow beast, leaving to emulate Angels, and making himselfe like to a horse or mule. Can he then, thinke you, alter nature, gaine a new temperature, and command that influence, which hee cannot change?

The greatman came into the world; a­mongst the Jews, hee who indeed onely deserved the name of man; presently his Country, Parents, and Tutors, are enqui­red after. His Country they know to bee Nazareth, whence no good can come, his Father they beleeve to be a Carpenter; they doe not find he had any Masters or Tutors; because they will not consent that man [Page 8] should found unto himselfe this greatnesse, And not acknowledging it to proceed from Divinity, because they cannot attribute it, to the nature of his Country, nor education of his Tutors, they will have him possessed by a Devill.

What worser country was there then Bethsaida, what better country-men then Peter, Andrew, John, James, and Philip. There could be no better Tutors and Mastors framed to teach vertuous actions, and give good documents, then Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and Seneca; nor pupills and Schollars that could make lesse use of them then Alcibiades, Dionisius the Titant, Alexander the great, and Nero. What father could be more Philosophicall then Marcus Aurelius: And more learned and eloquent then the Romane Oratour; and who was a more brutish Son then [...]ommodus, or more ignorant then Tullus. Tullie forgot that which he had by experience found to bee true in his owne family; and judging na­ture (which for the most part erres) to be alwayes in a certainty, pretended th' Ethicks to be the work of Aristotles son, imagining so eminent a Father could not have a son, but of a soveraigne understanding: And suffering himselfe to be overcome by the force of that argument, the invaliditie of which he himselfe had experimented, [Page 9] seemed to beleeve his sonnes case to be ra­ther the limitation or exception of that rule, then the confirmation of another contrary one.

He that sets downe the Probleme, rests not at making learned Fathers infortunate in their children, but goes further yet, and affirmes ignorant men to be happy, as if engendring of evill, were the counterpoise of a good understanding; and the comfort of ignorance, the begetting of wisedome. He frames hereby an exception to two ap­proved rules; Namely that no man can give that which he himselfe is not owner of: And that goodnesse is of its own nature communicable. One exception makes for ignorant men, if they can bestow under­standing (which they themselves want) upon their children. And the other is ad­verse to learned men, if they cannot com­municate unto their issue the greatest good they possesse.

He saith, also that the wise man is al­wayes working with his intellect; he is not attentive in the act of generation, nor takes no great delight therein; he ejects seed without spirit, with a moderate pleasure, contemplation distracting him from it. But a blunt fellow, wholly immerged in the act, casts forth abundant vigorous stuffie seed and full of spirit.

[Page 10] But this proves rather the ability of the body, then the vertue of the mind, and that the one should have children of a soft and weake constitution, and the other of a strong and robustious; the greater abun­dance of seed, causeth not more plenty of braine: if the greater quantity of spirit, pro­duceth not a larger portion of understand­ing. If it be a stuffie seed nature frames thereof much bone, and a massie cranium, and these being thick hinder the intellects contemplation, and like a soggie and dark mist hide the beauty of the images from it: The understanding requires mild and ten­der organs, and there they will be heard; subtile and cleere spirits, and there they will be thick and cloudy. The Philoso­pher from the robustiousnesse of the com­plexion, argues a weaknesse of the intellect, and concludes a strong one, in a weake constitution.

How true soever the Probleme be in that part which concernes ignorant Parents; I will go another way to unfold that which belongs to learned fathers, because many, though not peradventure most times, we see it confirmed by experience. Amongst crea­tures, man hath the most braine; amongst men the wisest; or he that may be so. The matter is viscous and cold, it hath need of much aid to draw nourishment unto it, and [Page 11] much spirit to digest it; These are instru­ments of the naturall heat: The soule makes them hers, and taking them away from concocting, raiseth them to contemplate; if not against, yet out of, and beyond their own nature, and because she would have them reach unto that which they doe not, she subtilizeth them, dasheth them together and tormenteth them; they being subtili­zed, evaporate, tormented doe wast, and weary are corrupted. The naturall heat wanting for a time its instruments, and having gotten it againe weake, it workes not being made unable, and growen feeble. Man's proper place is the earth, raised up into the aire he is disordered, in the water he drownes, in the fire he burnes; The spirits place is the body, which soaring a­bove the matter, afflicts, and destroyes it selfe. The seed (according to the most e­minent Physician) for the most part pro­ceeds from the braine, if this be weakened it will not be powerfull to beget a male, if there bee one begotten it is on the womans side. Hyppocrates saith, that those who are borne oftwo masculine seed, prove Heroes: Those that are borne but of one, if it be the mans, it foretokens greatnesse, if it be the womans, they become effeminate. If this solution doth not please thee, say that the forming power, makes use of the seed to [Page 12] make the spermaticall parts, and of the menstruous bloud for the sanguine. Of mans weakened seed it will make a very weake braine of the vigorous bloud of the woman, a strong liver and heart. The ra­tionall part will be inferiour to the irascible and concupiscible, so the man will prove ignorant, and vicious. These documents will unfold severall Problemes: This is the reason why brute beast are not so sub­ject to catharres as men; because they have a lesser masse of braine: They need lesser quantity of spirits to concoct, and preserve them better, because they employ them not in contemplation. A Philosopher by chance was deceived in the solution of this Probleme he attributed the cause to mans upright figure, which being like a Lim­beck, easily attracts the vapours unto it. He knew not that distillation is not onely by ascent, but also by descent and in a plaine. If a Limbeck be not like the figure of a brute beast, it may be like a serpentine or winding still: and the former distillation being more subtile, the latter grosser a beasts head will be more aggravated, then a mans. Behold how the good sonne is the fathers glory, and the bad one the mothers sorrow, either because he is born of her seed; or because the root springs out of her blood, she predominating in the [Page 13] production of the heart, and liver, foun­taines of all ill regulated passions. Behold why the sons of those who have the most sublime understanding, have but a little, and the daughters much: when the wo­man seed prevailes, there is an effeminate male brought forth, and when the mans, a manly female. And finally behold why Mothers love their daughters children better then their sons, and the Fathers the contra­ry. The males concurre in generation with the sperma [...]icall part, the females with the masse of bloud. The forming power makes use of the fathers seed to frame him, and frames her out of the menstrous bloud. The Mother acknowledgeth her bloud in the one, and the father his seed in the o­ther, and every one beares most affection to that where it hath the greatest part. If thou dost not acquiesce and rest satisfied with these my reasons for the solution of the first Probleme take it from the education; either because learned Fathers, so much regard their spirituall sonnes that they are carelesse of the other which are fleshly and carnal. Or because they are unwilling to set­tle them to their studies, knowing none is taken notice of except he be eminent and finding by experience how difficult it is to attaine to that eminency: and that if it bee attained to; we thereby lose our vigour [Page 14] and complexion, and if not wee lose our time also, and remaine unhappy, not hav­ing so much as the comfort of having short­ned our life in exchanging a few yeares of it, for a long and glorious remembrance. The children looke upon the Parents as their onely scope and aime, hold it a dif­ficult thing to go beyond them, and inglo­rious to come short of them: and hold it more pleasant and easie quietly to enjoy the fruits of their labours, then to imitate them: And desparing to arrive to their height and eminency, if it was profitable: and if it was not profitable, not caring to endeavour, in the former case they forsake learning to embrace case and pleasure; in the latter they contemne it as barren and fruitlesse.

If thou be not satisfied by this reason of education, proceed to the temperament; Great understandings an subject to black choler, becoming so, rather then being borne such, and this temperature increasing, with a mournefull metamorphosis trans­formes a wise man into a mad man. When these men beget children, melancholy is already in the last degree of its perfection; The son becomes his heire as he is then, not as hee was, and begins where the Father ends; and this humour growing to its won­ted passe, and wanting but little of being mad, in a few yeares he wholly becomes [Page 15] such; hence it happens that Socrates chil­dren, his coolenesse making him prudent were utterly stupid: and Alcibiades whose heate made him rash and temerarie, his children became frantick.

Plutarch rehearses some actions of Alci­biades when he was yet a child, I will like­wise consider them, this age being fitter then any other, to search into the nature of sub­jects, which nature appeares plaine, when the subject is neither capable of discourse nor operation. But this is not (you may say) the knowing of a mans nature, well may it be the knowing of his body. It is at that time a perfect mixt, as for its being, though not sufficiently mixed, to be fitted for operation. Experience of it selfe is not that which maketh aged men prudent, nei­ther doth ignorance alone, make young men rash and inconsiderate These have not the soule so free as to withstand the passions of the body, the others body is not so strong as to hinder the motions of the soule. What can an almost meere impotencie worke, or how can the other withstand being utterly impotent. In a youth one cannot know what way he will take when he is a man; Yet it might be knowne had he not a ratio­nall soule, or were it not so fettered by the temperament: The wise man acknowledg­ed himselfe ignorant in the search of what [Page 16] it would doe, if it were freer, because it is impossible to conjecture what that will bee, which is not, nor hath not bin. When thou feest it in being, thou wilt be able to discourse (with the assistance of that which is) of what it shall be; yet it is alwayes difficult to warrant, or ascertaine any such thing. The actions of a child are not sufficient to teach thee his nature: there is the univer­sall, and the particular nature; the former is proper to the age, the latter to the indi­viduum: thou shalt know the one, by that which hee operates not according to the other; either he adds to it, or takes from it: And though hee seemes with time to change it, he doth not; he may sometimes overcome it, but never change it, wandring through many universals, but alwayes with its owne particular. The nature is the same at all times according to the more or lesse, sometimes rising, sometimes fa [...]ling. It de­ceives us, because we doe not know the dif­ference in the operation, which is caused by the augmentation and diminution of the de­grees: nor yet the various consonancie, which the ever constant nature of the indivi­duum, hath with the differing natures of age. It seemes new to us, though it bee but changed not altered. Nature guides beasts, Reason should guide men: They doe not ordinarily give it the totall and absolute command, neither do they wholly debar it [Page 17] from it: They lose themselves in an exceed­ing bad mixture of reason ill guided, and nature bad [...]y followed. It were better to­tally to abandon themselves to nature, at least for those who make no further use of r [...]ason, then onely to hinder nature. There [...]s one belonging to the Morall Philosopher, which is it that inclines, because it is corrupt, for the most part, it inclines to evill. Another belongs to the Physicall Philosopher, and that is it which teacheth, and being provi­dent, most times it teacheth well. The third belongs to the Physician, and that is it which heales, and because blind, sometimes also it kills. We should resist that nature which inclines, and for the most part we [...] follow it. We should follow that which teacheth, and for the most part we crosse it. We should assist that which heales, and for the most part we hinder it.

Alcibiades contending with another boy, makes use of his teeth and nailes; perad­venture to shame him whom hee could not hurt; and being not able to strike, would marke him. His enemy taxeth him for being womanish, he glories to be Lion-like. Nailes commonly serve men & beasts to cover the extremities of the veines, sin­newes, and arteries, that the naturall, ani­mall, and vitall Spirits might not evapo­rate that way; They also serve many [Page 18] beasts in particular for offensive and defen­sive armes. If nature doth not purge the humours by convenient waies, it is either too weake, or too much oppressed. If a man vents his wrath with unsitting or un­beseeming weapons, either his rage swel­ling too high makes him madd, or his weakenesse casts him downe. The sh [...]pe of the mouth, the scituation of it, the weak­nesse of the teeth are all evident signes that nature did not place it there for his defence: and who wil imagine the nailes to be man's armes, seeing that when hee will fight, he hides them? and whereas other creatures strike with an open paw, he onely fights with a closed fist? but what a poore wea­pon is a fist? They surely esteem it as no­thing, who daily complaine of nature, saying it was prodigall to brute beasts, and niggardly to man in furnishing him with food, arm [...]s, and raiment. The favour it hath shewen in giving him understanding seemes to appease him; and as if he had it given him to counterpoise the want of other things, and not to make him noted above others; hee calls that an exchange, which is a meere gift. Can either gentility and Christianity be forgiven such an errour? truely no. Na­ture hath bin wanting in nothing to man: but he contrariwise hath been wanting to [Page 19] nature. What need had he of raiment, that did not know himself to be naked? What use for Weapons, when every thing did vo­luntarily obey him, and when he had no Enemy? And as for food, he had it given him; He sinned in eating of that also which was denied him; And if he lost himself in that which was given him, why doth he complaine for that which he hath not re­ceived?

But it was not so womanish in Alcibiades to fight with such Instruments as were not given him by Nature for that purpose; as to d [...]sh aga [...]nst the ground those which Nature had invented to delight: he is angry with Flutes, because playing upon them disfigures his beauty: and peradventure that happen­ed because he spoyle [...] their harmony, playing less then was requisite, and deforming him­self more then he needed to have done. I pardon such a conceit concerning Musicall wind Instruments in a yong, tender, and wanton youth, and in a Court Philosopher, a Politician, a Peripatetick, talking with Senators and Princes; when I see vocall Musick set at naught, for the same, or per­adventure no reason at al, by a Stoick mofal Philosopher. The wind Musick doth not deforme the Visage, it reformes, yea, con­sormes it: and the vocall, which is corre­spondent [Page 20] to the hearing altereth the propor­tion of the face to conforme it to the e [...]e: The one requires settledness to be well loo­ked upon, and the other receives its perfe­ction from motion: One unfolds the beau­ty of the Visage, the other both laies open, and accompanies the sweetness of the voice. Where there is a sound, motion ne­cessarily hath proceeded, and the motion is with measure if the sound be h [...]rmonious. Sometimes also it is voluntarily accompa­nied with the head, eyes, and mouth and that with delight, though without necessity if it be with proportion: That motion which offends, produces no harmonious sound or doth not accompany it proporti­onably. But singing doth not cause a bodily motion only in him that sings, it causeth it also in him that hearkens, if he doth not st [...]ive against it, the Spirits will howsoever move; let them be never so much coerced and restrained, and harmony is so linked to mo­tion that I canno: but beleeve they were so in the first Movers motions. He that will not grant such a thing in the superiour hea­vens, will not howsoever deny it in the lowest, in which if he do admit of it, by what reason can he deny it in the greater. Those who bel [...]eve a motion in the heavens, and confess them to be solid: that grant a sire in the concavity of the Moon, and that it [Page 21] is kindled by attrition, cannot deny a sound, and if they grant an [...], what a one shall it be? of a most swift, equall, and simple motion? [...]f a sublime body, perfectly spher call, and noble in the highest degree? and of an infinite mover? Certainly, it is harmonious, and in so eminent a degree, that f [...]om i [...] all inferiour harmonies receive their first origine▪ as all motions do its moti­on. Why doth not fire contend with the aire, and how comes it that it doth not consume it? Why, is it not impossible for it to be con­tained within the Vniverse and not con­sume it? By the preservation of nature? It is well said. By the vertue which the place gives to the thing placed? Better: And it will peradventure be best of all, to say, that being ravished by the harmony of the Ce­lestiall Spheres, attentive only to the raising of it self towards them, it forbeares con­tending, because it would not give over ad­vancing: nor shall we in so doing attribute more power to the heavens, then ancient fables did to Orpheus: nor appropriate any other nature to fire then that which all Phi­losophers ascribe unto it, namely, of mount­ing upwards, especially in its own sphere, where having no need of fewell, it hath no occasion to stoop for food. He that will not grant influences without motion or light if he will have the heavens severall and vari­ous [Page 22] motions to serve this lower world for some other use besides carrying the light about; Let him not deny them harmony; he that admits of influences, doth already grant it. The Conjunctions, Sextiles, Qua­drates, Trines and Opposites will produce it, which are unisons, thirds, fourths, fifths, and sevenths: And if here beneath a perfect unison increase the harmony, an imperfect one spoiles it; certainly above, the conjun­ctions of good are excellent, and of bad ones exceeding evill. In the heavens a qua­drate, and an opposite make a dissonancy, on earth a fourth and a seventh. Harshness are here corrected with the fifth and third; there the Sextile and the Trine of benevo­lent rayes, contrary to misfortunes, have force and power to strengthen.

Alcibiades was very eloq [...]ent, and his li­sping added a kind of grace to his eloquence, because it was contrary to it. There is grea­ter pleasure in hearing Beasts speak, though they speak ill, then men though they speak better: The one overcomes, the other do but follow Nature. Man takes great delight, and (which I more wonder at) hath a great instinct from Nature it self to oppose it. The delight would be less, the profit greater, if he did it for profit rather than pleasure. God commanded him to manure the Earth where it was barren, and that where it brought [Page 23] forth thorns, he should cause bread to grow: The Precept was to labour, not to take plea­sure: but he where he should grow fruitfull becomes barren, and where he should re­ceive the bread of grace, he feeds the thorns of sin. He feels within himself that instinct of opposing nature. He knows his happiness consists in the overcomming of it; but equi­vocating therein, and either for want of un­derstanding, or through a wilfull misunder­standing, whereas he should strive against his own inward, he opposeth the outward Nature, where he finds Hills he makes Plaines, where Plaines he raises Hills; in pleasant places he seeks horrid ones, and brings pleasantness into places of horrour; he seconds that which he ought to with­stand, and that which he should follow he opposes; and when he thinks he triumphs over anothers nature, his own nature tri­umphs over him. This is a Stratagem of the particular nature to set us at odds with the universall; And that she may remain quiet within, she causeth us to strive abroad. Like to a cunning politick Tyrant, who having a valiant and fierce Subject within his City, by whom he fears to have violence or op­position offered him; if he can find no other remedy he sends him into the field to fight with the Enemy, to the end, that venting his violence and fantasticalness abroad, he may [Page 24] have plenary power to tyrannize at home at his pleasure. God is angry with us that we should at the same time reform that which he himself had framed; and conform our selves to that which we had deformed. He had (as we may say suffered Solomon to run unpunished while he gave himself in prey to women, worshipped Idolls, loved a fi­gure of flesh, which would quickly return to dust, better then himself: but no sooner did he put his hand to levelling of Moun­taines, but presently he caused rebellions to be raised against him, and decreed the rend­ing of his Kingdom from him: It seeming strange to him that man should not be con­tent to follow his own bid nature, but he must also persecute the good, and to be a King where he should obey, and instead of a Vassall become a Tyrant. Peradventure also that little kind of lisping wrought the same effect in Alcihiades, as a small spot doth in a fair face; a remiss stile enterlaced amidst lofty Dictates and pithy Speeches; Not be­cause contraries compared, and placed neere one another shew their luster more plainly, but because it gives envy satisfaction, which taketh pleasure in defects; or by reason it takes away that astonishment which in­stead of delighting, confounds. I do not say that imperfection can make perfect, that a defect can encrease beauty, and therewith [Page 25] delight. A spot in a beautifull face, a sen­tence of remiss stile in a flourishing speech, adde not grace to a visage, nor beauty to a dictate, they do not increase delight; they entertain it, because they extinguish, and then renew it; The continued action of an Agent increases the effect; he that stands nearest the [...]re warmes and dries himself most. Our naturall power is limited to a certain measure. When the continued pre­sence of the delightfull object doth exceed, the delight ceases, and comming to the ex­treme of what it can contribute, it delights no longer. He that will renew his pleasure, must begin with paine, and go out of the naturall state to return into it. Let him look upon the spot; Go out into the cold; run over the remiss and meaner stile; Then return to behold the beauty of the face; to enjoy the sweetnesse of the heat; ad­mire the beauty of the speech, and efficacy of the phrase; He that looks upon a faire peece limmed by a Master workmans expert hand, is much delighted thereby, yet after the first violence it failes and diminishes; because it is come to the extreme it vani­shes. But he that is admitted to see the ad­mirable working of an excellent Pencill upon a plaine and smooth board, continues sometimes grieved at the framing of an im­perfection, then delighted with seeing it [Page 26] perfected; And all those proceedings being full of reformed deformities refined, are full of relight keeping the imagination in con­tinuall motion, through the Novelties. A Musitian cannot please better than by erring. He passes through dissonancies, and frames Pauses, and with the one takes the hearer out of his naturall state and with the other he ends an operation. Then he begins again to sing, goes on in consonancy, to renew the operation, to return the hearer into his naturall state by delighting him. What do fooles & naturall idiots in great Noblemens Palaces? Their imperfection serves to draw the Nobleman out of the naturall state into which wise and understanding mens dis­courses had brought him, that he may after­wards return unto it with more delight. Fi­nally, it is true that man desires to find de­fect, even in those things which are pleasing to him, and that he rejoices when he hath found it; peradventure seeming unto him that he hath gotten command over him that hath it, and that he may reape the delight of pardoning, without f [...]eling the dammage of being offended; Nature also, may be, sets him in the way to seek it, to bring him through the knowledge of him who hath the defect, to the knowing of him who hath none. No sooner doth any delectable ob­ject present it self to man, but he turnes to­wards [Page 27] it, intending to please himselfe; and finding it (though never so great) uncape­able to satisfie him, persisting neverthelesse in his desire, because he will not beleeve it is impossible to be attained, he seekes the reason why he hath not attained it. If he finds the defect he rejoyces, it not lying in the unsatiabilitie of the desire, but in the de­ficiencie of the object. He hopes to finde one totally perfect, and that when he hath found it, he shall be satisfied. Then because of the deficiencie which he findes in all carthly things, he raiseth up himselfe to beleeve, that there is a primarie cause without defect: and finding it not to his satisfaction in this world, he thinks he shall finde it in heaven. And so behold the Creature serves for an in­strument to bring man to seeke out the Cre­ator; not onely by what is perfect in it, but also by that which wants perfection. There one may perceive there is a God, and that the creature is not he: If the creature were totally perfect, who would denie it God­head? Flatterers, who have fawned upon it have even adored it for such; and simple people, who have beleeved it perfect, have offered incense to it as Celestiall.

Alcibiades was playing in the street with some of his Companions, there happens a country Fellow to come along with a Cart, which passing by would spoile their sport. [Page 28] He tries (but in vain) by calling to him to make him stay; He runs not away coward­ly like the rest; He seeks not rashly to stop him by force. Cunningly he lyes down in the high way, forcing him either to stay his Cart, or to drive it over him. The best in­strument to hinder an action, is the produ­cing of feare; the worst to provoke wrath. If he resists the Country F [...]llow, he angers him. By casting himself upon the ground, he affrights him; He stayes him with asto­nishment, though he cannot do it with cur­t [...]sie. Yet n [...]twithstanding Alcibiades shews himself in this action rashly ambitious, as well as cunning. For a small matter he ad­ventures himself in a great danger. Dangers in such cases are much desired, even as thirst, and itching desires of the flesh are welcome to those who totally yeeld up themselves in­to Bacchus, and Venus hands, not because they are willing to stay in the tormenting sense of these passions, but because they will proceed in the pleasure of satisfying them, which proves greater by the provocation. If upon great commotions depend great de­lights; and if feare be the strongest passion that is in man, what pleasure shall he not find in the passing from dangers to secure­ness? You will find wrath, hatred, envy, desire of domination to be most weake [Page 29] passions, if you compare them with feare. This Chimericall passion is of greater force then those reall ones, if we will beleeve an eminent Polititian. Many and true provo­cations (saith he) had Otho to adventure himself to obtain the Empire. Desire of do­mination, a riot even burthensome to a Prince, Poverty scarce to be tolerated by a private man, Anger and hatred towards Galba, Envy against Piso. He feigned but one only of these passions to make him the more to affect it and that was Feare. What makes Tyranny so pleasing, but the love of dan­ger. Where it is great, he can desire no more; where it is but small, he encreases it; where there is none, he feigns it. Yet the tragick scene of these men is full of bloud unjustly spilt, sometimes of guilty, some­times of half guilty, and sometimes of in­nocent men. I should say only of innocent, for the greatest fault that Tyrants punish, deserves the the name of the greatest inno­cency. But if if this man be not yet grown so inhumane, as to feign a fear where there is none; yet he seldome reserves so much humanity as not to grudge and bemoane himself, because there is none. Tiberius comes into the Senate house, he finds all the Sena­tors to second his thoughts, and flattter his actions: No body Contradicts him, no man provokes him, He goes forth angry, [Page 30] and enraged: Calls them base men, prepa­red for slavery. He was troubled and mo­lested (saith the Author) with such base servility, he was ashamed (said I) of having caused it: He was sorry (I now say) that he had lost that feare, which was the Semi­narie of his delights Plato and Tacitus also knew peradventure that to be true which I said, though they did not explaine it. They call a Tyrant unhappy; not by reason of any outward feare, which he with pleasure and delight satisfies by the death of some­times one, sometimes another Citizen: But by reason of the inward feare, which insensi­bly gnawing his entrailes lets him neither find rest, nor hope for remedy. If the griefe and paine of this did not counterpoise, yea go beyond the pleasure and delight of the other, we should amongst the Pagans rec­kon more Tyrants than Princes. There is a Character imprinted in mans Nature by God, which we call Conscience, to the end that even who those may feare him who not know him. Contenting himself rather with not being known, then not feared, to the end that the world should not be lost for want of feare, nor men arrive to the extreme of wickednesse.

Alcibiades becomes Socrates his Scholar. He addicts himself with much fervency to the learning of Sciences, and with as much [Page 31] eagerness follows vices. He studied great­ness, more then goodness; to counterpoise, not to forgoe his defects; going forwards in acquiring vertue as a means to satisfie his ambition. Which he cannot attain to by being admired by the lesser number, name­ly, the wise; if at the same time he be ab­horred by the greater number, which are the ignorant. He would be like the bad, be­cause many, and because he would not be­come an enemy to many, for not being like them. He had his intent with reproach, whereas he might have had it with com­mendation, if he had outwardly habited himself with the vulgars qualities, which are not vices; and inwardly with wise mens that are vertues. This had joyned in him those two so contrary elements, the wise, and ignorant, in the same manner as the aire linkes the elements of fire and water toge­ther. He that will gain a man let him not be his adversary, or at the least let him not shew himselfe to be so, for otherwise he will flye him. If he cannot make himself sembla­ble, let him feign to be so, if he means to be followed. Resemblance is of great vertue, every one celebrates it, and peradventure none understand it. The like doth not at­tract the like, because it is the like, but be­cause the similitude is joyned with superio­rity; otherwise iron might draw iron; and [Page 32] if by vertue of resemblance it should receive force from the loadstone, it also might do it. He is deceived in Physick that thinks Rhubarb draws bilious humours, because it hath a resemblance to them. [...]he resem­blance causeth it to find no resistance; but the superiority draws In Musick the unison, w ^ch meerly resembleth is disliked and rejected as dissonant, and the eight is admitted and approved as harmonious, it adding nothing to the resemblance but superiority. In poli­cy to be of one and the same Province, of the same Language, and custome, if there be no superiority, brings forth a Republick or Common-wealth, if there be a superio­rity, it produces a Principality. The Tribe of Iuda sees David grown great, they say he is their brother, and follow him: he was so before, and yet no man stirred. He that thinks love to grow from resemblance, what reason can he give for its being seldome en­terchangeable (being it should alwaies be so) unless superiority added unto it perswade the enterchange. This instinct of similitude, either of suffering ones self to be drawn, or of voluntarily following superiority, often proceed from a desire of advancing to a greater perfection, or of preserving that de­gree which one hath received from it, for which purpose the resembling eminent is held a more fit Instrument then any other. [Page 33] So the coldnesse of the earth which is not entire, is preserved by that of the water, which is ful [...]y perfect; the humidity of the water, by that of the aire; the heate of the aire by that of the fire, and all thes [...] by the virtuall qualities of the heaven, which the inferiour ones eminently containe.

Alcibiades invited with other Nobles by Nicetus to sup [...]er, contemnes the invitati­on; He makes himselfe drunke at home, th [...]n go [...]s to his friends house, takes away the one halfe of his pla [...]e, and without any more adoe returnes to his owne ho [...]se. The guests wonder at Alcibiades insolency, and admi [...]e Nicetus patience. He answers that he ought to thanke him fo [...] that part which he had left him. All troubles have their comforts and many poisons their antidotes. He that instead of eating the vipers back, eats its head and taile, will not be cured; he that with an ill looke, lookes upon trouble. when he might doe it with a good one, will not be comforted. One that were in love as Nicetus was, with him that causeth the trouble, would take an occasion to thanke him for it; and he that hath been so, hath done it Man doth not looke upon troubles with a good countenance, because he con­tents not himselfe to come out of trouble at even hand, by onely remaining comforted: He is desirous to gaine; sometimes com­passion, [Page 34] and with a female weakness makes moane; sometimes repute and esteem, and with a manly courage endures it. This last though for the most part he shew a good countenance, and the other see it, yet will he not seeme to others to take notice of it: If any shews it him he is vexed; thinking that by slighting the occasion he derogates from the greatnesse of his power. Of these two wayes of passing over troubles the Fe­male is the most common, peradventure be­cause Pusillanimity is more easie then For­titude. True it is, that it is a vice; but in this case the obtaining of the reward, name­ly compassion, will not let it seeme so. Men had also rather compassionate then admire: with compassion one benefits a wretched man without any loss, yea, with game, with admiration he payes an homage due to a great worth, even to his own disgrace. The one is the daughter of that which the catastrophe in the world useth to bestow; the other of that which our weakness can­not attaine: to the first one goeth volunta­rily, to the other he is dragged. The under­standing afflicts it self in the acts of com­passion; if there be any delight, it is in the sence. In that of admiration it rejoices, and the inferiour part is afflicted in it. And al­though they be both oftentimes waies to take away the tormenting passion of envy: [Page 35] yet the leaving of it by growing great, or by seeing ones self outgon is every different It is mans nature to behold with an ill counte­nance those afflictions w ^ch God sends him, and to make them greater then they are; And with a good looke, those which he procures to himselfe, and make them lesse, to avoid shame and gaine compassion. He knowes that when they proceed meerely from Gods providence, they are tokens of affection, when from our own imprudency; of punishment; and to shew his love grea­ter, and his wrath lesser, in the one case he increases, and in the other he lessens it; and alwayes to the losse and dammage of truth. Which truth we ought not to won­der that nature hath placed according to Heraclitus his opinion in a deep well or ac­cording to Democritus in an obscure cave. She did it to employ us all our life time in searching for it, and when we have found it, wee seek after nothing more then how to corrupt it; Man provokes God by com­plaining of evill fortune more then he ought, and by not attributing to him in prosperity, so much as he should. He knowes not he had it before it is gone; and sometimes it goes away because it was not known. And when with repentance wee should call our selves ingratefull: with temerity giving new offence, we call fortune unstable, and which [Page 36] is worse, we make it so. Finally man finds such unsavourinesse in the meane and so much acrimony in the extreame, that ordi­narily he drawes back most from the first when he hath not arrived unto it, and ad­vances forward most when he is come to it, or gone beyond it, because he will not stay at it, or because he would still go further from it: whence comes that the young man shortens his years. the old man encreases them. His domestick and familiar figure (saith Quintilian) is hyperbole, because he is an enemy to truth. But this cannot be, for truth is the object of mans most noble pow­er, it is not each ones equality, it is reserved only for the best, that which he sees in this world is sufficient to move his desire, but because it is not so much as will satisfie it, he is perplexed. He would have it to be so, but cannot really make it so; he doth it as much as he can with hyperbole: so that he lyeth, not in hatred, but in behalfe of truth corrupting that which is not his object, to make it become so.

Alcibiades hath many Athenian Nobles that make love to him, and offer him great presents; he contemnes them. A Country fellow falls in love with him, sells all he hath, and presents the money to him. Alci­biades accepts of his love, and his gift; and with that mony makes him presently gaine [Page 37] a Talent. He hath reason to make more esteeme of the Country Fellows affection, then of the Nobles. It was greater, and sin­cerer: He that gives not all he hath to the beloved person, loves him not above all things; he loves that better which he hath reserved for himself. The passions of simple men are plaine, those of Nobles are mixed with ambition: The love of the one is meere love, that of the other hath pride coined with it. The one seeks only to de­light himself, the others to subject also, yea, & more then subject; hautines prevailing in them above affection, whilest sometimes through jealousie, by the death of the belo­ved, they have deprived themselves of de­light, because they would not endure a Companion. They say that love enters not an abject and degenerous breast, but links it self only to noble hearts. It is true of that part of love which is pride, the peculiar sin of great ones. Love is a Tyrant, not only because he tyrannizes over him whom he conquers, but because he also imprints in in him the Character of tyrannizing. They decline love to be a desire of enjoying the thing beloved. But it is also a desire to cap­tivate its body and soule, and to take away free will from it. He that said, Lucifer sin­ned through pride, said well. He that said he sinned through excess, though he did not [Page 38] unfold it well, did not peradventure speak totally ill. The Angell saw God, not as he is, for then he would have loved him of necessity, and in an ordinary way, and had not sinned: He loved him voluntarily, and disorderly, and sinned. For it being made manifest to him, that God would be huma­nated (as we may say) and man Goddisi­ed, changing vertue into passion: adding pride to love; to the desire of enjoying, the desire of tyrannizing; willing to be only alone, or suffer no equall, he forsook the love of God; Iealous, armed himself with hatred against mankind, to hinder it, as his rivall, from enjoying the clear sight of the beatificall object.

But how stands Socrates amidst this mul­titude of lovers? He peradventure belee­ved that where there was so much beauty, there was also a great disposition to vertues. I meane not speculative but morall: Even as amongst Brutes, that which is the fairest, performes best its proper naturall operation; the Lion hath most valour, the Greyhound most swiftness; so to the understanding of many, the fairest man should best perform those operations which are proper to man; who being a compound of soule and body, his said operations belong rather to the pra­cticall, then to the speculative intellect. The speculative goes to the knowledge of the [Page 39] first truth, the practick to the well directing of the operations according to true wisdom: the one shall see its object only at home, the other can only attaine unto it in its way. And how should Nature give us our end in this world, which though we labour for never so hard, we cannot attaine in it. But in what manner can that saying agree with Alcibiades actions, who being exceeding beautifull, was notwithstanding ambitious, dishonest and lascivious? They may say that the Prognostick is not so infallible in man, who operates by election, as in beasts who work according to nature: and that you can hardly so know beauty, as to di­stinguish the Masculine from the seminine. That which proceeds from the facility which nature finds in working with the hu­mid▪ and that which it finds in operating with the temperate. That which hath its influence from Venus, and that which hath it from Sol, and Iupiter: The one is seen to incline the inferiour part to condescend to embracements. The other makes prudent, addes Majesty, and respect, and brings up the superiour part to a chaste desire of hea­venly beauty. The one belongs to the fee­ling, the other to the mind; The first false, the other a true mark of a wise mind. If So­crates did consider what Alcibiades was, he might quickly know from what fountaine [Page 40] his beauty was derived. Some one attribu­ted so much to this beauty, which we terme Masculine, and which being perfect is a sign of a most exquisitely tempered body, that he affirmed, that if any such were, and once being did endure; it would make the subject thereof most calme and happy, its senses perfect, its understanding eminent, its passions moderate, and, without repi­ning, obedient to reason. I never did grant it any superiority in Sciences, once I con­descended to yeeld it in morall actions: Now I deny it in all, and will grant it no superiority, but in those vertues only which serve for the body, the appetitive, the at­tractive, the concoctive, the retentive, and the expulsive. To speculation the body is a burthen, and opposes it self to the working of it: The stronger it is, the more it with­stands, and it is strongest, when it is most temperate. In a dry, leane, withered body, which is almost no body at all, you shall find passions almost quite extinguished; the understanding in a manner Angelicall, a perfect operation; and most excellent specu­lation. In bruite beasts the case is different, because the reason is likewise so. They have need of the bodyes assistance, if they will operate well; man needs none but onely not to be hindred by it. In beasts the stronger it is, the more it helps, in men when it is [Page 41] weakest, it hinders least. But be it how it will▪ me thinkes S [...]crates did not deserve much commendations in this manner of ar­guing. For if from the beauty of the crea­ture, which is never perfect neither in man nor woman, but in all frail and fading, we argue concerning the creatures beauty; we shall judge Fidias and Apelles beauties, farre to exc [...]ed the divine, when we set be­fore our eyes their statues and pictures, drawen with excellent lines and colou [...]s▪ and of a more lastīng substance then our selves. You will s [...]y these have no soule; Then we m [...]st not ascend to the contempla­tion of God from lineaments and colours, but from the soule. The body you' [...] say is the shadow of the mind and soule; I deny it, and will alwayes hold internall beauty, which consists in the miraculous framing & organizing of this bodily fabrick, equally composed by the Almighty in all men to be a more fit, and secure ladder, for man to climbe up with his understanding towards his Creator, than the externall; which dif­fering in each one, consists in three or foure lineaments, and a few colours. I will say that Galen tooke a better way then Socrates, though each of them proceeded according to his owne art. The one being a Physi­cian, attributed unto the use of the parts the chiefe praise for the knowledge of Gods [Page 42] greatnesse. The other a Sculptor, forget­ting that he was a Philosopher also, at­tributed it to the lineaments. The Angell (saith a wise man) is the shadow of God, the soule, the Angels, the body, the soules. And then he wonders, that seeing neither Go [...], nor the Angell busie themselves upon the consideration of their shadow to their owne prejudice; the soule should forget and lose it selfe in loving, and following its shadow. But it is not true, because this is not the true shadow. He had argued much better, if he had gone on by degrees thus. The Angell is God [...]s shadow, Man the Angel's, the Beast man's, and Plant [...]s the Beasts. Those who fall in love with linea­ments and colours, in relation to the soule, where that is corrupt, frame a true case, more deplorable then the fabulous tale of Narcissus. He was enamoured of his owne shadow, they of another mans; in one there was a true and reall beauty of body▪ in the other a false supposed one of the mind. Plato in a place calls Socrates a hunter, as if he went investigating Gods beauty by meanes of that of Alcibiades. He knew he had erred, if that beauty was joyned with a deformity of the soule, and to cover Socrates his defect, he feigned vertue in Alcibiades: bearing greater affection to his Master, then to truth. He cals him bonae indolis, in whose [Page 43] life there is nothing constantly to be found, but uncleannesse. What then? Shall we blame Socrates, and tax him with dishone­sty? Farre be it from us. Hee loved Alci­biades, and Alcibiades him with a chaste and sincere love, both drawn thereunto by the harmonious proportion of defect and super­abundancy. Socrates had a most beautifull minde, a leane, dry, squalid body, bairy, bald and melancholy. Alcibiades a most beautifull body, a lascivious, dishonest, in­temperate, ambitious minde. The old man with his eyes enjoyed the young ones beauty; he by the eare participated of the old mans vertue. A wonderfull exchange, more pleasing in Socrates, and more profi­table in Alcibiades, and in both equally honest.

Alcibiades gives Hipponicus a box on the eare, to make sport, and a jest amongst his companions; yet those which write of Ri­diculousnesse, exclude pain out of it: Perad­venture it ought not to be excluded, when the person is more ridiculous than the act painfull, as we daily see it practised in Je­sters: a box on the eare is sensible in a child, in elder yeares it doth not pain Nature, be­cause it will not take away the vigor of the punishment, where it hath not given a spirit sensible of resentment, hath given a tender flesh to feel it; and where an obtuse sense of [Page 44] the pain, an apprehensive feeling of the dis­grace. The blow of the box is not so sensi­ble to an old man, as his person is ridicu­lous to a young one; there being oftentimes an apparent deformity seen in them without any apparent pain. Alcibiades could not have m [...]de a jest of the blow, nor framed mirth out of it, had he not first drawn it from the person But if (according to the Philoso­phers opinion) Compassion be the daughter of Feare, by reason of that which may in like manner befall us, how can the young man laugh at the old, and not rather com­passionate him. And if seeing a defect in another which we have not our selves, is a cause of comfort rather than griefe in us: whence groweth our pleasure in speaking and hearing others evill spoken of? And And how ought old men bee grieved at the follies they see in young men? Youth should grieve at the defects of old age, and old men laugh at the ignorance of youth. But they are not sorry that a young man wants wis­dome but onely that he doth not know it, and esteem it; because they exceeding in this noble vertue, the daughter, and onely comfort of old Age, they are grieved to see that Talent despised for which onely they can bee respected and reverenced. Young men laugh at old men, because the deformi­ty which they see present, being greater than [Page 45] the griefe, moves their imagination strong­lier than the future, on which oftentimes they doe not think, and which they know not whether it will happen or no; or hope it will be better. What a barbarous thing is a young man? Let him that will bee safe from him, shun him: he walks in unknown wayes, and (I had almost said) like a thing mixt of Man and Beast; the degree of the mixture is unknown, what he will be, is impenetrable: sometimes they are like Beasts, because they doe not make use of reason; sometimes worse, because they a­buse it. The overmuch heat hinders wis­dome in youth, too much coldnesse extin­guishes it in old age: sometimes it never comes, but man passes from immaturity to rottennesse; and when it does come, it is alwayes late, and lasts but a little. It is al­most the onely one amongst sublunary things, which doth not receive the propor­tion of Periods, a Beginning, a Being, an Increase, and Declining. Quintilian won­ders why all men being made by Nature to be good, few are such. I (to not wonder at it) doe rather consider whence it proceeds, that the superior, part for the most part, is not so; and whereas it is made to command, it obeyes. Peradventure the advantage of yeares is a great cause of it; in which our sense doth with ease tyranny over us, with­out [Page 46] meeting with any opposition, or let from the soule, and because they are the first yeares, it takes strong root, and being ma­ny, it frames a habit. Then comes Reason in, and findes the Tyrant already in posses­sion, fortified, and rooted: It must fight a­gainst that which he is, and that which he hath done: it must subdue the forces of sense, overcome the resistance of habit, and destroy that Nature to frame a new one. But why doe we not at the first, as soon as we are born, attain to reason? Peradven­ture because we would then presently ope­rate without a guide; and wanting experi­ence, we should precipitate. Learned and wisemen (induced by a case which happe­ned in our dayes, and being singular, and almost monstrous, makes no president) have believed, that a Subject may securely passe over from speculation to practice without any further experience. I will here set down my opinion therein, with all due respect and reverence to famous Writers of great merit. If truth onely w [...]re the object of our understanding, and not that also which is like unto it, there would be no er­ror. And if all things could be demonstra­ted, there would be no opinions; the defici­ency of the one, and super-abundancy of the other, ruine the world. The understanding despairing of demonstrating the truth, gives [Page 47] it selfe over to vanity, and goes in quest of opinion, and not being able to acquiesce in it, he raises himselfe higher, and seekes to stirre up admiration through novelty, seeing he cannot teach and direct with truth. He esteems himselfe to be a brave man in Sci­ences that makes not the clearest, but the hardest argument, which though it doth not convince, yet it overcomes the understan­ding as if the ones wisdome consisted in the others ignorance; and truth, which should be the easiest for the understanding to finde, (as the center of ponderous things) is sought out by difficult & obscure things. How ma­ny things are there daily seen, which because we know not how they are, nor how they are done, doe astonish and breed admira­tion in us, for nothing else, but onely be­cause we take the lof [...]iest, and most difficult way to understand what they are, and how performed. And afterward, if the Artifi­cer doe divulge it, we finde it to be an ea­sie and plaine way, we acknowledge the error, we cease our admiration, and remaine ashamed.

The like would happen in questions concerning Sciences: if truth were disco­red to us, and that God did not hide it from man, shewing him this great Fabrick of the World, keeping him still in disputes, not letting him understand it, because he will mortifie him.

[Page 48] The Politick truth of the future, being then ordinarily concealed, how shall such an understanding find it, which is ac­customed to elevate it selfe above the mat­ter, to seek extravagant wayes, to subtilize, distinguish, invent and imagine, that if it doth not p [...]netrate into it, it happens because it doth not raise & elevate it self suff [...]ciently: Then in our case, it finds it self in a lowly & gross matter, not hard to be attained, because the understanding doth not reach unto it, but because for the most part it goes beyond it. One going from Sciences, where he is schol­lar, that followes the opinions of those that went before him; and he a master that in­vents, and comming to the politick, where Experience is Mistress, and he a Master that followes it, shall commit as many errors, as the things are which he invents, despairing of ever warranting or assert [...]ng any thing, if he doth not turn from being a Master to be a Schollar, forsaking speculation, which is an enemy to Experience.

But above all others, he shall seldome prove able in politick affaires, that is accu­stomed to interpret the holy Scripture. The difficulty proceeds not onely from the dif­ference of t [...]mes, God then making for the most part, the secondary causes obedient to merit: and now letting them oftentimes runne in favour of injustice; but likewise [Page 49] from the difference which is between the Divine and Humane intellect: the one in­finite, the other finite; this an accident, that a substance. The holy Ghost doth not speak a word for one thing alone, his sense may be interpreted for any thing that is pious; for he meanes it all. Hee gives scope of altering thoughts, interpret and in­large the old, invent new, teach with the doctrine, and delight with the variety, without prejudice of truth. But man doth, and saith one thing onely for it, and and not alwayes for that which he should doe or say.

In what case then shall that man finde himselfe, who comes from interpreting the Divine meaning, which is so large, and so good, and goeth to interpret that of men, which is alwayes short, and for the most part evill; seeing that in the one he cannot erre, without he digresse; and in the other men have often erred, because they have not digressed. I doe not say that discourse is not nec [...]ssary for man, I exclude it in specula­tive Sciences, and admit it in what belongs to practice; snow to be snow, ought to be white, and so ought a woman to be fair; and yet notwithstanding if snow were as a wo­man, it would not be white; and if a woman were of the colour of snow, she would not be fair. And though a great wise man compared [Page 50] a man that wanted Science, and had Expe­rience, to an Empyrick Physitian, and the learned man to the Methodicall: yet hee was deceived in the comparison; because Sciences have nothing to doe with the Po­licie, whereas Theorie is necessarie for Physick; And if he proves any thing, it is that in Physick; besides Experience, Dis­course is necessary, and judgement much more than in Sciences: but in practice it is produced, and being produced, is refined.

To these speculative men there often hap­pens that which befalls many Theoricall Physicians, who comming to operate, will first try experience, rather than follow those experiments which have already been made; and thereupon they begin with kil­ling of patients: yet therein hee differs from the Polititian: For the Physician kil­ling many, sometimes learnes how to heale the rest; but the Politician beginning to kill one, doth alwayes almost ingage him­selfe to kill an infinite number, and from o­verthrowing one piece of State, to over­verthrow all the World: for after he is en­tred into a way, in which the subtilty of dis­course, alwayes accompanied with acritude did set him, rather then soundnesse of judge­ment, he so ingages himself in it, that he cannot turn back sometimes without preci­pitating.

[Page 51] I conclude, that Experience is Mistresse of Policie; and because she is Mistresse, the Politician must needs be her Disciple, and consider it before he practise it: He that at the first thrusts himselfe upon it, may lose himselfe before he gives Experience leave to teach him. In the opinion of wise men, errors do teach more than any other thing; yet they have one difficulty, they begin with doing harm, and doe not alwayes leave way for a remedy, many oftentimes lo­sing themselves in the first error which they commit. I grant that errors doe teach, and that they are profitable, but not by being put in execution, but onely thought upon: not running the danger, but gathering the fruit.

Peradventure the silence which Pythago­ras enjoyned his scholars, was to this intent, he would not have them discredit them­selves in divulging their errors, he gave them leave to think on them, but would not suffer them to come upon the stage, untill such time as by those in which they had been si­lent, they had learned to not commit them. So the Physitian which goeth to practise with his Master, seeing that which is done, and considering what he himselfe should doe, in the good and the evill which he sees, and in that which he thinks, giving as it were, Physicke in abstracto, in his owne [Page 52] phantasie and imagination from that which he sees others doe, without any discredit to his own person; and from that which he thinkes he should do, were it his case, with­out any dammage to the patient. Somtimes certain, somtimes erring, learnes to be sure without erring. This advantage have Com­mon-weal [...]hs above Princes: young men enter into Magistracies, and like the Pytha­goreans they hearken and are silent, they learn and do not operate, untill the instru­ction and experience of old men have fully instructed them: with art they supply the defects of Nature, which makes it im­possible for children to operate, by denying them the use of reason; and they will not suffer young men to operate, because they should not abuse reason. The first age is not the dangerous age, seeing that being blinde, it suffers it selfe to be guided, and therefore seldome stumbles: it is the second that is dangerous, which having its eyes open, sees litle, admits no guide & easily runs headlong

This barbarous action of Alcibiades, trou­bled the whole Citie of Athens: in the Cow­ardly it moved feare because the like might befall them; in rash men wrath, as if it had already happened to them; valiant men sto­mach it; and wise men were grieved at it. It bred shame in the offenders friends, and ha­tred in his that was offended: in Hipponicus [Page 53] a desire of revenge; in Alcibiades, repentance: He goes to his enemies house, puts himselfe into his hands, confesses he hath erred, bids him take satisfaction. The offence which he had committed could not be excused, nei­ther by wrath, for he was not provoked; nor ignorance, because he knew him: it was fol­ly and contempt; he purged the contempt with the quality of the act; and the folly with the manner. The free putting himselfe into his hands, was the greatest satisfaction that could be given, being done willingly, not violented by any extrinsecall mover; nor troubled by any intrinsecall passion of fear; it loseth much of its efficacie, when it is done by compulsion. Alcibiades went not with any fear, but boldly, without being perswaded thereunto; more carefull to re­gain his lost reputation, or ambitious to in­crease it; than just to restore it to him from whom he had taken it. For the particular, it had been better if he had gone with a perturbed mind & will; by meanes of feare, he had shewed to have esteemed him more in the satisfaction, than contemned him with the offence. It was better for the publick that he should go of his own accord, because the repenting of the action being of its nature e­vill, he secures and warrants all; but by the fear of him that is offended, only those who may cause themselves to be feared as much.

[Page 54] Alcibiades knew he had given the Citi­zens of Athens occasion to talke of him in serious matters, and to divert them (saith Plutarch) from those to pleasant ones, he cuts off the taile, eares, and nostrills of a very beautifull dogge which he had. It was not diverting, but deriving, and an ill de­riving. The diversion of a thing is made while the matter flowes, and is undertaken on the contrary side. The derivation is, when it is already flowne, and another new one succeeds into the evacuated subject. Alcibia­des action is of the same matter as the rest of his actions were, tho not of the same forme. It is like, and not contrary: The fluxion followes, and the subject threatens it selfe to be greater, making it selfe knowne to be full of fantasticall humours. His intenti­on was not to blot out the remembrance of his old actions, but to renew it, loving to make himselfe be talked of, with a report and fame of being extravagant. The doing of a semblable action, doth not cause the former to be forgotten▪ but rather calls it to remembrance, if not with more force, yet with more delight then it would do, if it were the same againe; because man oftentimes sheweth him selfe a greater friend to the re­semblance, then to the thing it selfe, and willingly comes to the knowledge of truth by the meanes of falshood.

[Page 55] From hence proceeds the delight in hear­ing of Metaphors, seeing of Pictures, the representations of Mymicks, and Stage-players. What terrible beast, or displeasing carkasse, or horrible Monster can there be, but the picture of it will be delightfull? What man so deformed in bodily parts, and abominable in those of the soule, but a mymick imitation of him is pleasant▪ What mutilated, rough, lisping or stammering tongue and speech, but will be applauded in him that counterfeits it? And if any one enquire the reason of it, Quintilian would say it were, because man is an enemy to truth. Aristotle would say it is because he loves to learne, and when of himselfe he learnes the thing he hath conceived, he de­lights therein, as in his owne birth, a thing of his owne bringing forth: this delight he attaines to, in imitation, when it is repre­sented unto him: because thereby he appre­hends as it were by argumentation, the truth of the imitated Idoll. I confesse the thought is acute. And I question not but it is applauded. I doubt whether it be because it is good, or for want of a better. The un­derstanding rejoyces not much at any small thing, obtained with small labour. He in­tends greater for himselfe, and with lesse delight. Peradventure he takes not so much pleasure in learning, as in the manner how, [Page 56] which is by the motion passing in an instant from the false object, to the knowledge of the true one. Hence proceeds the strength and powerfull effect, fetching its originall from a knowledge attained unto by circum­stances. Hence comes the smiles at the meet­ing of a friend: Let Aristotle say what he will (in mine opinion) that sudden and great change, to which Hyppocrates ascribes so much delight, namely, from falshood to truth, and from the absence to the presence of the beloved object, is that which causes the rejoycing, which may be proved by this, that if it be foreseen, the rejoycing is not so great. But since Alcibiades his actions, which were altogether extraordinary, and we con­jecture extravagant, what his inclination was, it will n [...]t be displeasing to search fur­ther into it. That Princes and Common­wealths may beware of such kinds of sub­jects, which use to usurp the liberty of the one, and cause the other to lose their domini­ons. There is great difference between acting of an extravagancy by election, and doing of it by nature, even as there is between a horses bound which he is taught by a Rider, and one which he naturally makes when he is madded. Sometimes it is fitting to have a subject of great worth come with some ex­travagancies upon this worlds theater, which making a noise may draw unto him mens [Page 57] attentions to behold this new beauty: It serves for a sudden crack or clap to attract mens eares and eyes to the hearing and be­holding of some great matter, which being distracted another way, they should not peradventure see nor heare. Some actions also seem to be performed best, when they are done extravagantly (such are the first rewards, and first punishments) to the end that being deeply rooted in the imagination, they may leave the love of vertue, and ha­t [...]ed of vice, for a long time imprinted there­in; which are the columnes upon which stands the Fabrick of the world. Where­upon me thinkes that manner of bringing criminall men to their capitall punishment, which they use in some places to be very strange, they carry them to dye singing with flowers, as it were in triumph, taking (as much as may be) away the feare, and horrour of death from them: Doing there­by great prejudice to two effects, which are the two maine ends and aimes of male­factors punishments, namely to punish their facts who have offended, and by their exam­ple to terrifie others from committing the like: they take almost quite away the force of the one, and very much sweeten the other. But peradventure this custome is not so hurtfull to Civill Art, as it is fa­vourable to the Military.

[Page 58] But to returne to my purpose; The ex­travagant action, for the most part, findes applause, it brings novelty with it, it cheeres the mind, adds vigour to the body, raiseth up the understanding with the mo­tion, and sodainnesse, and if it doth not give their Spirits their being, yet it stirreth them up to operation, and the more vehe­ment it is, the greater force it adds to them, as experience daily sheweth us in frantick men, and that not without admiration. How farre different is this motion which novelty causeth in the spirits, and produceth mirth, from that which is produced by mirth? It is more meeke, and hath opera­tion for its end, imagination for its guide, and the understanding for its meanes: Whereas the other moultered being vehe­hement, runnes and flyes without stay or guide. I know not whether it be because in griefe the spirits retire to the heart, and in great joyes they dilate themselves, that those two passions produce such effects, as some men are of opinion. Or whether by the rai­sing, abating, repose, motion, sometimes lost, sometimes unruly. In my conceit all the dammage proceeds from their ceasing to operate: in feare, because they lose their mo­tions; in joy, because they alter it; in the lat­ter, the imagination gives them motion, and doth not set them a working; in the former, [Page 59] it takes away both motion and operation. Man dies through griefe, because the moti­on of the spirits ceases, without which they being unable to work, and being not fed, e [...]sily dissolved, by reason of their subtile­nesse they are soone corrupted, What good sind we in weeping? It doth not vent our griefe, but it is a signe that the spirits be­gin to worke, and that they have operation enough to sustaine them. A man dyes for joy, because in that act, the imagination in an instant moves all the spirits with a swist motion▪ and then losing it self, for­sakes them, and gives over setting them to work: whereupon they being in a most vi­olent motion, and having none to direct, restraine, or curbe them, finding every thing abandoned, fly out and evaporate that way which they find open and enlarged. Na­ture seldome gives so strong an affliction or griefe, but that it is accompanied with some small parcell of pleasure. Or any joy so sin­cere, but that it hath some kind of mixture of distaste: to the end, that in one part there may be somewhat to excite the spirits, and in the other to sustaine the imaginative fa­culty: that it may not quite abandon it self to the overthrowing of the individuum. Even as the heaven works and operates in this lower world by its motion, and light, so do the spirits in the body. The world [Page 60] would perish, if it did not receive light and motion from the heavens; and the body, if it had not the like from the spirits. Finally, extravagant actions make so much noise amongst People, that the entring into them, though it be with choice and election, and the prosecuting of them, though in a fitting and convenient way, brings by the plausible­ness of them eminent danger along to en­gage man in the persisting in them, though they be evill: And if this be so in him who operates by election, how will it be in him that operates by nature. They have hot and subtile spirits, the heat causeth them to rise, and mount the subtileness to penetrate: they have acute speculation, and surpasse others in understanding: their conceits are not common, but oftentimes monstrous. It is likewise so with the forming power, when it works upon hot and dry matter; for be­ing carried on by heat it grows up in height so much, that wanting it afterwards to spread abroad, it frames a long, but not great body; because slenderness takes away the proportion which is needfull for a true and perfect greatnesse, Heat alwaies puts for­wards as much as it can for the advantage of sublimeness; it never turnes back to re­flect whereby it endammages Prudence, which needs some coldnesse to examine that which drinesse hath penetrated, and in [Page 61] case it find it not ordered and settled, may correct, change, or forsake it. The actions of such an understanding shall alwaies be great, sometimes good, and sometimes evill: Going alwaies upward, and never reflecting upon what is past, they will be great by nature, but good by accident: An exquisite temperature for a speculation which is above us, unfit for practice amongst our selves, and every way dangerous to intro­duce erroneous opinions, which will be very hurtfull, if they be put in pra­ctice.

Alcibiades being admitted to the govern­ment of the common-wealth, ambition leads him to encounter with Pheaces and Ni­cias, who were the most powerfull, with an intent to make himself greater.

Because the world should not be idle, Na­ture hath scattered amongst mankind Emu­lation and Necessity, Gaine and Glory: he that hath not these last two can hardly set forward to action, because the desire of knowing truth which is in all men, moves them to speculation, before it employes them in operation. True it is, that to keep the affections of both in a kind of modera­tion, she took care that small gaine should suffice to satisfie Necessity; and little glory to overcome Emulation, she making her self the measure of the one, and appointing [Page 62] Equality to be the measure of the other. When man thrusts on his desires to immo­derate things, he ought not to complaine of that nature which made him, but of that which he himself hath made; because that having overcome the Emulator which she had given him, and being grown up above the state in which he was borne, he should find rest, and want an object to spur him on any further, if he did not frame to himself a new one. A desire of little, proceeds from nature, and from us comes the not being satisfied with much: And seeing she could not with this Law stay the course of humane ambition, she hath broken it in such man­ner, that though it go on in infinitun, yet it doth it by meanes of small and finite objects. Those who from treading upon the dust, have raised themselves to trample upon thrones, have by the way found many ob­jects; in the attaining of which they have beleeved that happiness to consist, which they have not found even in the last object when they have attained unto it. Verily it is strange that Man, who in this world, hath no object (be it never so great) which attai­ned unto can content his desire, should think he can content them with lesser, when he doth but contemplate them. The one proceeds from the naturall anxiety of over­topping his Emulator, the other from fra­ming [Page 63] a new one to our selves in what state soever we be; thence it is, that a new happi­nesse gives content at the first, untill we find in it somewhat to emulate or to envy, which never failing, the desire likewise of grow­ing greater never failes; which commonly aiming at ones equall, or him that is next before him, comes one way to be short, and the other way infinite. I confesse, Nature sometimes brings forth (but very seldome) such magnanimous breasts, who ayming at a higher degree then that they were born in, do at the very first propose unto themselves that object, which is highest & furthest from them. So a Souldier of the meanest conditi­on, fixes upon a Generals place for his scope: and such motions, though they seeme con­trary to them which I have spoken of, yet they are not so: The diversity consists not in the substance, but in the manner, taking the dead and not the living for objects, and alwaies an equall if not him that is, yet him that was such: falling into imitation of them, who were of a meane estate as well as they, and from thence either by valour or vertue were raised to high degrees. He is unfortunate that is borne thus, unless he become very happy; For either he lives de­spairing in a continuall affliction, or rashly casts himselfe into some manifest danger, being not stayed nor appeased with that de­ceitfull, [Page 64] yet profitable, hope of an approach­ing happinesse. Heroes are indeed framed out of such constitutions, if valour be not wanting, or Fortune averse. There is diffe­rence in a Travellers pace, when he sees his place of rest farre off, and when he is close by it. One way must be taken to attain to a thing, as a medium, and another way to come to it as an end. He that hath attained to it, if he will make use of it for a medium, having aimed at it as an end, many times quite de­prives himselfe of the use of it. Whence comes, that many having attained to some reasonable degree of felicity, striving to rise to an higher, have overthrowne them­selves quite; for of necessity changing their end, they must change all; and in changing, it is easie to come to ruine.

Alcibiades spurred on by ambition, no soo­ner is admitted to be one of the Senate, but he strives to become great, and make him­selfe respectfull by contending with great ones. Power deserves this name, not onely because it may doe what it pleases, but al­so because it may hinder others from doing the like. The one lightens the heaviest Scep­ter, and the other makes heavy the lightest chain. The forbidden thing seemes best for this purpose, and it is so, seeing that the at­taining of it frees from the bond which tied the freedome of the will. Hence it is, that [Page 65] the manner of introducing a law by exam­ple, is farre more excellent than the doing of it by punishment or penalty. Hence pro­ceeds, and hath its originall, the hatred which Potentates (though they be not of­fended by him) beare to him that is greater; and the rage which causeth them to turn the world up-side-downe to over-throw him, under the false precence of a lost, or en­dangered Liberty; as if not onely the not being free, but also the possibility of not being so, were slavery.

This n [...]me is ill understood, and ill used. Slavery it selfe doth not take away a mans freedome: the wise Servant is freer than the foolish Master. Liberty and necessity are not inconsistent: An action done through outward violence, though it be not of free will, seeing he hath not power to doe the contrary, yet it may be a free action, seeing that both will and understanding concurre therein; and therefore those shall be free subjects who frame and levell both their understandings and wills to their Lords. From this spring proceeds the great worth of that man in Gods eye, who en­dures troubles and sorrows, by reason that oftentimes a forced and constrained act, which hath no merit at all in it, becomes free and meritorious. And this is (or I am deceived) a better grounded, and more effe­ctuall [Page 66] reason then Seneca's, where he intends to prove, that a wise man is uncapable of becoming a slave; because that working a­long with the current which runnes with the actions of the understanding and the will, hee alwayes freeth himselfe, and findes rest in all things. Socrates would not be defended, his Reason was, because hee would dye free, and not forced. But because men of this constitution, and mar­ked with this Noble Character, are very rare (by an unknowne motion of Nature, which in its actions is a longing desire and anxiety to preserve the freedome of will) domination is hatred. And thence it comes, that he who is mightiest, either in Citie, Senate, or Court, wounds the eyes of him who comes newly thither with so much force, that it imprints thereon a dolorous character. If he meets with an unadvised harebrained man, he openly opposes him, and declares himselfe to be his enemy: If with a subtile one, he makes himselfe his companion, and choaks him under colour of friendship. The one is like the Summer heat, which gently disperseth the naturall heat, with another semblable to it. The other like a Winter cold, with its contra­riety, oppresses it. The first way is hard to begin well, if he presently gets not the upper hand: the second to end, if he do not attaine [Page 67] at all to it. The operation by way of simi­litude, findes lesse resistance, because it seeks onely free passage, and not the ruine. That by contrariety findes a greater, because it aimes onely at annihilation: And therefore the water is easily overcome by the aire, and hardly destroyed by fire. Caesar had three great enemies, Cato totally opposite; Pompey his semblable, and Brutus mixt. Cato gave him occasion of shame, not of feare; Pompey went neare to overthrow him; Brutus killd him with being semblable to him, but could not overthrow him by his being different. But if Sylla, Pompey, Caesar, and so ma­ny other men of worth and valour, happi­ly came to be great, by becoming friends to those who were greater. How can Al­cibiades his way be commended, who went about it by opposing them? Those Romans found the great ones divided, the Athenian agreed and united. Where there is partia­lity, or faction, it is best to become a friend; and an opposite where there is no enemy. It is too hard to sight against two, or more, if they be opposites; in Physick, Moralitie, or in Policie, if two unite against him that sets upon them (which comes ordinari­ly to passe) makes the issue of the underta­king impossible.

The want of the chiefe instrument, name­ly, discontented persons, makes the begin­ning [Page 68] of the enterprize hard. And in such a state of affairs, though you make some such, yet they doe not long last such; because that he who discontents himself with one, quick­ly is contented with another. The enmity of great ones makes a man to be esteemed generous, and is the true way, either to rise or ruine quickly. It is difficult to enter into it, without losing ones self in the very first steps, but if thou get but a little way on, thou wilt soon have a companion, and find help. Every one applauds thee, because a new va­lour causeth as much admiration, as a new starre doth gazing. Envious men assist him, because they are ashamed to yeeld; the of­fended, because they seek revenge; the dis­contented, satisfaction; and all in generall, because they unwillingly bow to that great one; and being brought under, they re­joyce when thy finde one that will not bow to him. They take heart from the exam­ple, and favour him as one that should free them from sordid slavery and abject suffe­ring. They are deceived in beleeving, that if they make him superiour, they can without any resistance, bring him againe to an equality. But if they were not decei­ved, and did believe they rather change, than take away their bondage; yet they would assist him. They do not much hate, neither are there so many discontented at [Page 69] this new valour, because it is more inno­cent. Envy is not yet come in, and the change of domination is oftentimes judged to be a kind of liberty.

The passing of the disease from one part to another in a sicke man, gives some hope of recovery; it shewes that Nature is yet strong, and the humour not so stubborn, or so strongly knit together, but that it may be loosened and extirpated. For a subject to attain to be the greatest man in the World, in a Citie, or in a Court, is not so hard a matter as for one to keep himselfe so. He that is growing up, is helped on, he that is growen up, is aban­doned, and left to himselfe; and every one becomes an enemy to him that is decay­ing.

It is so easie a matter to cut off a rising power in its beginning, that if man had not a naturall instinct to help him that is grow­ing up, none would become great: And it is so hard to bring down him that is gotten up, that if nature did not likewise incline man to destroy him, greatnesse would still remain in the same place. In augmentati­ons men are never quiet, untill they have brought the Subject to the highest pitch: when they have brought him thither, they never rest till they see him decline: And when he is declining, untill they have ruined [Page 70] him. Actions which are done in favour of him that riseth, in hatred of him that is ri­sen, in damage of him that is falling, though they be never so well measured by under­standing Politicians, yet nature makes them exorbitant, and without measure. Let the Pilot be never so skilfull, the cur­rant of this instinct doth insensibly take off his hand, and in the end of his voyage brings him quite to another place then that whither he intended to come ashore. The Heaven which is an universall cause; Na­ture which is fruitfull, Necessity which binds, Practice which teaches, Example which perswades, men which encourage, Envy which provokes, frame a contrary to him.

If the heaven become particular, Na­ture barren, the bond suffer violence, swiftnesse give not time to Practice, diffe­rence leave no place for example, nor supe­riority for envy; either he stayes, or he changes himselfe, or dyes, stayed, changed and kill'd by reserving nature. God will not have us to enjoy so much happinesse as we should if the world were all one man's: For mens sinnes it is he suffers so many Princes, and Common-wealths upon earth.

It begun when one alone commanded it, and will end when it arrives againe where [Page 71] it begun. And therefore it necessary, that he should lose him selfe that aimes at an uni­versall Monarchy; either because he can­not attaine it, and so he shall lose himselfe alone; or together with the world after he hath attained to it.

The Emulators, and Enviors of Alcibia­des and Nicias greatnesse, not knowing the hurt they did the Common-wealth, desi­ring by Ostracisme, to banish one of them out of the City, which was manifestly to give it in prey to the other who remained, made choice for the setting forward of this businesse of one Hyperbolus, a man so full of infamy, that he felt it not, being so co­vered over with it, that he had no sound part left him by which he might judge of it.

Such was Alcibiades his circumspect­nesse and vigilancy that he turned the Ostracisme upon Hyperbolus himselfe. The people were ashamed that the Ostracisme should fall upon so infamous a person: be­ing a punishment which made a man suffe­rable, and almost to be desired: its reward being to be thereby declared the best man, and therefore after that time it was no more used, and it was very fitting, that law which had begun with the best should end with the worst.

[Page 72] Excellency or perfect goodnesse, seemes to be an unfortunate thing. In Physicke Galen saith, it is not to be found. Hyppocrates if he grant any such thing, doth presently againe disallow it In policy they will not admit of it amongst formes of state, unlesse it be transitorily. A Common wealth banisheth any thing that resembles it; a Tyrant kills it. In humane actions they call it an enemy to goodnesse; nature is sometimes blamed as ignorant, because it cannot reach to the making of it up: and sometimes they accuse it as envious, because after it hath begun it, it cuts it off green. If it belonged to the body, Arithmeti­cally there were no place to receive it. If Geometrically, no ayre whereby it might breath no food to feed upon without offend­ing it. If it belong to the mind, it must of ne­cessity be excluded out of the Common-wealth. The excellent and perfect one is not yet come upon earth; and he cannot be a fitting Citizen of any other; therefore it must either grant him the command over all, or kill him. When the perfect one came into the world and was borne amongst us, he would not accept of the first, because his kingdome was not of this world; and he came for the latter: Scarce was he borne, but the Tyrant seekes to slay him. Scarce is he knowne, but the Tribes cry him [Page 73] up King; and the rulers crucifie him. Man is borne to iniquity, saith Eliphaz, the Tema­nite, and this doth not proceed saith he from the dust, from which spring the sen­ses, for then beasts also would be wicked. Not from the soule governesse and guide of the body, say I, for then the infant, and the mad man would sinne. But from that which moves the understanding and the will, by St Paul called Spirit, by the Phi­losophers Minde, and by us commonly Reason. The child because he wants it, re­ceives by that defect more securenesse then Man. The mad man because he hath lost it, hath an advantage above the wise man. The one cannot sinne, the other can not chuse but sinne. To be great in heaven, we must become as the little ones of the earth; to be wise, we must become fooles; yet with this difference, that where they do not sinne through defect, we should not sinne thorough vertue: and where they doe not undeserve wanting the use of reason, wee should merit in rightly using it. This food, this heavenly Nectar, if it meets with a cleere and resplendent mind, doth seed, and elevate it wonderfully, if an impure, and troubled one, it doth above measure of­fend and depresse it. He which is best, be it either in the species, or in the individuum, if once he begin to be bad, becomes the [Page 74] worst. Angels are worse then Men, Men worse then Beasts. Amongst Angels, he that was the greatest, amongst men, he that is the best; the best & most excellent is onely contrary to the worst, and the best onely can attaine to be wor [...]t. This possibility was the guilding which the inventers of the O­stracisme gave malice. They covered the vice of envy, with the vertue of providence. But it is not a vertue when it is overmuch, it is a vice, and the lesse it resembles it, the more it is such. It shews ill in Gods sight, as if man did put his whole confidence in himselfe, and none in him. Of this Ty­rants are framed; For this warres arise, and with this the world is pull'd off of the hinges. How many men are dead, by pre­venting future things, and by physicking themselves with prevention? How many Cities, Provinces, and Kingdomes have lost themselves to prevent a future thing, which was not, nor would not have been. I would liken over much Providence, to the Judi­ciary, but that is more harmfull, more rash, more uncertaine: and worse; because it can­not be hindred. Thou shalt indeed find some that have bin killed by a Tyrant, by reason of what the Astrologers advised, and the starres threatned him. Other some that have undertaken great, and new things, perswaded thereunto by the happy in­fluences [Page 75] of their births. These are but some, but their number is infinite whom provi­dence hath caused to be kill'd or spurred on to new businesses. Both go on in divining future things. But providence is the rashest, because it drawes the principall out of it selfe, and the other seekes it in the starres, where he thinkes the Creator hath placed it. They are both false, Astrology lesse false, because it makes use of celestiall things. Providence more false, because it is ground­ed upon terrestriall. God is not pleased with man who remits all things to him; and is displeased when he remits nothing at all to him. Seldome will he operate with­out man, and never likes that man should operate without him. The one is tempting of God by obliging him; The other is a provoking of him by refusing to be obliged to him. This most vile Law was ordained, by Ignorance and Malignity, the Nobles, the People, Ambition, Jealousie, Envy, and Feare. The People seeke after security, the Nobles after honour, and both with their private passions overthrow the publick weale. A subject of great worth is ever hate­full to his equalls, but not alwayes distrust­ed by his inferiours. If it were possible for him to free himselfe from envy, he might easily free others from feare. The People love him, and exalt him [Page 76] while they beleeve he may profit or at least not endammage their security. The Noble alwayes hates him, because he is alwayes a hinderance to his honour, and being a­shamed to shew his envy so naked and plaine, he cloaths and covers it with feare, to imprint likewise in the Peoples hearts this his dissembled and feigned character. It is not withstanding a feare in both of them, though it be not a vice in both; in great ones it is a feare of not losing their glory, in the meane ones their liberty. And if the People be permitted to oppose him who takes away their liberty, why should the Noble be denied the opposing of him that takes away his glory? Peradventure it is because the one is assayed directly, the other reslectively. Liberty cannot be de­fended, but onely by directly opposing him that seekes to intrappe it; Glory may be maintained by getting before him, who diminishes it. The way to great actions would be lost, or they which attempt them would lose themselves without attaning to them, if the opposing ones selfe to him that tramples upon him did not not bring blame and infamy along with it, and the sur­mounting of him praise and honour. Envy which reigned in us, one part of the world more than in Greece, sometimes banishing worthy and eminent, subj [...]cts [Page 77] sometimes hindering them from attaining to their aimes, suffered not that noble and excellent Country to obtaine any great conquests, whereas the Roman Common-wealth in a small time attained to the uni­versall Monarchy. The Grecian valour was great, but inferior to the Italian; the Italian wits were eminent, but not equall to the Grecian. In the one the braine was greater then the heart; in the others the heart greater then the braine. Where the understanding surmounts valour, there is most envy, where valour outgoes the un­derstanding, most emulation.

The one vilified seekes by subtilty to bring downe him that is grown up above him; the other encouraged by valour seekes to overcome and surmount him. Envy (saith Aristotle) growes from the sir [...]ilitude; I say moreover, that it growes like a plant from its seed, and as man from humane seed. The semblable causeth great delight, and is not parted from without much, distaste, unlesse it be done willingly to inc [...]ease, or at least not to diminish it, which will be when it happens to decrease, if not really, yet in conceit. The first effect that it produces, meeting with a breast not quite opposite to vertue, is Emulation, which prickes on the desire to goe forward. Not to get away from him who is gone beyond [Page 78] him that which he hath gotten, but to at­taine himselfe to the getting of the same. If he doth not attaine to it, he oftentimes proceeds to a desire to have the other want it, and then th' emulation becomes envy, which if it remaine in him, in a short time provokes him to wrest it from him, and turnes to rage and hatred.

And this is a vice, proper, and peculiar to mans nature; Horses and Mules to which are likened the worst of men are not subject to it; nor the good Angels, to whom the best and most excellent men come neere, no nor the Devill himselfe, who amongst all bad ones is the worst. It is much that one degree onely which distinguishes us from our equall, by reason of his, or our owne advancing, should move the passions of joy or griefe with so much violence, and that many degrees, when they carry our superior farre up above us, or raise our inferior after us, doe not produce the same effect. Peradventure these, though they increase, yet they doe not goe out of the latitude of the Spheare. The difference is in the more, or lesse: The motion is an alteration, but an equall cannot move to step forward, but pre­sently and in an instant he becomes a su­perior.

He makes no motion, but it is generall, [Page 79] no difference but specificall. If motion be the cause of joy and griefe, and the great­est and most suddaine motion causeth the greatest; how should the growing at distance, and advancing from equality, seeing it must be a sudaine act for defect of latitude, and great, by reason of the alteration of the species, but produce Joy and Griefe in an eminent degree?

This law was defective in the manner of putting it in execution, it was by the peoples particular votes, not disgested or considered upon by conference: Every one in particular sent Hyperbolus into exile; All joyned together were ashamed of it: It was not the whole commonalty that exiled him; yet was it they who blamed the exiling of him. The whole, to be more then the parts, requires an union; if that failes, it will not take effect, if it di­vides, it corrupts. It loseth its name, and also its vertue. The voyce of this commu­nity united is called Gods voyce, of each one in particular is like the devills. Plinie wonders that such a joyned multitude should daunt an Orator, who would speake boldly to any of those men parti­cularly. And why doth he not also mar­vaile, that a bundell of rods cannot be bent nor bowed, and each severall rod may with ease be broken to pieces.

[Page 80] Strength is a vertue of union, most ma­nifest in the peoples unity, which resembles the Divine; where it goes with violence to overcome, it breakes and shivers whatsoever opposes it; when it is bent to judge, it strikes terror; when united together, it powres forth prayers; it forceth (I had al­most said) the very heavens. Man is affrigh­ted, astonished, trembles, and loses himselfe in the presence of the object which he loves, at the Kings feet to whom he bowes, at the sight of the people to whom he speaks: not for any thing that he sees which is humane, but for that is represented to him which is Divine: hee discovers in his beloved a beame of Divine beauty, in the Assem­bly of the people, Divine unity; in the Kings greatnesse, Divine Majesty and Om­potency.

From this manner of voting likewise proceeded that dangerous errour of little Secresie: They shewed the blow before they struck, whereas that should have pre­ceded swifter than a Thunder-bolt, not onely the noyse, but even the flash. It is too dangerous to startle and affright a sub­ject whom wee may have cause to feare. The interessed party, be they never so wise and cautelous, stands alwayes vigilant and attentive to the dammage which may befall him.

[Page 81] If too much care be the daughter of Sus­pition it is the enemy of Truth: It troubles the imagination; and this being troubled, though it doth not make that to be, which is not, yet it makes it seem to be so And what man is so circumspect, that in the passing of moneths (I will not say of yeares) can be so wary in his actions, as that none of them shall give an extreame watchfull man some cause to doubt or mistrust?

The next degree to watchfulnesse, is Sus­pition and mistrust: it would be farre bet­ter if it were to trust and beliefe; Hee that trusts, is bound presently to secure himselfe of the subject. And because he gives him not time to move if he is a traytor, or to be­come one, if he be not so, he commonly at­taines very well and hapily to what hee in­tends.

Hee that mistrusts before hee can resolve himselfe, endeavoureth to finde the truth; and let him goe about it as warily as he can, when he comes to use the meanes, he disco­vers his intention, the subject that perceives it, presently finding himselfe lost, if hee hath not a truly Christian breast, or is not a most subtile Morall Philosopher, who to avoyd the stain of finne, or note of infamy, will rather than become guil­ty, expose himselfe to the danger of dying innocent, will hold it a kinde of pusilla­nimity [Page 82] not to die guilty. And if he be a Traytor, he will at that very instant dis­cover himselfe; if faithful, he will be­come treacherous. The former hath the greatest advantage, who hath the meanes already prepared, and presently comes to a tryall, finding the other unprovided, wa­vering, and doubtfull, between credulity and distrust: Whereas the other taken up­on a sudden, unprovided of meanes, and wanting time, which he cannot take, unlesse hee likewise give it the other, is often oppressed before hee bee prepa­red, in preparing himselfe, or at least ill prepared.

To take away and banish one one­ly, was not not a right Cure, it rather increased the Disease. To take away that humour out of the Body, which is not offensive, and leave that which is offensive, is (according to understan­ding Physicians) one of the chiefe cau­ses of malignant Feavers. If a Subject in a Citie, exalt himselfe above the rest, what can bee done better, then to give him an opposite? And what worse than to remove him from him? If hee doth not frame himselfe, or Nature give him one, let Art bring him in one. The Ostracisme banishing one onely, did let the other loose, made him Lord [Page 83] of the Citie, and gave him opportunity to become a Tyrant.

Two great disasters (according to A­strology) make one good Fortune. Phy­sicians doe not take away the Bilis, or Choler, where they feare the Dropsie, nor the Pituita, or Flegm [...], where they feare a Plethora. Contraries mingled, doe not hurt the Body, which they overthrow being divided. Whilest Caesar and Pom­pey both remained in Rome, the Com­mon-wealth did not perish: The ones go­ing out, and the others remaining within, ruined it.

To take away the best, was as much as to let the worst loose. In this Ari­stotle himselfe was puzzled, hee would not likewise have him to remaine in the Citie, where hee cannot place him but as King. He sends him into the Woods, he compares him to Iove, he would not have man worthy to bee his Companion, and yet hee makes him a companion of wild beasts. Hee was peradventure deceived: In describing an excellent man, hee seemes to attribute unto him the worst of vices. If hee bee ambitious, or foolish, hee is not excellent: if hee bee wise and modest, he will shun and refuse, not af­fect the Scepter; he will subject himselfe to the Lawes, as if he had need of them; to [Page 84] Magistrates, as inferior to them, to obedi­ence, as if he were not borne to command. It is contradictory to doe ill, and be ex­cellent. The instance which Aristotle gives of a voyce exceeding the rest in a quire of Musick, if he doth not take away discreti­on from him that hath it, the voyce will not take away the harmony from the rest. That of one member bigger then another, hath nothing to doe with goodnesse, but with Monstruosity, it is as farre from Ex­cellency in goodnesse, as it is neere ex­ceeding badnesse. He that gave the hu­mors of the body for an example, where if one exceeds the rest, though it be a good one, yet it diseases the body; he mistooke the greatest for the best, and tooke the hu­mors for the naturall heat, which be it ne­ver so great, doth not burne nor consume, but foment, preserve, and vivifie. He were but a very ignorant Physician that would expell it, and so is he a Politician, that will banish the best out of a City. Some cannot suffer the best, nor endure the worst. They feare one for their owne sake, the o­other for the Common-wealth's; They envy the former, and are ashamed of the latter. They seeke after indifferent subjects, which may not dishonour the Publicke, nor put them in danger: and this they can­not attaine unto, because nature produces [Page 85] but few such, and taking away the best, they raise up a worst, as out of a mixt, if the pre­domin ant be taken away. The Cretans pro­ved it, they no sooner had banished the best, but they found themselves in the hands of the worst. What is the driving of a great man out of the Citie, but adding the adherence of strangers, to the applause which he hath gained amongst the Citi­zens. Caesar would not give Senators leave to travell long out of Italy, when they were once above twenty yeares of age. Augustus not out of Rome: Tyberius kept them also within the Citie, whom he had chosen for Governours of Provinces.

Politick Writers have blamed the letting of a subject grow great in the Citie, more than the banishing, of him when he was grown so. Aristotle desires a remedy from the Lawes, others seek it from Art. They keep them idle who haue any signe of great worth: they transplant those who have gained great reputation in one place, into another. If riches gained it him, they cause him to spend them; if valour in warres, they call him home to the Citie; if he be reputed of great understanding, or rashly valiant, they employ the one in affaires which may over-throw him, and expose the other to dangers, in which he may ha­zard the losse of himselfe; If he attained [Page 86] thereunto by being officious, and service­able, they deny him those boones and fa­vours which he asketh. And generally up­on the least occasion, they punish them all most severely. But all this hath more out­ward shew than safety. There is neither Law nor Art can hinder the rising off him, whom Nature doth, even from his birth, ac­company with such beames of happinesse, that either he findes no resistance, or forces his way through, wheresoever hee meets with it; good things prove excellent to him, and he can turn bad into good. All kind of food serves him for nourishment, and each poyson is a remedy to him. These kinde of balls, the harder they are dashed against the ground, they higher the bownd up to­wards heaven. Herod the great, by Hirea­nus his first persecuter of him, got the Te­trarchy; by the second, the Principality; by the third, he made himselfe Lord of his own native Countrey, by the assistance of the Romanes. Occasions oftentimes will not permit them to be kept idle. If the tumults of Naples had gone forward, the Spaniards had determined to send the great Captaine thither again.

The businesse of Portugal would not suf­fer the Duke of Alva to be idle, though he were in prison. And the warres of Germa­ny forced the Militia to be returned in Wal­destein's [Page 87] hands. Transplanting; and changing of place, gives way for the gaining of new reputation, and doth not diminish the old. It had not a vailed Tiberius to have transplan­ted Germanicus out of the North into the East, if his death had not helped him. By great expences a man, for the most part, gains applause; want of money, doth not endammage a subject that is in credit, and few great ones have lost themselves there­by. Caesars friends were deceived therein: for he then became Lord of the Common-wealth, when they thought his debts would have ruined him.

To call one home from an army to the City, is as much as to adde the peoples fa­vour to that of the Souldiours. Domitian finding he was not thereby able to deale with Agricola, was constrained to make use of poison; and Tiberius met with a Subject that would not part from it. To put them upon businesses in which they may lose their credit, or endanger the losing of their lives, is a matter full of hazard and adventure. Wise men will come off in their affaires well enough, howsoever the businesses prosper, and valiant men for the most part overcome dangers be they never so great; building their greatnesse, where others had prepared a precipice for them: It so happened to Saul with David, and to Se­leucus [Page 88] with Iugurth. To deny them those boons and favours which they crave, and oppresse their friends, moves them to indig­nation, and doth not abate their power. The Prince of Orange, and the Duke of A­riscot, have testified that sufficiently. Tibe­rius increased the peoples love to Germanicus, more by persecuting him, than if he had che­rished him. If it fell out well with Agesilaus, touching Lysander, it was because the good­nesse of the Subject helped him. To punish, and not utterly extingu [...]sh great ones, is a great error in policie: small errors in them, ought to be connived at, and great faults pu­nished with death. There is no medium to be used towards such, between cherishing and killing, If Astiages in stead of killing Arpagus sonne, had put the father to death, hee had not lost his Kingdome. And if if Craesus had taken away Demetrius his life, when he put out his eyes, he had not lost himself. Let it be as it will, certainly it is barbarous & inhuman in Comon-wealths & Princes, to make laws to hinder such as undertake actions worthy of everlasting fame, and a glorious memory, that are valorous and vertuous, both in be­ing and acting, when they should rather en­act such, as might encourage men thereunto. He that invented this most wicked Law of Ostracisme, was an enemy to God, Man, and Nature, and a ruiner of all good Lawes.

[Page 89] It a [...]mes not so much at destroying of ty­ranny▪ as at the exercising of it with security, whether it be in Prince, Nobles, or People, taking away honorable and regardfull sub­jects, whose valour and worth are the San­ctuary to which wronged subjects flye, and whose presence is the onely curb to make Princes and Senators ashamed of commit­ting wickednesse. There never was any Common-wealth more abounding in wor­thy men than that of Rome, while i [...] slouri­shed; nor that made better use of them than it did while it stood uncorrupted. The peo­ple did with extraordinary applause, honour a Citizens great vertue, and punished with most severe justice, the defects of the same man, if he chanced to alter his nature. When they perceived Melius to aspire to tyranny, Manlius to attempt it, & Appius Claudius to have already attained it, it did not help Me­lius, hat he had freed them from famine, Manlius, that he had vindicated them from ssavery, nor Appius, that hee had been popu­lar: But they threw two of them downe headlong from the Tarpeian Rock, and con­spired the death of the other.

In the good time of the Common-wealth, eminent vertue was much estee­med, and not feared; because that as soone as it aimed at sinister ends, it lost together with its name, both favour and applause. [Page 90] And whereas it was reverenced whilest it was sincere, when once it came to be counterfeit, it was condemned. The greatest dangers it ran it selfe into, was, not for having kept their best Citizens amongst them, but exiled them: As when Coriola­nus came to conquer Rome, and Furius Ca­millus was not there to defend it.

Let Common-wealths be so framed, that all the parts thereof may be contented; and let Princes rule their Subjects with a Fa­therly affectiō, that no desire of change may grow up; and in so doing, they both may che­rish and prefer subjects of great worth. They shall enjoy their vertue, while it is upright, without feare; because it will be easie to chastise and punish it, if once it grow corrupted.

Alcibiades, to make use of his Talent, and satisfie his unlimited ambition, and desire of glory, hinders the Athenians peace, and goes to Warre with the Laacedemo­nians, puts his native Countrey in hazard, and brings it to a precioice. Some subjects are born in Cities, with most excellent in­clinations and endowments. Amongst those that want them, as well as amongst those that are full of them, some know it, and some are ignorant of it. One that is good for nothing, and knowes he is so, doth no hurt, because he will not adventure him­selfe; neither could he do any great hurt, if [Page 91] he did not know himself, so he were known; for then he would not be put to any tryall. Indeed, if he be not known, there may bee some danger in him, yet if hee doth not overthrow the Common-wealth, or the Prince, upon his first tryal, before a second they will be undeceived, and know what he is. He that hath excellent parts, and knows not of it, is the better: and he that hath them and knowes it, oftentimes proves the worst. And the later is like a medicine, w ^ch finding no excremēts to expell, and break its force, joyns with the humors, & finding noithng to heal, corrupts the former. The former is like Nature, which shewes not her greatest force, but upon greatest occasions. One like flame set to wood, having taken power by the matter, bold and confident, shewes out his form. The other unseen, like fire hidden in a stone, wants the collision of occasion, to manifest and disclose it. The one ambiti­ous and proud, to passe on a potentia ad actum, hunts after occasions, many times he takes them great, and sometimes they present themselves so, sometimes they become so al­though they were once but mean, whereby he loses himselfe, and often times brings the ruine ofthe State al [...]ng with his own. The other being humble seeks not after them, and if they joyn with him, they draw forth his good parts by the power of the matter.

[Page 92] He is the securer by so much, as there is difference between the taking and seeking af­ter occasions. The one raises himselfe with the greatnesse of affaires, the other is de­pressed: one endangers the State, the o­ther drawes it out of dangers. He that doth not know his owne worth, dies unfortu­nate, if occasions do not seek and finde him out: sois he that knows it, if he doth not finde them. In States that have no occa­sions, it were good there were no such men; or if there be, that they would not grow am­bitious. The soile which brings forth such trees, if it have not roome wherein they may spread abroad their branches, must seek and get some: so must leave a way open for vio­lence and [...]ury to vent it selfe at. For if they finde no way, they will make one; and there is a great deale of difference between a way rent open by ambition, and one fra­med with prudency. If a hammer worketh out a doore, way, or passage in a wall, it doth it with designe and intent. A piece of Ordnance shakes, and oftentimes throwes the Wall downe, but will never make a re­gular overture. Nature spake to Scipio Nasi­ca, obscurelv; It shewed him that it was not good to destroy Carthage; hee understood the thing, but not the sense and meaning of it: Hee thought Rome would have need of it, to keep Emulation and Feare a­live [Page 93] in the Romanes breasts, that they might not lose themselves in idlenesse and careles­nesse. But it did want it indeed, because occasions of imployment should not bee wanting to the proudest and ablest Nation in the Universe, whose desire of glory was unlimited, and had no stay for its unbridled valour. And because these occasions were not wanting for a great while after (what­soever Nasica prognosticated) the Romane Comon-wealth, survives long after the ruining of Carthage.

Spain wants not ambitious Subjects of great excellency, and of most able valour; but it thrives by them, because it abounds in occasions, sometimes by Sea, sometimes by Land; being by reason of the large extent of its Dominions, alwayes envied, feared, and assaulted.

France, while it wanted this good fortune of having occasions proffered it, and yet a­bounded in such subjects, was forced to dis­quiet and trouble it selfe, or others. But it is farre better to recommend the cure of such a plague to the Lawes, which are alwayes alive, than to divert it with occasions, which faile either soone or late in every Dominion, bee it never so great and large.

The desire of worldly glory, is wise mens madnesse, and the fools wisdom, and [Page 94] beguiles all. It is an excrement, but bene­ficiall; a Mercury, which laid upon the breast, without doing any hurt, defends it from the most pestiferous qualities with its own venemous one. The asylum, and last re­fuge of Reason, which being to the utter­most weakned and tired by opposing the senses, hath its recourse thither, to avoids its utter destruction. A vertue, which leaving its mildnesse and sweetnesse, and becoming soure, turns to vinegar, rather dead than cor­rupted.

If Reason fights against it, it is in a faire combat; if it be conquered, it saves its life, though it be taken prisoner. It troubles man, and he troubles the world if he finds it quiet; and if he finds it troubled, he suffers it not to perish. Nature hath invironed Glory with a hedge composed of most sharp thornes of troubles, full of grief and tormen­ting labours, to hinder man with the difficul­ty, from that which he could not perswade him to with reason. And not content there­with, because he should not set upon it, she taught him, that it might be obtained by slighting and contemning it. But desire of this glory being once possessed of man, makes him seeme to be no more flesh and blood, but turned all into spirit. Hee en­counters with heat and cold, hunger and thirst, fire, sword, and bullets, and even [Page 95] death it selfe, to not die and live glorious in mens memories; and still when he attains to it, he remaines rather undeceived than sa­tisfied.

True it is, that hereby the superior part she­weth its odds and and advantage, whereby it surmounts the senses: and drawing such an one out of darknesse, like a lamp of true Glory, shewes how small the relish of the senses is in objects, in comparison of that which a glorified understanding extends, and communicates unto them. But what seeks man with this longing desire of world­ly glory, but divine glory, by an erroneous and false way? In stead of placing it in the seeking out of Gods Truth, Good­nesse and Bounty, he places it in the emu­lation of a great one.

This is not following him that calls us, it is treading of our enemies foot-steps; it is renouncing the being GODS true Issue, and transforming our selves into the Devils adopted children.

It is corrupting the best desire that Na­ture hath given us, to bring in the worst instead of it. It was the vanity of the first ambitious Creature, who instead of turning towards the Divine Essence, to contemplate it, turned towards its great­nes, to go beyond it; and being troubled, (as ambitious creatures use to be) on the one side [Page 96] with passion, and on the other side a little perspicuous by his knowledge; finding by the one, that he could not set his Throne a­bove the starres, and obtain superiority in heaven, he suffered himselfe to be drawne another way, and set it on the side of the North, to attain to it on earth. But God to turn man away from following such per­verse footsteps, abased Worldly Glory, and greatnesse: to make even the most humble upon the Earth, the greatest in Heaven, and the most despised, the most glorious.

Socrates in a Battle saved Alcibiades life: A little while after Alcibiades saves his. Man is the most mutable of all Creatures, because being composed of most mixts, hath most things in him to change. He hath vertue from Nature, but that passes not the first brunt, nor yet comes to it, if it bee preocupated. Hee that blames the rendring of benefites as soone as they are received, makes the way to Ingrati­tude easie.

It is temerity to delay or hinder Nature when it operates well, hoping to doe a bet­ter cure with the ignorance of Art. There would not be so many ingratefull men, if they had not time to become ingratefull. Few are vertuous by habit, and few but are so in a kind of Fit, and upon a sudden.

[Page 97] To take away from this all the praise, is not peradventure warrantable, if it be not a habituall, it is a naturall vertue, if it be not greater, yet it is more generall: it is good al [...]o, if not better, it is greater, more vehe­ment then regulated. He that doth a good turne is so affectionate in the doing of it, that he would doe more, and if occasion served, he would multiply it: He that re­ceiveth it is so tender, that if he could in that instant, he would render it greater. The heate being past, the first alwayes in­creases the accompt, thesecond diminishes it.

The one doth not pay it wholly, the o­ther doth not cancell it, though it be paid. He that did know these vehemencies, would also take notice of the motions, and some­times he doth; but because discourse must pr [...]ceed to attaine to it, it is not attained because the motions are past. The wise mans worth consists not so much in knowing the time, as it doeth in foreseeing it, because that the passage from knowledge to opera­tion, which requires time, puts him beside the time.

The People construed Alcibiades vices to be vertues, sometimes the resemblance caused them to erre and beleeve them to be such, because they themselves were like­wise such, and did erre therein. All that is [Page 98] done conformable to its Genius, it applaudes, and whatsoever is contrary, be it good or evill, it likewise abhorres. Love also on the other side did deceive them, a passion which makes a thing seeme what it is not, and much more doth ignorance doe it, which makes one indeed to beleeve it. The People want the true measure of vertue, which, is mediocrity, and they doe not pe­netrate into the substance which is to ope­rate according to right reason: they are not informed of the circumstances, how much, when, and how.

They make use of excesse for a measure, of quantity alone for a circumstance; of the matter, for the essence, and judge the great­est action to bee best; Hence it is, that the rash and foolehardy man is rather applaud­ed then the valiant, the prodigall rather then the liberall. The little difference that is between vertue and vice hath also a share in this mistake, where vice is accompanied with ambition; because, that though the subject suffer himselfe to be hurried away by the senses, to vices, ye he so carrries himselfe therein, that amongst the vices now and then shines forth some act (not through vertue, but through vehemency) sometimes of liberality, sometimes of mag­nanimity, sometimes of fortitude, some­times of affability.

[Page 99] And sometimes also in the midst of in­continency (a thing which seemes very strange, and yet is true) he shewes signes of great continency. The roote is not really in vertue, as if it were not yet utterly ex­tinguished; it is in the embers of it, heated by the vice of ambition.

A great vertue is a speciall meanes to have a great vice born withall, and par­doned, like to a glance of light which it brings along with it, and with the splen­dor makes the judgement to e [...]re: there can be no eminent understanding with­out some parcell of folly. It is set downe by wise men for an infallible axiom. The reason of it is not easily given. There bee understandings which seeme to be great, and are rather unbrideled and wild ones. They draw men away before they can follow them. They run and in a manner flie, moved by a heate, which doth not onely warme, but enflame and set them on fire: the Carrier is swift. It is a horse which runnes loose, and hath not wisedome sitting upon him to governe and guide him.

This kind of understanding is peradven­ture one of those which Seneca calls uncon­tinent, and which St Paul desires might be sober: Attributes which seem metaphorical, and are most proper; because that manner [Page 100] of speculation, is a note of the manner of operating, seeing that the same heate which let loose the reines, to the higher part, sets the lower also at liberty. And as the unbrideled understanding, goes where it ought not to goe, so the senses set at liber­ty, run whither they will.

Men who cleerely see the defects of the inferior part, and in the superior can dis­cerne nothing but what is great, they judge that subject to abound in many vertues, and many vices, when that is also a vice in him, which seemes not to be so. Other understandings there be, which are so at­tentive and fixed upon speculation, that be­ing wholly set upon it, dividing in a man­ner the soule from the body, raise themselves with the former, and grow carelesse os the latter; and whilest they endeavour to shew the greater part to be man, they dis­cover the other to be beast. To this ancient Poets had a relation, when they represent­ed Satyres, their upper parts like men, and the lower like goates; Whilst the under­standing is busie in speculation, the senses runne and skip about like goates, having none to direct or rule them.

Meane understandings doe not raise themselves so high as to make such a divi­sion and whereas the other are men, and beasts, these are men-beasts: and if they do [Page 101] not attaine to be such eminent subjects, they doe not likewise come to be such great beasts. Behold whence proceeds the ine­quality of eminent understandings, because that, according to Plato, they have a par­cell of madnesse in them. Alcibiades was one of the first sort, and so was almost all the Heroes, Diogenes, and most part of the Philosophers were of the second. I know not by what spirit Galen was moved, when instead of defending such a mans know­ledge, he defended his folly and incon­tinency.

Alcibiades advises the Athenians, to make warre against the Sicilians: He had no other reason to doe it, but his owne de­sire of glory, and to surpasse his emulator. He that suffers himselfe to be overcome by this passion, is never quiet, nor suffers any one else to be so. The appetite of the taste already satisfied with food, runnes not to the desiring of new, though better; and if it doth runne to it, it is not nature, but intemperancy that perswades it. Having received it, into the stomack, it is satisfied; if it remaines there too long, it loaths it: if it quickly disgests, he returnes to desire more.

The appetite of glory goes likewise to the object, although mistaken; Scarce is it touched by naturall heate to disgest it; [Page 102] but poison-like it stupefies the understand­ing, which scarce discovers it, but it loaths it. If one should take it away from it when it hath had it but a little while, it would againe returne to desiring of it. But those things which serve for an object to humane ambition, have volatile spirits soaring up­on the superficies, and not fixed in the substance: the understanding quickly takes them out, and sodainly consumes them.

The thing remaines, not living, but a carkasse; which because it remaines, is not desired; and because a carkasse doth not satisfie; seeing that nature for a short time is contented with a little, and is not for ever satisfied with an infinite. It is a great dammage, to not enjoy at all the glo­ry one hath acquired, and worse to keepe it but for an instant, the one incites to greater things, and the other oftentimes hinders from attaining them.

Unfortunate man▪ that cannot be con­tent with a little [...] unlesse novelty trouble the discourse, nor with much, unlesse ra [...]e and fury take it away. All is but madnesse. whereof the one is bound fast, because it lasts, the other would be bound, if it lasted. That which the wisest man in the world cannot doe, a mad man sometimes doth it.

[Page 103] One doth not content himselfe with the state wherein he is, the other is contented with that which he hath not: because hee is deceived by a fixed desire which doth not set the defect before him, he imagines he hath it as he desires, and hath not so much free understanding left, as to reason upon it, how it would be, if hee had ob­tained it, and so to refell the deceits of ima­gination, with arguments of reason. Nature would shew, that worldly happi­nesse doth not consist in having it, but in the manner of considering; that he onely hath it, who contemplates things in their inside, and possesses in that which he gaines, the good which caused him to desire it.

They both erre, the mad man with de­light, the wise man with trouble; one in beleeving he hath obtained wherewith to content himselfe; the other because he knowes not that hee hath obtained it.

The Athenians make Alcibiades head of the enterprise, which himselfe had set for­ward, and perswaded them to. An ordi­nary way of proceeding both in Common-wealths & Principalities, because other men will not accept of that charge, as another mans business. Or peradventure, he is judged fittest to be employed in it, as having most [Page 104] interest in the good issue of it, or as better informed of the meanes to attaine unto it. I know not whether those influences, which made the counsell acceptable, cause the per­son also which gave it to be applauded: or whether it be, because when any one gives consent to a thing, the understanding be­ing rather violently drawn thereunto, then perswaded to it by reason, he beleeves there is in him that perswades somewhat which is above reason; and therefore without any further enquiry, he will recommend the issue of that which he had voted, not knowing what it was, to him that per­swaded him to it. Yet notwithstanding, the Athenians considering Alcibiades to be rash and violent, to restraine and mitigate these qualities in him, assigned him Nicias, a wise and staid subject, for a companion. Because wise men presuming upon their own wisdome, not knowing how little it availes in sublunary things, will thereby direct those things also which they have begun through the impulsion and violence of fate. Or because we being composed of a na­ture which being an enemy of simple and unmixt things, hath every thing mingled in it; cannot be quiet our selves, untill wee have produced a mixt; But whatsoever be the cause, the issue thereof which hath al­wayes bin unfortunate, should make us [Page 105] not to adhere to any such manner of opini­on; which is either ill argued upon by the understanding, or little favoured by hea­ven: What can bee gotten by it, but the depriving our selves of good, forsaking that advantage which by each quality, several, might be obtained.

The staid and prudent man, causes the rash and hare brained to lose that fortune which assists and favours bold men: The rash man spoyles the prudent mans coun­cells and advices, not suffering them to come to maturity, but preventing them with fury and violence. The primary qua­lities of the elements are qualified, con­trouled, and corrected by themselves: mans qualities remaine entire; they are conti­nually justling & encountring one another, but never joyne nor qualifie themselves. The rash man gives an onset, the prudent man will not second him: One goes as it were with feet of lead to engage himselfe, the other flyes into an engagement with wings of fire: The prudent man thinkes he shall utterly lose himselfe, unlesse he forsake his companion, and sometimes goes back, when by going on, he might have conquered. Tacitus relates the vertues and vices of Mutian and Vespasian.

He doth not say they would have made a good compound, being in two severall sub­jects, [Page 106] but if they had been both joyned in one: he will have a mixt made by Nature, and not by Art, where the parts grow neere, but doe not unite, or at least not mix: each holds & keeps its inclinations to its proper ends. And though the first vertues, from which the accidents have their originall, be sometimes dashed to pieces, yet the last re­mains intire, so that in operating they frame as many characters as they are themselves, always different, and for the most part con­trary. The knowledge of the first qualities, and ignorance of the second, loses both the Physitian and the patient: if we did not want this knowledge, the medicines which were most mixt, would be the best, for our body is more mixt then than any other, by this means bearing the worldly imperfecti­on, to make a difference between it and hea­venly perfection: for there the most pure and simple are the best; and here the most mixed and mingled are excellentest.

The Athenians not content that they had sent Nicias & Alcibiades to the enterprise of of Sicilia, doe appoint Varianus also for that service. Two contraries had need have a third, to the end that if they cannot be united one to another, they may be both joyned in him; which he may easily attain to, if he participate of both their qualities. So the aire, by meanes of its heat, is united to fire; [Page 107] by means of its moistness, to water: water by its coldness, unites it selfe to the earth: by its moistness, to the aire: From whence growes the rawly-composed order of this great vniverse. But because Varianus was not so, but was likewise full of rage & boldness, this seemed to be rather a putting the enter­prise into the hands of temerity, than secu­ring it, unless that were the way to secure it. A prudent man is not sitting to undertake bold attempts, which are beyond Reason, they are to be atchieved by the hands of a daring fierce man, or not at all. Prudence hath measure for is actions; temerity is un­limited, in using it somtimes are performed extravagant & unlookt for atchievements. He that makes use of it, hath an advantage to assault by way of surprize to amaze, to disorder, to confound, binding the under­standing either to lose it selfe, or take a sud­den resolution in a thing which was never discoursed upon. It runnes violently upon some inaccessible way, and finds it without defence, because every one stands armed a­gainst Wisdome, and lies open to Temerity. Therefore wise men for feare of this, make a golden bridge for him that flies, and Con­querours make a way for them that runne. One may erre (it is true) by temerity, but one shall sometimes doe the like through prudence.

[Page 108] The wise man casts him selfe into the armes of reason, the rash man puts him­selfe into the hands of Heaven: And be­cause things have seldome that end which other men judge, hee erres seldomer that hath not discoursed upon affaires, then hee that hath judged of the events. The under­standing is within us, imprisoned in the body, and intangled amongst the senses; Nature is without, loose, free, and not sub­ject to erring. The Philosopher defines Temerity to be an act without reason. Hee might peradventure be deceived: An un­fortunate act is out of the bounds of reason, but a fortunate one is above it. An impulse of nature, which alwayes aymes at truth, is more available then a motion of the under­standing, which discourses upon likeli­hoods; and if nature erres, it is because one making no difference between our par­ticular nature, and the universall, beleeves that impulse to be superior to reason, which is without any, as if the senses, and the heauens did move in the same manner. Others, confiding too much in their owne understanding, hold all that to be a defect in the inferior part, which is dissonant from the superior; as if there were not a supreme which they sometimes doe not know, and sometimes oppose erring for the most part, by fearing not to erre. It is too hard for [Page 109] the one to forget that they have understan­ding and for the other to discern the impulses of a not erring nature, from the provocation of a corrupt one.

Alcibiades was noted for, and accused of impiety, as if totally irreligions in some acti­ons, he had made a mock of the Gods, and had by night cut off the heads of all Mercu­ries Statues▪ which were set up in divers pla­ces of Athens. A wise man among the Gen­tiles, wept at the ignorance of his times, in which they worshipped so many, and such ridiculous Gods: And raising himselfe, by the power of his understanding, to a more sublime Sphere, easily penetrated into the knowledge of one onely [...]ne. A Subject raised to a high Fortune, seeing those who were but men, dei [...]ed for their worthy and eminent actions, sometimes esteeming him­selfe equall, and sometimes superior to them, aimed at and many times attained to, ado­ration as well as they. The simple man li­ving in the publick credulity, blindly belee­ved whatsoever his ancesters had set before him. But he that was not so weake, as to condescend to falshood, nor vet so wise as to know the truth, made use of others credu­lity, to believe nothing.

The Philosopher was of opinion, that such as were raised by fortune, were endow­ed with piety and obsequiousnesse towards [Page 110] the Gods, above other men. And yet Taci­tus teaches the contrary, when hee sayes, That miseries are tolerated, and prosperity corrupts us. And if you look into Holy Writ, you will there finde sentences much differing from Aristotles opinion. There you shall read examples of Kings, both of the twelve, and of the ten, and of the two Tribes, who erred in their greatest prosperities; most of them having before with much vertue and constancy endured af­flictions.

Many Subjects set worldly glory before their eyes, & many the Divine: you shal see both of them afflict their bodies to attain to it, thinking to make the said body to enjoy it, after they have attained it. But be­cause the Divine is out of this world, and the worldly in it, the one doth not unchaine and let loose his senses, but when he cannot sin; and the other sins because he hath let them loose.

Man is not unhappy onely, in respect of his not finding really such an object as may content him; but is more infortunate in re­gard of that little time during which, novel­ty makes him beleeve that he hath found it. It is not so much as to fix him in content, and yet sufficient to make him fall inconside­rate. But if he should withstand the first assault of Novelty, hee would have much [Page 111] a-doe to avoid that of Greatnesse: For, be­ing arrived to highest degrees of good for­tune, and finding great opposition in the ad­vancing, and not losing the desire of a new delight, almost despairing to attain to it with satisfaction of the passions of the mind, glutted with the present, he hath re­course to the satisfaction of the sense, and casts himselfe headlong into intemperancy. Plunged in this, because he wil not crosse his presen [...] pleasures with the object of future torments; whereas before he sought the false immortality of his name, he shakes off the true one of the soule and (as much as in him lieth) takes away the being from that God whom he before call'd upon for assistance, because hee would avoid the feare of him when he is wrathfull. Let him doe what he will hee cannot avoid the having his sweet delights made bitter by that which is not in his power to shun, and that which he ima­gined his bru [...]ishnesse would bring him [...]o; namely, the torment of conscience, and hor­ror of annihilation.

I approve of Pythagoras opinion better then of Aristotles; One said, That fortunate men were most pious and religious, The o­ther at ributeth the same to unfortunate ones. These, when they feele themselves run­ning into miseries implore the Divine assi­stance to keep them from them; being fallen [Page 112] into them, they pray him to remove them: and when they are come to despaire of any redresse in this world, they pray him to re­ward them in the other.

Some presumptuous, ignorant, and brutish man, will in this case (I confesse) blaspheme God, and grow outragious, as if he were not able to inflict any greater punishment upon him; or call him unjust, as if he had al­ready done more to him, than he ought to have done; or to deny him, not knowing this to be a warning to him; or being a­shamed of being punished. But few and foolish are those which attain to so much impiety.

There is no wretched and afflicted man, but will seek to be comforted; and what comfort can there be in this wretched man: but that of attaining happinesse in the world to come? How then against both Reason and his own interest, will he deny so great an assistance to himselfe by believing and working evill? should not despaire then rather cause him to s [...]eke for no ease in this world, and cast himself whol­ly into the hands of God, to comfort him­selfe with the future hope of the beatificall vision? The spirits of a man puft up with happinesse, are troubled like unto ones who raised high above the earth, is astonished and giddy, and for the most part falls down [Page 113] precipitously. Hee f [...]ndes his friends false, deceiving him with flattery, or with obsequi­ous [...]es corrupting him. Occasions of sin su­perabound, voluptuousnesse and all manner of delights incline him to it, and then what marvell is it if he falls? and for the most part irrecoverably, every thing helping him to fall, and nothing to recover himselfe. Nothing comes under the unfortunate mans roofe but truth, there are none to flatter or be obsequious to him, his spirits are cast down, and rather subject to waste of themselves, than to be corrupted: the tem­perature becomes melancholy, it afflicts dries up, mortifies, and hurts every thing but the understanding; so that the inclina­tion to sin, failing with the occasions makes the way easie for the maintaining of Vertue.

There can be no Reason given of an ill ordered and corrupted Common-wealths actions, they are directed by igno­rance and malice: if they hit right, it is by chance. I acknowledge it was a manifest folly to undertake the Sicilian Warre, and to send three Captaines thither to manage it, and that it was malice to call home Alci­biades after hee had happily enterprized it: But whether it were good to send him away from it accused, distasted, and not appeased, not absolved. I know not. The com­mon-wealth of Rome used to doe so, and the [Page 114] Monarchy of Spain hath followed it, and both have done it wi [...]h prosperous successe. Nature sometimes produces Traytors, occa­sion often, & Princes most commonly. Na­ture imprints a Character almost indeleble; No good turn, nor deed, will serve against it; imprisonment hinders it, and the Axe cancels it. The occasion yeelds facility, which powerfully accompanies the desire of domination. The Prince either with suspi­tions obliges to procure safety, or with in­juries revenge: revenge is sometimes produ­ced by wrath, sometimes by hatred, and sometimes by mans reputation. Wrath cannot be discour [...]ed of, because it is with­out discourse, its end is to doe evill: it runs inconsideratly through the meanes to at­tain to it, and for the most part is sorry after­ward that it hath attained it. Hatred go­vernes its actions with understanding, though corrupted by passion. It is like wrath in the end and aime, but different in the meanes to attain to it: it discourses up­on the meanes, and without ever repenting, joyes that it hath attained it. Reputation some desire to vindicate it, and some to re­venge themselves for the prejudice done to it. The latter cannot be done without ha­tred and wrath; the former must be void of both: the ones end is to endammage; the others, though it seem not, nor indeed be not [Page 115] the same; and that it is many times done by way of benefites and good turnes, yet cannot be attained to without doing of dammage. The one goes against the State and the person; the other in the States be­halfe: and if it be against the Person, it is no further then to discredit it. Revenging ones selfe is not a recovering of reputation, but a satisfying of two most wicked passions Wrath & Hatred. Vindicating of it recovers it with satisfaction of the best and noblest of passions namely, Ambition. What joy and triumph, thinke yee, entred into the breast of Furius Camillus, when he overthrew the Gaules, who had besieged the Capitoll, and freed from slavery those that had bani­shed him. And how could he more glori­ously revenge and vindicate his reputation, than by seeing sorrow and repentance writ­ten in the hearts of them who had wron­ged him. That Roman spake foolishly, who being called home from banishment, and seeing an A [...]my put into his hands by those who had persecuted him, said, that as soone as he met with the enemy, he would fight with him; because that if he were over­come, he should work a great revenge by loving his Army; and if he overcame, he should gain great glory. If he revenge him­selfe of him that took away his reputa­tion, he doth not revenge nor vindicate it. [Page 116] He vindicates it when he takes no [...]evenge. But this most noble seed springs up onely in magnanimous & generous breasts, and they are sel dome found but in well-ordered Common-wealths & Kingdoms. The aire, and temperament sometimes produce re­bellious men, but the quality of the forme much more. It was hard to finde a bad Ci­tizen in Rome while it was well-ordered, and a good one when it was corrupted. The goodnesse of the government causes affe­ction to the publick; the badnesse ruines it; yea, and changes it into a private. Those Princes which have Armies, habituated to fidelity, need not feare either an offended or an ambitious Commander. He will not hurt, if he beare a noble minde, nor cannot if he be treacherous. If a Kingdome bee not tyrannicall, nor a Common-wealth corrupted, they shall oftentimes meet with such as Furius Camillus, and the Duke of Al­va; and with ill natures exasperated with a Waldestein, and a Colonell Henry de Berg. This latter willing to betray the King of Spain, was forced to m [...]ke him lose the Busse: first to goe to Velue, and there doe a g [...]eater service, if our men had knowne how to make good use of it.

Waldestein plotting to betray the Empe­rour, even the very first hour that he had tru­sted him w [...]th his Army, after he had offen­ded [Page 117] him, could never bring his evill intent to passe, but was alwayes constrained when he was unwilling to doe one good office, to perform another, and oftentimes a better, and at last discovered himself without do­ing any hurt. But such a Prince, or Com­mon-wealth, is not onely secure from the wrath and hatred of Commanders, but even from thir ambition, the fidelity of the Army being an obstacle to both; which thing may be thought hindered Prospero Colonna, and the Duke of Parma, if they any way attempted such businesses (which I will not assirme) in the State of Milan, the Kingdome of Naples, and the Low Coun­tries.

Alcibiades resolved to flye to the Lacede­monians, hearing the report which was raised against him in Athens; and would not beleeve he could dazell the peoples eyes, or charme their eares, with beauty or elo­quence, unprofitable weapons against wrath and fury; as ancient Fables have sufficiently set downe in the case of the most beautifull and eloquent Orpheus, slain by the enraged Priestesses of Bacchus.

Those, saith Plutarch, who loved Alci­biades a Citizen, hated him when he was in the Army. The object present is farre different from the absent, the thought [Page 118] upon, from the seene. One cannot so per­fectly conceive it absent, but that it changes when it is really seen; and being changed, it must also alter and trouble the understan­ding; and this altered and troubled, will necessarily have a different operation.

The face of man hath somwhat of Divine in it: A Prince denies it his subject, to take away that pleasure from him, for the punishment of some fault. One enemy will not see anothers [...]ace, to avoid that delight which is contrary to hatred. Some things are written in a letter, which would not be spoken by word of mouth; and some speak largely in a mans absence, who in his pre­sence will stand mute: and if they doe per­sist in their former speeches, it is not by their own absolute will, but because they are ob­liged to doe so through shame of being re­puted malicious and pusillanimous; or are forced thereunto by a viol [...]nt and fiery carreere, which reason is not able to stop in the midst of its course.

The law of Nature, which binds a man to love his neighbour; the resemblance, which doth not, in a manner, suffer one to abhorre him, doth either diminish the ha­tred, or increase the Synderesis & connexion. Wherefore some, because they will not lay down their rancor, or will not have their conscience distracted, shun the sight of that [Page 119] face which would pacifie their minde, if it were humane, or pierce their heart though never so savage. Those qualit [...]es which be­long to the exterior senses, require the pre­sence, to move the subject effectually: for absence either much diminishes, or quite cā ­cels them. The understanding would parti­cipate of those delights, & in its contempla­tion of them, findes them full of imperfe­ctions: He represents these imperfections to the inferior part. If the object be pre­sent, for the most part he findes it blind, or not willing to see them. But if it be re­mote, and gone out of the Sphere of the senses, though not out of that of the under­standings, they easily open their eyes to receive the light of truth. But if the quali­ties concern the soveraigne and chiefe ver­tue, as eminency in valour, or learning, presence abases it; where the understan­ding and the will turn, one to that which is good, and the other to that which is true; that being neither true nor good, which is not beautifull, it runnos towards the beau­ty: and because it considers it in that man­ner as it usually receives it, it erres in the conceiving of it, taking the features and b [...]auties of the body, in stead of the beau­teous endowments of the mind. The error lasts with the absence, presence undeceives; and when it doth not finde the subject, [Page 120] (which happens so for the most part) such, as it had conceived it, it will perswade the understanding, that the subject is neither the most valorous, nor the most learned; that he is neither true nor good, because he is not the greatest, nor the fairest. He that ope­rates being dragged along by a passion, ei­ther sigures it greater, to make it excu­sable, or feignes another to away what is shamefull in it. If he erres through love, he describes, it extream; because others should judge nature to bee oppressed, and not inclined. If he operates through en­vy, he cloaks it with feare, and makes shew of a faint heart, to conceale a m [...]licious one; and will perswade he followes Nature, which obliges one to defend himselfe, when he goeth against it, in hating that which is good. But he doth not hate it, before he de­fames it. Envy and a worm resemble one a­nother, they close with the best part of a fruit, or of a man, they stop not before they have corrupted the one really, and the other imaginarily: and whereas the worme feeds and rests in the corruption, envy is fed and tossed up and down by that which is ima­gined.

Evill is hated and not envied; good­nesse is not hated, but envied. Rancor is without any reall object, it runs towards goodnesse, but towards that which is appa­rent, [Page 121] and not the true, it sees vertue and va­lour in him whom it emulates. First, an e­quality seemed inglorious to him; now in­feriority appeares shamefull; if it be in a great spirit, it still goes on in emulation; if it be in a faint heart, it embraces envy, a vice inseparable from pusillanimity, it looks upō the honour which the other gets, and that which himself loses. If he imagines him to be an enemy, proud, rash, and presumptuous, he beleeves nothing can give him better con­tent, then to overcome him: desires nothing more than by advancing his own Trophee, to abase and bring him low, and employes his vertue and valour in nothing else. But if afterward he sees him before his eyes, beau­tifull, eloquent, valiant, & affable, not boast­ing of his valour, but moderating his ver­tue, and reassume the same posture in which he was by nature set, and forsake that which he had fabricated to himself; It is impossible for him to retain his hatred; because quali­ties, though they be naturall, if they meet with a contrary that is greater, in its presence they must receive it, though the form drive it out altered, but not corrupted. Modesty mo­derates envy, but doth not extinguish it. Misery turnes it into compassion, and emi­nency into amazement.

That Proposition of the Master, that ha­tred is irreconcilable, seems directly opposite [Page 122] to the other proposition, That the cause cea­sing, the effect ceases; and yet they are both true. Hatred and love peradventure can­not be framed in us, without the help of Nature. The freedome of will reacheth not thereunto, it may overcome it, but not destroy it; bridle it, but not change it: whence comes, that sometimes we operate with one, as though we hated him, and yet we love him; as though wee loved him, and yet we hate him. The causes of opera­tions are externall, of passions internall. The change of qualities changes the opera­ting; and that of the substance, extingui­shes the being. And because it is thought that we have two Natures in us, one of Flesh, and the other of Spirit, and both of them in the same individuum, the one may love, and the other hate, because Love and Hatred are not contraries, if they meet with two contraries; otherwise to love ones Neighbour, and hate sinne, could not con­sist together.

Alcibiades attires and cloathes himselfe with the Lacedemonians vertues, and will thereby perswade, that hee hath disrobed himselfe of all manner of vices. This Me­tamo [...]phosis, though it last not very long is not used but by great understanding one­ly, assaulted by vehement passions of Glory and Feare.

[Page 123] Rome had at one time two Emperours, Otto, who was made in the Citie, Vitellius, who was set up by the Army, both of them vicious. The one presently forsakes his old and usuall course of life; the other fol­lowes it still: Otto was wont to deny his own affections, to promote his interests, so that the power of commanding, excited and stirred up vertue in him: and in Vitel­lius it increased his defects. The former be­ing incontinent, and ambitious; the latter, intemperate, and simple. Otto adventured to assume the Empire, because hee could not live privat: Vitellius accepted of it, because he knew not how to refuse it; and not knowing how to seek after the delight of the understanding, abandoned himselfe to that of the senses. The Romane Senate was amazed at Otto's forsaking his vices, and at his counterfeited vertue. The same being done by Alcibiades, might have given the Lacedemonians cause of suspition, if not of feare, seeing they might be sure the vices would returne greater in bulk, and more violently, through the acrimony which they would acquire by being so long stopped and dissembled. Even so it befalls him that thinkes to help a swift running streame which overflowes his medowes, without turning it another way, only with making the bankes up, he may stay it for a while, [Page 124] but on a suddaine he turnes it all upon him­selfe, and whereas before it would gently have overflowed his land, it beares down trees by the rootes, overthrowes build­ings, and beats downe all that comes in its way, that opposition having gotten to­gether a greater heape of waters, and made them more violently sierce. Those that re­strayning their passions, retaine & keepe in their smallest and meanest ones, if they did goe calmely along with them, they might in part vent out their evill genius, without expecting the last fury, and violence, which a feigned vertue being unabled to resist, they blindly and furiously are precipitated in it. So had Otto done, if death had not prevented him; and so did Alcibiades, wickedly committing adultery with Agis the King of Sparta his wife. Agis was not very circumspect, seeing he did not perceive, that some great end must of necessity be hid­den under so great a change, which hee ought to beleeve had taken its originall from an unlimited ambition, and to mis­trust that thereby and through his luxury, he would one day get away from him (two indivisible things) his wife, and his kingdome: and indeed he got away the one, and in all likelihood laid a plot to gain the other, seeing he used that meanes to attaine thereunto, which others [Page 125] have happily put in practise to doe the like.

First to make his valour known, then to publish the adultery, and finally to make shew that he contemned Agis, what was it else, then to endeavour to gaine his king­dome: inviting by this meanes discon­tented persons to side with him, animating, and securing them? But I know not whether Tacitus did well understand from whence proceeded that feare, when he ascribed it to disguised and cloaked vices, and falsifi­ed vertues. Ottoes vices were lust, idlēnesse, and gormandizing, which were indeed to be wished of him, yet not to be feared, if they had returned to him: Uertues though false carry for the most part their corruption within them, glistring and shining on the outside, as if they were true and pure ver­tues, and are more pernicious to them that make use of them, then to those for whose sakes, and against whom they are employed. And howsoever, they doe lesse hurt in this manner feigned, then an open, impu­dent shamelesnesse in vices. The Senate (in mine opinion) seeing Otto thus plung­ed in passions, not thinking that he could leave them, though peradventure he might disguise and alter them, feared lest instead of idlenesse, he would take delight in la­bour and affaires, and in stead of luxury [Page 126] he would be filled with feare, and jealou­sie, and through one take away the Magi­strates authority, and through the other the most honorable mens lives.

There are some respects which bind m [...]e upon occasion of Alcibiades lust, to speake what I thinke of Princes soiled with such a defect. If the good temperature of a man consists in a perfect symmetry of the first elements, which blended together may compose a mixt, in which neither heat nor cold; nor moisture, nor drought be prevalent, its quality will be lukewarme a meane between hot and cold, its opera­tions moderate, it will cause the subject to be of a healthfull complexion, of calme sences, indifferent, morall, no eminent Phi­losopher, rather void of vices, then en­dowed with any eminent vertues. Such a man to be maintained in health, must still he under the Physicians hand; and the Physician had need to be an Esculapius. I marvaile at one of the ancient Sag [...]s or wise men who ca [...]ls such a kind of man happy, yet sayes at the same time, that this man must have his sleep, his rest, his motion his food, his thoughts, his breathing, all measured and l [...]mited so that he shall not have so much as a f [...]ee moment left to him­selfe▪ as if happinesse (according to Mece­nas his disorderly opinion) consisted one­ly [Page 127] in living, though most unhappy. This complexion is not to be wished to a Prince, and if he had it, it ought not to bee main­tained in him, seeing that to preserve it, he ought to be wholly his owne, to become a slave to the Physician, whereas, a Prince should never be so farre his owne as to make himselfe a slave to his subjects. If then there be no such temperament to be found, and if there be any such, either it cannot or ought not be maintained, we must needs consequently fall into some excesse, which may serve for nourishment, and roote both to vice and vertue; because as Iacob and Esau were borne both of one Mother, so frō the selfe same temperament, may proceed both a great vertue, & a great vice. He that was of opinion, that there could be no great vertue in a man, unlesse there were also some great vice, was not peradventure deceived, if he meant of a naturall inclination there­unto. And if any vice be a signe of a great understanding, it is that of luxury, which useth to be great, where it findes the fire of the Flava bilis or yelow choller, and the acritude of the atra or black.

We see that those brute beasts, which have most humane knowledge, and seeme almost to discourse, as Apes and the like are exceeding luxurious, and that at all times; beyond the custome of other beasts. [Page 128] And to this peradventure, the ancient in­venters of fables had a relation, when they feigned all the Gods much addicted to this defect of lust, as the Poets also did their Heroes. If I were to frame unto my selfe a Prince according to mine owne mind, I would have him continent by vertue, and not by nature. For the naturall continency proceeds from coldnesse of the tempera­ment, and alwayes excludes acrimony, and coldnesse without acrimony causeth stu­pidity, and not prudency, which requires melancholy; not the dreggs, but the flow­er of blood: not that which is borne adust, and carries imprinted in the acrimony of its ashes, the character of the efficient, as the learnedest and wisest men of the world have beleeved. And St Paul continually complains of the troubles which the acrimony of the prick in the flesh did bring him into. Lust is alwayes bad for him that is subject to it, but it is not alwayes hurtfull to a Com­mon-wealth. If it doth not passe from the person to the office, it is the defect of the man, and not of the Prince, seeing that in this case hee may be a good Politician, though a bad Moralist. There have beene some in our dayes, that have in their youth run themselves a little out, in amarous passions yet they have guided themselves therein with so much prudency, that our [Page 129] Ancestors would have termed those passi­ons vertues, as they did Catoes drunken­nesse: And truely it is no small matter for one that is irregular himself, to be continent, and to overcome that passion by which he is overcome. It is in a manner a freeing the superior pa [...]t from it, and confining it, within th'ignoble part of the senses, and an absolute way to make it appeare, that nature hath the predominance over evill. Then the Physician may stand idle, and ad­minister no Physick for feare of doing hurt. Cru [...]ities cannot bee stirred without doing hurt, and that which is concocted needs no cure. It is no great matter for a man that is free and loose to overcome his enemy, but to doe it when he is shackled and bound, without unshackling or unbinding is very much. If it were lawfull for me to relate some things which have happened in our dayes, it would surely cause, such as have too sharply in this point touched the reputa­tion of a Soveraigne Prince, and his favou­rite, to recant and change their opinions: they would find and heare such things, that to admit of an extraordinary vertue, they would winke at a small vice, judging it not to be a reall but a feigned vice, and rather an affectation, then a passion.

That cannot be a good horse that hath not bin a crosse Colt, but all kind of crosse­nesse [Page 130] in a Colt is not a signe that he will prove a good horse. Some Colts will be bounding, leaping, and running, not to draw their necks out of the collar, or to shun their labour, but to shew their generous mettle, and spirit; to be sportfull, and frollick, and not to refuse the bit. And o­ther some againe will use the same tricks out of a resty and sloathfull spirit, onely to shunne worke, and labour, and though a stander by can hardly find any difference in their motion, yet he that governes and rides them can easily perceive it.

The land which brings forth wild plants is not alwayes bad yet it is alwayes un­manured. A bad weed doth sometimes be­token the goodnesse of the land. Let it then bee lawfull for me to conclude, that great lust is oftentimes a signe of a great understanding, and that amongst the de­fects of a Prince, luxury is one of the least, if so he doe in some part suppresse it, by not committing therein any violent or unjust act; and in all this, I meane of such actions onely as hee commits in his youthfull yeares; Every one hath some de­fects which are proper to that age, as well of the body, as of the mind.

The Physician, whose worth wil not suffer any man to beleeve that he erred, was wont to say, that diseases are most dangerous, [Page 131] when they come in unseasonable seasons: the malignity and greatnesse of them shew­ing it selfe in that, that the adverse season of the yeare could not suppresse nor controll them: And as a difease which comes in its proper season is least to bee feared, so is a defect which comes in an Age be [...]itting it, lesse to be condemned. It is no strange thing that a young man should be given to Wo­men, but it is to be admired that he should therein carry himselfe prudently: For pru­dency belonging not properly to youthfull yeares, especially where there is lust; wee must imagine that he who can counterpoise luxury in the Age which is proper for it, will extinguish it quite when he comes to riper years, in which he properly becomes prudent.

And in this case it seemes a chiefe Officer; or Favourite, ought rather to seek to cherish prudency in his Prince, than hinder his lust. For it being cherished and assisted, having gathered strength, will quite extingu [...]sh the lust; which being contraried and opposed, will alwayes increase. Seneca had an in [...]ent to doe so; but it did not take effect, neither could Agrippina doe it, and fell for want of prudency.

Every one knows the evill effects which an untimelyy correction produces. And a great Saint set down in writing, that [Page 132] sometimes it endangers the increasing of the evill: And this is true not onely in those who will not be overswayed by any, be­cause they are incensed to anger thereby; but in them also who intend to overcome themselves, because they disdaine to be perswaded by others to that which they in­tend of themselves to doe. A Painter whilst he is limming, sometimes leaves a fault in a place, and runs over the other parts with an intent to mend that error. He that sees him worke (if he be a wise man) although he perceives the error, holds his peace, knowing the Artist to be so skilfull, that he both knowes it, and will mend it. If he be a foole, he points at it, and produces rage and disdaine in the Painter, and sometimes in such excesse, that he leaves it unmended, and chuses rather to leave an error, then to applaud an impertinency. And this is the reason why few Painters will admit any to see them worke, or judge of their workes before they be perfected: there being no­thing more distastfull to a choice spirit then to have a fault shewed him, and be per­swaded to amend it, when he knew it him­selfe, and had an intent so to doe.

Alcibiades goes to the Median Court, and findes favour in the eyes of Tisaphernes, Socrates was the most affable and courteous Gentile that was, Tisaphernes, as Barbarous [Page 133] and Alcibiades gaines the love of both. We will say peradventure that he was of a tem­perate habit. Such a Subject (according to Hyppocrates) of such a temper, engenders with all constitutions, be they cold, or hot, moist or drye, because he corrects them all, if it be alwayes true in engendring, yet it is not continually true in loving. It is not sufficient that he can correct, if the other doth not desire to be corrected. He will hate him, if peradventure he preferre plea­sure to profit, and whereas he should ab­horre that contrary which is furthest from him, he abhorres that most which is near­est, which is the fault of an erring nature. There can be no delight where there is no truth; he is deceived that sets it upon false­hood. The opposite contrary, because it is likewise a vice, rather confirmes then takes away the error. Trueth resides in the mid­dle, whereupon some shunne it, because they will not lose their delight, to be un­deceived.

The habit, which hath its distemperature from nature, loves its semblable. Nature cannot love its destruction, it would love it, if it loved the contrary. She hates i [...], be­cause she is blind, because she would not dye, and yet it dies, and which is more, with it dyes the individuum, The habit, through a distemperate accident, loves its [Page 134] contrary. In this case the interest of nature, and of the individuum are the same. That which happens in the failings of the tempe­rature, happens also in the defects of the mind. If one be cruell naturally, he loves its semblable; if by accident, its contrary; From the first, proceeds he that runnes a­long with the passions; from the second hee that doth not restraine himselfe. The one loves vice, and hates the remedy, the other cannot endure neither the vice nor the re­medy, But to go on from the temperament, to the influence of those starres which pro­duce it; that which was loue-worthy in Alcibiades, might be thought to have bin caused by his being borne at that time, when the benigne starres of Iupiter, and Venus, shewed their fortunate brightnesse upon the Horizon, were it not that a violent death, admits of no fortunes in th [...] ascendent, nor the irregulate habits, a Iove for a significa­tor. He had peradventure in the Easterne angle Virgo with sol, and Mercury with Virgo, and Mercury heated by the beames of sol, and peradventure retrograde. Hee was lovely, and had an impediment in his speech. He betooke himselfe to all manner of sciences; Prevailed in eloquence; hee would learne all things, and doe any thing. He would accommodate himselfe to every mans fashions. And Cameleon like take [Page 135] any colour, He was inconstant, sometimes good, and sometimes bad, even as he chan­ced to meete with good or bad men. Qua­lities, which Astrologians say, Mercury in­clines to, being scituate in that part of the heavens. He produces a most humid tem­perature, he accommodates himselfe to all, like Aire and Water, which having no proper shape, receive any.

The Athenians stood in great feare of Tisaphernes preparations. Alcibiades knew of their feare; He thought he would make use of it. He writ to the Nobility, that if they would take the Government upon them, and suppresse the Commons, hee would cause Tisaphernes to alter his purpose. All embraced this motion, Phrinicus onely opposed it, knowing that it was done with an intent, to breed discord betweene the Senate and the Plebeians, to returne into his owne native Country. But because this ad­vice was contrary to likelyhood, and given by one who was thought to be an enemy to Alcibiades, it was not accepted.

It is hard to goe against the present, in the behalfe of the future. Truth hath no greater an enemy then likely-hood, and that which is, then that which will be. Wee should not dispute against the senses if they could not erre; and much lesse against rea­son, if it did not erre. Amongst themselves [Page 136] sometimes they correct themselves, if at the same time they deceive not themselves, but the senses guided by a great likely-hood, and reason being thereby dragged along, they both fall into error, and there is none to raise them up. In tricks of legerdemaine, who would not be deceived, if notice given, or experience did not hinder it? and who is not deceived, though he be warned, if the Artist be arrived to any excellency? Sometimes we must not onely feigne that we doe not see, nor understand, but also beleeve we doe not see nor understand, that which seemes to us, we both see and un­derstand.

Who shall perswade him that is possessed of a good and healthfull body, replenish­ed with the best humors that can be in man, not endammaged by any action, that he hath need to take Physick, if experience had not taught it Hyppocrates, and his autho­rity, us?

None would go about to perswade it, and questionlesse no man would suffer himselfe to be perswaded thereunto. No more then we should be able to perswade a Monarch, or a Common-wealth, which had obtained some great conquest, that it were very usefull for him, or it to yeeld up againe what it had conquered. There would be requisite for such a purpose a Politick [Page 137] Hippocrates, full of knowledge, experience, and authority, and peradventure he would hardly be able to perswade it. Scipio Nasica was of great esteeme in the Common-wealth of Rome; yet was he not able to disswade the ruining of Carthage. Such is the power of likely hood, it is hard to meet with an understanding that can find out truth, a heart that will advise it, and a Prince that will follow it. Such an advise, is for the most part unfortunate: when it is not accepted of, it wants its effect; when it is accepted, it is not seen; and because it goes against a thing which is seen, it is not beleeved. The Author comes to be blamed for ignorance and malice. Anniball was advised (and peradventure it was done with wisdome) to not go to Rome after the defeate of Cannas, and because he did not goe, he was taxed with ignorance. Hunno would have perswaded the Cartha­ginians, (peradventure through malice) in the midst of victories, when Rome seem­ed even ready to fall, to seeke after peace, and because he could not perswade it, he was esteemed wise. It is ordinary for human malice, to judge that advice to be best, which hath not bin accepted: And for its ignorance to refuse to be cleered in matters which have likelyhood in them, any way but by the evill successe.

[Page 138] To give counsell against likely-hood re­quires a great understanding, or a great pas­sion. The one cannot perswade, unlesse it it be knowen; the other, if it be not con­cealed. It is sufficient for the understand­ing to be reputed; Passion must be feared, and may make it, but not perswade it, to be executed; being known it loses its credit, and yet it is alwayes known; being little it is not effectuall, and being great it cannot be concealed. The happy man will not think upon the future, for feare of grieving himselfe, the envious will for his com­fort.

That which is, keepes him in torment; Onely the hope that it will not last, revives him. The understanding subtilizeth itselfe, to make it be beleeved, and if there be any reason▪ it findes it out, if there be none, it feignes one; whence comes, that others do not beleeve it, through the difficulty there is in discerning the true birth of the under­standing from the feigned and fantasticall one of the desire.

Alcibiades having intelligence in the City of Selibria, made a match to be brought into it by a signall given by fire, suspition that one of the conspirators would discover the treaty, caused an anticipation. He not being prepared, and seeing the signall given, ran thither with a few, giving order for [Page 139] the rest to follow. But being come into the City, he found so much opposition that he was not able to resist the too advantagi­ous power.

He causeth a trumpet to be sounded: Commands the Cittizens to lay down their armes, if they value their lives. When a man is in danger and hath his sword in his hand all the spirits retired to the heart, and having in a manner forsaken the braine, it is an easie matter to be deceived; whence proceeds the danger which is in speaking, whilest one is skirmishing, so that many times enterprizes have bin lost after they have bin in a manner attained, and wonne onely by a word miss-under­stood.

The Selibrians, hear the enemies within the walls, they imagine they are all there: they heare a trumpet which doth courteously, and friendly invite them to yeeld: their braine is not apt to search out the matter, and find out the deceit, and hav­ing their weapons in their hands to defend­their City, and their lives, judging it im­possible to defend the one, and seeing the way opened to secure the other, they accept of the proffer.

The commanding and resolute speech and voice did cooperate greatly in this sanatick terror: the command causes obedience, the [Page 140] resolvednesse terrifies, especially where dis­obedience is death.

To not beleeve it they must of necessity have had time to discourse upon it: and therefore the imminent punishment giving no time to discourse, they were forced to beleeve. Seeing then it was hard to avoid the danger, and canvasse the matter, and harder to goe against the senses without canvassing of it: that was beleeved to se­cure life, which without discourse could not chuse, but be beleeved, and could not be discoursed without hazard of life.

When the Roman Army commanded by Germanicus at the River of Rhine mutined, Mennius reduced that part which was most violent & insolent, with resolute & cōmand­ing words, which separated the universall from the particular, a thing which terrifies the more, forcing a man in his thoughts, to forsake that union, which makes him in­solent, and bold. He takes hold of the eagle, or ensigne, and boldly cries, he that doth not follow me is an enemy to Caesar. Saul being slighted by a part of the Israelites, takes two Oxen, and hewes them in pieces, sends the pieces into all the quarters of Israel, and sends them word, that so shall his Oxe be served that doth not follow him; [Page 141] The commanding and resolute message which made the publick cause particular, wrought in such manner, that all Israel fol­lowed him. Alcibiades assaulted by a so­daine chance, instead of hazarding himselfe with those few Souldiers which followed him, and casting himselfe into the midst of the danger, hath recourse to deceit▪ And that makes me to esteem him rather subtile, then valiant. Seeing that nature being so­dainly brought into a streight, flyes pre­sently for reliefe to that part from which it hopes for most assistance.

If it bee from the braine, we lay by strength, if from strength, we make no use of wit. And if wit had bin laid aside, and not made use of in this case, how could he have found out such a subtle device, as could hardly have bin contrived being out of danger, and settled in mind? In a great passion we leave art, and flye to nature.

The one needs attention when it operates; the other needs none. And because in great passions man oftentimes abandons himself, that passion then prevailes which operates, though it be abandoned.

Nature and art taken in a streight, es­pecially by feare, cannot help but hinder one another. The one is not followed by discourse, and the other being abandoned [Page 142] cannot make use of it. Nature hath left but few void of defence, but she seldome suffers sagacity, and valour, to be in one subject. To whom she hath given a heart to fight, she hath not given swiftnesse to escape. Amongst doggs, that kind which is most swift, is most cowardly.

The Fox must by an extreme necessity be forced to fight, and a Lion to run away. Yet he will not wholly recommend his safety to flight, now and then he will turne his clawes to assist with that which nature hath granted him, that which necessity for­ces him to.

The dogge by running away puts himself in disorder, because he doth not make use of those weapons, in which lies his defence. Wherefore nature instead of helping hin­ders him, because that running with its spirits to that part wherein his safety should consist, & feare driving them to that part in which it should not be, he must of neces­sity lose himselfe.

The hare which is esteemed the most fearefull of all creatures, seeing it selfe set upon by so unequall an enemy [...]aints not, but runnes most swiftly when it is hardest pursued; wherefore we must imagine, that it is the lustinesse of her heart that carries her, or confesses that the Providence of na­ture assists her.

[Page 143] The same People which a little while since condemned Alcibiades as a traitor re­ceive him now as a deliverer, and ere long will drive him away againe as an enemy. They love, and have no sooner done loving, but they hate, and no sooner done hating, but they love.

The furthest is nearest to them, for they runne from one extreame to another. They hold no meane, saith Tacitus, either they feare, or makes themselves to be feared. Either they serve humbly, or command proudly, saith Livie. The People operate ac­cording to sense, which alwayes leads to vice.

Reason is that which leades to vertue. But as the people being acustomed to sense, which goes from one extreame to another, runnes along with counsels of the same quality, so wise men accustomed by vertue to runne on in a meane, follow the same way in their advises, and because that nei­ther the meane, nor the extreame advises are alwayes to be followed, therefore the wise man er [...]eth as well when he should take the extreame, as the People, when they should [...]mbrace the meane. Policy which turnes the would upside downe, con­founds motality. It alters sometimes its place, som [...]mes it [...]nce.

[Page 144] A Metaphysical Philosopher is not good in a Common-wealth: the Morall would saile well in a calme, in a tempest he loseth himself. Policie is an art by it selfe, no man hath yet rightly learned it. Many know how to doe that which should be done, none what is to be done. Hee that knowes not the motions of Fortune, is no good Polititian; and he that knows them, will also know God: He is not seen in the face, but onely in the back; because (as I may say) there is nothing of his operating known, but what is past. Not to make u [...]e of prudence, is brutishnesse; trusting to it, is arrogancy. A man to operate well, though he be full of knowledge, hath need of some­what more; he can neither learn, nor teach, nor know he hath it, unless experience shews it him, nor knowes not what it is, after he hath had experience of it. If this be not true, that was frustratory, and of no availment to Socrates, (who was the wisest amongst the Gentiles) which he beleeved to be a Demon, and in which he trusted, more than in his own prudency. This is not the onely unknown quality in the world, its contrary is likewise so: And where the good serves to give the greater light, the bad is imployed to put it out. Both are ocasions of the losse of wisdome; and he that loses it, knowes not wherefore. The first works upon it, the o­ther [Page 145] against it: the one with profit, the o­ther with dammage; the one blind, the other enlightned. The people goes on, and is not stayed by discourse, the end of its voyage is, where it can goe no further. A great un­derstanding causeth constancie; a weak one, obstinacy; because the one suffers not it self to be overcome by Sophisticall fallacies, the other understands not the truth of Argu­ments. The people is distempered, how then shall it know that which is temperate, see­ing that he who writ therof, wil have none but its semblable know it. An obstinate person is hard to be removed, it is a great violence that must doe it; and that being great, throwes all to the ground which it findes a foot, and sometimes drawes from one extreme to another. If then Mediocrity is hard to finde; found, to bee knowne; and knowne, to subsist: and the extreme manifests it selfe, we need not marvell, if the people doe not know Mediocrity. These Phantasmes draw mine imagination to a­nother place of Plutarch: He declares Ca­to be unapt for Sciences, by reason of his great consta [...]cy. If he meanes, that when he had taken an opinion, he would not alter it; if it were good, he was not unable; if bad, why should he be called constant? I doe not believe it was inability, will it might well be. He did not love vertue above [Page 146] constancy; and because knowledge is no­thing but opinion, and opinion gives way to instability, he contemned that knowledge which admitted not of constancy. The not knowing the foresaid secret, which is hid­den even from many wise men, is the cause that the people call Alcibiades traytor, be­cause he had not taken the Citie of Andria: they reputed him to be a most valiant Cap­taine, because he could all as he would, and would not any thing which he did not ob­tain. It was unknown to them that there was a medium between working through ig­norance, and working through malice. This is produced by a masse of circumstances, from a mixture of actives and passives, from a difference of time, which furiously assaults a man. The people hath no glory of its own, its glory depends on anothers, it con­sists in the election; and because it is a great honour to have chosen well, and an infamy to have chosen ill: when enterprises do not fall out well, because they will not receive both losse and shame, they many times c [...]ll him tra [...]tor who is either ignorant or unfor­tunate. They doe not ascribe the ev [...]ll suc­cesses of enterprises to accidents because they are incapable of knowing them, nor [...]o ig­norance, when it hath framed so vast a con­ceit and is against their honour that have made the election: they will rather a scribe [Page 147] it to treason, which being an internall qua­lity, that cannot be known, leaves the opi­nion still a foote, without endammaging their glory that made the election. A noble person instead of receiving honour by ano­thers glory, receives disgrace thereby, and is known with envy: and if any other great person operates amisse, he will not attribute it to treason; nor much lesse to fortune, be­cause they both leave the reputation un­touched, which is the mark that envy aimes at. He ascribes it to ignorance or cowardli­nesse, to abuse that valour and wisdome which tormented him: and from thence it proceeds, that in an Aristocracy, errors spring for the most part from envy, and in a Democracie from suspition. Evill will takes the reputation from the man, not from the Artist. Ignorance from the Artist, not from the man.

If an eminent Painter, drawes a pour­traiture defectively, the Common sorte say he would not doe it better, his emulator that he could not, his friend that he was not in the humour nor right veine of work­ing. He that loves him will rather admit that he was drunk, then ignorant, to sustaine his ability and talent; Hee that hates him, wil sooner say he was ignorant than drunk, seeking to overthrow him. In nature art, and all other things belonging to under­standing [Page 148] a fault committed out of ma­lice, and wilfulnesse, is not so bad as one committed for want of ability, or through ignorance. But in such things as belong to manners, and morall actions, it is quite con­trary. He that will see the difference be­tween the judgement of Nobles that are touched with envie, and the Peoples which are taken with admiration, let him consi­sider, that Plutarch speaking thereof, saith, that Alcibiades had no will to overcome, and brings forth Nicias, a Noble man, ac­cusing him for the same ill successe to the people, and saying, that he did it through ignorance, carelesnesse, folly and vanity, at­tributing it not to his evil heart, but to his ill understanding, and other things which might disparage his wisdome. A great re­putation is an enemy to him that hath no merit; to him that hath it not equall to his reputation, and also to him that hath it but equall. It is onely favourable to him that hath a talent surpassing that great esteeme. He enjoyes not only that which he hath but also that which he hath not, but hopes to at­tain unto▪ And because humane felicity doth not consist in obtaining the greater things, but in the greatest hope of obtaining them; because that a continued act in a small time, produces a habit, from which springs satiety or insensibility, and hee [Page 149] shall be more happy then the other, whose merit and repute is equall. It is a great mis­fortune for a man to have worth, and want repute; and farre greater to have repute, and want worth. The feare of the future disgrace, spoils his present pleasure. He can­not ground his delight upon that which is false, if he doth not deceive himselfe, he ex­pects shame from being undeceived. Al­though he findes not himselfe faulty for ha­ving deceived, yet hee would be happy in some measure, if he could but call in that er­ror which he cannot perpetuate in others; because the knowledge of ones selfe (which is mans chiefe vertue) is the Hangman which torments him. Finally, a great repute is the greatest help a man can have that will not operate: and the greatest dammage for him that is put to the Test, and is tried; for either he proves according to expectati­on, and then he gaines nothing, or proves beneath the expectation, and loses all he had gained.

Reputation is not diminished by degrees, nor cannot be broken piece-meale: if it be not reserved intire, it quite abandoneth one. If a particular man hath gottten it, let him be content with having it; if a Prince, let him not, if he can avoid it, put it to a triall. It is better to die ingreat repute than put it to ad­venture; to leave it doubtfull in the world [Page 150] what would have followed, than to put ones self in danger of what wil follow. Vo­luntarily one ought not put it to triall, but being forced thereunto, adventure himselfe with it; and upon occasion of losing it, lose himselfe also. Not only that victory which Alcibiades got over the Citie of Selibria, but all the rest of his actions likewise, discover him rather to have been full of cunning subtilty, than of wisdome. From whence, in my opinion. proceeded the instability of his fortune.

Wisdome infused by the gift of grace, hath somewhat in it that is Angelicall, and sets a man in the way to be rather a Citizen of heaven, than a Ruler in the world. Cun­ning and subtilty hath something of Dia­bolicall in it, and is made for hell. Ac­quired wisdome m [...]kes a man apt for all things; but he that should alwayes take it in a strict way, in many affaires might use it with much disadvantage, by reason of mens malice. Hence it com [...]s, that it is not al­waves one and th [...] same, but is divided into Morall, Politicall, [...]economicall, and Military. In all of them is r [...]quired a can­didnesse of heart, if the end [...]e good. But if you except the Morall, it is because the meanes a [...]e not direct, and then becomes sa­gacity, which is a part and species of wis­dome. For an oblique meanes doth not al­wayes [Page 151] take away the vertue, when it tends to a good end, and that the meanes it selfe it not vicious.

A Generall of an Army deceives an enemy by some wile, to overcome him. The Physician the Patient, to cure him; and yet the wisdome of these men consists in well mixing the Actives with the Passives. All this seemes to be in those words, Be ye as wise as Serpents, and as innocent as Doves. That Serpent could not be called wise, which in another place is said to be the most subtile Beast of the sield. If Subtilty with candidnesse of heart, were not wisdome, inferior indeed to morall wisdome in a mo­rall private life; but most necessary in a Po­litick, Military, and Oeconomicall Go­vernment. And this subtilty is not perad­venture so befitting a Morall man, as a Po­lititian.

The morall mans end is the good of the individuum; which end, the more vertu­ous the operations are, the larger it is. The Politick mans end is the good of the species, which oftentimes doth not admit of pure meere vertue without adding somwhat to it, or taking somwhat from it. It changes if not the nature, yet the circumstances, in passing from him that lives to himselfe, to him that lives for others; because there is great diffe­rence between a Governor, or Ruler, and a Tutor.

[Page 152] A. Prince must not make use of vice in governing, nor yet of such vertues as ruine the people. Clemency, liberality, mercy, for­titude, and all other vertues, are cōmendable in a privat man. In a Prince I commend rigor above clemēcy, parsimony above liberality, roughness above mercy; and cautell above fortitude. Rigor will preserve his peace at home, parsimony wil defend him frō exter­nall war, without endangering the blood of his subjects, or emptying unmeasurably his Exchequers. Roughnesse will preserve ju­stice, and prevent so many ill effects which compassion produces: to which we must i­magine Aristotle had a relation, when in his Poetick (which is also a part of his Politicks) he made so principall a business the instru­ction of Princes, to let them learn Tragick Poems, as a thing that would purge their dispositions from mercy. Finally, cautelous­nesse will not suffer him to expose his life, which is of such value, to gain a vain and unprofitable repute of being valorous. Da­vid whilest he was a private man, did always shew great signes of valour; but being once King, he suffered himselfe to be perswaded by Ioab, to absent himselfe from danger. And when the Lord intending to punish him, propounded three things unto him, whe­ther hee would endure seven yeares fa­mine, flye three moneths before his [Page 153] enemies, or have three days pestilence in the land; he chose the last, quite against the ver­tue of fortitude, but yet in favour of the publick good; judging (as St. Ambrose saith) his absence would be more hurtfull to the people, than the pestilence. True it is, that when he saw the Angel turn his sword upon the people, he cried out, that he should turn it against him that was guilty, and spare the innocent. But this was not forti­tude digested by reason, it was a violence incited by a tender and valorous nature. Saint Ambrose saith, That in his choyce hee followed wisdome; in his griefe, piety. I will unfold this question, by saying. That the Proposition which God made to David, was to keep him farre off: that which David made to the Angel, was to kill him. He will not accept of going farre off, and desires death, because that by his absence, the peo­ples light was put out, and they would bee left without a guide in the dark: whereas his death had been but a putting out of one light, to give way to another. The former seemes alwayes to be evill, the latter is not alwayes so, but many times is turned to a greater good. It may also bee said, that when David made his first choyce, hee grounded it upon a hope hee had, that hee he might appease God by Prayer; which foundation, when he found it prove vain, he [Page 154] altered his desire. Nothing makes a man better than prudency, and nothing keeps him more secure than sagacity. This saga­city would be dangerous, if it were natu­rally rooted in the breast of a Generall, born there, and not acquired: For those who are endowed therewith in this manner, never goe about to try either force or fortune, un­till the case be quite desperate, and for the most part, the time past, either to make use of force, or adventure ones self upon chance. A Generals sagacity is different from a Po­lititians. The one is not good in the Citie; wherefore Military men are little available in a Senate. The other is pernicious in the field: wherefore they send Gown-men, & Councellors to lose and ruine enterprises. In one of these sagacities valour should pre­vaile; in the other, sagacity itself must have the upper hand. The Polititian ought not betake himselfe to force till sagacity quite fails; and the Military man will hardly make use of sagacity, whilest he can work with violence.

Alcibiades hath recourse to Pharnabazus, fa­vourite to Artaxerxes, King of Persia, & pre­sently becomes bound to him in a most strict bond of amity. He had I know not what of attractive in him, which alluring mens mindes, bewitched them. A lively Spirit, from which proceeds activity, and abun­dance [Page 155] of meanes to work by. If we seek the cel [...]stial causes thereof, it proceeds from the constitution of the Planets, from the swift­nesse of the motions, from Mercury set in his dignities. If we seek the elementary causes, we will say, it proceeds from thesire, which producing its nature in the Spirits, participa­teeh his motion unto them from the center to the superficies. Therefore in such kinde of people, the spirits are perceived at the cir­cumference, by the motions of the head and hands; and most of all, by the splendor of the eyes, out of which they send forth spar­kles. And by reason that no cause, (if we speak of celestiall ones) concurres more in this fabrick, than Mercury, swift in his dig­nities; therefore it proves most like him. They draw him with wings at his feet, at his head, or his haire. The Poets doe not make him loves Courcellor, but his Messen­ger, and sometimes his Minister to deceive. His Minerall is Mercury, which alwayes moves, and is like silver, but is not silver, which deceives the eyes of those that look upon it, with i [...]s splendor, and ruines them that handle it with its poyson. The Alchi­mists seeing it false, because it is moveable, seek to take away its motion, and fix it. A­strologians believe not it hath any happy in­fluence in the understanding, though it bee never so forunate. They desire not to finde [Page 156] him in his own house and exaltation, but ra­ther in Saturns, or at least favoured with his presence and beames, to cut off his wings with the slowest Planets Sythe. When they give him the company of any stars, to make him have a happy influence, it is of the lesser ones. The over-much motion which it gives the spirits in beginning of an action, doth not admit of a prosecution of it; and the o­ver-much light doth puzzle and resolve them. If Philosophers desire a tempera­ment for a great understanding, they doe not commend that which is of fire, nor that of earth; not melancholy, no [...] Bilis alone; if a­ny Bilis, that which is black, which is the Astrologers Mercury in the house of Saturn: and the Quicksilver fixed by the Alchimists fire. The Mercurials with their swiftnesse run over all things, with their splendor they see them: and because they run, they cannot discourse; and because their motion is from the center to the circumference, they spread and dilate themselves abroad, they doe not grow deeper, nor take root. And having many objects before their eyes, they have always some new thing to propose, whereby they seem fruitfull, yet are but barren, bring­ing forth abortive embrioes; & if they come to be children, they are monstrous ones. I beare with Princes, sometimes they put themselves into such mens hands, in compa­in [Page 157] comparison of which, all others seeeme dull and obtuse. Whilst a Mela [...]cholly man gives one reason, they will give a thousand. If one answer serves not, they will give two, or three, they confound, and delight with variety: with their engines and in­ventions they gaine admiration; with their words, great spirit, and effectuall opera­tion, as it were a fury, they astonish. Re­thorick, Poetrie, Musick, and other Arts, doe consist of, I know not what, set on the outside; the judgment whereof seemes to belong to the senses; Energie, Number, Sweetnesse of voyce, and variety of co­louring. Although they consist of somewhat else which is more internall; to apprehend which is required great skill in those Arts; and an eminent understanding to judge of it. The ignorant man, presently runnes to the sense, and judges with the eye, and eare, commending according to his sight and hearing, many times that which deserves no commendation, and never blaming that which is blame-worthy. Apparance de­ceives him, because he fixes himselfe upon the accidents and commands them; and not penetrating to the knowledge of the substance, he discommends it not, because he does not know it. Seneca speaks of some Orators, whose orations pronounced by themselves seemed excellent, and at the [Page 158] very first, gained applause; but being read, and examined, were of no worth. He con­fesses they forced his understanding, and he commends them, not because they deserved it, but because they bound him to it. The same thing there is in pictures; for there are some coloured in such sort, that at the first sight, they doe constraine the judgement of ignorant, & somtimes of understanding men also, yet with this difference, that the first still continue and persevere in their opini­ons, and these alter it as soon as they have examined the businesse. Such kinds of qua­lities, which so violently attract, in Policie, Rethorick, Poetry, Painting, and other Arts, doe proceed, as I said, from a kinde of Fury, which is seen in the visage of an active man, and in the visage and gesture of the Orator. Tacitus was not content with cal­ling it a River, but increases the Epithet with the name of High sounding, to expresse the noise with which it violently runs. Se­neca calls it Impetuous, and doth not say it in­clines, but ravishes the mindes of hearers. The same Fury, though it bee not seen, nor heard in Painters, yet it is seen imprinted in the works. The works of Tintoretto, though they be inferior to Raphael's pictures, yet with these qualities they take away their advantage. They are both good, but at the first glance, if you doe not take time, you [Page 159] will applaud Tintoretto's most; if you con­sider them well, Raphaels. He that colou­reth best, shall finde greater applause at the vulgars hands, than he that designes and drawes best, although he colour well also. So likewise falls it out in Poetry and Retho­rick, that which prevailes in that part that belongs most to the sense being highliest ap­plauded: For that presently represents it self to the eye of man; and the sight straight­way carries it to the understanding, and without letting it have time to discourse upon it, obliges it to give judgement on ap­parances side. A man fit for great employ­ment, ought to be endowed with wisdome, to know what he is to undertake; and with activenesse to goe through with businesse when he hath deliberated upon it. If you finde two subjects, one most wise and suffi­cient, but not very active; the other most active, though not so wise, activity being easier to know, than prudence, and imme­diatly perceived in the visage, gestures and eyes of him that is endowed therewith Pru­dence being invisible, as internall and con­cealed vertue, which is not discovered, but onely in occasions; surely wise men will passe their verdicts on the active mans side, & he shal be put upon all the employments. Let Princes beware of these lively Spirits, of these beautifull tinctures, this harmony of [Page 160] verse, this streame of eloquence, for fear lest it take away their judgement, to the endan­gering and utter ruine of the State.

Alcibiades above all other things, was no­ted for inequality, he was eloquent in a de­gree above man, fairer than woman, emi­nent in understanding, liberall and pleasing; but unjust, lustfull, and tyrannicall. Those who have such a mixture of great vices, and great vertues, sometime precipitate and fall almost as soon as they are born; sometimes also they make a great noyse in the world, when they happen upon times which will beare with such vices, and stand in need of such vertues. Alcibiades met with a popular Common-wealth, fitted to his inequality, that applauded his liberality and beauty, suffered it selfe to be perswaded by his elo­quence admired his resolution, humorous­nesse and valour, did run along with him in his vices of luxury, surfeiting, tyranny and injustice; which were pleasing to people, so long as they were employed against the Nobility. Nero, who was blemished with such defects, and yet gained the Romane peoples applause, more than any other Ro­mane Emperour. Indeed it was by reason that he met with times differing from Alci­biades times, the Senate then being predomi­nant over the people, which lived depressed, and without authority, his ruine could not be [Page 161] prevented; whereas Alcibiades did not take so much harm within the Common-wealth, in getting honours, as abroad in managing of affaires; for although his temperament was well enough accommodated and fitted to the state which the Citie was in, yet he found it otherwise in forraigne affaires, whereby he was necessitated to fall. And though he did rise again divers times assist­ed by his great and good parts, yet being at the last over-born by his evill ones, he re­mained oppressed. Equality is not onely judged to be an endowment of a wise man, but also a signe that he is one, seeing it is he that commands the starres. If a heaven va­riable in its motions, moves above us, the stars alwayes varying in their aspects, have their influences upon us, and an aire muta­ble every moment, doth encompasse us, and we are our selves framed of an unequall tem­perament, who shall be able to keep himself continually in the same tone, in despight of heavens, stars, elements and temperaments? Certainly a wise man shall. We are made a spectacle to God and men, said St. Paul. And is it not a worthy spectacle, to see a wretched man, a handfull of earth, a point, a nothing, to oppose the vastnesse of the heavens, the influences of the starres, the masse of the E­lements, his owne nature, and conquer them all? Equality signorizes over the influences, [Page 162] because it constantly goes alwayes against them: inequality is commanded by them, because it alwayes followes them various.

Finally, after so many Catastrophes Alci­biades by the Lacedemonians deceits, and Far­nabazus his treachery, ended his life by the Sword. When Nature fights with a dis­ease, and shewes it selfe sometimes superior, and sometimes inferior, it betokens and ar­gues weaknesse in it, at last it remains con­quered, the disease increasing in malignity, and nature decreasing in strength, which it loses even then when it overcomes. Relap­ses for the most part are deadly, because that nature overcame not the disease at first, but onely when it used its last endeavour, and when the disease riseth again above its na­ture wanting a new and greater endeavour, must of necessity succumb & perish: Even so, man wrastling with Fortune, and somtimes being superior, sometimes inferior, must needs at last remain inferior, & be overcome, For an unfortunate man to strive against Fortune, for the first time is ignorance, be­ing once beaten downe, to rise againe and returne to the combat is obstinacie, but to prosecute, and follow it, is meer and abso­lute follie. What ease would it be to a man to know himselfe the very first houre to be unfortunate? he would shun the resort of men, to make himselfe a Companion of [Page 163] wild beasts, and in stead of Cityes and Palaces, Caves, and Woods would be his habitation. And if Fortune did seeke him out, instead of giving him her hand, she would turne her back to him. He would have his recourse to night, to not behold the light which is so tormenting to him, the Sun, and Heavens that are so contrary, and would also wish the night darke, that he might not see in it those star [...]s which threa­ten him dammage and ruine. Happinesse shewes ill in a mans eyes in the darke, and unhappinesse in the light. It had bin better for such a one to not have bin borne, or to have dyed as soone as he was borne. But since to not be borne did not lie in his hands, nor dying doth not; let him hide himselfe, to make men beleeve that he is not borne, and that he lives as if he were dead. Surely if he did know his evill fortune, he would withdraw into the woods, and if it were knowen to others, he would be forced to re­treate thither. Wee can hardly make our selves beleeve we have it, unlesse we make more then one essay, but others may easily know that we have it, without having ex­perimented it. Great Princes, Kings, and Monarchs, in whose hands seemes at first to lie the giving and taking away of their subjects fortune, if they did withstand the motions which they inwardly feele, [Page 164] they would know the quality of fortune by the inward effect which moves in them. And how behove-full would it be to recule and set by unfortunate men ere they were scarce known, and to bring fortunate men out into the light, they having no need of any other triall, but what they feele within themselves of instinct or loathing. Fortu­nate men overcome fortune with follow­ing it, the unfortunate with yeelding to it. How many times doth nature kill a man, no diseases assaulting nor engaging him, be­cause it doth assault and engage them. There a [...]e (according to the opinion of learned men) certaine venemous humours, which remaine a long time in a mans body with­out hurting it, because nature hath laid them aside in some ignoble part, farre from the heart, and hath not medled with them, nor stirred them; which humours if she once set upon, she is lost. And unfortunate man would live secure all the dayes of his life; if seeing he cannot any way move fortune, he would recule, and remove himselfe, not comming to triall with her, to assault her. Man daily calls fortune unconstant, and yet learnes not to cease his admiration when he sees her inconstancy. If he he doth not know her to be such why doth he give her that attribute? and if he doth know it, why doth he wonder at it when he sees it [Page 165] inconstant? This alwayes accompanies ignorance, and doth not admit of provi­dence.

What is there firme in the world? The earth to day brings forth a plant, and makes shew as if would raise it up as high as hea­ven. Goe by, and come againe that way within a few dayes, and you shall see it turned to ashes, and quite abandoned as soon as it is perfected. Behold a Tree that hath happily brought its fruite to maturity, and hath born it all the while it was im­perfect, and as soone as it is come to per­fection suffers it either to wither, or rot: These things are daily seen, and yet no man wonders at such an inconstancy. But if we do but think of an Alexander the great, ex­tolled and raised up to the skies, then when he is at the height left in the hands of an un­fortunate death; his Monarchie first divi­ded, and then destroyed; Then we cry out against fortune, and call it inconstant. If all wordly things are subject to these kinds of motions, and changes, why doe we a­scribe them to fortune more then to any thing else; Truely because it hath least part in it; and is therein more inconstant, be­cause it hath no certainty in its inconstancy, wherefore we complaine of its good deeds, and our owne ignorance is the cause of our wondring: it being not alwayes incon­stant, [Page 166] but we not knowing when it will be so.

Men have to this day sought the cause why it comes to passe that subjects raised by fortune, are by the same in an instant cast downe: and that she shewes her power most adverse there, where her favours have bin most conspicuous; and no body hath yet bin able to give a just reason for it: not so much because they could not give a re­solution of the Probleme, as because they have not framed nor stated the Probleme right: but have laid it fal [...]e. For many, yea very many who have bin raised by fortune, have remained so all their life time, and it hath followed them to their very graves. The reason of this diversity of effects, is that, which must be sifted out. Iupiter and Venus doe not alone influxe fortunes, but Mars and Saturne likewise have their influ­ences; and with them the fixed starres of the first greatnesse, all of them (except Spica Virginis) defiled with the violent qua­lities of these malevolent ones.

The way is different, and the manner contrary. Some doe raise men, are raised by Violence, Misfortune, Sword, Fire, Bloud, Slaughters, and Battailes. Some againe, by meanes of Sciences, Vertues, Councells and Prudence are brought mild­ly up to degrees of eminency. Out of the [Page 167] first are framed Tyrants, and Generalls of Armyes; out of the latter, Lawgivers, Councellors, Princes, Priests. Each have their Catastrophes according to their na­ture, when once the Aspect turnes from be­ing friendly to be adverse. But the damma­ges and harmes which are influxed by Iupi­ter and Venus are not Tragicall; The change of State is not suddaine, and even the death it selfe is milde. Saturne and Mars doe every thing violently. Looke but upon the seven Kings of Rome in its very first beginning, and you shall see them all (except Numa Pompilius) die violent deaths. In them you shall for the most part see the violence of misfortunes involv'd amongst destructions & bloud. In this the mildnesse of Iupiter, & Venus, Councell, Prudencie, and Religion. Consider many peacefull Princes; Legisla­tors, Councellors, and Priests, risen to the very height of happinesse: And on the o­ther side many Princes that have bin War­riors, Tyrants, Generalls of Armies; And in these you shall find, for the most part, Tragick Catastrophes, in the other, very seldome any violent ones. But the infor­tunate man hath not onely nature, and the starres adverse to him, but men also, whose envy he stirreth up against him through his pride; and even God himselfe moving him to wrath with his wickednesse. Yet [Page 168] his fortune may wither a little, and yet not be quite corrupted, he may by his prudency oversway the starres, with humility miti­gate men, and with piety appease God. Fi­nally, if Alcibiades had not the delight of an unsavoury and continued happinesse, he had it of a sharpe, and often renewed one. The habit of a Wrestler (as the wise man said) being arrived to the very height of good­nesse cannot be increased, but it will perish, nor cannot be kept at a stay but it will change, nor change without growing worser.

The remedy is to diminish it, that it may be increased againe. Even so happinesse be­ing arrived to the height, must descend: and if you stay till the descent comes accidental­ly, it often turnes to a precipice: If it comes by wisdom and foresight, it occasions a new delight by rising againe.

There is no way for one to rise when he is at highest, but first he must come downe lower; Fortune is favourable when chance carries him downe gen [...]ly, and it is an emi­nent understanding, which will disposes his will to it. There is no great delight in being happy, it requires a motion, the plea­sure is in the becomming so, and he that of­tenest and most times becomes such hath re­ceived most pleasure. Such a happinesse doth that man attaine unto, that humbles [Page 169] himselfe when he is come to the highest de­gree: he enjoyes a perpetuall delight, and yet doth not forsake his stand, living in a continuall motion. He alwayes humbles himselfe, and is still raised up. But even as Hippocrates was (in mine opinion) deceived, judging it a good habit, to be full of bloud, so are they also who judge those men happy that are ful of bloud. If any man had represented, and set before the eyes of Caesar, and Alexander the great, and others who were then; or are now like unto them, the way, and meanes, whereby they had attained to their happinesse; hearing no­thing but outcries, howlings, and horrid lamentations, seeing nothing but slaughters, ruines of Cities, desolation of Provinces, Inhabited places made desolate, fruitfull places barren, themselves encompassed, with fire, dead carkasses, and bloud: it would surely strike a terror into them. What happinesse is that then the cause of which affrights and terrifies even him that hath attained to it?

CORIOLANVS his eminent vertues, which mingled with some defect, made it rather greater than equall, obli­ges Plutarch to attribute the cause of the one to the goodnesse of his nature, and of the other to the defect of education. From the one he in­ferres, that good soile may overcome bad tillage: from the other, that let the soile be never so good, yet if it continually have bad tillage, it will bring forth some bad plant. The soile is the Minde, the tillage, Learning, which being of a temperate complexion, corrects all excesses, and cures all contrarie­ties. It raiseth those that are too low, humbles them that are too stout; where it findes any hard thing, it softens it; where any soft, it hardens it: resembling the Sun, which with the same beames melts the Ice, and hardens the mire. This doctrine is so delightfull, that it hath been able to at­tract the eyes which it could not dazzle. [Page 176] I have a long time looked upon it with a­stonishment, knowing that by consenting to it, I should betray mine understanding; and doubting lest by opposing it, I should seem to question a truth; and by arguing a­gainst education, which hath commonly been approved of, (and most of all by the wisest) I should be reputed rash and temera­ry, though by right I should be applauded for it. But if a good Citizen ought to ex­pose his life to save the publick, why should he not also adventure his reputation for the common service? This will be also so much the easier, because I mean not to direct my shafts against the thing it selfe, but against the manner; commending, with others, E­ducation: but not that Education which is commonly practised.

I represent unto my selfe two trees of the same kinde but in severall places; one wilde in the forrest, yet in good soile: the other growing in a Garden, amiddest the tender­nesses of tillage and husbandry. I see the boughes of the latter more beautifull and springing up, its fruit fairer and bigger; but the boughes ready to break at every blast of wind, & the fruit rot in a short time, and affording but a weak kind of nourishment. I see in the former, rougher boughes, lesser fruit, and not so beautifull; but the boughes resisting the fury of the North windes, and [Page 177] the fruit not easily corrupted, and strong for nourishment. The roughnesse of the tree of the forrest, yeelds I know not what kind of statelinesse, so that Majesty added to the horridnesse, brings forth a kind of reverence with delight. The tendernesse of the other, moves delight with its beauty; but in such a manner, that it doth in some kinde make the beholder grow tender with looking on it. The tree of the forrest is like a vigorous, sinewy, well-limbed man, with strong muscles. A garden tree resembles a young and tender maiden. And if this be true, e­ducation being like a garden, will make the masculine vigour grow effeminate, take a­away the horridnesse which produces feare, the Majesty which causeth reverence, and will change the Sex, and metamorphose Man into Woman. Many Princes have found it so, who having conquered fierce & stubborn nations, have not taken more pains in any thing to keep them under the yoke of bondage, than in polishing what was rough, tame what was wilde, and effeminate by manuring and trimming in a Garden, the masculine conditions of those wilde, but ro­bustious plants; yet I doe not mean to vili­fie Education but rather intend to speake in commendation of it, not digressing from the example of Agriculture, which Plutarch sets down.

[Page 178] A husbandman sometimes meets with an excellent soile, to sowe Corne upon: and if he does but even as it were, break it up with the Plough, and sowes but a little quantity of seed upon it, it will yeeld a fruitfull and abundant harvest: because the goodnesse of the soile, not oppressed by the multitude of seed, doth beyond measure increase that little, and being not softened with overmuch tilling, it strengthens the stemme, and with great fertility comes to maturity. But if the unskilfull husband­man too carefully manures and tills it, and sowes a great deale of seed upon it, at the first comming up, he shall see an abound­ing crop sprung, which being growen up with the fruite shall lye upon the ground, and being laid will be over-growne with weeds, and shall gather great eares, but empty and putrified.

A husbandman sometimes meetes with a soile that is so barren, that he leaves it in the hands of nature, after he hath tilled it, and sowen it with very good seed, and it will bring forth grasse instead of Corne, and cockle instead of Wheat.

But if he chance to meete with an indif­ferent soile, there he uses all the art and skill he hath in husbandry; there he soweth seed in abundance, and whereas in excellent soil, with little art hindering as it were nature, [Page 179] in indifferent soile, with great Art., assisting it, hereapes a most plentifull and abounding Harvest. This is an instruction for men. Let not an evill nature be too much tilled, nor fed with seed, it is offended by being fed, and too much tillage offends it; either the seed doth not fadge and take root there, or it turnes to poyson. Let an indifferent na­ture have a great deale of education, and a good one but a little, if you will not have it grow weak and effeminate. The ancient Romanes, whilest the excellent soile lasted, did not tenderly till it with learning, because they would not weaken the sturdinesse of their Citizens, nor cause their corn to lie up­on the ground through too much ranknesse, but did educate them rustically, in a Milita­ry way, and so they brought forth a plenti­full generation of Heroick persons. The cu­rious dressing of a Garden is fit for Tulips, and such kindes of Flowers, which for the most part delight the eye, but are without savour, sent, or substance: and such are those men, who brought up in Musicke, singing, and dancing, serve for ornament, but are fruitlesse and vain in a Common-wealth.

The advantage which an excellent soile being but roughly tilled, hath above that which is carefully manured and fed, will more plainly appeare, in passing over two o­ther [Page 180] parts, we multiply the comparison. Ti­tianus was questionless an admirable Pain­ter; sometimes hee was so accurate in the Draughts of his Pensill, and so exact in his limming, that it seemed hee would make the very haires numerable: and sometimes hee would content himselfe with drawing of some pictures with few and rough strokes. An understanding Spectator of such a dif­ferent proceeding in his Art, will in the one finde a feminine trimnesse; in the other, a masculine sturdinesse. Hee will passe over the first with praise, the latter hee will fixe upon with admiration; hee will have a sweet inclination to the first, but the last will violently and forcibly draw along his ad­mira [...]ion and affection.

What was Cato (whom Antiquity was ne­ver weary of commending) but a plant growing in an excellent soile, a Picture drawn with rough strokes? And the two Brutes, one of which expelled the Tyrant, and the other slew him, who will not say but they were trees of the forrest? The se­cond was inferior to the first in fortune, be­cause he exceeded him in knowledge. Hee knew the defect after hee had been hurt by it; and when he lay a dying, he stiled all Sciences vain. Lucius, hardened by the sa­vagenesse of the forrest, kild his own Chil­dren. Marcus, softned with the delicacie of [Page 181] tillage suffers Caesars frinds to live, losing that Common-wealth with his learning, which the other had built up with his igno­rance. The people of Rome who hoped for liberty through Marcus his valour, feared he would lose the beauty of his forestick hor­ridnesse, by meanes of manuring; Caesar almost assured himselfe that he had lost it. They were both deceived, for with that part of savageness which remained, he could: kill Caesar, and ruine the Common-wealth with that softnesse which he had acquired.

When education is contrary to nature, if it doth produce a new character of its own, yet can it hardly quite cancell that which it found, it may mitigate, but not overcome it. One subject made basis to two contraries, sōtimes operating according to nature, some­times to educatiō, works with opposite mo­tions, and with that inequality loses it selfe. If Marcus Brutus had bin wholly soft, he had not undertaken so cruell an act: if he had bin wholly rough, he had happily at­chieved and performed it.

Plutarch confesses the truth, in denying it. This herbe the more it is troden the sweeter in smells, this dust the more it is stamped upon, the more it rises.

Hee commends learning, because it softens the mind, and this is [Page 182] effeminating of it, because it reduces to a mediocrity, and that is annihilating of greatnesse. He also granteth, that the Ro­manes education, aimed onely at the bring­ing in of the vertue of fortitude.

The crowne of Oake, which Coriolanus gained in his young yeares gives us to un­derstand, what plants they would have to grow in the Common-wealth, and in what manner manured.

But why had the Oake this prerogative? Peradventure, saith Plutarch, by reason of the the Arcadians who honoured it, Or of Iupiter who decked himselfe with it, or be­cause of the sturdinesse, or fruitfulnesse of the tree. Or peradventure they considered the vertue of the Oake, which lying under water doth not corrupt, or soften, but growes as hard as stone, whereas if part of it stand above water in the aire, it rots in a short time; As if they would signifie thereby, that in a man of worth and valour, ver­tue doth increase, by his being continually plunged in employments; and contrariwise it withers and fades away, when any part of him is exposed to sensuality.

Those who would have the reward of the Oaken crowne to come againe, let them take away Meum & Tuum. Let them turne this, into a Golden age: and without producing an Acorne age, they shall see [Page 183] the Oaken Crownes spring up in abun­dance.

It is so consonant to reason that all crimes should be punished, and all vertues rewar­ded, that it serves for an argument to know there is a heaven, and a hell; because that good and evill things being not rewarded and punished by God in this world, seeing it is necessary they should be rewarded, it argues that of necessity there must be places in the other world to doe it. He is notwith­standing a pernicious and irreligious Prince that will imitate God in this particular. He takes away (as much as in him lies) the efficacy of the argument, because he takes away the necessity of doing it, seeing he hath not another world, to reward or punish them in, whom he hath not rewarded nor punished in this world. The happinesse of worldly government consists in not suf­fering any vertue to go unrewarded, nor any offence unpunished.

One of the greatest disorders that the cor­ruption of rewards hath produced, making treasuries unable to undergoe that bur­then, hath bin the (in some sort) obli­ging Princes and Common-wealths to re­ward vertues with an impunity of of­fences.

Unfortunate is that vertuous act, abomi­nable that reward, if the recompence must [Page 184] be, the bearing with offences: if reward­ing must be forbearance of punishing, either vertue must goe without reward, or turne to vice to attaine it.

No body makes any question, but that rewards and punishments are they which beare up States: upon these two pillars, did God lay the foundations of the world, pro­mising glory to those who did well, and threatning evill doers, with everlasting torments; and if this were not sufficient, if he met with people that beleeved neither heaven nor hell, he set a reward and a pu­nishment within man himselfe, imprinting in his very entrailes the law of Nature, which should perswade him to good, and disswade him from evill.

And because all naturall operations are pleasing, and contrary ones painefull; man doth in his owne very acting receive his reward, and his punishment, from whence proceeds that inward joy which comforts good men, and afflicts bad ones.

But since man through sinne was divi­ded, and withdrew from this law, the senses imbued with another contrary one, more sharpe and vehement, he was forced, to goe and assist the naturall law, which borne in the soule, was oppressed by that law which came from without in the mem­bers to counterpoise and overcome it; as­sisting [Page 185] it with outward punishments and rewards, which though they be needfull in all nati­ons and all sorts of people, yet are they not required for all men, of the same kind.

The rewards of inferiour people, is mo­ney, of Nobles honour, the punishment for the one death: for the other infamy. In former times great spirits were satisfied, with the reward of an Olive, or Oaken garland: a ring, a chaine, a feather, a scarfe, and for greater matters with a triumph: and the deniall of a triumph after it was deserved was a punishment sufficient: and this was done at such times as it was the vulgar sort of peoples reward to divide the spoile amongst the Souldiours, and the con­quered land among the people.

Such were the proceedings in Common-wealths composed of Optimacy, and espe­cially in that of Rome, where it may be easily knowne, by those that read the histories of it, that the rewards were such, and the like of punishments by such as exami [...]e the said histories: VVhere they shall find, that whole Armies have bin tithed, putting each tenth man to death, for faults which have bin committed in them: and never any Nobles put to death for losing of battells, or ill guiding of their Armies, [Page 186] or any other offence, untill wee come to Spurius Melus, whose crime was against the State: Whereby we must needs con­clude, that either in Rome they neglected one fundamentall Pillar of Government, which is punishment, in the Nobility or that for them infamy and disgrace was a suffici­ent one.

The Rewards were altered, when desire of wealth came in: not because Noble minds altered their object, and giving over the desire of glory, did wholly cast them­selves upon their own interests; but because the object it selfe was altered; and yet not changed quite, but onely communicated to another. The Ring, the Chain, the Laurell, the Olive Garland, were not the objects of generous mindes, no more are riches now at this time; but they had the first for honour, and these last for that which they had gai­ned. For the honour consisting not in him that is honoured, but in the honourer; it is not in a mans choyce what to bee honoured with, or to be rewarded more by one thing than by another: he must onely look what thing is most honoured by common ap­plause. Thence growes the ordinary errour of subjects, who in applying themselves, doe not follow their own genius, but ambition, which cals men to that, where glory is repu­ted greatest. But the same thing is not in re­pute [Page 187] in every place, nor in the same place at all times, nor the samething, in the same manner. Roman vertues were vices amongst the Parthians.

In Rome Eloquence was first contemned, then afterwards honoured: sometimes A­siaticall, sometimes Laconicall, some­times plaine, sometimes garnished Elo­quence was applauded; sometimes that which pleased the eare, sometimes that which best perswaded the minde: and all this comes to passe, because the true object of the principall powers of the soule, being wanting in the world (even like a sicke man, that cannot finde rest in any place) we alwayes change our place, because we will not despaire of finding it. It was the people that placed honour in riches, because the object of want hindering the object of ambition, they turned to honouring of that which might relieve them.

A right effect of Nature, which not to bee defective, makes that to be most desi­red which is most necessary: Wherefore it was judged by wise and understanding men, That the desire and appetite of food, was more vehement in man, than any o­ther passion; and therefore if hee had ma­ny objects to turn to, and many passions to satisfie, he would first look upon, and sa­tisfie the passion of hunger.

[Page 188] But because honour is expected from the vulgar, more than from the Nobilitie, (who being emulators, and envious, will rather seeke to disgrace than applaud) and they being corrupt, or necessitated, honour him most that is wealthiest: it was needfull to procure to be one of the greatest among these, to bee the most ho­noured. After applause came Traines of followers, from them sprang factions and dissentions, and these caused the ruines of Common-wealths and kingdomes.

M [...]ny Philosophers knew riches to bee the root of all evils: Wherefore when Licurgus went about to secure his Com­mon-wealth, the first thing he did, was banishing Gold and Silver out of it, and causing Leather to be made use of instead of it. Deceiving himselfe in this because hee did not know, that hee did not change the error, but onely did abase it by reducing it from a beautifull, to a vile and abject matter: the excellency of the metals, be­ing not the reason why Gold and Silver are had in such esteeme; but because coine and money is made thereof, which is of greatest value: so that the way had been to take mo­ney quite away, which could not possibly be done, unlesse he had likewise taken away me [...]m & tuum, viz. every mans propriety. Wherefore Plato having better considered [Page 189] upon it, resolved to put it quite out of his Cō ­mon-wealth, not erring in the finding of the error, but erring in that he beleeved that it might be corrected. Princes did likewise cō ­cur in yeelding repute to riches, by honoring those that had wealth; and, many times, not so much because they are necessary to get honour, (for it may also be gotten by valour) but because Princes are alwayes richest, but not alwayes valiantest, it was reason in State to hold wealth up in mens esteem, to not aug­ment the reputation of others, and fall into contempt themselves, it being also a common desire in man, that the thing which they have most of, should be most in esteem.

Then Princes in Monarchicall govern­ment are participant of this error, the Senate in Common-wealths, and People in all kind of States: and therefore together with the corruption of the common wealth, came the corruption of rewards into Rome, nei­ther suff [...]ces it, though the one part stands sirme, if so be the other falls, nor is it suf­ficient to have an excellent Prince, if hee meet with corrupt People: So that it seemes to be a very hard thing to bring in a refor­mation of rewards, and being once brought in, it is impossible it should last, without reforming the whole world, which is run on so far [...]e, that he that would now returne to the ancient customes, would sooner be [Page 190] stiled avaricious then prudent. Peradven­ture the Romans did ill in not changing the punishments with the rewards: They did indeed receive some change at the discretion of Tyrants, and that was when Cinna, Ma­rius, Silla, Pompey, Caesar, Crassus, Antonie, and Augustus came in, the Axe beginning then to fall upon the most eminent and no­ted Citizens heads, to wreake, and vent their hatred, and secure their feare, which, if they had born respect to civill justice onely, and not to their Despoticall interest, there could not have wanted gentler, and milder meanes, and every way as effectuall to save it from contempt. All that imbrue their hands in bloud for hatred, are Tyrants, and all those as doe it for feare, if they can­not be called Tyrants (the feare being grounded upon reason) may very well bee esteemed unfortunate Princes. The corrup­tion of rewards was then introduced by the want, and corruption of the People, and Policy of the Soveraignes: The cor­ruption of punishments by the Tyranny of Princes, and treachery of the Nobles. It is easie where Princes are excellent, and the Nobility faithfull, to continue and preserve punishments, in that perfection as they were, in the primitive times of the Roman com­mon-wealth; and this is even the same manner as is now used in Spaine, where in­famy [Page 191] and disgrace are sufficient punish­ments for Noble mens Politick evill acti­ons, which concerne the Prince's service; The debarring them the Prince's sight, Removing them from the Court, leaving them in oblivion, is as much & as efficacious in that most happy Country, as banishing, imprisoning, and beheading in other King­domes.

Those who blame this manner of proceed­ing, that the effect, which the example should be, are peradventure deceived. For an ir­regulare and temerary mind it will not be sufficient, and for a generous breast it needs not.

But because all nations doe not conforme themselves in giving the preheminency and superiority of this thing which we call reputation, to one and the same thing; Some attributing it to Wealth, some to Nobility, many to VVisdome, and some to beauty: some extolling the great man, and some the most valiant, it will not be a­misse a little to argue and search out, to which of these it is due. And because a­mongst so many different opinions we can­not have the decision from man, we will take it from nature, and bow to that vertue, in which nature hath placed the command.

Lawyers are of opinion, that there is no naturall servitude, and that all men are [Page 192] borne free. And though Aristotle seeme to say the contrary, yet he doth not meane to yeeld to any more then a character which shall shew not what another is, but what he should be; therewith setting out; not the act, but the inclination. Ptolomie meant the same thing in the division of the signes, into commanding and obeying ones, and no man will deny such instincts, who read­ing Hostories, will consider so many Nati­ons, which without any outward violence to force them, or art to perswade them, have voluntarily submitted themselves to the command of him, whom they have held in greatest repute.

But in assigning of that vertue, which na­turally is commanding, I will take leave to differ and recede from Aristotles opinion; for whilest he seekes to set down what men ought to command, and who to obey, making (or else I erre) an evill distinction of men; He doth not resolve the question well, by saying that some are borne with much strength, and little understanding; others with much understanding and little strength, the one kind being fit to serve, and the other to command, the first shall be borne to servitude, the last to com­mand.

He leaves out one part of men who are borne with both these, and another who [Page 193] have neither of them, and are incapable either of serving or commanding.

He to whom nature hath given onely a great understanding, was made but to con­template and teach, if he were made to com­mand, it was onely in a Schoole. He that hath valour onely, whom we call temerary, troubles all the world, and is nothing but violence. To the third, namely to him that hath both, the Scepter, in my opinion is due, and to him indeed, for the most part, People have granted it, when it hath bin in their power to give it: as to Saturne, Iupiter, Hercules, Romulus,, and so many others; The Gentiles so highly esteeming him that hath those two characters of valour and wisedome (which both goe to the framing of true Fortitude) that where they have found them both united, they have even a­dored them. I doe indeed find that sometimes men have also submitted themselves to a man, who hath bin onely of an eminent un­derstanding, as to Pythagoras, Lyeurgus and N [...]ma Pompilius. But I hold this dominion to be but little more naturall then the other, which hath onely valour appropriated to it, though one be given, the other violently taken, this latter called Tyrannicall, and the other▪ Kingly. Peradventure they are both tyrannicall, one offering (as I may say) no lesse violence with his art, to the [Page 194] soule, then the other doth with his force to the bodies. And if we consider well the dominion which is obtained by under­standing, it alwayes brings along with it, one of the attributes of the violent, namely of not being durable. Wherefore those that are such; to keep themselves long in com­mand, have had their recourse to art, when the favour of nature hath failed them, feign­ing to have had some commerce with the Gods. So that in mine opinion we may say, that the understandingest doth command by cunning, the most rash by violence, and he that is endowed with true Fortitude, by nature.

And indeed nature whose chiefe aime is to preserve the Species, inclines man to obey him who may best preserve him: And be­cause he that hath fortitude is such a one, he shall before others be set in this naturall state, free from all violence: and men will obey him in whom they shall see this ver­tue shine more then in others.

Coriolanus, did not so much desire to bee honoured himselfe, as to be commended to his Mother, he esteemed of honours, because they caused joy in her. But why should others joy increase ours, whether it be that of our Parents, and Kindreds, or our friends?

[Page 195] Man is so set upon the satisfying of his passions, and the passions, are so joyned and linked together, and also desirous to be satisfied, that the perfectly pleasing of ones passion, or the being content with having pleased it, is not ordinarily attained unto, when the rest are froward and distasted. For satisfaction of the sense of tasting, sa­voury meat would be sufficient.

But he that will have it perfumed, seekes to content the smelling also. If he desires colour, handsomnesse, and shape; he seeks to have the eye also pleased therewith; and that the hearing likewise may have its de­light, he will eate his meat where there is playing and singing. Neither there doth the sensuality of man, composed of soule and body, rest, though his body wallow in de­lights, the passions of the soul must also have some food, feeding his ambition with fine­nesse of Table-linnen, richnesse of vessels, number of attendants, invention, disposition and singularity.

In the sense of feeling, man should be content with softnesse: but hee will have beauty for the eyes, he desires perfumes to please the smell, Nobility and vertue to ap­pay his ambition; and to content his irasci­call part, could he not also satisfie himselfe with the death of his enemy? No; fully to please the passions of his minde (though [Page 196] he oftentimes doe it with losse and danger) he will vain-gloriously have it known that it was he that slue him; and the greater his innocency was, the more he rejoyces in his revenge. These examples are so cleare, that they put it out of all question, that mans desire is not content with the satisfaction of the passions of the body, if he doth likewise in some sort partly satisfie his ambition. The same (as I believe) happens as truly (though not so plainly) in the satisfying of ambition. Cold and unsavoury seeme the advancements to honours and dignities, all increases of greatnesse (let them be of never so great moment) seem despicable, if there be not some content likewise given to the two chiefe passions of the body, Irascible, and Concupiscible. Thereunto hath regard, the desire of having at that time, both those we love, and those we ha [...]e, alive, that we may rejoyce at the griefe which wee see in the one, and the pleasure which we espy in the other.

That is a kinde of revenge belonging to the Irascible, and this a kind of benefit done to him who is beloved, which may be redu­ced to the Concupiscible. Hee will thinke himselfe unfortunate, who arriving to any happinesse, hath not these two spectators, a friend and an enemy. Hence proce [...]ds the o­riginall cause of his excessive delight, who [Page 197] comes to great preferment in his fathers life time, because that in this case both the fore­said affections are satisfied, the sonne being both beloved & also emulated by the father. And though the emulation bee not so appa­rant, yet sometimes there is as much of it, as there is of love, lesse discovered but some­times more sharp: whereupon he did very well, that made it the chiefe of his joyes, that his Father and his mother had seen him ride in triumph.

And it is no marvell, if he did desire the presence of the one more than of the other, because in the other wants emulation: And indeed the delight is more perfect, which we receive from the love that belongs to both, than from the emulation which belongs particularly to the Father, it failing (un­lesse it be by reflection) of any desire which may produce griefe.

But how can it bee, that a mans joy en­creasing by his friends rejoycing, his sor­rowes should decrease by his friends grie­ving at his sorrowes? St. Thomas saith, that the friends griefe is considered, not as a reall thing, but as a mark and signe of one: not as a dolorous passion, but as a signe of love, whereby the comfort is received. To this learned saying might also be added, That a friend being beloved as ones selfe, we desire that all his actions should be perfect; where­fore [Page 198] it doth trouble us to see him rejoyce in our calamities, and we are glad when with his sorrow hee sympathizes with us in them. The former being a signe of his slighting us, and the other of his constancy in affection. Adde to this finally, the delight a man takes when he findes he hath made a happy choice of a friend, and grief which oppresses him if he proves false.

Sannieticus, King of Aegypt, being taken prisoner by Cambyses, sees his daughter in a servile habit drawing of water, his sonne guarded by armed men to his death, he looks upon them both with dry eyes. After­wards he sees one of his friends half naked, and almost starved, begging food to keepe him alive, hee abandons himself to griefe, weeping and lamentation. The solution of this knot is very difficult. Cambyses desires to know the reason, and causeth Sanneticus to be examined about it: as if he that does a thing, alwayes knew the reason why hee doth it. He many times is ignorant of it, and oftentimes whereas the action produces the effects, he makes it to be produced by the effects, either to conceale the true cause, or to boast of a wisdome which he hath not, but onely preposterous, ascribing the worke of Fortune to his own prudency. The captive King answeres, That he having no griefe to equall to the two first calamities, had sacrifi­ced [Page 199] it to the third, as worthy of it. Others will say, that the two first brought him to the highest pitch of suffering; and the third forced him to run headlong into lamentati­on. Neither of these solutions satisfie me: One savours of Poetry, and the other is not altogether Philosophicall. The greater grief (according to Hippocrates doctrine) doth not suffer the lesser to be felt, then it was ei­ther greater, or of another nature: greater onely would not have been sufficient to ex­tract teares, it would rather have hindered the eyes from weeping: it was of another nature, namely, a mixture of joy and griefe: the first with its heat being able to make and open that passage which the last with its cold had closed up to teares.

None that loves, but if he love vehement­ly, somtimes when he raves and dotes most, will consider his friend in the middest of his troubles and dangers, with some kinde of pleasure; whereby he beleeves to shew and manifest the sincerity of his affection, ei­ther by taking him out of his afflictions, or bearing him company in his miseries. If this desire being but onely speculated, and contemplated, doth please one, what will it doe when it is put in practice? It will pro­duce a griefe full of delight, which rather causes a kinde sweetned tendernesse, than af­fliction or sorrow of the heart, from which [Page 200] we must confesse it drawes teares, but very pleasing ones. Hence proceeds, that some­times he that really falls into troubles and misfortunes, beholds with dry eyes, others who participate thereof onely through af­fection, powre out Oceans of teares. There being wanting in him that part of pleasure which opens the cataracts of tears, kept in and sealed up, through the sharpness of griefe: whereas the other, because the griefe is not properly his owne, but onely bred in him through his friends affliction, being as it were produced by imitation, hath also a kinde of delight almost conti­nually mixed with it.

An excellent Actor, who on stage relates some Tragick Scene, feeles a kinde of griefe in himselfe; and if he doth not, he doth not exquisitely act his part; and if he doth, who can deny, but that it is with a most sweet and pleasing grief, which hath its originall from a most pleasant imitation.

All these wayes as being accidentall, per­adventure increase not the substance of the joy: they may peradventure dilate it, but not sink, nor make it grow deep, unlesse it be when our friends▪ joy surpasses ours, either by the strongness of his apprehending it, or the faintnesse of his temperament; for then it works in us, according to the de­gree which it hath atttained unto. What [Page 201] true-hearted man can see a friend in his t [...]oubles grieve more than himselfe, but it must increase and augment his griefe; and will rather seek to comfort his friend, than be comforted by him: griefe working in him no more as a signe, but as a thing reall; and because greater, therefore increasing. Coriolanus therefore had reason to desire, that his famous actions should be related to his mother, any thing that increased her joy, gi­him much satisfaction; because the femi­nine temperament being more apt to re­ceive affections, he could perceive it greater in her than in himselfe; and measuring the greatnesse of the action, by the degrees of the content which it produced, he found the action greater in his mothers rejoycing, than in his own.

Coriolanus desires the Consulship of the people, and when he sues for it, he puts off his Robe, the custome of those times was such. Whether it was (saith Plutarch) to shew his scarres, and cause his valour to ob­lige them, or to shew himselfe submisse, and so perswade them with a seasonable hum­blenesse, because in those dayes vertues were more prevalent with the people than wealth.

I cannot be perswaded this should be the intent of this custome. The scarres might have been shewen without putting off his [Page 202] his Robe, or the putting it off would not have sufficed. A suppliant humility is good with a mans equals, not with his inferiors, in whom it breeds a kinde of loathing, to see a great man, who should command them abase himselfe so much.

It seemes that a man, as if he did imprint those qualities which are in himselfe, in his garment, when he thinkes they might be a­vailable to him, hee puts it on, and when he beleeves they will doe him hurt, he puts it off. Those Fathers which remained in Rome, when it became a prey to the Gaules, did put on their Senatoriall habits, which for a while bridled the Gauls insolency. That Fabius, who passed untouched amongst the enemies, puts on his Priestly habit, and sacri­fices. Leo the Pope put on his Pontifical ha­bit, and appeases the wrath of the barbarous Tyrant. Contrariwise, Davids childe falls sick, he rents and layes away his garments. Job feels his sorrowes increasing, and puts them off. Neither is that enough in great af­flictions, many proceed further, pulling off their haire, and even tearing their flesh: every thing then represents it self to them full of that quality which doth at that time tor­ment them. And they would make them­selves beleeve, that they could diminish it by pulling off their garments, throwing away their haire, and powring out their blood, as [Page 203] if together with them they did put off, throw away, and powre forth part of the tormenting griefe which afflicts them.

The Senatoriall dignity was hatefull to the people, because they could not devest themselves of the degree, they put off the Robe, as if in that lay the whole hatred, if not part of it. For the shewing a sudden change from a Commander to a suppliant, from a man clothed in Robes to a devested one, did much availe to put off hatred, and gain compassion. A Catastrophe (though false) did violently incline the mindes to a kinde of tendernesse; as in a Tragedy we see sometimes circumstances almost forcibly draw teares from the hearers eyes, though they know all is but fained and fabulous. I have seen the King my Master on that day we celebrate the commemoration of the washing of the Apostles feet, when he hath laid away his Cloke and Rapier, to fit him­himselfe for so pious a mystery, draw abun­dance of tears from the beholders eyes. The putting off the Robe did abate a great deale of the peoples hatred; and that which the laying away of the Robe had not done, the Catastrophe altered. And because hee that hath a fellow-feeling, desireth also to assist, and the compassion being greatest where the greatest change is, and the greatest change being in him that deserves most: the people [Page 204] desired to raise him that was of greatest me­rit, and exalt him to the Consular dignity. They had assuredly done it in our case; be­ing resolved to bestow it upon Coriolanus, if he appearing the next day with a great train of Senators at his heeles, had not destroy­ed his first shew of humility, by this second of pride, taking away the compassion, and giving way for them to kindle their anger a new, and therewith their hatred, which changed those tender thoughts of raising him, into as many sharpe inclinations to oppresse him.

Vertue can only be judged of naked: all kinds of accoutrements deforme it, it is an ornament to all things, and to itselfe both ornament and substance. He that will not loath her, let him behold her unarrayed; and he that will judge of her, let him view her naked. The Trojan Shepheard had not bin deceived, had he beheld the three God­desses naked: He had givē sentence on Pal­las side, had not her helmet, speare, shield, and the rest of her armour puzled him.

Vertue is both good and faire. Good­nesse, and beauty are the objects through which, will, satisfaction, and love passe to the understanding. How can you conceive vertue to be otherwise but faire and good if [...]ou consider it as vertue: and in what other shape can you consider it, if it doth not ap­peare [Page 205] naked unto you. Hate, Rage and En­vy cannot touch it, they are mothes which stick onely on the garments, wormes that inhabit putrifaction onely; strip her of ap­plauses, wealth, and all other vaine habili­ments, if thou wilt have her be secure, and enamourthee. This vertue which being once known, violently stirres up love, takes im­pression in mens hearts (sometimes in the Great ones, sometimes in the Peoples) by very different wayes. Some would have it remaine within the spheare of mediocrity, some would raise it up to the concave of the Moone. It is not alwayes envy which de­sires it low, nor love that continually de­sires to have it exalted. Sometimes it hap­pens, because a Great one would come into a strict league of friendship with it, and the People would by its means enjoy an ho­norable servitude. He that is possessed of such a noble gemme may communicate it to some by a relation of friend to friend; to o­thers of Master, to Servant. The one to be perfect requires equality; the other to bee pleasing, a kind of distance. The greater the Master is, the more honorable is the ser­vant: and the more cordiall the friend is, the greater equality is between them. But the connexion which the People hath with a person of eminent vertue, is like a ser­vant to his Lord, and he is desirous to exalt [Page 206] him. But the great ones is as one friends to another, and he doth not desire to have him advanced. Aristotle though he makes e­quality too necessary in friendship; some­times attributing it to superabundancy, sometimes to want, as if he discovered the truth out of its due distance, and with a hindred and obstructed meanes; seemes to contradict himselfe, and pretend it to pro­ceed from a great equality.

He either was or would be deceived, he needed to have bin neither, if he had af­firmed that both these causes united, did produce a most strict league of friendship. Superabundancy, and want, if one of them alone be divided into two subjects, brings forth either slavery, or its image. The poor, is the rich mans slave, and the Scholar the Masters, and if he be not, he is like some such thing.

Of two superabundancies and two wants, there is framed an almost indissoluble bond of friendship. The People that find in them­selves nothing but defect, goe towards vertue, and desire to have it made great, because they will serve it. The great one who with the defect of vertue, hath super­abundancy of honour and wealth, would find him out who hath superabundance of what he wants, with defect of his super­abundance, and desires to have him low, [Page 207] because he would make him his friend. And if this latter comes also to be exalted to honours and wealth, the other loses his superabundancy, and remaines with deefct onely: He hath nothing whereon to found the harmonious equality which produces friendship; and because he abhorres the character of being a servant, he hates that vertue exalted, which he venerated when it was humble. If there be a great plea­sure in the world, it consists in doing a be­nefit, and if there be any greater, it is in re­quiting it.

Therefore that must needs be exceeding great which is produced by the harmonious interweaving, of abundance, and defect, where the benefit is at the same time done and requited.

Plutarch calls Coriolanus proud and im­patient; I agree to it. He attributes the cause of it to want of study, I dissent from it: Because learning doth not onely not hinder these passions, but according to St. Pauls saying, produces Pride, and accord­ing to Solomons, Impatience; I attribute it to his being born in the Roman Common-wealth, which more desirous to increase then to preserve itselfe as it was made more of valour, esteeme in its Cittizens thereof Patience. Wherefore at the last keeping one still alive, it fell for want of the other. [Page 208] True it is, that as it is not against the law of Patience, that one upon occasion, when there is need, should violently oppose one that operates ill, no more is it of the essence of valour, to repaire all dammages, and revenge all offences. But the Romans cared not for these qualifications.

That Valour was more usefull to them, which operated, then that which suffered. And because for that part of valour, which lookes after revenge, wrath was very usefull, and very hurtfull to that which be­longs to suffering; it is not to be wondred, that some of them had the vice of impati­ence coupled with the vertue of fortitude. Seneca would not admit this doctrine of wrath: he would have it rooted out, as if our nature were so perfect, that it wanted no instigation, to make it operate well, nor no curbe to keep it from working evill.

He that will see how man ought to make use of wrath, which we also call choler, let him consider what use nature makes of that choler which is called Bilis. I meddle not with that part which is called Nutri­tive, which subtilizes the bloud, that it may the easilier nourish the parts, which feeds the heart, and the musculous flesh, which tempers the cold of the Pituitous hu­mour, with Melancholy. I will speake on­ly of the Excrementall Bilis; There is one [Page 209] naturall, and another without nature, or extra naturam: One reserved in the Gall bagge, that is to clense and absterge the pitui­tous humors together with the ordures; be­cause like a medicament it instigates, and provokes the expulsive vertue, to send forth that which is not to be retained, and which being retained would kill. The o­ther breeds Dysenteries, Diareas, Deliri­ums, Frenzies, perfect Tertians, and an infinite of such diseases: And even just so it is with wrath. One kind of wrath is a passion which like that unbridled Bilis run­ning on furiously, brings one to a precipice: The other regulated by the understanding, and set apart for some occasion, serves to instigate the vertue of valour: and as Na­tures excrementall Bilis is necessary to ex­pell the excrements; which nature would not move to doe if it were not instigated; so likewise this wrath is necessary for man to drive that away from him which the under­standing hath concocted, and judged fit to be driven out.

But nature doth not make use of the Bilis onely to expell excrements onely, but also of the serous matter to distribute the bloud; of melancholy to excite the appetite, to re­taine the food, and sustaine the body; Of the sharp and serous humour to mixe with the seed to provoke to generation, and pre­serve [Page 210] the kind. Although that serous hu­mour bee that which causeth Hydropsie, though the Atra Bilis produces Quartanes, Cancers, Hypocondries, Rage and Madness; though that from the sharp subtile humour, the greatest part of the Cutancall diseases have their beginning: So the minde like­wise makes use of Wrath for Fortitude: of Ambition for Magnanimity; and yet the one produces rashnesse, the other pride. That straitnesse of minde which causes avarice, being dilated, makes up parsimony: From that largenesse of breast, from which springs Prodigality, if it bee but a little restrained, there proceeds liberality. Finally, the good or hurt that these humours of the body, and passions of the minde doe produce, proceeds from their being regulated or not regulated; the humours by Nature, and the passions by Reason. From the making use of the same humour, both for vertue and for vice, though in a divers manner, comes, that ignorance is oftentimes deceived, and malice confounds vice and vertue, calling prodigality, libera­lity; rashnesse, fortitude; and pride, mag­nanimity.

It is worthy consideration, and yet not easie to know, why Nature hath made choice of evill humours to make use of, to exercise the best and principall parts of the body: when as it might have disposed the [Page 211] generative vertue, the expulsive, the reten­tive, the appetitive, and the distributive, in such manner, that they might have operated without having need of spurre or instigation. And if they had need of any, why did give it them of such imperfect matter? This knot which by a Gentile is indissoluble, may be resolved by a mean understanding, so that it be Christian, when it shall consi­der, that Natura Naturans, did not create man in such a fashion. There was no ill hu­mour resident in him, every thing was good; all parts obeyed, without any resistance; all vertues operated without any instigation. It was Adam and not Nature that placed good and evlll in the same subject; and if it were Nature, it was Natura Naturata, corrupted by him who disobeying his Creators com­mands, broke the order of obedience, and put every thing in confusion. The evill of the Bilis, of melancholy, and other humors, proceeds from Adams sin & retaines the cha­racter of disobedience. But if vanity made Seneca contrary to Aristotle, truth did agree them together again. He confirmes what I have said, hee saith, It is good to make use of wrath as a servant, and that it is naught to be subject to it, as to a Lady and Mi­stresse.

Patience cōsists not in the not feeling of pain, seldome in doing as if one felt it not, but al­waies [Page 212] in feeling it as it ought to be felt. There is no such thing as insēsibility of pain: if there be it is not a strongness of heart but a weak­nesse of the minde. He that pretends to have such an insensibility, deceives, because hee hath it not; and he that hath it, deceives him­selfe, because he raves, and so doth the for­mer too, being sick with ambition▪ though not of a Fever. It is bad in prosperity but in adversity monstrous: in the one we must use violence to our selves to keep it away, & in the other we must sorce it to come. It is contrary to the ambitious humor, and there­fore a time of misery is fitting for it.

Where that which should cure, hurts, it is a signe that the disease is long, or mortall. Where the disease comes out of its due sea­son either the humor is malignant, or aboun­ding. The comfort of the afflicted is onely to be born with, the ambitious man is onely hated. Insensibility is a vaine ostentati­on, when it is not a hurtfull madnesse, which makes the evill worse instead of remedying it. His aim that offends is ordinarily to give distast and to cause griefe; which untill he hath attained to, he cannot be quiet: and to overcome a feigned non-feelingnesse of griefe, attempts a greater mischiefe. The operation of Vertue ought to bee long, and slow, to make a difference between a habit and a violent passion. Singularity doth not [Page 213] become it; for either it makes it ambitious, and it changes full of, or affectation, and it growes faint and weak. Diogenes comes in­to Plato's house, he wonders that it is not a Tub: he sees his Bed, and is scandalized and offended, because it is soft: and when he was to goe by it, not satisfied with con­temning it, in a fierce, violent, and proud rage, treads and stamps upon it. The Ger­man Legions cry up Vitellius for Emperour, they see him necessitous of money; with the same heat and violence as they had from a private man raised him to be a Prince, they will also of poore make him rich, every one strives to bring him gold and silver, and whatsoever he hath, that is pretious. The most wretched, that had nothing in his possession for the present to give, gave him whatsoever he had due to him. Tacitus con­siders the action, and to finde out the form, he goes not to the matter, which is capable of contrary formes, he goes in quest of the Motor; and after he hath called it sometimes Inclination sometimes Violence, at last to shew how adverse he is from estee­ming it to be Liberality, he breakes out, and calls it by the name of Avarice.

The female Sex, though endowed with a weak heart and very mean understanding, is also subject to impatience, as well as a ve­ry valiant man: I would say it were be­cause [Page 214] the delicateness of the instruments that are subservient to the understanding, are likewise common to them with man, the moistnes of the brain, and the softnes of the flesh: were it not that those instruments are rather unsinewed and weak, than delicate: the moistnesse rather fluid than viscous: the softnesse rather watry than aereall. It will be peradventure more warrantable, to as­signe the cause of it to pride, and wrath, qua­lities which produce impatiency, and to which that Sex is very prone, And by meanes of the one, they communicate with men of great wit; by the other, with such as have a great heart. But if wrath be so predominant in women. how come they to want valour? Say that it is because their choler proceeds from a pallid Bilis, which abounds in that Sex, and being serous, and fluid, it yeelds no firmnesse nor consistency. And likewise that their spirits are moveable, and few; because moveable, they run swift­ly to the heart, and quickly kindle the fire; because they are few, they cannot feed nor maintain it, and it goes quickly out. From hence doth female instability take its ori­gine, those unquiet spirits letting goe pre­sently that which they have received, and being but few, they know not how to retain it. This may also be a reason why they doe not hit upon the truth, unlesse it be on a [Page 215] sudden. They send those spirits suddenly to the brain; and if they be capable of appre­hending the truth, they doe it in that very instant: and if not, failing of new spirits, they want meanes to attempt a stronger o­peration, and so they doe not finde it: and if they have found it, yet they want spirits to discusse it, and so they lose it. Their braine either doth not reach to the truth, or it doth not stay and fix there. Many men also tou­ched with such a defect, after they have found the truth, if they goe about to bolt land sift it out carefully, doe lose it: they have as many spirits as will reach to it, and not enough to follow and prosecute it. A most acute and learned Author gives ano­ther reason; Truth, saith he, is a most bright light, it suffers it selfe to be looked upon, but not to be examined. He that looks upon the Sunne, sees it not at the first sight; but if he sixes his lookes upon it, he loses both Sunne and sight. This reason is more faire than sound, and is averred by an example more beautifull than fit. The thing which is too sensible, doth not appay the senses, but de­stroy them: their object is a mean, and too great a one is an enemy to them. The un­derstanding runs towards the greatest intel­ligible, it doth not stand upon the mean one: neither doth any other truth limit it, than that which is unlimitted. The distance [Page 216] which is between the materiall and the im­materiall, takes away the proportion: to frame the example. The great sensible ha­ving taken possession of a sense, makes the knowledge of a lesser impossible for it, be­cause it is a substance. The great intelligible makes it easie to the understanding, be­cause it is a spirit.

The Common-wealth of Rome might have taken a healthfull Antidote out of this poyson of Coriolanus, if they had kept him under a civill, not under a military Disci­pline: and if they had kept him under a military one, it should haue been to obey, not to command. The Citie mended him, the Camp made him worse. Mortificati­ons taught and directed him, applauses o­verthrew him. One may do amisse, through valour rooted in pride or in affection. One deserves punishment the other reward; the first is most pernitious to the Common­wealth, the other exceeding profitable. Time increases defect in the former; in the latter, vertue.

Pōponius, Tribune of the people, accuses Man­lius his son, w ^ch after was Manlius Tor­quatus, who though his father had d [...]stasted him, being advised rather by courage than by wit, tēder in years, yet more tēder in love, with a rurall, yet affectionate resolution, comes out of the Countrey (where he dwelt [Page 217] continually) to the City, goes to the Tri­bunes house, calls him aside, and takes hold on him in such a manner, that he was not a­ble to stirre from him; and drawing a dag­ger, forces him either to promise to desist from his intention, and let fall his accusati­on, or to lose his life: The Tribune promi­ses him, and desists. This case was divulged in Rome.: There was neither Plebeian, nor Patrician that blamed him. For his teme­merity he had deserved death; for his love he was rewarded: they all hope hee will (being instructed) learn to doe that through the direction of vertue, which he had done by violence of Nature, and as much for his Countrey, as he had for his father. Where a man erres through valour and love, the matter deserves correction rather than punishment; and he that did it, deserves a reward rather than a penalty. Moses with this Character, full of divine zeale, kills an Egyptian, Peter cuts off Malchus his eare. The one is made the head of the old Law, conductor of the children of Israel and Pha­raohs God: the other a head of the new law, a Pastor and head of the Church. Coriolanus his valour was grounded upon pride: for it could not be said it was grounded upon affe­ction to his countrey, coming against it ar­med, and putting it into such straits, that it was very neare lost.

[Page 218] There are some defects in young men, which (I was going to say) are commen­dable, I will say, compatible; and some ver­tues (I will not say blame-worthy) yet are not to be desired. Where the action is not good because it is superabundant: and the error hath a kinde of conformity with the years, time doth help, and it hurts where it is inconformable: and the sin is more in the quality than the quantity: more in the form than the matter. A tēpetate liver in youth, is good for one to live healthfull, to live long it is better to have it exceed in heat. It cools continually, & according as the man grows in years, it loses his superfluous heat, so that as the man grows old, it grows temperate. The hurtfulnes of the excess is in the strength of age, which is able to resist it, & doth not kil. The profit of its temperatnesse is, when Na­ture hath most need of help, and sustains and assists it. But if the excesse were in the qua­lity of the heat, and in those yeares that it should be favourable, it should shew it selfe nipping, whereas the one, because it alwayes decreases with age, ought to bee left to grow old; the other, because it alwayes increases, must be rooted up: So those young men, who erre through quantity of heat, should grow old in the Citie, and those extirpated, who p [...]ecipitate by reason of their evill qua­lities. Of the first quality was Manlius Tor­quatus, [Page 219] and they reward him; of the second was the son of Brutus, and they kill him. If a young man of a fiery nature, be rash, the firecools, and before the time of operating comes, is reduced to a degree that he may o­perate well; but if he be prudent, cold being required for such an effect, and the tempera­ment cooling with the increase of yeares, it may be feared, that before he arrives to the time in which he should make use of its ver­tue, he wil degenerate into vice; and where­as in one case the rash man comes to attaine true fortitude, in the other the valiant man becomes pusillanimous. Quintilian would have the Orator in his young age, rather bold than fearfull: The latter would be­come cold, whereas the first yeares favou­ring him, will make him moderate. Bold­ness ought to overcome judgment, when it is time to learn; but when it is time to operate, it ought to be subdued. It will be more easie for Art to coole hardinesse, than to heat judgment, because Nature is favourable to the one, and contrary to the other. All that which is violent, is difficult; yet with a dif­ference between that which is against, and that which is conformable to Nature. One may easilier throw a stone toward the the Center than the Circumference: for it is easier to follow than to oppose an inclina­tion.

[Page 220] If patience meet with greatness, or vigour of minde, it raiseth to that degree of glory to­wards which many with an unbridled in­sufferency (but in vain) directing themselvs, find nothing but precipices. Suffering best befits him that can easiliest revenge himself, and gives most glory, where it finds greatest reputation. Where feare cannot be ascribed to baseness of heart, nor the not knowing, to dulness of brain; his contempt must be cal­led magnanimity, and his dissimulation must be termed prudency. The least offen­ces are not easiest to be endured, either be­cause they most conceale the revenge, or be­cause they sting more sharply, or because they are more frequently met with. These are they which ruine Princes, & overthrow Monarchies: they grow infallibly, and yet insensibly, and greatness coming in, gives no way to forbearance of revenge, without losse of reputation. There is a great diffe­rence betweene an offence being great at first, and its becoming such. One findes man cold, and free, the other heated and engaged: neither can hee seem to grow carelesse of it, when it is grown up, that did not contemne it when it was but small. And having alrea­dy lost the name of prudent, by prosecuting of it to that time, he wi [...]l gaine the name of Pusillanimous, if hee then gives it over. A disease which becomes malignant by de­grees, [Page 221] is more mortall than that which be­gun so. The Prince which wil not bear with his subjects, endangers the changing his name of Prince, into Tyrant: and he that will not beare with strangers, endangers his kingdom to become a private man. A prince his own patience is not sufficient for the qui­et of his kingdome, if his officers also be not endued with it, in whom it being equally re­quisite, it is farre more difficult: A man may easily suffer in his own interests, who is im­patient in his Lords. For the one, he hopes to reap glory and profit through his pati­ence, and so beares. In the other, to gaine it from revenge and so he puts forward. Hee that offends the Prince before his Officer, offends both the Prince and his Officer, whereby obliging him to two patiences, hee makes the sufferance almost intollerable. These imagine that the zeale of their masters reputation moves them to a resentment, and oftentimes it is their own arrogancy, where­with they embroyle Princes, obliging them to warres, into which they are engaged more by others than their own impatien­ces; and this happens oftenest, where the States and Dominions are most remote. That remotenesse which is most favourable to the Prince for his suffering, is contrary to the Officers. One doth not see the injuries, the other, the Prince.

[Page 222] When Aristotle blames the Lacedemo­nians for attributing every thing to the ver­tue of fortitude, said, that one vertue was not sufficient: and if one alone were to be chosen, Fortitude was not it. He named not that, to which he attributed the chiefe honour, if he had named it, in mine opi­nion, it had bin patience, because virtually it containes all other vertues in it, as the seed doth both roote, fruit, and stemme. If morall vertues are ordained to good, in as much as they keep within the bounds of reason against the violence of passions, and when these doe joyne with any vice, pati­ence is the onely guide of them, who can deny it to hold the first and supreame place amongst them?

As the Physician cures the diseases of the body, so patience corrects the defects of the soule. They both worke by removing the obstacles. I confesse more like instrumen­tall, then efficient causes. But if the Physici­an bee said to occasion health, though it be not he, but nature; Patience shall likewise be called the productrix of all vertues.

So that Coriolanus his impatience (for we must call him impatient, if we will not attribute the name of base to the Senate) put him in danger of his life; and though his great vertue, reverenced by the People, was sufficient to free him from death, yet [Page 223] by reason that was feared also, it was not able to keepe him from banishment. One of the greatest and ordinariest errors, that crosses the good direction of Politick af­faires, is that Princes and common-wealths either know not how, or through maligni­ty will not, in time make use of that valour, which fortune hath abundantly bestowed upon some subject of theirs. Dominions are increased by the hand and meanes of a subject which is advantagiously valorous and fortunate.

Whose valour by bringing to passe the most difficultest enterprises, findes no ob­stacle able to resist it, all that he sees, he conquers: Whose fortune meets with no chance, but it proves favourable to him, all what he does not see is likewise assisting to him. Such a man is now and then borne in an estate of so low a degree, and himselfe so poore, that without ever do­ing any thing, or at least equall, or partly worthy, his fortune and valour; he dies inglorious, but seldome without leaving at least some little modell, whereby others may as with prospective glasse see what a Colossus they have neglected to build, through want of matter.

That character which in a great statue attracts even the dimmest eyes to behold it, in a little one, is not seene many times [Page 224] by the most perspicuous sight. Sometimes also this man is borne in some conspicuous place, and of such a fortune, that at the ve­ry first flashing of his actions, he makes that beame shines out which lies inclosed in his breast. But those which rule King­domes, or governe Common-wealths, though they have good intentions, yet look­ing more upon the age then the fortune of the man, advancing him by degrees, sel­dome admit him to great affaires, where he might have performed some high and specially services, till it is too late, and hee growen old, after he hath tired his fortune in actions of no moment, and his declin­ing age hath made him good for little. To linger out fortune, of a great subject is a great error, yet not worthy of any se­vere punishment. Ignorance herein may be excused, Carelessenesse endured, but hee that hinders it through envy, hatred and malice, calls Gods wrath upon him; and sometimes sees it visibly come. Losing himselfe for want of him, whom he hath lost. Or to prevent his owne ruine, bowing to him whom he hath despised.

Such a man is happy, and by him his do­minions, if he be borne a Prince. Most hap­py, if in such a time as enterprises are alrea­dy set on foot, and he able to follow them. Or that obstacles be removed in such sort [Page 225] that they may not oblige him, to tire his fortune upon them before he goes about them. If Henry the Fourth had found the Kingdome of France, entire, slourishing, peaceable within, and at wars abroad; as he found it divided, destroyed, unquiet, plunged in civill wars, what could he not have done with so much fortune and valour? he did much indeed, yet did he not a whit in­crease his dominions: He wasted himselfe in gayning his owne, and when he begun to cast his mind upon other mens, both for­tune and time failed him.

If Gustavus King of Sweed could at the very first have employed all his fortune and power in Germany, and had not bin in­tangled in the Muscoviters & Polish wars, I know not who could have hindred or crossed him from attaining to his vast and unlimited desires. If Alexander had bin to begin the wars of Greece, & not found them, almost finished by his father, he had never come to be the Great, because he would not have had time to settle so great a Monarchy. By this meanes those King domes do much increase which successively meet with many warlike, valorous, & fortunate subjects, and by this meanes grew up the Turkish Mo­narchy. Assisting of confederates, is a great aide to the gaining of conquests, the violence of the enemies fortune broken upon them, [Page 226] and tired out or ended, comes in reliefe; And by this meanes grew up the Common-wealth of Rome.

Unhappy shall this our subject be, though irradiated with so many benigne influen­ces of the heavens, if he chance to be borne under a Tyrant. He hinders him, expells him, kills him.

Tiberius overthrew Germanicus his for­tune in Germany. Nero, Corbuloes in Ar­menia, Domitian Agricolaes in England, and all of them the publicks fortune, because they would save their owne? The Tyrant cannot thinke himselfe Lord, whilest he sees one before his eyes that should be so; and is so indeed by right, and nature; where­as the Tyrant is so but onely by fortune. Indeed he is happy if he be borne under a Prince that hath his heart free; he runs in­to his familiarity, as the stone goes to the center; The Prince receives him into it, as the defect doth superabundancy; both he, the Prince, and the state become happy. Wise and happy is that Soveraigne, who knowes how to joyne and adde to the for­tune which himselfe was borne in, a for­tune to which another was borne.

In free and sound Common-wealths it is a happinesse for a man to be borne fortu­nate, and valiant, but not in corrupt ones; Envy, and Malice which were never root­ed [Page 227] out of the Common-wealths of Greece, and particularly out of the Athenian, would not suffer it to come to that degree of great­nesse, to which the scituation of the City, and valour of the Citizens did seeme to promise to raise it.

The Ostracisme was the stone at which they stumbled. It persecuted the most emi­nent, and to doe it with greater prejudice, whereas (if so be they feared such a mans fortune) they should have hindered and restrained it, they did not, but set it at li­berty by banishing them, not onely de­priving themselves of so great an advantage, but also, and that for the most part giving it to their enemies; as if they had despised that fortune, and valour, when it was a­gainst them, which had affrighted them when it was on their side.

This pestiferous worme came not into the Roman Senators mindes, in a long time; and because it was a worme, it crept in with the corruption of the Common-wealth, wherefore finding it already great, it did not hinder the increase, but the last­ingnesse of it.

It is true that it quickly tooke roote in the Tribunes, but because the People was free, they were fearefull to deceiue them; to the end that raging, and ignorant they should without being envious or malicious, worke [Page 228] according to their envy and malice. But be­cause the rage was quickly appeased, and gave way, that the light of truth, might of its owne accord manifest it selfe, or that the Senates dexterity should discover it, though it occasioned no small dammage, and that more then once, yet it came not to that de­gree as it would have done, if it had bin the Peoples so properly, as it was onely by par­ticipation.

He that will in our case see the Romans fortune, passe over to the enemy, in Corio­lanus his person, let him consider the Volsci led by this man, with a more then Roman valour, and the Romans without him, more dastardly, and abject then the Volsci. And hee that wil see Envy and Malice punished, let him behold the Romans humbly suing at the obdurat conquerors feet, making them know they were more indebted to a womans teares for their Countries delive­rance, then to their owne valour or elo­quence. How came the Gaules to conquer and take Rome, but because they found the Cities fortune banished in the person of Furius Camillus; And what freed it againe, but the returne of him, whom they had ex­iled.

Frances good fortune by sea, passed over into Spaine with Doria, and with Burbon their prosperity by land. Another time it [Page 229] was seen adhere to the Dukes of Guise, and Humene, if they had not sought to make it obedient to their own particular desires.

Many have erred, because they have not in time known this fortune in their owne Citizens, to make use of it: and many also because they have not perceived it in their enemies, to defend themselves against it. When they have seen it come against them, instead of shunning it like prudent, they have rashly gone to encounter it like foole­hardy.

When they should have followed the current of it, to keep it with them, they have opposed it to overthrow it. Hannibals for­tune came in its prime with him into Italy: like a fierce torrent it overthrew whatso­ever withstood it. The Romanes shockt with it foure times, and it still increased: if they had persisted, they had bin lost. They happened at last to put the managing of Martiall affaires into the hands of Fabius Maximus, who thinking patience and cir­cumspection more available in warre then celerity and fury: not a purpose, but by chance, not knowing what he did, whilest he thought by military art to tire out the Souldiers valour, he did weare out the Ge­nerals fortune with a Politick document: I say by chance, because time, and occasion [Page 230] being changed, he rather obstinate then constant, would still persist in his first way of proceeding, did Prognosticate that the ruine of Rome would proceed from those things, from which its greatest increases had her beginning.

He knew not that fortune there begun in Scipio, where it ended in Hannibal; and that it was time now to shock with that, which hee had long given way to, and to put that fortune forward, which he meant to delay. Hannibal knew it, and did what he could to avoid the triall, to not shock against a budding and vigorous fortune, with his old, withered, and decayed suc­cesse.

The greatest conquests that ever the Ro­manes had, were in the beginnings of their good fortune, while it was tender, and no way obstructed. The Carthaginians like­wise availing themselves of Hannibals for­tune had notably advanced themselves. It gave them so much time, that had they not met with such an excessive power as they did, which was able to receive so many overthrowes, without quite losing them­selves, and overcome after so many losses first wearying out Hannibals fortune, and then overthrowing it; they had doub [...]lesse attained to the Monarchy of the world. [Page 231] Wherefore Alexanders fortune was much to be admired, which being to last but a short time, happened to encounter with a Monarch would violently oppose it, and came to tri­all with it, not knowing how to give it way, to tire it, and weary it out with delayes.

Coriolanus goes to Tullus, the head of the Volsci, relates his misfortunes to him, tells him what affronts had been offered him, exaggerates the longing desire of revenging them, desires assistance, with promise of vi­ctory. Tullus joyfully entertaines him, put into hopes, doth assist him; mollified, gives him the command of the Army, and incon­siderate, commits the whole managing of the businesse to him.

No sooner doth an object present it selfe to a mans eyes, by whose valour hee thinkes to free himselfe from any trouble, or obtaine any great benefit, but presently he will give him whatsoever he can: and whatsoever he is not able at the present to give him, he pro­mises more largely, than if hee had already by his meanes avoided that danger which he seared, or obtained that benefit which he desired; because that a past evill loseth its terriblenesse, and a benefit already gotten its delightfulnesse. He values nothing he hath, to avoid that he would not should be­fall him, or to obtain that which he would [Page 232] have. He imagines he shall have all things, if he hath avoided the one, or gained the o­ther, so he doth evill for the present, through deceitfull hope of the future. And unfor­tunately manages what he hath in possessi­on, through an erroneous opinion of what he desires. Sometimes a man shall finde himselfe necessitated to suppresse and bring down one, who had formerly done him ser­vice in oppressing of his enemy, or emula­tor: when he raised him, he had no thought of any thing but onely of his desire. What he gave him, he weighed not but with the scale of passion. Even as a Physician that opposeth so much heat to a cold disease, as may be sufficient to drive the disease away, neither considering nature, whether it be a­ble and strong, nor yet the season whether it be hot or cold, must with in a little while to controll and oppose that heat which hee himselfe hath caused: So hee that raiseth a man as much as he thinkes will be sufficient to oppresse his enemy, making no reckoning of his worth, if it be great, or of the peoples favour, if he chance to prove fortunate, will quickly become his emulator▪ & not lōg after that, his enemy. All is ill for him that gives, and sometimes also for him that receives. If the former hath not obtained what hee de­sires, there comes repentance; if he hath ob­tained, [Page 233] and hath no more mind to give, there proceeds a wearinesse and loathing. If the other hath taken more than was given him, there is feare in him; if the people have as­sisted him, there is envy: So that a man is obliged either to leave that which hee hath received, and so depart; or if he stay, to take that which was not given him.

Coriolanus, who could not attain to that as he wanted, should have forsaken that which he had received; and rather absent­ing himselfe, leave a kind of admiration of him to survive, than abiding there, expose himselfe to envy, which to strangers is the way to precipice.

Seneca received too much from Nero; he found his error too late, and bethought him­selfe too late of retiring and leaving him. To conceale the feare of his Disciples bru­tishnesse, hath a recourse to Philosophy, and makes the cause of it to be his modesty; but Nero, to hide his cruelty and avarice, rejects his liberality, and under a pretence of justice, takes all again by cruelty. All Art and Cunning is vain for him that is not able to withstand and resist violence, and every thing proves successful to him that is able to use any force, and yet make men beleeve that he doth not commit any. He cares not for offering violence to the body onely [Page 234] which is subject to him, he will also subject the minde, which is free, and to perswade he doth not doe it where he can, he will endea­vour to doe it where he cannot.

The people will exile Coriolanus; the Se­nate defends him; the people overcomes, the Senate mournes.

Coriolanus comes a Conquerour to the Walls of the Citie, the people repents, and would receive him: the Senate having alte­red its minde, would not admit him.

A man works for some imaginary good, and oftentimes before hee arrives to it, he stumbles at some evill which hee did not think upon. Upon this the operator is at a stand dejected, thinking hee was deceived also in that wherein hee had guessed right. To remedy the evill which is already past, he deprives himselfe of the good which is to begin. For one, the time is past; and for the other, it is not yet come: He wil correct the error when he hath already done all the hurt: He either changes the operation, or leaves it: if he changes it, he receives a new losse; if he leaves it, it doth not counter­vaile that which hee hath already received. Many times actions are begun when they should not, & given over when they should be most followed. An action ought not al­wayes to be intermitted, or left off, because [Page 235] it was ill done; nor alwayes followed, be­cause it is well done.

He that findes prejudice in an action, runs presently to undoe it. Nature inclines, and Art teaches us how to seek remedy from the contrary. But not every contrary is a re­medy, that which is so, sometime is so con­cealed, that it seemes to be a semblable.

All the infirmities are not healed, and the reason is, because sometimes the nature, and sometimes the degree of the contrary, is un­known. When one should have recourse to the last of the formes, he flies for reliefe to the first of the qualities. Rationall Physi­cians know, one ought to cure with the con­trary, but they know not with which. They confound the diseases; they doe not distin­guish that which hath been brought in by the Essence from that which the Accidents only have introduced; the ingendered from the altered. Opposed qualities are sufficient to expell the one, and the other requires a contrary fo [...]m.

The Empyrickes, which will heale with the like, are deceived; either they cure not at all, or by a contrary. They say that one salt is a remedy for another, and do not con­sider that it doth not operate like salt, where­in consists the resemblance, but as the one is volatile, and the other fixed, from whence [Page 236] springs the contrariety. The Senate was the Fixed Salt, which cured the Cōmonwealth of Rome from the Volatile of Coriolanus. They will not consent to his return, whose ba­nishment they bewailed. The people will have him recalled, whom they themselves had banished: their love to the Common­wealth, lest it should become a prey to the Tribunes, was the cause why the Senate defended Coriolanus, their owne interest the cause why they pitied him. The same love, because they will not have it fall into his hands as a tyrant, makes them to not re­admit him now he is an enemy; and the same interest envies him now victorious. The feare which possesses the people, while he was a Citizen, is the cause they banish him. And a greater feare which they con­ceive of him, now he is an enemy, causes them to recall him. The most ordinary af­fections that take root in great ones, are Compassion and Envy; if they see their e­quall in an unhappy condition, they pitie h [...]m; if happy, they envy him: the fear they have that the same thing may not befall them, makes them to pitie him: the shame which possesses them, because they cannot reach to what he is attained stirres up envy in them. All is but an effect of equality. [Page 237] And though it may seem, that as more the corrivall rises, the more he is to be envied: so likewise, the more he falls, the more hee should be pitied. Yet this may not be true, seeing compassion may peradventure faile, as well as envie: which when the corrivall is come to such a pitch of greatnesse, that he is quite beyond our reach, shame ceasing, (which is onely in things possible) envie ceases likewise: So on the otherside, when the corrivall is come to so low and unhappy a condition, that the other thinks it is impos­sible for him to fall so low; because the fear ceasing (which is not in things impossible) compassion likewise ceases. The same Co­riolanus, whom the Senate compassionated in his miseries, envied him in his prosperities. Peradventure the harshnesse of this pranke which he had plaid, together with his in­bred valour; his having gotten forraigne assistance, and his forgetting the love which he bare to his Countrey, might give the Se­nate cause enough to feare, that if he retur­ned, he would become a tyrant, and the peo­ple who had driven him away, because hee should not become one, now recalling him, did likewise make the world think, that be­ing afraid of becoming a prey to the Volsci, they would accept of him.

[Page 238] The people, to the utmost of their powers, make choyce of subjecting themselves to their Countrey-man rather than to a stran­ger; but the Senate will rather submit to the enemy, than to their corrivall: the dif­ferent carriage of the Senate in this busi­nesse, may also proceed from another cause. Coriolanus was valiant, free in speech, and surly; kinds of carriage which do not gain the love of the heart, though they overcome the understanding, & in a manner tyrannize over the wil, causing thēselves to be follow­ed, like the Primum Mobile, rather drawing along, than enticing, or alluring. This is no violent motion proceeding from Nature; neither can it be called voluntary, because knowledge doth not precede it. Man goeth along in this motion, not against, but with­out his will, not knowing wherefore he go­eth. He delights not in being carried away, and yet suffers it; he doth not love, but ad­mire that thing which ravishes him, and o­bediently followes it, as its commanding genius. Of this kinde of metall sometimes are favourites made, who by those as do not know this, are termed bewi [...]chers. Mne confess they know not the Devils cunning and yet they will pretend to penetrate into the secrets of Nature. If they meet with any thing they doe not understand, they take a­way from one, to give to another; in one [Page 239] place they pull down, and in the other they raise: they abase themselves by seeking to rise: they call that Witchcraft which is a Gift; as if Nature could not, as well as the Devill produce wonderfull things by Art in mixing actives with passives. This ope­ration is mixed, as one should say, of vio­lent, and of naturall, of voluntary and invo­luntary; and thence it comes that it produ­ces effects mixt of pleasure and distast, of love and hate, with I know not what: of feare, accompanied with respect and admi­ration. The thing is beloved which ra­visheth, and yet to be ravished, is hatefull. We delight in him alive, whom we could wish, had not been born. We are glad to have him neare, and yet should not be dis­pleased to have him farre from us; we can neither keep him, nor put him away, for we are willing both to have him, and to be without him. He that will thrive with his Lord, through his secret qualities, let him conceale the manifest ones; if the Genius be commanding, let him make himself obe­dient. How should Ebony cure the French Disease, and Triacle the pestilent Fever, if their manifest qualities were not controlled?

They would doe as much prejudice with their extrinsecall qualities, as they would doe good with their intrinsecall form, What good would it doe a Lord to see one lie at [Page 240] his feet, who should bee seated above his head? If the getting above him, whom fortune of birth hath made equall to us, bee one of the savouriest dainties that humane ambition feeds upon, what will it bee to Lord it over them, to whom the nature of the Genius hath made us inferior. Whosoever observes this Rule, shall not need to fear any thing, but some extraordinary great acci­dent which may produce some extraordina­ry violence: but seldome can we goe against the genius: whence it comes, that some last al­waies, and others are suddenly overthrown. Sejanus, after he had gained Tiberius his un­derstanding, with commanding qualities, won his heart with obeying ones. But whe­ther it were his outward qualitie of flat­tering and obsequiousnesse, that moved him, or the inward qualitie of his ambition and genius that drew him to it, he could not con­stantly persevere to the last. He made Tibe­rius for a while to stand in doubt, it seeming unto him that he did bu [...] stagger, at last find­ing no outward violence to overthrow him, he produced it in himself, going so far with his open qualities, that he took all power from the secret ones. Neither yet did Tiberi­us know how to free himselfe; he desired o­thers should doe it, sometimes calling upon the Senators authority, and sometimes se­cretly upon Macro his malice, as one that [Page 241] will and will not, or would and durst not. The people of Rome endured the comman­ding Genius of Coriolanus. They loved him even at that time also, when suing for the Consulship humble and mild, he con­trolled the manifest qualities of pride, and harshnesse, so hurtfull to him though deri­ving from him.

And though he by and by after returned to his owne nature, yet did not the people know how to free themselves from him, being as it were bewitched to him; if the Tribunes violence, had not opposed it selfe to the Semi-violence of Coriolanus his im­perious Genius.

The Senate which felt not the burthen of such a kind of Character, because it did not the prejudice of the manifest qualities which proceed from it: though it made use of him sometimes for defence of the Cō ­mon-wealth against the enemies, sometimes for their owne against the People, yet were they faine to make use of the Tribunes vio­lence, to be well rid of him: And▪ when he was driven away, they violently op­posed the Tribunes, because they should not bring him in againe.

So much did this Genius prevaile when it was present, and lose when it was ab­sent. He that subjects himselfe to it, desires not to be freed, nor returne into subjection, when he is free,

[Page 242] I know not how truely Plutarch guessed, when he considered of the Peoples love, and hatted, towards Coriolanus and Alcibiades: in his Judgement there proceedings therein and usage of them was different. The am­bition was the same, yet more tolerable in the Greeke, because profitable, more blame worthy in the Roman, because Prejudici­all. The former causing himselfe to be be­loved, even when he did hurt, and the lat­ter, gaining ill will, and being abhorred even when he did good.

The ends which move men to seeke the highest degrees of honour in their owne Country are many times different, and for the most part contrary. Some aspire thereunto for their owne proper interests, to make themselves eminent, and conspicu­ous above the rest. And some againe for no other end but for the good of their Coun­try and to be able to do great matters in the behalfe of it. The one is alwayes a vice, and is termed ambition, the other, when it is not a vertue, may be called pride. The first aiming at a vicious end, it cannot seeme strange, if he proceeds towards it by such meanes; he flatters bowes to the People, and vili [...]ies himselfe to grow great, not re­fusing to doe any thing, be it never so base and servile, so it may but availe him to­wards [Page 243] the obtaining of domination. The last raiseth nor his fortune by any such meanes, vertue will not give way to it, nor Pride will not suffer him: Caesar, and Al­cibiades were of the first, Cato and Coriolanus may be numbred amongst the latter. And if Plutarch looking upon Coriolanus his actions with a Greeke eye, would not attri [...]ute unto him the name of magnanimous, and valiant: yet he might have termed him proud, but not ambitious.

From such different ends, proceeds a di­verse manner of operating; from the diverse operation, are produced various effects, in the people, and in those to whom they are done.

Flattering bending, and humbling ones selfe, increases love in the People, and at the same time diminishes the conceit of him that does so; it detracts from his Majesty, and therewithall make him not so much to be admired. The people rejoyce at it, be­cause it is for their profit: but though they desire those men should be so, whom they make choice of to love; yet they doe not desire them to be such whom they in end to revererce. So that when they will make choise of one to command them, they will chuse him rather whom they admire, then him they love. Doing of great actions with­out [Page 244] flattering, or bowing to the people causes admiration in their brest, it does not suffer a tender love to take roote in their hearts, but instead thereof it oftentimes breeds an awfull love in them; for as Ma­jesty cannot put on tendernesse without aba­sing it selfe, so cannot a man put on Ma­jesty without altering himselfe.

But these loves are too different. The one resides in the concupiscible, the other in the intelligible part. The one is towards his equall, and if he be not so, it makes him so, and requires mildnesse. The other seems to be towards one's superior, and requires majesty.

The first hath the person for its aime, the second his vertue. The tender love loseth it selfe or diminisheth, when the subject be­comes Majesticall; the awfull and respect­full love, when he comes to be low. The one easily turnes to contempt, the other many times is changed into hatred. How could the name of marriage please Messalina in Siluius, without the Empire, while shee could not enjoy him as a husband, unlesse he became Emperour? Peradventure shee knew that the Majesty of that degree would take away the Adulterers love, and chan [...]e hers. That contempt would creep into Sil­uius his love, and reverence into hers; That [Page 245] she should be obliged to respect, where she onely loved, and change the tendernesse of affections, into obsequiousnesse of esteeme. How could the Tribunes suspect Coriolanus for tyranny, seeing he had quite lost the Peo­ples hearts, by the harshnesse of the pranck he had plaid them; if they had not feared, he would have made himselfe Master of their understandings by the greatnesse of of operations? Who spoke more freely to the Tribes, and more sharply rebuked them then our Saviour Christ, yet know­ing that by vertue of the great miracles which he had wrought, he had bred in them an awfull and respectfull love, he go­eth away, because they should not proclaime him King.

Those who flatter the People, either are not at all called to command, if they bee, they doe not continue in it. He that attaines to it by a tender love, let him prepare strong force to keepe himselfe in, lest contempt and repentance beat him out againe. Hee that is come to it through a respectfull love, may by the same maintain himselfe in it. The people being once brought under obe­dience by the commanding genius, wil com­mit no outrage, nor use any violence, unlesse it be first used to them. Alcibiades exceed­ing eloquent, acceptable in the Peoples [Page 246] sight, being accused dares not appeare to defend himselfe. Coriolanus rough, and as unskilfull in all good arts, as hee was ene­my to insinuations, hatefull to the People, appeares rather vaunting, then defending himselfe: resolved to make manifest the greatnesse of his mind and spirit rather then his innocency.

He distrusts the love of tendernesse that often uses to transforme it selfe into con­tempt, and confides in that respectfull love that admits not of contempt. He feares not hate, which is also compatible with such a kind of love; not that the being angry with a great vertue, totally excludes the reverencing of it, it floating lightly over any thing that is not pestilently produced by the grossenesse of ignorance or rancour of malice.

What would Coriolanus have had more? How came it that he did not know himselfe in the highest point of the Epicicle, when he shewed his fortune superior to Romes, and the altering of hers at his disposall; when he had seen his emulators at his feete and his enemies at his discretion: when hee had at the same time obtained the sweet taste of revenge; and the magnanimus honour of not having taken it? But this not know­ing how to retreate is a thing as common to [Page 247] great subjects, as the desire it selfe of rety­ring.

In greatest motions they discourse of rest, and amidst most turbulent businesse of a va­cancy. Therein doe they place their felici­ty, and it is in their hands to attaine to it, and yet they doe not. Peradventure they would rettire with satisfaction, and beleeve they shall, and put it off till that time, and still there is something wanting, that they can never attaine to that satisfaction nor yet retiring; and being deceivers of themselves, live in continuall trouble and motion: in­joying no other rest or peace, but a vaine hope, and Chimericall imagination that they shall enjoy it.

Sometimes againe it is neither deceit nor ignorance, but ought to be imputed to ge­nerosity of heart, and constancy of mind. If fortune, though never so great, cannot be given over with satisfaction, yet feare must at last make it be abandoned; and if to attaine unto it, is required, an enforced valour, an undaunted mind, a brest of steele; who can forsake it cowardly, that hath valiantly attained to it? He will pre­tend to be master of it, and will beleeve that it cannot change nor alter: He will ima­gine himselfe superior to it, and will not be daunted at it, though it do change.

[Page 248] He will beleeve it firme, and yet will bee glad to have it alter; not refusing to avoid the disgust of a calm. to launch him self into a tempestuous sea, chusing rather to runne with hazard, than not to stirre at all: and will be willing to struggle with cont [...]ary windes rather than see himselfe abandoned by prosperous ones. Mans life is a Warfare, take combating from him, and you take a­way life; neither is that taken away, but changed, an in [...]ernal enemy using to step in, when an outward one failes, and a civill war commonly succeeding a forraigne one. But grant there be a great subject of so calm a minde, as will be content with the estate wherein he finds himselfe how wll the con­tent last, if the state doth not? and how shall not the one change, if the other changes con­tinually? Fortune hath no nail to fix it: if it doth not go forward, it must go backward. Renown hath a worm in its intrails, which never leaves gnawing: it is scarce born, but it begins to diminish: when flying it is once come to our notice, the mouth doth not speed it away, as the eare received it, we na­turally add somwhat of our own to it, to the end, that it may gain as much going, as it lo­ses standing stil: yet inwardly it diminishes, even as a man, who be he never so well fed in his youth, and seeming outwardly to grow, yet inwardly he every moment dies infalli­bly and remediless. The glory of man re­mains [Page 249] amongstus, when his carkass remains soul-lesse: it extends further, 'tis true because envy ceases but it diminishes in it selfe, be­cause compassion growes up, and afterwards contempt. A torrent which in time of raine runs most violently & stately, bearing down trees by the rootes, and tearing up stones and rocks the sky being cleared up, is foordable by every passenger: his greatness is no more admired, his pride is, being so extream in him, who within a few houres was to be re­duced to so wretched a condition: So the mighty man, after hee hath by valour won many battels taken Cities, overcome Nati­ons, and filled the universe with the report of his glory, when Atropos cuts off the thred of his life, instead of obtaining praise, he stirs up admiration, men wondring how so much vanity and pride should reigne in a body, which would shortly become the putrified food of stinking wormes. As if the whole world could not have contained that body, which within a small time was to be inclo­sed within a few palms of the basest element.

Envy followes humane glory, it shews where it is it doth not leave i [...] til it is not, it devours him that feedes it, and feedes him whom it would destroy. It increases and diminishes not at that sweetnesse which should produce s [...]tiety, adding acri­mony to it, which revives the appe [...]ite.

[Page 250] The glory of the dead runnes; but cold­ly. It remaines in the world, but withered, and wanting novelty, is not looked upon by reason of its oldnesse. Death gives a great blow, but the civill death gives the greater; it doth not utterly extinguish en­vy as the naturall doeth; nor doth not like it counterpoise that which it takes away, with the sense which it hath taken away. No marvaile then, if others avoid retiring, because they will not strive with it.

Death cannot stay and naile fast fortunes wheele from descending, yet it stayes it that it may not precipitate. And seeing it very seldome lasts a mans age; happy is that man that lasts but fortunes time. And because the time of the one is not measured, and the others life is onely looked after, we sometimes complaine of death for pulling up of that green, when we should thanke it, for gathering it when it is ripe. It is fa­vourable to him whom it cuts off, when hee is growen up into a high degree, and but newly arrived to it. It makes him to bee imagined of infinite vertue, because it hath not bin measured, nor the end of it seene. It attributes unto him the glory of that which he hath nor yet done, when perad­venture he would have lost that which hee had already gotten.

[Page 251] Death which is one to all men, is not e­qually favourable to all, she cuts off one before he is ripe, she lets the other hang till he falls off rotten; and gathers but few in the flower of their ripenesse. It is a great for­tune to dye, when fortune is at highest. One cannot long stand at a stay, it is impossible to advance, and to decrease is of necessity. He that cannot receive this favour from the originall, let him seeke it from the copy, and he that cannot die, let him retire, for any thing is better then to precipitate.

If the Summum bonum of the body Poli­tick were as manifest as that of the humane, and that we did know as well what fortune requires, as we know what nature desires; wee might when wee come to such a state leave for a time, and returne to take it a­gaine, but knowing neither of both, few yeild, when, what and so much, as they should yeild. It seemed to a fortunate man, to be come to the height of happinesse and to such a pitch, that he was to fear a downfal

To avoid it, he throwes a most pre­cious gemme into the Sea. Ere long it was brought to his Table againe in a Fishes bel­ly; fortune returned him that which hee had given her, because it was not that which she would have had; he joyfully receives it againe, and takes that for a favour [Page 252] which should have served him for an in­struction.

Coriolanus that could not leave his fortune, left his life: this happens for the most part to strangers, that have bin called, or of themselves have crept up to the highest eminencies of a Common-wealth. The most valiant have lost their lives, the weak­est have bin banished; If there is in a Common-wealth an eminent Citizen, as Tullus was amongst the Volsci, when Corio­lanus came in amongst them; as Agis was in Sparta when Alcibiades came thither, as the Prince of Orange was in Holland, when the Archduke Matthias, the Duke of Alen­con,, and the Duke of Lancaster were called in there. Either they come in of themselves, by promising of some great mat [...]ers; and if they come off of their engagement well, they are sent away with admiration, if ill, with disgrace.

Where they are brought in, they send them away too. If it were in case of ne­cessity, when that is past, if it were to de­ceive any one, after that was performed: if to be deceived, when they were undeceived. When there is not in the Common-wealth any one Citizen more eminent then the rest, and in respect of domestick discords, they call in some noble man of great bloud to [Page 253] governe them, or in regard of forraigne warres, they send for some eminent Soul­diour to command them; let this man either prepare himselfe to be nothing at all our Lord and Master, or an exile: and be­cause there are none that will be nothing, it being repugnant to an ambitious nature, and it being a hard matter to become Lord, be­ing men greater in repute, then power, hee must expect either from jealousie, banish­ment, or from feare, death. But if strangers be easilie driven away, they are also as easily called in; for the opinion which for­tune frames in absence and farre off, is great­er then that which one being present doth frame of himselfe, bearing along with it the greatnesse of the actions, without the ab­jectnesse of the matter. Because their ob­ject is more pure conceived by meanes of the eare, then by meanes of the eye; that which is heard, then that which is seene. For a mans actions represented by fame all at once, leave a kind of astonishment, whereas the other, being seen one by one, languish, the second being scarce come forth before the other be either dead or mortisi­ed.

Because the Cittizen discovers the defects in his youthfull age, which defects leave behind them, if not a wound, yet at least a [Page 254] scarre; from which thing the stranger is free, who onely manifests and discovers himselfe in that which is perfect; Because envy hath no place in the former, nor ad­miration in the latter.

Finally, it is peradventure with a truer and more ordinary, though a more con­cealed, and deep reason, for the naturall instinct of hoping for greater remedy in our affaires, from the greater difficulty in at­taining to it, following therein nature it selfe, which hath most concealed, and made lesse store of those things which are most precious, and given most glory to the har­dest atchievements.

As for example, there growes an herbe at our very foot, and a man stands close by us, the herbes are medicinall, and the man able to heale us, and defend us: Yet wee will seeke for such in remote countries, as if all our good consisted rather in the diffi­culty of obtaining, then in the quality of things: nature having imprinted in us, the ge­nius of despising what is obvious & known, to beleeve that which is most obscure, to hope for that which is most difficult, to admire that which is furthest off, to make all that is great difficult to us, either because it hath made it so, or because we make it so to our selves.

Under a Prince it is not impossible, but [Page 255] it seldome happens, that a stranger shoud arrive to a chiefe degree of honour, unlesse the Prince be a Tyrant; or that he should continue there, unlesse the Prince become one. VVith the losse of life he concludes his being a favorite, if he doth not main­taine himselfe in it by multiplying of ba­nishments, and slaughters.

But if the Prince be a Tyrant, such a one may often arrive to it, because the Tyrant feares the Citizens, and the favourite may continue, because the other makes him to be feared.

Finally, Tullus through Jealousie, Malice, and hatred born to Coriolanus his vertue, under pretence that hee had not prosecuted his enterprise to the destruction of his coun­try, caused him to be murthered by a con­spiracy of some who were his adherents.

A mans Country hath in it a retentive quality for such as are borne in it, and an attractive one, for such as are travailed out of it. This consists in the pleasure and de­light which the providence of Nature al­wayes communicates to needfull things, and also in the aire, the temperament, the influences, in the vertue, which the place affoorded to the thing which is placed in it, and peradventure in a mans being used and accustomed thereunto, as much as in any thing else.

[Page 256] The efficacy and force of this last being full of contrarieties, is hard to understand, and unfold. Sometime you shall heare the Philosophers say, that the understanding dejects and dulls it selfe in a knowen thing, and greedily turnes to a new one. Some­times you shall see an opinion laid hold of, which will not be left to turne to any other, although it be new.

The sense of tasting is tried with assue­faction, and desires change of food. The same happinesse in the sense of feeling; and likewise in the sense of smelling. The sense of seeing will seeme to be glutted with the sight of a thing, and another which is not so beautifull, will seeme fairer to it, because it is new. Sometimes a man being accustom­ed to one manner of cloathing, will hard­ly be brought to another fashion, but it will seeme ridiculous to him, and some­times also he will change for it, as for a better. In morall things one shunnes (God a mercy custome) that as a vice, which a­nother embraces as a vertue.

It is hard to finde out any thing that will make a man love his own destruction. Hence growes the detestation of a contrary, though it have novelty to take its part. The understanding flies towards it, because its object is not onely truth, but all truths, [Page 257] and as such it turns to it: if it findes it con­trary, it turns from it as false, and as from an enemy. In fashions of Cloathes, the sight will not endure a fashion much discrepant from the wonted and accustomed one, and the fashions altering daily, the change is not very sensible; whereby a man comes to bee fatisfied and perswaded by the novelty, without hitting upon (unlesse it be in a very long time) the contrary, which he would abhorre. The taste feeds upon food, which in the beginning is unlike, but in the end semblable: the long use of it, makes the bo­dy like unto it, and consequently diminishes the delight, seeing the appetite would have the unlike: but yet you shall not see it for all this, runne to that which is quite and imme­diatly contrary. Assuefaction also likewise makes a great difference in the senses, name­ly, where they are meerly spiritall, or any way materiall: for this helps satiety, and diminishes the taste, which may manifestly be perceived in the self-same beauty, some­times seen, and sometimes enjoyed.

All the love Nature hath put in man to­wards his native Countrey, cannot hinder him from being drawn out of it either by necessity, interest, or ambition, or any other powerfull motive. And truly, as for a mans health, when all other remedies faile, they [Page 258] use change of aire; so for an averse Fortune, it is good to change the Climate: The aire nurses the spirits, and with them (I had al­most sayd) changes the understanding, be­cause it alters its chiefe Instruments. Food causes a new temperament, and therewith new behaviours. The Climate changes the Influences, these the Inclinations, and all al­tered together, make an alteration of For­tune. Many goe without it, because they will not follow it, and many because they cannot finde it, forsaking sometimes that vo­cation in which they had it, and some­times not discerning the true place where they might have attained to it. Most part are of opinion, that travell makes many worthy men: I see the effect of it, but can­not as yet discern whether it be a cause, or a figne and token of their worth. A cause, if by reason that one seeing himselfe destitute of many meanes, is forced to make use of his own vertue, which restrained betweene contraries, increases the more. A signe, if to overcome the many allurements of ones na­tive soile, and forsake it, is required a great spirit, a valiant and magnanimous heart, whereby a man may come to attaine to eminent glory.

I believe there are but few so wicked, as to become enemies of their Country, though [Page 259] they may be enemies to those who prevaile therein, and govern it. But seeing the Inha­bitants are those who make a Citie, and not the Walls, he that is an enemy to them, seemes, if not directly, yet indirectly, to bee an enemy to his Countrey. By this deceit of believing that the hatred which one beares to the Prince, or Magistrate that go­vernes, or to a predominant faction, be ha­ting of the Countrey it selfe, or the Citie, many forraigne Princes, and Common-wealths have suffered themselves to be de­ceived; who should first attentively have cōsidered the causes & motives of those who have perswaded them to commence warre against their own Countrey; assuring them, that whensoever those men have satisfied their own passions, they will forsake them.

Many may bee the causes which move a Countrey-man, or Citizen, to such distur­bances; whereof desire of revenge is none of the least, when he becomes obliged there­unto by some great matters, which do breed hatred all at once as it uses to be against the cruelty, avarice, and luxury of the Prince, when the subjects are prejudiced in their lives, goods, and reputations. If the shame or dammage meet with a stout and valiant spirit, it will never be appeased without re­venge: And it is good fortune when hee [Page 260] findes things in such a condition, that hee may accomplish his intention with a conspi­racy, by killing or expelling the Tyrant, which many times may prove to bee rather for the good then hurt of his Countrey. As when Brutus expelled the Tarquines for the rape of Lucrece, and Lucius Virginius procu­red the death of Appius Claudius, for defiling his daughter. For if these mens way be ob­structed, that they cannot come to worke their revenge themselves, they study how to make use of some others power: whence come the ruines not onely of Princes, but also of whole States and Monarchies. So passed the Medes, Monarchy to the Persi­ans, when Arpagus having no other meanes to revenge himselfe of Astiages, did set his Grand-childe against him. A Prince may therefore securely take their parts who rise against their own Countrey, by reason of an irreconciliable hatred which they beare him that governes.

Ambition and Interest are likewise prin­cipall causes for men to bring in forraigne forces against their own Countrey, diffe­ring from hatred, because they are moved ra­ther for some good to themselves, than for any prejudice to others. These causes in­cited many persons in the revolutions of France, sometimes to returne to the places [Page 261] whence they had been driven, sometimes to obtain dignities, sometime to recover those which they had lost. If the Countrey also be in Armes, the conquest of it will hardly be obtained, if they will not have strangers become Lords thereof converting the fruits of the victory to the welfare of the discon­tented, changing but one enemy for another: the Princes being so by reason of the estate which they possesse, and they become such that conquer it. The Guises whilest they thought they might adorne their Temples with the Crown of France, never forsooke the Catholick Kings side; and as soone as they found the contrary, they forsooke him. Great are the hopes which discontented per­sons conceive, and their maintainers: and those hopes being divers, if not contrary and hard to be concealed, quickly bring forth distastes: They goe on increasing in the discontented these and by the same degrees they abate in the enemy, who seekes to ap­pease the discontented with cunning & fair promises, the busines serving them (if for no other end) to cause distrusts, which bring the subjects out of their resolutions into perplexi­ties. Perplexitie breeds suspition, suspition new distastes, and distastes breaches. Where jealousies once take root, we must not hope for any proceedings: the weakest doe not so [Page 262] much wish for, as feare victories, and desire rather to obstruct than promote them. It sufficeth not that thou promise them that they shall have whatsoever shall be gained, if so be it must rest in their courtesie to give it: because in matters of State, none will trust to mens wills, if they be not obliged by force, or perswaded by some interest.

There are some cases, in which it is conve­nient to be content with the losse which is received by the warres, and leave all the profit to ones friend. As when he settles him into his Countrey, with change of forme, seeing it may be hoped, that his friendship is sincere in him who is so setled, because he is to be maintained in it against those who governed formerly. True it is, that the memory of that benefit, and therewithall the sincerity of the friendship, will last until such time as they can finde meanes to secure themselves, without having need of his as­sistance. Then the least present interest can­cels all former obligations, it seeming to many, that even benefits suffer prescription by the length of time; and being once grown old, do no longer bind to gratitude. The Spanish Monarchy hath more than once had experience of this misfortune, yet such a custome ought not to be left off, whensoever occasion shall present it selfe: Seeing the [Page 263] Polititian ought not to looke after eternity but many times be content with that, which profiteth him but for a time, and onely for the present, so it doe not bring any prejudice for the future along with it.

To divide a kingdome amongst discon­tented persons, whose power may afterward be feared, seemes to secure the firmnesse of of the side, and quietnesse of the State: but if he meet with subtile and witty subjects, that will not be dallied with, by fallacies of the present, they will know well enough, that those who have been able to divide a king­dome when it was entire can subdue it when it is divided. Philip the second was blamed because he did not take this course: but the wisdome of those of the house of Guise, was not easily deceived with slights, nor could they be appeased with a part. Those emi­nent and valiant subjects knowing well e­nough that they could not cancell the name of disturbers of their countries peace with any other name, but the name of King.

There are likewise sometimes such ex­treamly turbulent braines, that without any instigation of hatred, wrath, interest or am­bition, have an irregulate desire of troubles and innovations: Enemies to whatsoever is, alwayes contriving against the present go­vernment, [Page 264] in behalfe of changes. Kingdoms yeeld more such spirits then Common­wealths: for he that goes about to prejudice liberty, thinkes hee goes against his owne Countrey; and hee that seekes to ruine a kingdom imagines he goes against anothers Such a one was that Iulian who brought the Moores into Spain. The occasion which he pretended for the rape of his daughter, was already past, and he did this but onely out of a meere and sudden desire of innovation which made him hasten to it on so fast. He that is called in by such kinde of men, may be sure he shall not be abandoned, nor for­saken.

Factions are also causes of bringing in strangers into a country, whether they strive one against another for the Government, or being both under one government, are onely at odds amongst themselves; That side which sees it selfe oppressed, presently calls in the stranger, to raise it selfe over its corrivall, and be revenged. They are both good occasions for thee to undertake, one with more security, and the other with more profit, because the latter cals thee in to make thee Lord, and the former that thou mightest make him Lord.

There is another kind of faction in King­domes, Cities, or Provinces which is an [Page 265] enemy to those who are in authority, be­cause it was obliged to those who formerly had the government, and this uses to bee, where the Government hath bin altered: as it was for a long time seen in Naples, be­tweene the Arragonian and Angiovin facti­on; And in this case he that is called in, may bee more confident then in any other: especially if he have but any Chimericall conjunction or affinity with those that were once Lords there.

To take away the priviledges of a Coun­try, gives occasion to call in strangers, not with an intent to make them Lords, but onely to have their assistance in framing their Common-wealth, as the Low-Coun­tries did making use of Germanes, French, and English, and driving away all those whom they thought might any way aspire to principality.

If you assist such to free them from their Lords, you need not fear that they will for­sake you, but if you should pretend to rule over them your self, you would find a hard taske of it, unlesse their rebellion did pro­ceed from hatred, to which choler being joyned, there growes such a rage in the People, as causeth unadvised operations, wherein they proceed so farre, before rea­son steps in, that they find themselves so [Page 266] deeply ingaged, that they cannot give back, but are forced to follow as they begun for feare of ruining: and expose themselves to any condition, though it be farre worser then their first, so it be not that which they had freed themselves from. With these one must be quick, and make sure worke, before they returne to their right under­standings.

There be also two wayes to help strangers, when they are called in; the one is with forces, and that gives way to repentance, the other no way admitteth of any. Of the first wee have spoken already: the second is, when the state hath some secret weaknesse, by meanes whereof it may be conquered; or when the preservation of it consists in some strong hold: and in this case there will be traitors found, interest may and will produce them; as also a sodaine wrath or disdaine, where an evill may be done in an instant, is able to make him become a Traytor, who never had an intent to bee one, because that hurried on by a sodaine and violent passion, rather then by any premeditated will, he will past all remedy, the attempt consisting in an action so swift, and mortall, that it may be performed at the very first dash, and being once performed it brings sodaine ruine, which admits of no repentance.

[Page 267] Alcibiades provoked against the Atheni­ans, teaches the Spartans how they should fortifie the City of Decelea with walls, and put a garrison into it, if the ruine of his Country had consisted wholly in this, as it did in part, it had bin ruined, and yet that first rage and violence of wrath being a­bated, when Tisaphernes would have de­stroyed it, he would not permit it. Coriola­nus in his fury leads on the Volsci to the de­struction of Rome: his fury being allayed, he desists.

These repentings happen under Com­mon-wealths sooner then under Kings, as well because the Country (as we said be­fore) is judged as alien in a princely go­vernment, as also by reason that in a Com­mon-wealth a subject seldome receives dis­gust from a whole City. Where there bee factions of Nobles and Plebeians, the one is alway in his favour, and by him affected, which will not suffer him to run precipitous­ly to revenge.

For this cause did peradventure Coriola­nus, more then in pity of his Mothers teares, abādon the thoughts of [...]uining his country. A stranger can repose but little confidence in such manner of subjects, if he doth not meane to give them the command, nay (I may so say) not if he would doe it, as may [Page 268] be seene in Alcibiades, Themistocles, and Co­riolanus.

When I attentively consider the fashions and carriage of Coriolanus, I find them to be not much unlike Catoes, and worthy of greater glory: in as much as this last quite overthrew the Common-wealth, when peradventure he might in part have saved it, the other bore it up, when it lay in his hand to destroy it. Inflexibility or peradven­ture cruelty; Freedome of speech, or ma­lice; Constancy in operating or peradven­ture obstinacy, Contempt of wealth and glory, or it may bee hypocrisie; Great­nesse of mind, in not bowing to the Peo­ple, or peradventure pride, Love of liber­ty, which might be hatred of the Tyrant, or envy, these were the vertues so much commended in Cato, and I find them al­most all in Coriolanus, and valour in a more sublime degree joyned to them. Cato had an intent to defend the Common-wealth from the power of one man alone; Coriolanus from all mens. It was just in both, and peradventure the cause equall, but not e­qually beseeming.

The one would have a decrepit man grow young againe; The other would not have a young man grow decrepit. In Catoes time the Common-wealth was totall perverted, [Page 269] confounded, and full of discord, so farre from its ancient institution, that it was im­possible to bring it to it againe. In Coriolanus dayes it was not farre digressed from its an­cient customes, and might easily have bin reduced to them againe.

In the formers time the wisest men were of opinion that the onely cure of the com­mon-wealth was to reduce it into one mans hand. In the latters, that the best remedy was to keep it out of the hands of the people, that it might not perish. They both lost the Consulship, because they would not flatter; Caesar causes hands to be laid up­on Cato, to carry him to prison, and for shame will not suffer him to be brought thi­ther. Sicinius the Tribune takes hold of Co­riolanus with intent to cast him downe headlong from the Tarpeian rock, and repenting, surceases, Coriolanus is banished, Cato exiles himselfe. Cato joynes with Pom­pey, more for rage, & in hatred to Caesar, than being perswaded thereunto by the love of his countrey, or zeale▪ of the Common-wealth, which he well knew would bee the Conquerours prey; and most to be lamen­ted, if it became his, who was the more cau­telous and concealed, and peradventure the worser man. What wonder is it then, if Co­riolanus likewise enraged against the people, [Page 270] seeing the Senate vilified, & finding, no Pom­pey to side with, joynes with Tullus? They exalt their own Citizens, the one with Ro­manes, the other with Volscians. Cato is o­vercome, Coriolanus conquers. If the other had been victorious, it had not much streng­thened the Common-wealth, neither did it lose it selfe, because this overcame. If the Nobility had followed Coriolanus, as it did Cato either he had returned into Rome victo­rious, and established a better form of Go­vernment; or being conquered, had left a more lasting Government behinde him. Ca­to dies, because hee could not make the Citie free. Coriolanus, because hee would not bring it under subjection.

If any man wonders that I should com­pare Coriolanus to Cato, let him in the first place, and much more admire, that Plutarch should compare him to Alcibiades, the one was altogether effeminate, the other manly. The Greek soft, and tender with Socrates education, savoured of a Schoole. The Ro­man harsh, and hardened, brought up in the camp, was composed of nothing but warre. The first was ambitious, the last proud. One severely flattered the people, the other free, opposed them. Alcibiades framed himselfe to all mens fashions, Corio­lanus intended to frame every one to his hu­mors. [Page 271] One was beautifull, eloquent, and subtle; with his beauty, allured, with his eloquence perswaded, and with his subtilty deceived. The other sterne in aspect, rough in speech, single in heart, allured not, per­swaded not, nor did not deceive. Alcibia­des loses himselfe like a vaine man; Coriola­nus like a solid. In their banishments, and in their deaths, wherein they seemed to bee most like one another, they were contrary. They were both exiled, it is true, but one, because he would alter the forme of the Common-wealth, the other, because hee would not have it altered. They were both kill'd, I confesse it, but Alcibiades for hatred of his vices, Coriolanus for envy of his ver­tues.