ALthoughe the loue that thou berest vnto me most famous Circes, & thin­finite curtesis y ^t at all tymes I fynd in the, are occasions, that I should wyllinglye remayne with thee in this thy fayre and pleasaunt Islande: Yet the loue of my country, and the desyre, (after soo long wandring) to see my most dere fren­des, stirre me continually to depart from the, and to retourne to mine owne house. But before my departure, I would glad­ly knowe yf amonge those, whome thou hast transfourmed into Lyons, Wolues, Beares, and other beastes, there be anye Gretian?

Yea there are manye my most dere Vlisses: But why doeste thou aske me thys?

Lette vs sytte downe here on this rocke, where both the syghte [Page] of the dyuers waues of the sea, and the pleasauntnesse of the sweete wyndes, that passe through these sauerye plantes, swetelye blowyng, shall make oure talke muche more delectable, and I wyll tell it thee.

Let vs doo what thou wylte Vlisses, for I desyre none other thynge then to please the [...].

The cause whye I haue asked thee mooste faire Circes, yf amongest those whom thou haste trans­fourmed into beastes, there be anye Gre­tian, is for that I would desyre to obtaine by my requeste at thy hande, that they myghte be restored vnto their humayne beynge, and I lede them agayne with me into their owne countrey.

And why desyrest thou this?

For the loue I beare vnto them, and for that wee are of one countrye, hopyng thereby to be amongest my Gretians muche praysed. Whereas by the contrarye, being know­en that I were able to gette them oute of so miserable an vnhappy state, haue suffered them so wretchedlye to lede their lyfe in bodies of beastes, I thinke it woulde be vnto me no small blame.

And yf others, as thou thinkest Vlisses would prayse thee for the same: Yet they therfore wold beare the so great hatred for y ^e hurte thou shouldest do them, that thou wouldest repente the thereof a thousande tymes a daye.

Is it harme then to cause one to retourne from a beaste to a man?

Ye most harme. And to trye the trueth, aske of theym, for I wyll not graunte thee this fauour, except they also be contented therewith.

Howe maye I knowe this of them, who beinge Beastes, vnderstande not? nor yet canne speake? I doubt that thou mocke me.

Chaunge not thy mynd, for I shall graunte theym speache.

And shall they haue the self same discourse that they had when they were men?

Yea for lyke as I chaunged them into beastes so shall I cause the knowledge of very mē to come into them againe. And for to lose nomore time: seest thou those two shelles fastned to yonder stone, that open & shette agayne, and that hillocke of earth a little withoute the water, at the foote of that Palme tree?

Yea I see theim well.

In thone is an Oyster, and in tho­ther [Page] a Mowle, who heretofore were men, and Gretians, thou shalte speake wyth them. And bycause thou maiest more frely do it, I will gette me hence sportinge me on this strond. And when thou hast per­ceyued their myndes, come to me and I shall doo as thou thy selfe wilte.

Truely this is a greate matter that Cyr­ces hath tolde me, that these beinge thus in bodies of beastes, shalbe able, (and by her meanes) to discourse and reasonne with me. And it semeth to me so incredy­ble that I dare not almost proue it, fering that yf it came not to passe, I should (as reason is) be accompted a foole. But here is none besides her that canne blame me therefore: And yet canne not she reasona­bly do it, for that she her self hath counsai­led me therunto, and therefore I will not fayle to proue. But howe must I call thē? I of my selfe can not tell howe, but by the name that they haue beinge thus beastes? Let me so do then. Oister, O Oyster.

What wilt thou with me Vlisses.

I also woulde call thee by thy name yf I knewe it. But if thou be a Gretian [Page] as Cyrces hath tolde me, it may please thee to tell it me.

A Gretian I was, before I was chaunged into an Oyster, and I was of a place besyde Athens, and my name was Itacus: and because I was but poore I became a Fysher.

Then reioyce. For the pitie that I haue of the, knowing that thou wer borne man, and the loue that I bere the, for that thou arte of my countrey, haue caused me to praye Cyrces to restore the into thy for­mer shape, and that I afterwardes may leade thee agayne with me into Gretia.

Folowe that no farther Vlisses, for this thy wisdome and eloquence, for the which thou art so much praysed amongest thy Grecians, haue no force at al with me: So that go not about to counsell me with thone, that I leaue so many commodities, y ^e which I now in this state so happely en­ioye without any thought at al, nor to per­swade me with thother that I shoulde re­tourne man, synce he is the most vnhap­pye creature, that is in all the worlde.

Oh my Itacus, when thou loste the shape of man, it should seme thou lost rea­son [Page] also to saye thus.

Thou canst not lease it. Vlisses thou, because thou haste it not, yf thou beleue as thou sayest. But let vs set iniuries a parte, and let vs reason frendly a little togethers, and thou shalte see yf I that haue proued thone life and thother, can shewe thee that, that is trewe that I saye.

Truely thys woulde I gladdely see.

Then harken vnto me: But hea­rest thou? I will that thou promise me that while I open (as thou seest) to speak, thou wilte watche, that some of these trai­terous reabbes, come not and cast a little stone betwene my two shelles, wherby I could not afterward shet my selfe againe.

And whye so?

To drawe me afterward forth with his clawes, and to fede him self of me, for thus they are wōt to do when they finde vs open.

Seo a subtill crafte. And who hath taughte you to beware of them, and so to fly these their deceyptes?

Nature, that neuer fayleth to any thynge, of that, that is necessarye.

Be wythoute feare, and speake safely, for I wyll watche.

Go to then, harken vnto me. Tell me a litle Vlisses: you menne that glorye your selues so much, to be more parfitte, and more wise then we, for that you haue the discourse of reason: do not you esteme those thinges more, the whiche you iudge to be better then thother?

Yea ve­rely, and this rather is one of the chiefe sygnes wherby our perfection and wise­dome may be knowen. Forasmuche as the esteming of euerye thinge alike, com­meth of the litle knowing of their nature and goodnes, and is a manifest token of folyshenes.

And do not you loue them better then thother of lesse estimati­on?

Ye, bycause euer by the know­ledge: eyther loue or hatred foloweth.

For all those thinges that appeare good vnto vs, are beloued and desyred, and con­trarye those that seme noughte to vs, are hated and eschewed.

And louynge them more then the rest, haue you not also greater care of theym?

Who dow­teth therof?

Thinkest not thou that nature also doeth the selfe same, or that intelligence that guideth her? and [Page] with much more reason then you, because she can not erre, as oftenne times I haue harde saye of those Philosophers of Athe­nes, whiles I, to sell the fishe that I toke, stode by the gallaries, where they a great parte of the daye, disputed and reasoned together.

This thinke I also.

Yf thou graunt me this, thou hast graunted me also that we are better and more noble then you.

And by what meanes?

Because Nature makynge more accompte of vs, then she hath done of you, it foloweth y ^t she loueth vs better. And louing vs better she doth it for none other cause then for that, that I haue told thee

What, me thinketh thou arte the best Logitian of Athenes.

I knowe not what Logique meaneth, cōsi­der howe I may be a Logitian, I speake in such sort as nature hath taught me. And this reason myght euery one make, that hath the discourse of reason, and it is moste true.

Yea yf it were true that Nature sette more by you, then she doeth by vs.

This is easie to proue, and yf thou wilte that I shew it thee, harken [Page] vnto me, and because thou shalt perceaue the better, I will that we beginne from the fyrst day that she bringeth forthe both you and vs into the world, the which is the daye of our birth. Where, tell me I pray thee, what care hath she shewed to haue of you, syns she causeth you to be borne naked? wher contrary she hath she­wed to esteme vs muche, causing vs to come into the world clothed, some with lether, some with heare, some with scales, some with one thing, and some with an other, the which is a manifest token that she hath greatly in her harte mynded our conseruation.

This reason maketh not for thee, for though she hath made vs naked, and couered vs with so thinne a skinne, that we are hurte by euery lytle thing, she [...]th done it, for that we hauing to exercisethe fantasie, and other our in­ner senses, farre more diligently then you, to serue afterwardes the vnderstanding: it was conueniente that our members, and perticulerly those orgaines, and those instrumentes, wher those operations are made, shuld be of a more gentle, and more [Page] lyghte matter, and so also more subtill bloud, & more hote then youres are, wher­by the wekenes of our complexion gro­weth. For if we wer made of those euyll humors, and those grosse bluddes, that ye are (wherby it foloweth that you ar more strong, and of more lusty complexion thē we, but yet not of longer life, for this cō ­meth of the temperature of y ^e complexion in which thing we passe you very muche, & therfore we haue the perceueraunce of touchinge muche more perfyt then you, for it perceyueth euery moste little diffe­rence) it should folowe that we should be of lytle knowledge, and of litle witte as you are. For as these Phisnomiers saye, the customes of the mind folow the com­plexions of the body: whereby it is euer sene, that to the members of a Lion, the conditions of a Lion, and to the members of a Beare the conditions of a Beare fo­lowe. And that this is trewe, marke well amonge men, and thou shalt see, that they who are made of grosse humours, are also grosse of witte, and contrarie, they that are of thinne and quicke fleshe, are lyke­wyse [Page] quicke of witte, so that nature wil­lyng to make vs reasonable & of most per­fit knowledge, was in maner enforced to make vs so.

Enforced, no I will not beleue this yet, because she making all thinges, mought haue made them as she had listed, and mought very wel haue kepte an other rule, and an other order in them. And for an example, to make that water of it self, should heate, & fyre should refreshe.

Ye but this wonderfull order the which is among all creatures and from whence eche one confesseth his bewtie to come, could not by this meanes haue bene in the whole world.

No ther shuld haue bene an other frō whence an other maner of beuty shuld haue pro­ceded, peraduenture farre fairer thē this.

Whiles we are vpon peraduenture we walke as out of the way. But what matter maketh it thoughe nature hath made vs naked, since she hath geuen vs such knowledge and strēgth, that we can couer vs with your clothes?

Ye but with what danger how many of you haue come to mischiefe, by your myndinge to [Page] take vs to serue your selues of oures? And besydes this with howe great labour? For if you wil be serued with oure skinnes, you must dresse them, our heare you must spinne them, weue theym, and do a thou­sand other thinges vnto them, before you bring them into such frame, that you may serue youre selues of them.

These laboures are swete and pleasaunte vnto vs. Ye they are rather a pastime to vs thē otherwyse.

Ye, to them that do it for pastyme, as thou sometimes doest, but aske a litle of those, who do it enforced by necessitie, and to scratche out by their la­boures, so muche as may serue theyr very nede, and thou shalt see yf they will saye, that these paines seme pleasaunte to them or no. I for myne owne parte knowe that whiles I was a mā, it greued me so much to labour, that as I haue told the) I made my selfe a fyssher, and I would haue wil­lyngly put my selfe to any more heinous occupation, so that I mought not haue la­bored, esteminge it to be an arte of oxen, who alwaies laboure, and when they can no more, are then knocked on the hed with [Page] a betell.

Yf thou madest thee a fy­sher because thou wouldest not labour, it should chaunce to the as it doth to al those that flye paynes. Thou thinkest it should rounne after thee, for thou tookest an arte in hande, wherin not doing it for pleasure, there is more paines then in any other. And besides this, there is infinite troubles of windes, of cold, of hete of the sonne abidden, and of many other things.

And thou seest well, that I will no more become man againe, and I thinke I haue reason, consideringe besides this that nature hath set litle store by you, for besides the bringing forth of you naked, she also hath not made you any house or habitation, of your own, wher you mought defend you from thiniuries of the wether as she hath made to vs, y ^t which is a plaine token, that you are as rebelles and bani­shed of this world, hauing no place here of your owne.

What houses hath she made to you?

What houses: Consider mine a litle of these two shelles, with what great arte and commoditie she hath builte it for me: see howe I open and [Page] shytte casely as I haue nede to fede me, or to repose me, and to defend me from such as wold hurt me. Consider also what she hath done for the Tortoflees, and for the Snayles, and howe easely they carye their houses with them.

And what houses hath she made to the other beastes, beinge the more parte, and also to the birdes?

For the winter the holes and the dennes of the earth, and for the sommer, the trees and hyll toppes.

Oh, fayre houses, I thinke they be there in dede in very great ease.

Yf there be not so many com­modities ther, as are in yours, nether are there so many displeasures and thoughts.

And what displeasures and thoughtes haue we of oures that make theim after our owne mindes with our own handes?

What displeasures and thoughtes: the maynteyninge of them, the reparing of them, and the defending thē from thin­cōmodities that time bringeth with him? besydes this, when resteth any of you one hower in them with a quiet mynd, being neuer assured that they fall not on your backe, and more then that, the feare of the [Page] earthquakes, the whiche I remember, cō ­myng heretofore in our countrie, the peo­ple feared in suche sorte, that the nyghtes they taried in the fieldes, and the dayes they went togethers on flockes lyke cra­nes, praying and crying to the goddes, & bearing about certeine their olde harnes, with fyrebrandes a lyght in their handes, whereby it was plainelye knowen, that feare cā do so much in you, that it causeth you very often tymes to lose your wittes.

These are thinges that chaunce so seldome, that there is no hede to be taken thereof.

Besydes this you canne not buylde you other houses in euery place as nature hath done to vs, or in such sort that you may cary theym after you, as manye of vs maye.

And what hurte is thys, when we haue one after our own minde? knowest thou not that he y ^t is well should not chaunge?

What hurt: yf euyll chaunce be that you haue some neighbour who either by his conditions, or by some science that he hath, is by anye meanes, troblesome vnto you, & against your mind what infelicitie is the not beinge able to go any other where as we do? So that re­tourning [Page] to our fyrst talke, Nature ha­uing vs in much more estimation, then you, as I haue shewed thee, & she not able to fayle, it followeth that we are better & farre more noble then you.

This thy reason is onely a litle apparaunte, for although it seme that nature hath ge­uen you many mo commodities, then she hath to vs, she hath done it, for that she knew you were not able of your selues, to procure them vnto you. But here what I shall saye vnto thee, and thou shalt see which of vs is more noble. Tel me I pray thee: whether is the maister or the seruant more noble?

The maister I think as maister.

Thou thinkest well, and so also among all thinges, the thing is more noble the which is ende of others, then those thinges which are ordeyned to mainteyne or to serue it. Wherof it also foloweth, that we being as your en­des, must be more noble then you. And that we be your endes, and that all you were created by nature, to serue vs, expe­rience sheweth it playnely, sins we serue our selues of you whiles you liue, to bere [Page] oure thinges from one place to another, to laboure the earthe, and to a thousande other exercises, and after when you are dede, to clothe vs of your skinnes, and to fede vs of your fleshe. Now see then whe­ther you were made by nature for vs or no.

Yf these reasons were true you should haue bene also made by her for the erth, for at y ^e last she eateth you al. And so shoulde you also be lesse noble then the earthe, she being your ende.

This consequence is nothing woorth, and because thou shalt vnderstand it the better, thou shalt note ther are two sortes of endes.

Ulisses, I wyll not that thou trouble thy selfe any more, for thou begynnest to enter into those disputatiōs with me, that I heretofore haue hearde in the galleries of Athens of those Philoso­fers, whiles I, (as I tolde thee before) wēt about to sell those fewe fisshes that I had taken, to prouyde me of suche other neces­saries as I hadde neede of: the whyche (I thinke) neyther they nor others knewe.

But I fele that the dewe beginneth to fall, whereof I fede, opening me as thou [Page] seest, wherin I haue so great delight, and without any trouble or thoughte at all, that whylest I was man, I neuer proued the like. So that maruell no more that I wyll remayne thus. And yf thou vn­derstandest it otherwise, then be thou soo, and trouble me no more, for after that I haue fedd, I wil shet me again, and take some reste, and without any mooste lytle thought at all, the which very seldome chaunseth to you. And I esteme more this my contentation then al y ^t euer I mought hope to haue at thy handes.

Truly I coulde scarsely haue chaunced worse: for it should seme, that this felowe was of very litle discourse in the world, and the arte that he did, declareth it. For all they that attent to fyshe or to foule, (I speake of them that do it for nede, and not for ple­sure) are vyle persons, and of litle know­ledge. And marke also how litle know­ledge he should haue of the pleasures of the world, syns he would barter theym for a lytle dewe that he now tasteth being thus an Oyster. Well, let me then thus leue him in this his miserie, a most iuste [Page] rewarde of his follie. And let me proue to reason a lytle with this Moule, y ^t Circes told me was in yonder Hillocke of earth, for I shall perchance happen on a man of more knowledge, I will gette me a litle nere her, and call her. Moule, O Moule.

What wilt thou with me Vlisses? and what moueth the thus to trouble my quietnes?

If thou knewest what I had obteyned of Circes (by my request, for thy profitte) thou wouldest not saye that I wer troblesom to the, if thou haue the vse of reason lyke a man.

As though I harde it not euen nowe of thee, whilest thou spakest with this other Gre­tian, whom she transfourmed into an Oyster.

And that I may cause thee to retourne man, and deliuer the from this place and to leade thee agayne with me, into thy countrye, so that thou be a Greti­an as she tolde me.

A Gretian I was whiles I was man, and of the fay­rest part of all Etolia.

And desy­rest not thou to be restored into thy fyrste shape, I meane when thou were a man, [Page] and to retourne vnto thyne owne house.

This is not my desyre, for thē wer I a fole.

Is it folyshnes then to desyre a better state?

No. But to seke to make it worse, as I should do to be come man agayne. Bycause now I liue with most gret pleasure in this state, & in this kynd, where as beyng man, I should not so do, but I should lyue in continual troubles, and paynes importunate, wherof humaine nature is most aboundaunte.

And who hath taught thee this so goodly matter? This ignoraunte fisher with whom I spake euen now?

Euen experience, maistres of all thinges, hath taught it me, by the meanes of the occu­pation that I had.

And in what sort hath experience shewed thee that we are more vnhappy, and more miserable then you?

I will tell thee one onely ex­perience, the which (as I haue told thee) I knew playnely by the meanes of mine exercise, of the which, thou afterwardes mayst of thy self pycke out many others, that shalbe of no lesse weight then this.

And what was the arte that thou [Page] dyddest exercyse, that made thee to know so false a thinge? Tell on.

To tyll the grounde.

I may wel say now I am a fote, to get out of the handes of a fisher, and to come into the handes of a plowman, who if he swarue not from his nature, shalbe much lesse able to vnder­stande reason then the other.

Doe me none iniury Vlisses wyth wordes, for euery man is a man, and rather take hede to that that I saye, for yf thou shalte well consyder it, thou wilt perchaunce repent, that Circes hath not changed the also in­to some beaste, as she hath done vs.

Go to then, say on, for truely I desyre no­thinge more.

What beast findest thou in all the worlde, eyther of the water or of the earth, the kindes of whome are almoste infinite, to whome the earth of it selfe bringeth not foorth for him, where­with to fede him, except to man? who, yf he will that she bring him forth his foode, as to others, must laboure it, & with great paynes sow it with his handes.

Thys errour commeth of him selfe, who wil be nouryshed with ouer delicate meates. [Page] But yf he woulde lyue of the fruyte that she of her selfe bringeth foorth, as other beastes do, this should not chaunce vnto him.

And what grasse, what sede and what fruites, bringeth shee of her selfe forth, not beinge holpen by arte, that are meete nor [...]shmente and conueniente for the conseruation of the lyfe of man, & for the mayntenaunce of the temperature of his complexion.

Is it not sayde that those fyrste auneyente people, of thage that was called the golden age, dydde liue so?

O Vlysses, thou makest pro­fession of a wyse man, and yet beleuest thou these tales?

Wel, when that also that thou sayest wer true, yet this la­boure that man endureth to laboure and tyll the grounde, to water and keepe the vynes, and to plante fruytes, doth it not brynge there with so greate delyte and pleasure, that it may be sayd, that nature hath geuen it to man, for his pastime, and for that he should not liue in Idlenes, and after for his welth and profyt? And that this is true, marke what large rewarde of fruyte she geueth after warde for his [Page] paynes? Wherby it semeth that nothinge is more swete then husbandrye. And be­sydes this she hath done it, for that manne should haue wherwith to shewe his wit, and cunninge, and howe he is worthier then the other beastes are.

Naye rather because she should neuer take rest, nor neuer haue one good howre. And be­sydes this to trouble him more, the feare of death is ioyned to him in such sorte that when the earth throughe contrarye we­thers, bringeth not foorth so largelye her frutes, one yeare as she was wont, he all that time liueth in daunger and feare, that he be not enforced to dye for hunger, and he neuer eateth morsell withoute a thousande griefes, the which thinge chaū ­seth not to vs. For when there wanteth anye thinge in the place, where wee are, we go most happelye into an other.

So that we also can not cause thyn­ges to come out of those countries, where there is haboundaunce, when there is dearthe in our owne.

But wyth what labour and daunger both by sea and lande? And with what vnquietnes of [Page] mynde? the which is a farre greater mat­ter. Let this suffise thee that your life is nothing els then a continuall stryfe, now with one thing, and nowe with an other, so that you haue good reason to wepe as ye do when you are borne (the whiche none of vs doth) considering the infelicitie and mis [...]rye of the state wherevnto you come.

We can not wepe therefore, for that we knowe it not, as thou doest.

Although you knowe not, yet you begyn to fele thincomodities of the place, where you come to inhabite, the whiche (as I haue tolde thee) as it is to all other beastes accommodate, i [...] is to you onelye, almoste contrarye, and therefore wepinge is ge­uen onely to you by nature.

How to vs onelye▪ doth not the horse wepe also, as I haue hearde saye.

I beleue not but I thinke, that those teares, the which fall at certaine tymes from their eyes, growe by superfluitye that ascendeth to the hedde: for that the horse is a verye deli­cate beast. And yf he wepe, he dothe it for some mischaunce that is happened vnto him, as it mought be, to chaunge a master [Page] or to lose the company of some other hor [...] whom he, (beyng very apte to loue by na­ture) had loued: but he doeth it not imme­diately after his birth, as you dooe, who in dede haue reason therto (as I tolde thee euen nowe) consideringe that you must [...] forthwith be bounde and be nouryshed by the handes of others. Neyther can you of your selues do any thing at all, of those thynges, that belonge vnto youre owne nature. So that Vlisses labour no more, for I for my parte, am one of those, that wil rather dye then become man agayne.

O my Moule, it semeth thou shoul­dest also haue done, as I sayde to yonder Oyster, that at one time thou lost y ^e shape of man and reason also. And yf thou wilte see that to be true that I tell the: consyder what beastes you are, for yf you wer per­fit in dede, I woulde saye that you hadde some reason.

Why, what dooe we lacke?

What do you lacke? Thoy­ster the sense of smellinge and hearynge, and that that is more, the abilitie to moue frome one place to another: And thou the fyghte, the whiche thou knoweste howe [Page] worthy it is to be hadde in price, geuynge knowledge vnto vs of mo differences of thynges, then any other sense.

We are not therefore vnperfite, but we are so called by you, in respect of those that haue theym all: but we shoulde be imperfit in dede, yf we lacked any of those that belon­geth vnto oure kynde.

Shoulde it not then be better to haue them?

Not the sight to me, as a Moule: neyther to Thoister the smellinge, or hearynge, or abilitie to go from place to place, as an Oyster. And yf thou wilt knowe the rea­son thereof, herken vnto me? Tell me I pray the, why is the power to moue from one place to another geuen vnto you, but to go for those thinges that ye lacke?

Nature truelye hathe not geuen it vs for any other thinge: And therefore it is sayde that euery motion groweth of the nede.

Yf you then had that nigh vnto you the whiche you had nede of, you woulde not moue?

No: Why should we?

What nede then hath that Oyster of the motiō from one place to another, yf she haue by her all that, that she hath nede [Page] of? And likewise of smellynge, nature geuinge her wherwith to feede, withoute any nede to seke what is good for her, and what is not. And soe I, that muste abyde vnder the earth, where I find that that contenteth me, what nede haue I of sight?

Although it be not necessa­rye vnto thee, yet thou shouldest desire to haue it.

And why so? Syns it is not necessarye to my nature, it is suffici­ent to me, to be perfit in myne owne kynde. Desyrest thou to haue the bryght­nes that a starre hath: or the winges that a byrd hath?

These are thinges that appertaine not to menne.

Yf other men had them, wouldest thou then desyre them?

Ye I thinke so.

And the like would I do, yf other moules saw: but since other see not, I neyther thinke on it, nor yet desyre it. So that labour no farther in perswadinge me to retourne man, for that I am perfecte in thys my kynd, and liue without anye thoughte in the worlde, I will so remaine, because I fynd herein farre fewer displeasures, then I dyd in the humayne lyfe. Go then [Page] about thy busines, for I will get me a lytle farther vnder the earth.

I know not wel whether I wake, or dreme▪ yf I wake truely I am no more the same Vlisses that I was wont to be, sins I haue bene able to cause neyther of these twayne to beleue the trueth. And I heare tofore was wonte to perswade to my Gretians, what so euer I my selfe listed. But I think the default to come of them: for I haue chaunced on two, who are not able to vnderstand reason. And it is al­so no great maruel, thone being a fysher & thother a plowman. But I thinke it shuld not so [...]happen vnto me, with euery one of the rest, yf perchaunce they be not of one sorte all. I will then retourne to Circes and shewe her howe I haue sped, and pray her that she fayle me not of asmuch as she hath promised me, and that she cause me to speke with some other, for I shoulde thinke it to muche iniurie, though these neuer knewe, ney­ther wil know any good, to fayle of this ben [...] ­fyte to the reste.

WHat say these thy Gre­tians my dere Vlisses, is ther any of thē that wil becom man again?

Not one. It is true that I haue spokē one­ly with those two that thou shewedst me, of whom thone was a fysher, and thother a plowman, whose liues were so miserable and painefull, that I nothinge maruell they will not proue the state of man agayne.

Thinke thou not Vlysses, that I haue done this at aduenture, for I was wil­lyng thou shouldest beginne with those to see, that also in these base states, the whiche haue bene heretofore so muche praysed by many of your writers, there are so many incommodities, tha [...] the most vyle and imperfyte beastes that may be sounde, are in better case then they: And [Page] they haue shewed thee, the reason therof.

Ye but then the matter is, whether this come by the smal knowledge of them or not? For surely they should be men of most litle witte, sins that state wherein they were, semed euyll vnto theym, & yet they not able to chaunge it.

The wit and wisedome of men is farre better knowen, in being able to accommodate them selues to liue quietlye, in that state wherin they are, then it is in chaunginge it, as also in the knowledge of players, in playing those games well, that come to them by chaunce, althoughe they be euyll For in thone, knowledge and wisedome worke onely, and in thother fortune: vn­to whose arbitrement wyse men alwaies seke the least they may to put thē selues.

Thou knowest Circes that there is no kynde of creatures, amongest whom greter differences are found, then among men, among whom yf thou consider well thou shalt find some of such knowledge and wytte, that they are almost lyke vn­to the goddes, and some others of so grosse wytte, and small knowledge, that they [Page] seme almost bestes. So y ^t it is oftē douted, whether they haue reasonable soules or not, the whiche chaunseth not to any [...] other beaste. For yf thou loke among Li­ons, and Beares, & amongest what other kynd thou wilt, thou shalt see thone from thother very litle different. And these two to whom thou hast caused me to speke, I thinke are truely of those, who knewe ve­ry smally, either the good or ill, that was in their owne states, and therefore they haue done as all other like, who thinke alwaies other states farre better then theyr owne.

Yf the good and the euylles that chaunce vnto a man in that state wherin he liueth, coulde onelye be knowen by witte, and vnderstanding, I wold then thinke thou saydest truth. But they are knowen by profe: and experience (as thou knowest) causeth eche man to knowe thynges as they are. But abyde, y ^u shalt speake a lytle with that Snake that commeth trauersing the way towardes vs, for as I remember me, he whome I chaunged into her, was a Gretian, and he perchaunce shall satisfie the farre better, [Page] then these other haue done. And I for this cause do giue her power to answere thee, and to speake vnto thee.

It should seme that she vnderstandeth that thou tal­kest of her, for that she standeth so still, stedfastly beholding vs.

It maye so be, but speake vnto her, and I in the meane season will walke amonge these my nimphes, to passe the time along this sea banke.

I had so much pleasure to speake with those other two beastes, al­though I coulde not perswade them, to that that I would, and that that is true, that I am also determined to talke with this snake. Snake. O Snake.

What wilt thou Vlysses? But alas I vnderstād & I speake, whether I de tourned againe into man, as I was heretofore: God for­byd this.

And what is the cause Snake, that thou wouldest not become man agayne? is the state wherein thou lyuedst perchaunce the cause?

Not so, but the nature it selfe of man, the which in very dede is none other thing thē a lodging of miseries.

Let me make [...]eckening, I haue euen chaunsed on an [Page] other like vnto the fyrst twayne. Snake heare me a lytle. It is in my power to make thee retourne man, for Cyrces whom I haue praied, for the loue I beare vnto you, because we are of one country, hath graunted it me. Nowe may I vse this goodly benefite vnto thee.

Then do it to some other, for I pray the [...] to suffer me to ende my life after this sort. For truely I should haue to great a losse, to chaunge this state with yours.

Why, what is the cause?

Haue not they with whom thou haste spoken, tolde thee?

They were men of so base condicion, and of so smal knowledge, that I make litle accompt of their words. [...]na. Did they not shew the, the reson why they woulde not become men agayne?

Thone of them who was a Fysher, told me: because he wold not take thought where to dwell, the whiche care other Beastes haue not, who abyde, some in th [...] hollownes of the earth, som in the woodes some on the trees, some in the water, and some in diuers other places: and thother, who was a Plowman, for that he would not tyll the earth, the which not beyng [Page] tylled, and sowen by man, bryngeth not foode forth for him of her self, as it doth to other beastes.

And I, who, whiles I lyued, was a Phisitian, wyll shewe the another, the which is vnto you an occasi­on of farre greater miserie, thē they wer. And yet ther, no such defēce cā be made as mai be made in thart of husbādry, & thart of building, wherin man is so excellēt.

And what is that? Tell it me I pray thee.

The weakenes of the complexcion, that nature hath geuen to you, by the whiche you are subiecte to so many kindes of infirmities, that it can neuer be sayd, that you are at any time perfectly in health, as we are. And besydes this, you are neuer so lustye, but for euery little mysrule you do, you feare to be sicke.

This (as I sayde before to them) nature hath done, because we maye better doo our operati­ons, the whiche we shoulde not so easelye haue don, if she had made vs of mattiers, of humours, and of bloude, so grosse, and stronge, as she hath made you.

Naye, rather she hath donne it, to make you the most sick and weake creatures that are in [Page] the world.

And when this that thou saiest wer true, can not we beware of that that hurteth vs, with that wisdome that she hath geuen vs?

Ye in some part, but it is so hard, that thou seest how fewe do it, But wilt thou se that she hath done it, onely for that she is your enemie? Seest thou not that she hath geuen vnto you an appetite of feding so vnsaciate, and a de­syre so immoderate, that you cease not continually to seke newe meates? And when you haue found such as pleaseth you, you can not then measure your selues, or very hardely eate as should suffice you, wher­by afterwardes so many and so greuous sicknesses growe on you.

What are these meates that we vse, that were not made by nature, for our mainte­naunce and conseruation?

What are these meates? infinite, and perticu­lerly all those that you vse to make good the others withall, and that are not good of them selues to eate, as is salt, peper, and such like.

I for my part haue wholly beleued the contrary: Yea, rather I haue heard sayé, that man coulde not lyue [Page] without salt.

Because of the superflu­ities, that is ingendred through ouer much eating, and drinking, the which must af­terward be dried. But yf he were noury­shed of simple meates, and so much onely as neded, superfluous humors should not be engendred, nor they shoulde not neede to be dryed. But the matter standeth in thys pointe, that man with these sawces (for so are al those called that are not good of them selues, but make others good) maketh his meates so much better, and of more appetite, that prouoked by the delite that is therein, he eateth much more then he hath nede of. And besides this, he is pricked and stirred by the varietie of tastes, to drink much more, then his nature requy­reth. Whereby growe after in him so ma­ny Catarres, reumes, swellinges, goutes to the ache, that they muste after be pluc­ked out, and a thousand other infinite mischiefes, that folowe afterwarde thereof, the whiche neuer chaunce to anye of vs.

Surelye in some part thereof thou say­est true.

Then consider vs, that because nature hath loued vs better, she [Page] hath not geuen vnto vs this so v [...]ruly an appetite, wherby we haue desyre onelye to those thinges that are good for vs, and so much as our nature requireth, and we will not one morsell aboue thys, nor we can not vary, or mingle our metes in such sorte, that they may enforce our appetyte with the pleasing vs. But seest thou not also, that because you should fal into these inconueniences, she hath caused you to mingle, of those thinges with your mea­tes, that were plainelye obiectes of the smelling, because they shoulde please you the better, and the easelier deceyue you [...] as it were to saye the muske, whiche is a [...]ottones of an impostematiō of one of vs the which thou wouldest not take for any pretious thinge: wheras to vs she hathe not geuen any other pleasure in smelling then of these thinges, that are necessarye to nourishe vs, and so much onelye also as we haue neede to eate.

She hathe done this for y ^t we had nede of greter quā ­titie of braine, to y ^e proportiō of other bests y ^t which is naturally cold for y ^t the operati­ons of y ^e inner sences must be exercised in the same, to serue the vnderstandinge, [Page] we may sometimes hete it, with sauours the which are naturally all hute: whereof we are bound vnto her, because she hath [...] geuen vs this delite, and pleasure, of smellynge of good thinges, the which she hath not done for you: for you haue pleasure of none other thynge, then of that that your meates haue.

I wyl tell thee true: I cannot well determine with my selfe, whether your hauinge of this sense more perfite then we, be eyther to your losse, or gaynes, the euil smelles are so many mo that you smell, then the good. And hath not she caused that you your selues also in gendre in your owne bodies, so greate a quantitie of superfluities, that all they al­most engendre euill sauours, the whiche is not so with vs: the whiche thinge is a moost manifeste sygne, of the weakenes, and of the vnperfectnes of the complexciō of your nature, subiecte, and bonde (as I haue tolde thee) vnto so many and diuers sicknesses, the which are not euē knowen by vs. Seest thou not that in the eies one­lye, there be mo then fyftye kindes of sick­nesses?

And when this were so, we [Page] haue meanes to remedie it.

And how?

With Phisicke, in the which art man is most excellent, and thou shoul­dest know it, if thou were a phisition, as thou sayst.

This is the point that I would take: hee at, for in this I thinke men much more vnhappy then we.

And why so? tel me thoccasion a litle.

Because I thinke that medicines doeth farre more hurt in you, then good: and that you in vsing them, are not in your wittes, and I alone am not in this opinion: For thou knowest well, howe many cities haue ben in your Gretia who haue prohibited and driuen from them, the Phisitions.

And why sayest thou this? Wilte thou denye that Phi­sicke is not one of the seuen liberal artes, most true, & most profi [...]table to man, take hede that this come not out of thy mouth, that thou shewe not thy selfe one of those who had therein no greate knowledge, and therfore blamest it, obseruinge the custome of many, who when they knowe not a thing, say it can not be knowen, and that others knowe it not.

I [Page] wyll not denye that the same of it selfe is not an arte most true and profitable, and worthye of many prayses, nor I wyll not also denye that I knewe very lytle therof. euen after that sorte as others lykewyse knowe litle therein, but yet [...] such sort as it may be knowe, I knew so much therof that I was reputed amonge the chiefe Phisitiōs of Gretia, and thou canst beare good witnes thereof. For I knowe thou hast heard infinite times of Agesimus of Lesbos.

Arte thou then Agesimus of Lesbos? thou, or to saye better, y ^e spirite of him?

I am he in dede, that go­ing to se the world, arriued here by shyp, and was thus together with my compa­nions chaunged into a beaste.

I am very glad to speake with thee, for thy fame is yet so great through all Gretia, that I should thinke to gette no smale thyng, yf I myght leade the vnto them agayne a man as thou were before.

Of this I tell the true that thou reason no more, for I will neuer consente there­vnto. And because thou mayest see that I doo it not without reasonne, I saye vnto [Page] the, retourning to our former talke, that phisike maye be two wayes consydered. Firste, it may be considered as a scyence, and in this manner it is most true, and mooste sure, because it onelye considereth the thinges vniuersall, the which for that they are euerlastinge, and not variable, engender a suretie in vs. And in this wise knowinge thinges by their occasions, it is called a science and belongeth to cōtem­plation, thende wherof is onlye to knowe the trueth. And manye after this sorte knowe it, & I also knewe my parte there­of. Phisike maye lykewise be considered as an arte, and artes (as thou knowest) come by experience, and after thys sorte it is most deceitfull: and that this is true phisitions them selues confesse it: saying that experiences in this arte are very de­ceitfull. And thus it appertayneth vnto the actiue, the ende wherof is the wor­kynge and trauaylinge aboute the par­ticuler thinges, and in this sorte I confesse vnto the y ^t ther is most litle knowē therof [Page] and experience dayly sheweth it.

From whence gottest thou the reputati [...] that thou haddest, yf thou knewest lyttle howe to worke?

From the foolysh­nes of manye, who geuing oftentymes smal hede to that that men do, suffer them selues to be deceiued by that that they say,

Truely men in their own cases, see light a very litle way.

And in this aboue all others, for the desyre they haue to lyue. And yf thou wilte see it plainely, marke, that of those faultes that they pu­nyshe others, they paye vs by weyghte of golde, the which faultes are so many and so greuous, that it wer ill for vs if the erth hydde them not: as one of oure wise men of Gretia sayde heretofore, who one daye beinge asked, what thoccasion was that he neuer hadde sickenes, aunswered: be­cause he neuer had to do with Phisitions.

Then that other our worthye manne vnderstoode it well, when he sayde: that good Phisition neuer toke medicine.

Then thou shouldest haue added that other sayinge also.

Whiche?

That one good man of lawe, neuer stryueth with another. But yet there is a worse thynge, that to maynetayne thys their deceipte in reputation, they geue men to vnderstande that they take mede­cynes, causinge the pottecaries to ordeyne them, and to sende theym to their houses, and they then caste theym away. And I haue knowen of those that dooe it.

Who knoweth not that this your liuing is a deceyte? And that we do none other thinge then one begyle an other.

And the greteste deceptes that they dooe is, where beliefe playeth the chiefe parte, for herein they practise more then in anye other thynge.

Thou seest well it is wonte to be sayde, that the beliefe that a paciente hath in the Phisition, helpeth hym often times, muche more then the medycynes, and he that canne perswade mooste falselye, getteth moste credytte.

I knewe it verye well, for, for be­ynge able to speake well, and to perswade well, and chiefelye vnto women (to whose myndes phisitions are most tymes taken, [Page] and not for being able to worke well) I became in great credite. But abide Vlis­ses, wilt thou see that men knowe not phisicke perfectly that geue a thousand remedies for one disease?

Howe many remedies the mo a phisition geueth for one sickenes, is it not a signe that he knoweth the more of the arte?

Cleane contrary, for the geuing many remedies to one euyll, is a token of not knowing his proper remedy. For euen as all effectes, haue only one proper occa­sion, that cause them, although they may be afterwarde brought forthe acciden­tally by many other occasions, so euery euill hath his proper remedie, and who that knowe it should heale the same vn­doutedly. So that when thou seest one geue thee many remedies to one onely euill, saye that he knoweth not the very proper remedie, and goeth about to seke it. And then it must be (as they say) that God muste helpe you.

Thinke then if we be not well to chaunce into your handes.

Marke it, and therfore there are many that saye, that [Page] it is better to take a luckie Phisition then a learned.

What meanest thou by a luckie phisition?

one whose pacientes, for the more part that chaunce into his hands, may be sene healed by him. For he is wel called fortunate, the more parte of whose busines hath good ende, and that in things doutefull he euer chan­seth to take the best. For as I haue tolde thee, it is so harde a thinge in phisycke, to apply vniuersals, to perticulers, that the pacient hath nede of good chaunce, or else he is in greate hasarde.

We should for this thinge complayne vs of men, and of theyr couetousnes, sins they set vs to do that, that they know not, one­ly because they would gayne.

Ye but much more of nature, who hath not so prouided for your health, as she hath for ours. Fyrst for that she hath geuen you a complexion so weke, and an appetite so vnordinate, and then for that she hath taught you phisicke after such sorte that it is rather to your hurte then profyte.

What hath nature done in this bet­ter vnto you then to vs?

She hath fyrste geuen vnto vs a complexion so stronge, and a desyre so well ruled, that it neuer prouoketh vs to do anye thinge that is agaynst our na­ture, and besydes this, for our diseases, farre more perfecte phisycke then to you.

Naye I will that thou proue this otherwise then with wordes onely.

Of the godnes and strength of the complexion, because it is a thinge of it selfe moost well knowen, I will not reason with thee, but of the temperature of the appetite. Consider fyrst the maner howe we fede, and thou shalt not see that any of vs haue desyre, but of those meates that are conuenient to his nature, and to take also of those onelye that quantitie, that is necessarie to his nourishement, wher as to you it is all contrarie: For you haue desyre of a. M. things that hurt you, and yet can you not moderate your selues that you eate no more of those things that please you, then your nede requireth?

Truely herein you are more happy then we.

What shal I also say of drinking? For we drinke onely so much as nedeth [Page] vnto our conseruation. You suffer your selues very often to be drawen so much by the delite that you fele in y ^e wine, that you are not only dronke, but also you get ther­by a thousand sicknesses.

I will not that thou speake of this, for nature hath shewed in this, to loue vs farre better then you, hauing geuen vnto vs onely, so precious a licour.

Yea, yf she had geuen you therewith an appetite, ruled in suche sorte, that you dranke not thereof more then you neded: but synce she hath not done so, it is euen to haue geuen a thyng that is of no lesse hurte then helpe, into the hand of one that hath no iudgement, or elles will suffer him selfe to be ledde vp and downe by desyre.

Thou mightest speake of this thing of wine a thousand yeres, and yet would I neuer yelde vnto thee.

Then in the lustes of the flesh, do not you suffer your selues to be caried so farre therin through pleasure, that you get therby moost often­times your death, the which thinge ne­uer happeneth to vs. Rather nature hath made so muche accompte of vs herein, [Page] that she suffereth vs not to come into such de [...]ers, but at certayne times, and those only are, when we haue nede to cast forth those superfluities, or when the time is most apte to generation.

What, is there not then founde among you of those who are alwaies disposed to the like pleasures.

And who is this? the mare, and like beastes, that practise amonge you, to serue you at nede, who also per­chaūce shalbe by you prouoked vnto such actes, for your profyt. But passe further vnto other thinges that are sought, for the conseruation of health. And consyder a litle as touching the aier, the qualitie wherof is of moste great importaunce, for that we must continually in fetting our breth, fill therwith our inner partes. Whom findest thou amongest vs, that is not in the same place and ayer, that is to most purpose, and most conuenient for him, yf they be not driuen thence by force, and caried some other where? Whereas you, very often both for desyre to gayne, and also for a thousand other occasyons, go, seking countries, to abyde in place, [Page] where the ayer is so contrary vnto you, that you procure your owne death before the time.

This can i [...]l be denied.

Of the [...]epe, and of the diet, and of other necessarie thinges for the conseruation of the complexion, and of your helth, I wyl not reason, because you your selues knowe, that can not vse them in due time. And this cōmeth because you are brought therevnto, eyther by arte, or els by your owne fantasies, wher we, who vse them onely, when nature requireth, nener erre, by the which occasyons, we Vlysses are subiecte vnto many fewer infirmities then you are▪ And vnto those fewe, euery one of vs guided by nature, can fynde of him selfe the remedy.

And is this true?

It is moste true. And by this thou mayest playnely knowe howe much nature hath loued vs aboue you, sins she hath taught to euery kind of vs remedies for those euilles, to which the same kynd is subiect. And not onely vnto the kynd, but also vnto eche one of them seuerally deuided.

Trulye hereof thou makeste me much maruell.

Sins thys semeth so great a matter vnto the, I wyll not that thou be satisfied with wordes. But begynne a lytle to consider vs Snakes, of whom euery one, when the springe of the yeare commeth, perceiuyng our skin­nes roughe on oure backe, for that we lay styll in winter, and heaped vnder the earth, goeth to eate of fenell, the whyche causeth vs to cast that our so olde skynne, And then afterward seing oure syght dy­minished, we ronne againe to heale vs with the same thing. Haue not al the litle Lyzardes, one certaine herbe that helpeth them, when they haue benne bitten by any of vs? Runne not the harts whē they are wounded vnto Dittaunder? And whē they perceaue them selues bytten by the Phalange (the which is a kynd of a vene­mous spyder) can they not, all heale themselues with eatinge of crabbes or craui­shes? The swalowes when they see the eyes of their younge hurt, can not al they helpe them with celidonye? The Torto­flees helpe they not our bytinges wyth [Page] hemlocke? The wesell when she goeth to fyght with the ratte, doth she not fyrst make her selfe stronge and lusty with ea­ting of rue? helpeth not the Storke her in­firmities with organie? And the wylde swine with Juie? Doth not the Elephant defend him from the venun of the Cama­l [...]ont with oliue leaues? And beares from the venim of the Mandrake with pysse­mearse? The stocke Doues, the Geys, the blacke byrdes, and the partriges, doo not they purge their superfluities, wyth the leaues of baye? And the tame pigions, the Turtle, and the hennes, with chicke­wede. The cattes and dogges when they fele their bealy ouercharged, ronne they not to pourge them selues with eatinge of grasse wet with dewe? But what ne­deth that I tell thee any longer story? take what kinde of beast thou wilt, and thou shalte fynde, that for thin firmitie, where­vnto the same is subiecte, nature hathe taught him the remedy. And not onelye to the kynde alone (as I haue tolde thee) but to euery one of them seuerally deuy­ded, wherby it followeth that we haue no [Page] nede to bye labour one of another, neither haue we any nede to put our selues vnder doutfull thinges. And that that is worse, to paye one who may often times geue vs our death, as you poore wretches do. And doth it not seme vnto you, that how much the more monye you geue, to your Phisi­tions, so much the better to do? And goo you not chosing out the fayrest mony that you can fynde?

Herein we do not al after one fashion. But what wilt thou? are ther not foles also found among you?

No Vlisses, and print this well in thy heart▪ that there is no beast at all, that lacketh of the knowledge, apperteinynge vnto his kinde. Although sometimes one may be found some what more easye to be taught, or some what more ware then an other. But I praye thee tell me a litle, yf al the fooles amongest you, shuld were a whyte cappe on their heddes, should you not seme a faire flocke of gese?

But the matter is, whether they that thou callest foles, be wiser then thothers, or not. For I remember that one, who [Page] was heled of that disease, being asked by a woman, what phisicke he had vsed, by­cause she would heale a childe of hers, said that he woulde not teache it her, thyn­kynge he should do to great an iniurye to heale one of such a disease, for he thou­ght that he had neuer a pleasaunter tyme then whiles he was taken for a sole.

And wherof thinkest thou that this came? sauing that in that tyme whiles he was voide of those thoughtes, the which cause man to be euill contented, he knewe not the misery of the nature of man.

I will not dispute with thee hereof now but let vs retourne to our former matter wher I telthe, although you haue lesse sick­nesse then we, this is because you are of shorter lyfe then we, the which is no small euell, nor no litle infelicitie.

Ye peraduenture vnto vs that are prouyded by nature, of all those thinges that are ne­cessary for vs, and that lyue alwayes in helth, withoute any sorowe or griefe at all. (So that to dye also is litle griefe vnto vs, for we foresee not oure death [Page] before hand as you do, and besides that we knowe not so perfectly this to lose the being, to be so great a matter. But this great felicitie of yours to liue so long is none other thinge vnto you, then a painefull suffering a longer time, with so many troubles and laboures to pre­serue your life. And when you haue but a griefe in the head, the feare of death tor­menteth you so much, that the griefe of the mind is farre greater vnto you then the paine of the bodie. So that ther haue bene many, that for this occasion haue sayd that your life can not be called a life, but a continuall course and thinkinge of death.

These are but wordes.

As though that there hath not bene among you also of those, who considering your miserie hath sayd it had bene better neuer to haue bene borne. And of those that are borne, they may onely be called happie, that die in theyr swadling bandes. And how many haue there also bene, who consideringe your state, to make thēselues free of so many euils haue killed thē selues with their owne handes? [Page] A thing so wicked, that it neuer commeth only in the thoughte of anye of vs.

Ye, some weake harted person, who being afeard for that he knoweth not howe to ouercome some contrarye fortune, or to beare out some euell that is chaūced vnto hym, but for one of these thou shalt finde thousandes, that woulde not dye.

Ye, but thou knowest not the cause.

Why what is it? tell it me I praye thee.

The fearinge to go into a worser state, for the feare that many haue put you in, by writinge of the kingedome of Pluto, wher so many sharpe punishmen­tes are prepared for such of you as hath passed the marke of reason, a lyttle to sa­tisfie sometyme his desires, on the whiche thynge we neuer thinke. But yf men thoughte to ende their life, and their trou­bles at one tyme, thou shouldest see thin­ges that would make thee maruell, there are so manye mo of those amonge you that painfully suffer, and are in euill case then those that ioye and be in good case.

Agesimus, I see thou art so obstinate, that thou wilt neuer be [...]able to perceyue [Page] reason: wherfore I will dispute no more wyth thee, and chiefely because I haue sene in this laste, that thou haste altoge­ther lost thy knowledge, begynning to doubte of religion, thynges euen conue­nyente to a beaste as thou arte. And truly I am not a litle sorye for thee, yet for the loue I beare vnto thee, for that thou art a Gretian, yf thou wilte become manne agayne, I will cause the so to do, for Cyr­ces hath graunted me so, and then mayest thou afterwardes retourne wyth me into thy countrye.

No not I, for I praye hym to kepe me from that, that may for euer.

Seest thou not what an vn­happy state thine is: and a beast of whom menne make little of?

And this is the thing that I derely loue: for the much makyng of, that men make vnto beastes, is all for theyr owne profyttes, and to be serued in their nedes by them.

Be­sides this thou consumest the greter part of thy lyfe vnhappely and vnder the earth without anye pleasure.

And you sleape the halfe of yours, and farre more vnquietlye then we.

Then what [Page] pleasures hast thou? thou eatest nothynge but earthe, or some foule beast, and thou drinkest nothing but water.

What matter is this yf I haue no desyre of any other thynge?

Thou hast thy knowledge also imperfecte, and thys commeth because thy parte imaginatiue, and fantasie, are confused.

And what knowest thou hereof?

I see it by experience, for all you beastes that slyde wyth the body on the grounde, stay­inge the former parte of you wyth your scales, and afterwarde pluckinge and drawing after the hinder part, when the waye croketh vnto you, you go vnto an other place. And you retourne not by the way that you first went. And of whence commeth this, but that you haue a confu­sed fantasie, and such a remembraunce as the flye also hath, wherby you determine no more vnto one place, thē vnto an other but are guyded by chaunce?

In dede I should haue a confused fantasie to be­come manne againe: for I should conti­nually be full of humoures and of vayne thoughtes, wher as after thys sorte I liue contented, and wythoute anye thought [Page] at al. And I should also haue lesse remem­braunce, to be willing to retourne into a state, full of so many troubles and myse­ryes. So that labor no more Vlysses, for I will none of this thy fauor, for it wyll put me vnder a thousand infirmities, and I should neuer be able to enioy one desire assuredlye, but rather for euerye lyttle surfette, I should feele a thousande so­rowes: And that y ^t is worse, I should haue nede to kepe my selfe from death, being subiecte to meyminge me, and to lyue euer after myshapen and sicke. So that go on thy waye, for I will go to rubbe my scales a lytle on yonder gineper, because I maye moue it the easelier, where I shal fele so much pleasure, and delite, that per­chaunce I neuer proued the lyke being man, for that it shalbe without respecte or any displeasure at all, whereas youres are euer mingled with such bytternes, that manye of you, speakynge thereof haue sayde, a thousande pleasures were not worthe one trouble or tormente.

In thende I haue to do with beastes. And although Circes geue them power [Page] to speake and aunswere me, yet (as me thinketh) she hath not geuen them their wittes, for they consider onely certayne of the least thinges, and not that that impor­teth. But yet I will not leue so fayre an enterprise, for I will retourne vnto Cir­ces, that she may cause me to speake to the rest that are here, to do good vnto those that are better able to perceiue. For as the prouerbe sayeth: euell may be done to one by force, but good neuer.

YF I knewe not howe gret the loue were that thou bearest me most noble Cyrces, I should doubt in dede that thou wouldest not graunte me the fauour that I haue asked of thee. And thou not willing to denye it me, hast onely caused me to speake with such as thou knowest had there mind so determined, not to become men againe, that any man could neuer perswade them, and so I might leue then­terprise.

Let neuer any such thou­ght enter into thy minde of me Vlisses. For this apperteineth neither to the loue that I beare thee, nor yet to the mightines and noblenes of my mynd, euer geuen to most glorious enterprises: for thou kno­est wel, that he, who can not forbeare ple­sures, can not also do them.

Thou hast caused me to speake with one, who is more obstinate then those others. And [Page] wheras I thought to do him a good torne, in making him returne man, & leding him againe into his countrie, his obstinacie blindeth him so much, y ^t he saith he should do farre worse to chaunge that state with this.

Yf thou Vlysses haddest al­so proued theyr state, thou wouldest peraduenture do the lyke.

This fellowe whiles he was man saith he was a phisitiō who as thou knowest, neuer see any other thing then hurtes, griefes, filthines, & sick­nesses of men, they neuer here any other thing then lamentations, and wepinges, wherof he now remembring him self, (be­cause the euil is euer better kept in mynd, then the good) he wil not I think become man againe.

In al states of men the troubles & miseries are many mo, then the contentations, and felicities.

Then had that our wise man done il, if it wer so, who among other thinges, for the which he gaue dayly thankes vnto the goddes, thanked them, for that they had made him man, & not a beast.

He did so, because such is thoppinion of the greater part of men, led by those reasonnes, that maye [Page] be gathered by reasonable discourse. But more credite should be geuen vnto those who hauing proued the one life and the other, know it by experience, and by the sensitiue knowledge, the whiche passeth not onely and excedeth all others in assu­rednes, but is also the beginninge and foundation of all.

Yea, but the life of beastes shuld not be compared to ours, for that it is much more imperfecte.

I beleue not this: for I see many beastes, that haue theyr sences farre more perfecte then you, and that in operation of them, passe you very farre.

Ye truly they passe vs in some perticuler sence, as for example, the Egle in seing, the Dogge in smelling, and the Gose in hearinge: but they are then so farre inferior vnto vs in iudgement of sensible thinges, because they haue not the common sence so per­fect as we, and that they lacke altogether the reasonable discourse, and ablenes in comparing one sence with an other, for our sensitiue knowledges are farre perfecter then theirs. But cause me to speake with some other, [...]or I thinke not that [Page] all haue so lost the true knowledge of re­sonne, as these three haue, to whom I haue spoken, whom truly thou hast not chaunged into such an vnperfect kinde of beastes, without a cause, sins they lyke men haue so imperfect a discourse.

I am contented thou shalt speake with yonder Hare, that thou seest feadinge at the shadowe of yonder Oke: Go thither and call him, for I haue graunted him to speake.

Hare (as God geue thee that that thou desyred) runne not away, but tary me, and withsafe to answer me, for Cyrces hath told me, that thou canst so do.

Alas, what meaneth this? I haue agayne the vnderstanding of the signification of the speache of man: Oh my vnhappy chaunce, why haste thou brought me agayne into suche miserie?

Callest thou it then miserie to vn­derstande the speache of man?

My­sery, and moste great infelicitie, yf they haue not chaunged theyr nature, synce the tyme that I was a man.

And what is the occasion Hare?

Alas, whiles I was man, I ne­uer hearde other then lamentyng and so­rowinge most bitterlye one with ano­ther.

Surely, I haue auoyded one mischiefe, and am runne into ano­ther. Thother was a phisition, wherby he neuer practised but the sicke, and euill contented persons: and this by as much as I can perceiue, should neuer haue practised but with desperates.

These thinges were often vnto me occasion of such sorowe, that I would farre rather haue abyden in a wood, where I should neuer haue seene the steppes of men, and truely I would haue done it, yf the na­ture of man could haue borne it. But thou knowest that man hath nede of so many thinges, that he can not liue alone, but with a thousand incommodities.

And dost thou heare no beast also lament?

It is true: For when those of mine owne kynd haue any griefe, I knowe it streight by the voyce: for it is naturall to euery beast, to shewe with the varietie of the sound of his voice, whether he be me­ry or sory. But these such naturall voyces [Page] shewe me onely theyr griefe in generall: the whiche kinde of sorowinge, is farre easier to be borne, then the sorowinge of man, who, besides the lamentyng with syghtes and malincolie, and sorowfull accentes, increaseth with shewinge his myseries, and the occasion of his griefe, muche more the compassion, very ofte to them that heare it. Alas, I neuer heard besydes the sightes that hee naturallye casteth, that is malincolie) other thinge spoken of, then manslaughters, treason, theftes, robberies, and so cruell wic­kednes, that one man did to another, that mooste often tymes the compassion of others troubled me more, then the pitie of my selfe.

Tel me (if it please thee) what state was thyne, whiles thou lyue­dest man?

I chaunged so many, that I can not tell which to tell the. But what moueth the, so to desyre, to knowe what my state was?

The loue that one naturallye beareth vnto those that are of hys Countrey, and this hath caused me to desyre of Cyrces, to restore vnto all my Grotians, the shape [Page] shape of man. And for that I vnderstode by her, that thou were one of them, I would do the this pleasure: because I also am a Gretian, and am called Vlisses.

To me thou shalt not restore it, if I be not enforsed therevnto.

Why so? Is it not better to be a man, then a brute beaste?

No, for any thing that I knowe.

And art thou then vtter­ly determined, that thou wylte consume thy life in this body of a beast?

That I am: For liuing thus a beast, I liue contented and quiet in my kynde: where as beyng man, I was neuer contented in any state.

But the matter is, whe­ther this were through thine owne faute, or not, and for that thou were so vnsatia­ble, that thou couldest not content thy self with that that was reasonable?

I should be in doubte hereof, sauinge for that I neuer founde any man, in what estate so euer it were (and yet I practised ynough) that was perfectly contented. But tell me I pray thee: what thing hath manne, that shoulde cause him to lyue contented? For eyther he is putte by for­tune [Page] in state where he hath to commaund and to prouyde for others: or els he is com­maunded, and ruled by others.

In both these states (yf he be wise) he may be contented.

Nay rather in none. For yf he be a prince, and Lorde, and haue to gouerne others, yf he do as he ought to do, he neuer hath one howre of reste, besides the craftes, and deceiptes, that he should alwaies feare, because they daylye growe, by the enuye that is borne hym. Knowest thou not that a prince hol­deth in his principalitie, the place that the most high and mightie GOD hol­deth in the whole worlde? Who hath with his wisedome to care for all thyn­ges: whereby it is commonly sayd, that all his subiectes slepe wyth the eyes of hym. What pleasure wilte thou then that he haue?

Mooste greate plea­sure, seinge theym to lyue Ciuillye, and to loue well one another: because hereof he seeth a glorye, and honoure sprynge, that maketh him immortall.

Ye, but where are these Subiectes. Are they [Page] perchaunce lyke vs beastes, who folowe that thing only, wherunto nature incly­neth vs. Seest thou not, that by this ne­uer being contented, that man hath by nature (as I thinke) so many tumultes, so many craftes, and so many ill workes springe, that thou canst fynd no realme at al, where there are not so great hatreds that it should be better to liue in a most sharpe and abandaned desert, and amon­gest the most cruell beastes that may be found, thēm what wel gouerned realme soeuer it be amongest menne.

Say not so, for a good Prince canne kepe hys people vnder the lawes, in such sorte, that these troubles that thou speakeste of, take litle place there.

And howe may this be done vnto so peruerse a na­ture as mans is, but with moste greuous paynes, and with so cruell punyshments, for the fearmge of ill doers, that they geue perchaunce no lesse griefe to the ge­uer of them, then to them that suffer the? yf you be not crueller then we be, who dare not offende one an other of vs, being [Page] of one kinde, nor yet to hurte those of another kinde, yf we be not cōstrained ther­vnto by hunger, or that we do it, for some gelosie, or some feare, or for our owne sauegarde.

Truelye it canne not be denied, that in the places of highest aucthoritie, there are not manye mo thoughtes, and troubles, then pleasures. And chiefely in those who loue the safe­garde of their subiectes in suche sorte as apperteineth. But let vs let this passe, for it chaunseth to fewe to be a Prince, let vs speake of a priuate person, who hath none other to thinke on, then him selfe and hys household.

Of a pryuate person chaū ­seth the like: for eyther he is ryche, or he is poore: amongest the riche thinke not to fynde any contented, for the nature of ryches is, to bring so great feare for the keping theym, that the possessoures of them, haue neuer one only howre, a quiet mynde. And one while they are in feare of warres, or of other misfortunes y ^t tyme & the worlde bringeth, nowe they doute of theyr wyues, and nowe of their children, nowe they feare their seruauntes.

[Page]And finally gold hath so many enemyes, that who that hath therof, standeth euer in doute. Yf he be pore I wil say nothing to the thereof, sins there is nothinge on earth more harde to suffer then pouertye,

I will not yet herein beleue thee al­together, because I haue heard say, that manye of our wise men, haue praised it and loued it much. And there haue ben of those who to be the more frely able to plai the philosophers, haue despised and caste ryches awaye.

The greater parte of them, and perchaunse all, haue done it for ambition, and to thintent they woulde be accounted gret and rare, among men. And there are also of those, that haue cast awaye an ounce of golde, to get a pound thereof againe. For the common people haue euer this custome, that when they se one dispyse a thyng, then they geue it hym willinglye.

Then I see thou wylt haue thyne owne wordes, I tel the, that I haue sene many, that haue lyued in pouertie most contented, and with most great quyetnes of mind, and chiefely such as were wise.

And I tell thee, that [Page] they haue fained it, doing like wise men, because they wold not haue both fortune and the world, laugh at them at once. [...] But rather I wil say more vnto the here­of, that by how much the more one is of knowledge by so much the more his grefe is, to be poore.

And what is the rea­son hereof?

The considering the wronge that fortune hath done hyin, in making him pore, and an infinite numbre of fooles riche.

Thou causest me now to remember a saying of a frende of mine that sayde, that goodes did most common­ly lyke the rume, who falleth euer in the wekest place.

The disdaine also that they haue, tormenteth them continu­ally, seing, that of that that nature hath made for al men (for she should do against her order, yf she brought not sufficientlye forth for all men of that, that they neded) there aduaunseth so muche vnto one that he maketh hauocke thereof, and vnto an other there lacketh. And thys commeth onely, because he who can do most, wyll take most. Wher as amongest vs it is not so: because none desyreth, or can possesse [Page] any thinge that nature hath made for vs, more then an other.

Thou woul­dest then make good the opinion of those that saye, that it is not ill done to robbe, because the goodes of this worlde, hathe byn so many tymes stollen, that the true maisters therof, haue them no more, but let him that can get them take them.

This onely is sufficient for thee Vlis­ses, that pouertie is a thing so sharpe and heuye, that menne to flye it, abase them selues euen to become seruantes one with an other, the whyche is a thinge so foule, that among vs beastes there is none so vyle, that would not rather suffre death then to put hym selfe wyllyngly to serue an other of his owne kynd, to amende his necessaries. But nature hath loued vs so much better then she hath done you. For amongest vs this infelicitie is not knowē but rather euery one of vs, hath ben made by her of such valor, that he can rule hym selfe.

Yet there must be some other thing then pouertie, that causeth men to become seruauntes one with an other, for many that are riche are sene to do that.

Rather they are more poore then tho­thers, [Page] yf you well consider it, because they are poore of noblenes of harte, or els of counsell: by the which they can not re­fraine their vniust desyre, whereby they seke to get a name, or aucthoritie, or immoderatelye to satisfye their couetous desy­res, by makyng theym selues seruauntes to others.

And he that were in a meane state, in the which he mought rea­sonablye contente him selfe.

And where is thys state? I for my parte neuer found any man, who said not, that eyther he lacked something, or y ^t he had to much, Although these were most fewe, who re­membred it, when they sawe them selues nygh thende of their life [...], lamentyng thē of the paines that they hadde suffered in theyr youth, to gette goodes, to haue af­terwarde moughe at theyr death.

These are fautes that growe, for the man can not refrayne, and measure hys desyres, and not of hys owne proper na­ture.

It semeth to me al one, sins nature hath ordeined, that he may desyre those thynges that are after hurtfull and troublesome vnto hym. The which thing [Page] for that she loued vs better, she hath not done to vs. And I remember that in that age, in the which I began to haue some knowledge, my father who was a great gentle man of Ethalia, and endued wyth great ryches, putting me vnder the ke­pynge of a mayster, who taught me cer­taine thinges of the mathematicals (after the custome of the Gretians) I beganne to consider, that man knewe nothynge, excepte he were taught it. The whyche thyng in that age semeth very harde, not so much for the difficultie of thinges, and for the keping vnder of the maister, as for the childishe desyres, that the same tyme bryngeth with it: for I lyued verye euil contented, and yet I lacked nothyng

Of thys age there should be lyttle hede taken, because it is most unperfecte.

Then folowing farther, the death of my father chaunced, whereby I began to stryue wyth my brethren for the inhe­ritaunce, alwaies trusting whiles I was in these trauailes, that when they were ended, I should lyue contented, & in moste [Page] quiet rest: but it came all contrary vnto me. For as I had my part, wherof part was possessions, and part money, though­tes increased. And being vsed to be go­uerned, me thought it then most great paynes to do the same my selfe, and others I trusted not. For being enforced for the maintening of my substaunce, to practise both with husbandmen, and with mar­chauntes, I perceiued that ecke of them, stode continually watchinge, to make that that was mine, his: for to let a farme vnto a husbandman, is nothinge elles then to be partener with a thiefe. And to put thy goodes vnto a marchaunt, to trade with one that thinketh to deceiue thee of them. And notwithstanding, I marked that neither of them was conten­ted with his state, and they did neuer other then lamente continually, the one of the earth that yelded not, for the euill disposition of the wether, and of the litle estimation they were had in. And the other of euill wyndes, of ill fortune, of the small safety of the sea, and of the dis­cord of Princes, that let [...]eth the exercise [Page] of marchaundyse.

Euerye bodye muste haue something to trouble hym, euen you also haue some thinges y ^t trou­ble you.

Ye but for euery one that we haue, you haue a thousand. But heare the reste a lyttle, in thys meane seasonne, bothe for the necessities that chaunce to the lyfe of man, and for to defend me that mine owne were not taken from me (for all men are theues, but their meanes of robbing are dyuerse) I hadde to practyse with an infinite number of craftes men, of men of lawe, and procters, and be thou assured that I neuer founde anye one of those craftesmen that liued contented: for all they holding their eyes on the riche, lamente that they must get their breade. And amonge those other aduocates, and men of lawe they complained of the like, for all they lamented dayly, that had to striue and contende, to procure them the thynges that were necessarye to the lyfe of manne.

Whosoeuer hath to do with the, shal sone repent it: but it is little trouble to thē, alwaies to stryue for other mennes gooddes.

He that troubleth [Page] others resteth not in quiet him selfe.

Thou considerest not also the hatred they get thereby, and how much they are ab­horred, when they are not neded, and in what sort they are taken.

This is very true, that I remember, disputinge once in one of our vniuersities of Grecia, it was in question who should goo before in the fyrst place, eyther men of lawe, or phisitions, and it was concluded that the man of lawe should go before, onely by this example, that when execution is com­maunded to be done, the thefe goeth be­fore, and the hangeman cōmeth after.

And when I sawe the euill contentation of all these states, and desiring to auoide the same, I thought that if I should fynd quietnes in any state, it should be in the state of our priestes, who taking them selues from the world, abide in those their congregations to serue the gods, holding all in common, and suffering them selues to be ruled by one of theyr owne sort. And so sastening my selfe to this, I deter­mined to leaue the world, and to go liue in one of those congregations. The which [Page] purpose I cold not long obserue, for euen as I began to lene a litle vnto thē, I smelt the sauours of their discordes, and infelici­ties, and how euery one of them, seking by al meanes (although vniust) to be chief, be­traied & hurted thothers. I perceiued also the displeasures that thei toke, for that thei had to kepe those obediences, to mainteine them vniuersallye in the estimation of goodnes, the which bringeth them wher­with to liue: the trouble also and wery­nes that the shetting in is vnto them, the paynes they take to perswade men that they are more frendes of the goddes, then they who serued the worlde, with those lawes onely that God and nature, haue geuen vs. So that I fled so farre with my mynd from them, that I neuer remem­bred them more. Then I thought to liue like a gentleman, attending to braueries, and passinge the time in hawkinge and huntinge, and in suche like pleasures.

Yf thou sought this state to haue found quietnes there, I can tell thee, that thou wentest farre out of the way, and much more also in feates of armes. [Page] For in these two liues, the which I my selfe haue proued, I know very wel, ther is none that lyueth contented.

For that I thought I should fynde no quiet­nes in warre, I would not proue it. And besides this, I thought it a folishnes, not fightyng for ones country, or for his ho­nestye, or for some other lawfull cause to fell hys owne lyfe for anye kynde of hyer. For sins we haue but once to come into this worlde, me thinketh that asmuche gold as euer nature made, or shal make, could not paye for the lyfe of one man. Then also perseyuing that to liue lyke a gentleman, there neded a multitude of seruauntes, who are all our enemies, and dayly do thinges whereby a thousand [...] displeasures grow vnto vs, thinking it a most harde thinge to finde contentation there, I chaunged my mind from that holely. And finally thinking in seruing a Prince, not in handy craftes, but in ho­norable affayres, to fynd some contenta­tion of mynd, I determined with the ly­tle lerning I had, to setle me to that prac­tise, [Page] wher, by and by I found the contra­rie of that that I thought. For besides the paines that it is to serue a Prince, and the troubles that in suche seruice are suffered, not being able eyther to slepe or eate in due season, the which are euen thinges that preserue our life, the enuy y ^t reigneth in courtes, and thunkindnes that semeth to be in princes towardes those that serue them, (who thinke themselues neuer iust­ly rewarded) without they would geue them theyr hole kingdome, suffered me neuer to rest my mynd, to liue one onely howre contented. Wherby I was despe­rate and gaue my selfe to sayling, and so there where I thought not, I found my quietnes. For being caried by fortune into this Island, I was chaunged by Cyr­ces as thou seest, into an hare, the which was as it mought be to you, to be fallen into a most plesaunt slepe. For although I knowe not so much as I know when I was a man, so am I not also in so much feare.

Yea, because thou art a beast that feareth not?

I feare not those of myne owne kinde, as you do, the [Page] whiche is sufficiente for me. Of other thynges I haue no care, thinkinge that thervnto is no defence, as you also doo, of the anger of the goddes.

It is ve­rye true, that in al these states, these trou­bles are as thou sayest, and paraduenture many mo. But then of the pleasures that be there, thou talkest nothing at all.

And what pleasures haue men, in what state soeuer it be, that the griefe that they brynge at thende, is not greater then the pleasure? Knowest thou not that our moost auncient Greke Poete sayde: that the pleasure of this worlde was not the true pleasure, but was sorowe, clothed in pleasures garmentes?

Howe she­wed he this?

He sayde, that when the vessel that Pandora brought on erth, was opened, whereby all the myschiefes and humaine myseries wente foorthe, that then pleasure wente forth also. And goinge abrode in the worlde, he beganne by meanes to drawe men vnto hym, who beganne to folowe him in suche sorte, that none wente any more to heauen. Where▪ [Page] selfe at thende: For thoughe one wynne as muche mony, as he lad lost at another tyme, yet maketh he not at all tymes, the lyke full summe. And thus all they that vse it, do yll.

I allow not this opi­nion: for I haue sene many that haue no­thynge, lyue thereby.

Yea, when they haue bestowed thereat, all that they hadde: For playe properly doth as the wie doth, who cleauynge faste to a good wall, neuer resteth vntill he haue brought it to ruyne, and then when it is euen fallinge, he holdeth it vp. So lykewyse playe, when it fastneth on one that hath ought, it doth so that it vndoeth hym, and after when he hath no more, it sustayneth hym. For practisinge where there is play, fawning and flatterynge hym that wynneth, he pycketh oute a lyuynge mooste vyl [...]lye there, the best waye he maye. But beleue me Vlisses: playe is one of the greatest infelicities, that is geuen vnto the misfor­tune of manne. And perchaunce this wic­ked cursed plague, hath not takenne all the worlde in suche sort [...], that the [Page] greater parte of men, settinge aparte all laudable and honest enterpryses, doo no­thyng els but playe. And there are some who drowne them selues therein, & there lose the lyght of reason in such wyse, that they forgette their honestie, theyr owne helth, theyr goodes, theyr wyfe, their chil­dren, their frends, and finally their own selues, and consumyng therein the thyn­ges necessary for their lyuing, bring them selues into so shamefull a pouertie, that they flye the sight of men, more then we the syght of dogges, and chiefely the syght of those that knew thē, when they were in better state: and yet they neuer cease to ymagine, howe they may get any lyttle monye, to go playe it, and rather suffer the want of thinges that they haue nede of. Therefore marke Vlisses the pleasurs that mē haue. Seme they not vnto the ra­ther to be sorowes?

Hare, all are not of this sort, and man is no more enforced to this thynge then to another. And be­sydes thys, he maye by his wisedome re­medy al that, that causeth his displeasure.

Ye but howe hardelye, synce all the world is so corrupt and noughte? So that perswade me no more to chaunge this be­inge with youres: for I will not retourne out of a state wherin I neuer founde any thoughte at all, to go into an other where I neuer was contented, and wher I shall see that thinge that nature hath made commune for euery bodye, to be taken from me, by hym that maye do more then I, wherby I must by force become hys seruaunte, and must receyue for hyer of my seruice, that thing nigardlye, that na­ture hath frely geuen me: and where all those delytes that I take, must at the ende brynge me sorowe.

I wyll not that thou speake so obstinately. Seest thou not howe vyle a beast thou arte? and of so litle knowledge, that thou knowest not whe­ther thou be male or female.

Nay you knowe it not, that thinke to know al thinges soo well, but we knowe it well ynough.

Thou hast feare of euerye thynge, and hast trust onely in runnyng away, and yet art thou afterwardes ta­ken by many kyndes of beastes.

And what is that to me, yf my kinde be of that nature?

Thou art of so little lyfe, that euery most smale hurte, kylleth thee.

Alas no more I praye thee, for thou wouldest so do, that A should thinke it most miserable. Wheras for not know­inge so many thinges as you do, I thinke it most happye. But go seke to dooe this benefyt to some others, for I for my parte wyll none of it, and folowing mine owne nature wythout any thoughte, I wyll go fede me on yonder faire grene grasse that thou seeste on yonder hyll.

My Hare, me thinketh thou doest lyke hym, who beinge put into prison by certayne hys creditours, prayed thē they would not take hym out from thence, sayinge: that out of pryson he had a thousande though­tes, both for him selfe, and for others, and there being prouided for, by such as were wont to prouyde, he had not one thought in the world: so that he thoughte it a good­lye habitation for hym, and thys came all of the weakenes of hys mynde. For yf he had bene a man in dede, he woulde rather [Page] haue bene a pore man abrode, then a ryche man in pryson, helpynge manfullye with hys wysedome all that he sayde. Soo also thou by asmuch as I can perceyue by thy wordes, shouldest be so insatiable a man, and shouldest so much esteme euery lytle trouble, because thou couldest not boldely shewe thy face agaynst those displeasures that the worlde and fortune brynge, that thou wylte rather remayne in that vyle state of a beaste, then to retourne man. And knowynge thee so, I wyl euen suffer thee so to remayne: for in doynge other­wyse, I shoulde do that that shoulde dys­plese the, although it were for thy profyt, and that shoulde rather brynge shame to oure kynde then honor, as all those other men do that are lyke to thee.

I woulde aunsuere thys thy dyscoure Vlis­ses, but lyke as we can not eate more then our nede requireth, beyng deteyned from it by our owne nature: so are we also en­forced when we haue neade thereof, and haue conueniente feedynge nyghe vs.

And therfore syns I haue sene the grasse [Page] yonder on the fayre hyll agaynste vs, and am hungry, I am inforced to leue thee.

I Haue alwayes thought most noble Circes, that there was a difference betwene one man, and an other: as it is daylye sayd by prouerbe, by the mouthes of our Grety­ans: but yet not so greate dyfference as I haue knowen syns I spake with yon­der Hare that thou sawest, or to say better with him whom thou haste transfourmed into a Hare.

And why soo? wyll he peraduenture become man agayne?

Nay rather, much lesse then thothers, and he hath it in more hatred.

Seest thou then howe farre thou arte de­ceyued to lamente thee vnto me, that I chaunged them so into beastes?

And I doo yet lamente, because I am styll [Page] of the selte same opinion, and thys is, for that I know plainely, that his ferefulnes and lyttle corage, wyll not suffre hym to knowe the truthe. Seest thou not that he is so weke harted by nature, that he hath so much fere of euery litle aduersitie, that he woulde rather choose to lyue in euerye most vyle bondage without thoughts, thē in anye honest degree, with those difficul­ties that the same bringeth with it.

Whoe assureth thee hereof?

He hym selfe, whoe wyll rather remaine so a beast, then retourne man, for the ma­nye troubles, that he thinketh men haue. And yet the confesseth, remaynynge so, to be in such bondage to nature, and led by her by force that he is not mayster of hys owne operations. Whereby the desyre to eate, commyng on hym whyles we were reasonyng together, and seinge certayne grasse, y ^t was cōuenient meate for him, he departed from me wyth a very ill wil, for that he had not yet aunswered me after hys owne mynd, saying that he could not choose but go feede, for so hys nature en­forced [Page] hym to do. So that se what a weeke harted manne he was, that would rather lyue in a seruitude, and in a lyke state, be­cause he thoughte there were somewhat fewer displeasures: then to retourne mā, and to be mayster of hys owne passyons, though he muste somewhat stryue wyth them: as perchaunce thou hast heard saye, howe many there haue ben of our Greti­ans, who to auoide some bondage, or en­forcemente, haue not onelye not cared to stryue with the world, and with fortune, but also not to pardon euen their owne lyues.

This that thou callest bon­dage in hym, or enforcemente, is vnto hym neyther thone nor thother.

And whye so?

Bycause hys nature requyreth so. Tell me I praye thee, when a stone falleth downe, doth he it by force?

I thynke not.

Therefore he can do none otherwyse.

It is true: but hys nature requyreth soo, and that motion that causethe hym to good towardes the centre, commyng of an in­ner power, the which is within the same, [Page] called nature, muste be naturall to hym, and not violente: because the violente mo­tions are those that come be an outwarde power. And therefore, although he can do none otherwyse: yet it can not be sayd that he is enforced.

He is yet drawen downe by force of hys heauynes.

No, not by force, but by nature, beynge natu­rall vnto hym to be weightie: for yf he wer not so weightye, he shoulde not bee a stone.

And so it is also with the affection of beastes, when it is led by na­ture: and therefore it can not be called en­forcement, synce she doth alwaies the best for them, as she doth in all other thynges: and that that is nede to theyr conseruation and perfection.

And were it not better for them not to be so guyded by her, and [...]ble to do there operations more freely?

No, for that they haue not the knowledge and the dyscourse of rea­son. For they shoulde often erre, wheras beyng guyded by her that can not erre, they neuer or very seldome fayle.

And what certeyntye haste thou thereof?

Experience that I see daylye, beynge [Page] conuersaunte after a certayne sorte, wyth al the kyndes of them (for of them al, there is some one in thys myne Iselande (where I see that none eateth more, then he nea­deth of, nor of any thynge that is not fytte for hym, neyther doth he anye other dysor­der at all: wherby all they, that tyme that nature hath appoynted theym to lyue, al­thoughe it be lesse then that that she hath geuen to man, lyue in healthe and lustye, the whiche is not so with you.

Yf they do no dysorder at all, whereof then cometh it, that they haue shorter lyfe then we?

Of the complexion, the why­che was not geuen by nature to theym, so temperate as to vs: and by the moysture, wherof the naturall heate is fedde, wher­by lyfe is maynteyned: the whiche moy­sture was geuen to theym by nature, more wateryshe, and lesse ayryshe, then oures, whereby it is more easelye corrupt. I speake of the greater parte, for there are some that lyue farre longer then man, as the Harte and the Elephante.

Art [...] thou then of the opinion, y ^t it is better to be [Page] a beast then a man?

I wyll not de­termine this matter, nor thou shouldeste not also thinke, that I beleue it: for then I should haue changed my self into a beast. as I haue done them. But if I should say as thou sayest, our talke were at an ende: it should well suffise the, that I had graū ­ted the, to tourne into men again, al those that woulde. And thoughe thou haue not yet chaunsed on anye that will, be not yet abasshed, but seke farther, for thou shalt [...] well ynoughe fynde some one that wyll.

I wyll euen dooe so: For I shoulde thynke it to muche shame, to haue proued this so worthye an enterpryse in vayne.

Go then and speake with the Goate that thou seeste yonder feedinge: for he also (as I well remember) was a Gretian.

Goate, O Gote, harken I praye thee, yf thou be a Gretian as Circes hath tolde me.

A Gretian I was whyles I was man, and my name was Cleomenes of Corinthe: but nowe am I not, ney­ther yet would I be.

What, arte thou perchaunce ashamed of thy contrye?

Not so: For there is none perad­uenture [Page] more honorable then that, in all the worlde.

What is that then, that thou wouldeste not.

Become man agayne. And of this I haue onelye fear, I liue so farre better contented thus then I dydde whyles I was manne.

I would euen haue offered the this bene­fit, thynkyng to haue done thee no small good tourne, to restore thee, the figure of man, and to take the out of this bondage, and to leade thee agayne to thine owne countrey.

I thanke the of thy good wyll towardes me: but if this should hap­pen to me, it woulde followe otherwyse then thou thynkest.

Whye, what is the cause Cleomenes? I haue euer hard say by your wise men of Gretia, that man is the most perfecte & most noble creature that is in all the world. Ye, rather he is in certaine wyse, the ende & lord of al others.

Truely they did also lyke wyse men to say so: for one should euer prayse his own, and say that that a man knoweth.

And therefore what state is thine? and what felicitie hast thou, that thou wilte rather liue thus a beaste, then to retourne man?

Yf I should recken the commodities to the that we beastes haue, thou woldest not thinke them cōmodities, nor yet euer sholdest thou be able to vnderstande them, euen also as you can not comprehende the felicitie that you loke after in thys lyfe, or in thother: for that the witte of manne, is to curiouse and insatiable. But I wyl tell thee a parte of those euyls that we auoyd, who are suche, that yf thou taste them all well, thou wouldest beare suche enuye to­wardes vs, as thou thinkest we shoulde beare towardes you.

Go to then, and tell me thys at the leaste.

There are manye myseryes and euyls, that man is subiecte vnto: and that are occasy­ons that I wyl thus remaine a beast. But it is not possible that I should reson of thē al, for tyme wyll not serue: for beyng som­what fed, by mature, who hath noo res­pect to any other thyng then to my con­seruation, prouoketh me to take my reste: and somewhat to slepe vnder the shadowe of some of these trees.

Tell me at the leaste for the satisfying of my mynde. some one of the principall euylles.

I am contente. Knowe Vlysses that man amonge other his infelicities and mi­seryes, hath foure, eche one of the whyche onely (when I haue it in remembraunce) causeth me to desyer rather to be, what vyle beast soeuer it were, then man.

And what are those gote?

The small assuraunce that he alwayes hath in hys mynde, of thinges to come, the suspition he hath of them of his own kinde with whome he is enforced to be continu­ally conuersaunte, and the feare, and res­pecte of the lawes.

Thou thynkest on to manye thynges.

And the chefe thinge is, to be able to auoyde the not thinkynge on them. Tell me a lytle, begynnyng at the fyrst: what suertye hath man at any tyme, to be able peaceably to enioye one onely hower, the thynges pre­sente? spekyng fyrst of the common sorte, who are in the handes of fortune: whome euery one knoweth, howe varyable and slypper she is: and afterwarde vnder the power of Prynces, whoo haue onelye theyr wyll for lawe: and the wyll [Page] of man (as thou knowest) is most insacia­ble.

In this thou sayest true: yet he that is wyse, doeth accommodate hym selfe to the wyll of thone, and to the com­maundemente of thother.

Yf wee wil speake then of that, that is our owne: who is he that can promise him selfe the possession therof for one onely day freely? for that men are waren so couetous, since thine and mine came into the world, that euery mā cōtinually watcheth, to thinke in what sort, aswell lawful as vnlawful, he may make him selfe riche, and an other man poore.

Truely men lay many more snares for them selues, then they do for you.

Of the continuall feare ye haue, least princes take them from you, eyther by warres, or by a thousand other meanes, I will saye no more, but that I haue sene menne, who haue bene in suche feare, least the ryches they haue had, shold haue bin taken from them, that they haue not vsed them: but shewinge them selues poore, and liuynge myserably, haue euer kepte theym hydden, whereby they haue not had anye more commoditye by them, [Page] hauinge theim, then they that had theym not: but haue rather hadde thys more, the thought to kepe them.

I wyll not that thou speake of couetusnes: for this is a vyce that causeth men to go so farre be­sydes theym selues, that they become not onelye the enemyes of others, but also of theym selues.

I wyll not reason of the feare then that ye haue of theeues, of seruauntes, and of thyne owne wyfe, and chefely yf she be younger then thou, it suf­fiseth that none of these infelicities hath any place amongest vs, for we know not fortune, and not hauyng anye dyfference betwene thine and myne, but possessinge euery thing in common, one of vs seketh not to robbe an other. And we hauynge amonge vs no superioritie at all (because al we of one kynd are of like power) feare lesse, that our owne be taken from vs, by hym that hath more strengthe then wee, wherby we should be caused to hyde it.

I knowe that these thinges, are oc­casions of manye thoughtes to men, but he that holdeth his affectiō vnder the rule of reason, auoideth the most part of them.

And howe shall he wyllynglye obey it, that alwayes spurneth agayne?

Thou knowest that vyctorie is neuer got­ten wythoute trauell.

Ye as you say, that euer fede your selues wyth fayre wordes. Come then to the seconde: what beaste is he, besydes man, that feareth of thynges that are not presente?

And what feare hath man thereof?

So great, that he alwayes lyueth in thoughtes. For yf he see the wether waxe cloudye, he begynneth to feare, leaste the haruest should be euyll. Then yf he heare thunder or see lyghtenynge, he is in suche feare of the thunder stones, that he not onely maketh vowes to the Goddes, but there haue also bene of those, that haue fled into caues vnder the earthe, (because it is sayde, that they go but fyue fote vnder the earthe) or that haue couered them sel­ues wyth the skynne of a Seall, thinkyng that thys fyshe onelye, is neuer touched wyth the thunder stone.

And howe many are there that haue any suche feare of lyke thynges?

They that feare not these, feare other thinges. How many [Page] are there among you, that feare so much [...] to be sycke, that it can not be sayde, they are at any time in healthe: not vsyng that libertie that healthe graunteth to others in not byndyng them selues to anye lawe: wherby they neuer eate of any thyng that pleaseth them so much as theyr appetyte requireth, neyther dare they do any thing [...] out of that order, that they haue of long [...] tyme vsed: and yf they see the seasonne to chaunge any thing from his wonted vse, eyther with heate or with colde, they are so af [...]rde, that they alter theyr humors in suche sorte, that afterwardes they feale them selues very euyll.

These are so fereful men, that euery most lytle thing troubleth them.

And they that are bolder, eyther they lyue but a whyle, or els they weaken theyr nature soo muche, that as theyr youthe is paste, ther appear [...] on them a thousande euylles: or at the least remembryng the dysorders they hau [...] done, they are in continuall suspition.

And doeth not this also happen vnto you?

No: for we alwaies lyue with one selfe rule, the which nature hath geuē vs. [Page] But then come to the suspition that you haue, to be forsaken when you are sycke, and to lacke that gouernaunce that is ne­cessary for you, because you haue nede of so many thynges: or that your substaunce peryshe not, whereby after you shoulde lyue with paynes and hardely, when you were recouered. The whiche thinges are not among vs, neuer being sicke in suche sorte, but that we can gouerne our selues thoughe we haue nothinge y ^t is in proper­tie to any one of vs.

And yet there are some of those amongest you beastes, who for the prickinge of a thorne, or for some other chaunses, had nede to be holpen by vs.

There are so fewe of those, that they can make no number. And then, of the feare of deth that you haue, the which feare we haue not, what canst thou saye to me?

Haue not you also fere of deth?

No, yf it be not presente to vs, or be­gyn to fele the torment thereof: where as to you, the onelye thinkinge on it, or the knowynge the determinate tyme, bringe you soo muche sorowe, that there haue bene of those, who to be rydde from suche [Page] passion, haue killed theym selues wyth their owne hands, but let vs let this passe and come to the care, and thoughte, that you haue of thinges to come. Alas what an infelicitie is yours? not onelye to take thoughte for those thinges whereof you haue nede from daye to daye, but also for those that you shall haue nede of, a yeare or two to come, and yet you must prouide them, and take after continuall hede to thē.

So that there is not lykewise per­aduenture among you beastes that doo the lyke?

And who are they?

The Pysmare whoo layeth vp in sommer, wherewith to lyue in win­ter.

It is true, but this is not, for that she hath any feare, that she shoulde lacke at that tyme, wherof to fede her, by scarsitie, or any other such occasiō, as you do when you prouyde you for the tyme to comme, but because she can not suffer the colde of the winter (for then she neuer cō ­meth from vnder the grounde) she carieth her meat thither, wher she hath to abyde: and she is led to the doynge thereof by na­ture, and not by feare, that she should not [Page] alwaies finde redie on the earth, all that that she neded. For howe wilte thou that we thinke on that that is to come, whoe neither knowe tyme, nor yet the partes thereof?

knowe not ye the time, and ther are so manye of you, who euery yeare, when the spring time commeth, or the faule of the leafe, chaūge coūtries as the swalewes, and thrus shes: and that hyde them vnder the earth, as the snakes and badgers, and so many others?

This is not for knowinge the time, but by feling before, the differences therof: ra­ther I wil say further to thee, that we not onelye knowe the time, but also not the mouinge of the heauen, which is his sub­iect, but we onely fele y ^e differences of the seasons, that it causeth on earth, somtime bringing heat, & sometime cold, sometime winde, and sometime raine, and such na­turall varieties. And these we knowe so muche before, & better then you, that you take often occasions by vs, to pronosticat: and knowest thou how this knowlege cō ­meth to vs? because we not hauing oure fantasy ful of a thousand toyes, as you al­wayes [Page] haue, fele euery little chaunge of tyme, the which is not so wyth you.

But callest thou the knowing of time in­felicitie?

Most great infelicitie, be­cause he (or to say better) y ^e mouing wher­vpon he is foūded, is the occasion of euery chaunge, and finally that that is worse, the occasion of your corruption: whereby you that know it, se death alwaies before you, and you recken y ^e owres, one by one, and you ar euer thinking, on that, y ^t from time to time you shall haue nede of: the which is not so to vs, who liue by the be­nefit of nature: but what wilt thou more? your folye is so great, y ^t you take thought also for that that must folowe after your deathe.

This is done to leaue all things ordeined in such sort, that our chil­dren, who are part of vs, may after leade their life y ^e more quietly.

Of these thinges y ^t are of weight, it shuld be a pleasure: but you thinke also of those that are of no weight.

And what are those?

Euen of your graue, and as thoughe the earthe were not the vniuersal mother of all men and y ^t euery man had not his part therof, you bye it of your prests, & he amōg you y ^t [Page] had no monye, should be lefte in praye to vs beastes.

I wyll not that we rea­son of this matter, for these thinges are ordeyned to the benefit of some one of vs, and they belonge not in generall to the kind.

Go to, let vs passe to the other, the whiche is, the feare that ye haue one of an other, the which thing is not among vs. For thou seest no beast of one kynde, that is naturallye enemye to the other of the same kynde, but by some chaunce, as by loue, hungar, gelosye, and suche lyke, and yet this very seldome.

Ney­ther are we enemies naturally one to the other.

No, but the vnsacietie of your desyres, hath turned it into nature.

For that quantitie suffisinge none of you, wherwith nature would be conten­ted, the one of you seketh to take from the other that that he hath. And hereby so ma­ny warres growe amonge you, so manye desolations of cities, so many robbynges of countries, so many slaughters of peo­ple, so manye treasons, so manye theftes, and euen to poysoning the one the other of you, a thinge that neuer any of vs was [Page] sene do.

He that will, may well remedy all these thinges.

And after what sort?

By conten­ting him selfe with litle, and to liue of him selfe, seperate from others.

The fyrste you may perchaunce do, but not the other, without your moste great trouble. For you haue nede of so many thinges, that there is none, who of him selfe can prouide all thinges for him selfe, wherfore you must of necessitie dwell to­gether with others. For the which thing cities were inuented by you, where you, dwelling comn [...]odiously together, might prouide the one for the others nede: and because you might bringe this to the bet­ter ende, one not hauing alwaies nede, of those thinges that an other hath, who hath nede of his, you also inuented mony, truely a moste goodly meanes, and very conuenient for the commutation of thin­ges. But because he bringeth so many commodities to your liuing, you loue it so farr out of order, that it is no lesse occasion of euill then it is of good, for by your conti­nual seking thone to take it from thother. [Page] so many mischieues growe among you, that you can neuer practise one hower together safely, or without some suspi­tion.

I will not denie, that this making difference betwene thyne, and mine, is not the occasion of many euils, and of much hatred, the which can not happen to you, who haue all thinges in common. Notwithstanding, we against this haue frendshippe among vs, wherof there can be nothing found in the world, either more profitable, or more pleasaunt: by meanes werof we make common, not onely outwarde thinges, but also the thoughtes, the griefes, the felicities, and euery other thing.

Is there not also frendship among vs, & not only amongest those of one like kinde, but also amongest those of diuers kindes, as the turtle doues and the popingaye, the pecockes, and the pigion, the red dere & the falow, and many others?

No: for true frendshippe commeth of the good, and the honest: and you know neither thone nor thother. And therfore the frendshippes that are among yll persons, ordeined to some noughty pur [Page] pose, or that grow by profite, or beautie, rather are called practises, and co [...]rati­ons, then frendshippes. So that yours are rather naturall inclinations. And be­sydes this, frendship should be volunta­rye, and by election, the which thing you can not do.

And yet if true frendship be not amonges vs, neither is there flatte­rie, as there is amongest you: the which perchaunce hurteth no lesse thē frendship helpeth.

But we can know that, by the meanes of the discourse of reason.

And by what meanes, sins the flatterer is so like to the frend: and besides this, flatte­rie pleasing you so much, that it will not suffer you to perceiue the truth?

Tru­lye, both for the pleasure that it is to be praised, and for the self nature of the thing it is no smalle difficultie to knowe who are flatterers, and who are true frendes, being as wel the duety of a true frend to please, as of a flatterer: sauing yet that all flatterers in aduersitie, forsake thee by and by, and frendes not (but it is a gret matter to know only that one is thy frend, when thou hast nede of him: notwithstanding, [Page] be that considereth well, shal easely know him.

And whiche way, tell me I pray thee?

There are many thinges, whereby a frende may be kno­wen from a flatterer, but these are the principall. The flatterer doeth alwaies accomodate him selfe, to the conditions of him that he flattereth: doynge as he doeth, and chaunging also as he chaun­geth, and saying that, that is the very right way to liue: where as the frend al­waies foloweth his owne purpose, & doeth not accōmodate him self to any other thing then to the good. Wherfore the flaterer is likenned to a shadowe, the which al? wayes foloweth the body, euer doyng as he doeth: and a frend in the light that shineth aboue all thinges, alwaies with­out spotting it selfe. Besides this also, the flatterer prayseth all that euer thou doest: and the frend onely that that is good. The flatterer in all doynges that are, or seme good, doth geue the chief place and excuseth thee in vice, and bur [...]eneth him selfe: and finally, he neuer seketh any other thing, then to content others, [Page] as well in ill, as in good: the whiche a frende neuer doth, who would not please thee, but in as much as honesty requireth.

Wel, when al that thou saiest were true, yet there is one other thinge, that doth cause me, that I will not in any wise retourne man, and that is this: the feare of the lawes, and of the punishmentes or­deined by them.

Then doest thou thinke, that to haue lawes, is an euyll thinge to man?

No, but to haue nede of them is euill: for hereby the im­perfection and weakenes of your nature is seene. Seest thou not that you haue so many immoderate desyres, and agaynst your owne wealth and profite, and you are so much ledd by them, that the light of reason is not sufficient to teache you to auoide them: but you are enforced to make an infinite multitude of lawes, to drawe you from them by punishment, and by feare?

Ye, this is to the ill sorte, but the good, doing that that is con­uenient for them, for vertues sake, haue not onely no feare of the lawes, but also [Page] also they knowe them not.

And howe many are there of these? could they be reckned without often repeting the be­ginning of the number? And if you were all so, what an vnquietnes brede in your mind, the continuall care and warenes, that you must haue in holding the bridell of reason to your sences, that they cary you not out of the right path of the same.

This is made a custome: and of ac­customed thinges, (as thou knowest) there growe no passions at all.

And what paynes must you suffer, before you haue made it, sins you haue alwayes by nature, greatest desier of that that is most forbidden you? Where as to vs it happe­neth not so, who hauing no desier incon­uenient to our nature, can auoyde them all, where and when it pleaseth vs, with­out respect, or any feare, not onely of pu­nishment, but also of shame, the which is among you a burden of no small weight.

Ye host you then much hereof, for in very dede it is a thing worthy prayse, not onely to haue no feare of the lawes, but also not to feare shame.

And what [Page] faute haue we of this, sins we knowe it not? So that let vs not talke of those thin­ges that come not vnder our knowledge. Let this finally suffise thee, that the ly­bertie that I einoye in this state, is so pleasaunt to me (in respect of the multi­tude of bondages that you haue, of the greater part wherof, your folly, and am­bition, are thoccasions, that haue bounde your handes to many thinges wherevn­to nature had set them at libertie) that not onely I will not retourne man, but also I will not practise amonge them. Knowing that you bynd not your selues onely to these your lawes, but also all those beastes, of whom you are serued, and that liue familierly with you: for you haue ordeyned that they be kept, to satis­fye with theyr owne bodies, those hurtes that they should do to any other, blaming [...] them euen for theyr going to fede them in other mens fieldes: for the which thing you your selues ought to be punished, for that you haue made those thinges parti­culer, by the meanes of thyne and myne, that nature hadde geuen to you [Page] in common. The which thing hath cau­sed that you can not company safe toge­thers, as we do. And you are continually aferde, to lose that that you haue, or to runne into some after myschiefe. So that enioy thou this your state so vnhappely, and full of so many miseries, for I will spend that lytle life that auaunceth me, in this state, without feare of death, or of anye other thing.

(⸫)

ALthough truthe (as the prouerbe is) most deare Circes, seme oftē times to breede some hatred in the myndes of those to whom it is spoken: yet I know that it so much displeaseth a noble hart, to haue one thing in the mouth, and an other in the brest, that I will take courage to speake frelye, althoughe I should perchaunce in some parte doute, to offende thee.

Speake on frely, all that thou wilt, most worthye Vlisses, for ther is nothing more frend to gentle myndes, then the trueth.

I doute, that thou hast not restored to them with whom I haue spoken, the power holely to discourse, as thou hast done the speache, accordinge as thou promisedst me, I haue founde them so farre distaunt from the truthe: and yf thys were soo, I [Page] should thinke thou haddest much decey­ned me. For there is none of th [...] that iud­geth it not better, to be a beast then a man, the whiche I would neuer beleue they would saye, yf they coulde vse rea­son truelye.

Truelye thou shoul­dest haue reason to thinke I had deceiued thee, yf I had so done. For those thinges should neuer be promised, that one eyther would not, or could not do: For thone cō ­meth of noughtincs, and the other of foo­lyshnes. And therfore knowe thou Vlys­ses, that whyles thou spakest with them, they had the selfe same knowledge, that they had whiles they were men.

And howe do they then not knowe so manifest an errour, and chiefely sins I haue so tolde them the truth?

They haue found perchaunce so many commodities, and so many pleasures in that life, not knowen by vs: that it is no meruell. But go and folowe thine en­terprise, for peraduenture all shall not be of this sort, feare no kinde of beast that thou meatest: for euery one of them haue bene men, so that none of them would hurte thee.

Our wise menne of [Page] Gretia are wont to saye, that they, who can be counsailed by them selues, to liue well and honestly, are put in the first de­gre of vertue. And they that can not of them selues, but beleue the counsell of those who are wiser then they, are put in the second degre: but he that can not of him selfe, nor yet will take counsell of others, is thought by them not worthy to be numbred among men. And of this sort are they with whom I haue spoken: So that it is no maruaile, though they wyll not become men againe, but I, that haue more knowledge then they, knowinge that it is the very duetie of man to helpe others, should not yet herefore cease to seke to do this good, to those that are wor­thy thereof. Yonder is a faire herd of dere I will se, if there be any Gretian among thē. Tel me dere, as y ^e heauens geue you that that you most desyre, is there anye Gretian here amonge you?

O than­ked be the goddes, that I vnderstand the voyce of man: and can speake as I was wont.

I haue perchaunse happened on one that hath not loste the vnderstan­dynge, as thothers had, with whō I haue [Page] reasoned, sins he thus thanketh the goods to vnderstand the wordes of man: and to be able to speake as we can.

Arte thou a Gretian that doest aske vs this?

Ye I am, and my name is Vlisses.

And I lykewise was of Gretia, but I was a woman, before I was thus chaū ged by Circes into an hynde.

O▪ yf I haue to do with women, whoo as it is wonte to be saide, take alwaies the worse parte, I shalbe euen al at one poynt. Not­withstanding I shalbe far the better satis­fied to haue spoken with eche kinde.

But what is thoccasion Vlisses, that thou goest thus sekinge, yf here be anye Gretian? and tell me also yf thou canst (as the gooddes alwaies helpe thee) howe it chaunceth that I vnderstande thee, and can reason with thee, the whiche sins I was an hynde, neuer chaūsed to me wyth any other.

Acknowledge thankes to me for this, for I, by my request, haue obtained of Circes, for the loue I deare to my Gretians, lycence to speake wyth you all, and besydes thys, to make all those that wyll, to retourne into theyr former [Page] state, and to leade them with me to theyr owne country, and thou art one to whom I will do this benefite, yf thou wilte it. So that tell me thy mynde frelie: but hea­rest thou? Se thou aunswer me quickely: for you women, when you bethinke you ouer much on thinges, you drowne your selues therein, by the meanes of the lyttle discourse and smale vnderstandynge that you haue, whereby those aunswers are onely praysed in you, y ^t you make quicke­lye.

No: loe there is a quicke aun­swere.

But this shalbe none of the praised answers, though it be quicke.

And whye so?

Because it is all out of reason.

I will not that thou saye so Vlisses, for I haue very good reason to saye no.

Then tell me why, or els I shoulde not thinke my selfe satisfyed.

Thynkest thou not that I haue reason, that I will not be re­stored into my former beinge, who (as I haue tolde thee) was a woman?

No, for yet thou shouldest be a reasonable creature: whose state I see thou muche estemest, and thynkest better then the [Page] state of any beast, sins thou thankedst so muche the Goddes, for that [...]thou haddest power to speake againe, the whyche is onely appropriat to man.

Alas the being a reasonable creature is not the cause that I will not returne into my for­mer state: but y ^t I must become a woman againe, as I haue told thee, for that wo­men be so much despysed by you, that ther haue bene of those wise men among you, that haue bene bolde to affirme, that we are not of your kinde, and others haue said, that the female is a male occasioned: the which meaneth nothing els, then a thinge made by nature, contrarye to her purpose, eyther for imperfectiō of the sede or for defaulte of the matter. The whiche thing how far it is contrarye to the very order of nature, may well be manifest to euery man, for that we also are as necessary to your generation, as your selues: and afterwarde that thynge, that is borne of vs▪ is able to engender the like to it selfe: the whiche they that are borne of two di­uorse kindes can not do: as may be sene by experience in Mules, who are borne of [Page] an horse and an Asse.

Hast thou so muche philosophye?

Maruell not therat Vlisses, for my husbande was an excellente philosopher, wherby I also was enforced, keping conuersation wyth him, to lerne somwhat therof [...]and besides this thou knowest, that philosophye is to manne almost naturall.

And yet hast thou not knowē how to remedy one of the principall defectes, that the being a woman bringeth with it?

Why what is that?

The desyre to chatter, that can do so much in thee, that thou desirest not to return into a wo­man, but only to haue the talking again, thanking, as thou diddest euen nowe, the Goddes, for that thou haddest the power a gaine to speake.

And thinkest thou not that I haue reason therof, sins you kepe women for slaues, and for seruantes and not for cōpanions (as right requireth) a thing so wicked and so far against the order of nature, that none other be asked but you, dar do it? Seke a litle amōg what kind of bestes thou wilt, and y ^u shalt find amōg none but y ^t y ^e femal is a cōpaniō & no [Page] seruaunt to the male, aswell in pleasures as in paines, except in the kynd of man▪ who wil be called Lord ouer all, whereas he is a most euill and an vniust tyraunt, to handle his companion in such sorte, onelye for that he seeth she was made by nature somwhat of lesse strength and co­rage then he was.

And what doo we to you, that you haue so greate cause to complayne.

Hearest thou it not? fyrst you kepe vs for your bound seruan­tes.

Oh, saye not so, for thou doest vs wronge: but say for companions, and thou shalte say well.

Is she called a companion, where the one is alwayes bounde, and the other a mayster: and per­aduenture (the which is worse) we muste not bye this bondage by weyght of gold? sins you haue founde thys goodlye lawe that when one of vs will companie wyth you, (to saye after your owne mindes) she must geue you money.

We inuen­ted thys onelye for your profitte.

Judge it thou, whether to paye them that commaunde vs, be for our profit, where others paye them that obeye them. But [Page] tel me after what sort this custome was brought in by you for our profite?

Because knowing that through your lyt­tle spirite and small wisedome, you coulde not kepe your substaunce, it was thought that the same parte of ryches, that your fathers or brothers geue you, should be geuen by you to your husbands, not because they be maysters therof, but as your ta­kers hede thereof, they kepe it for you, be­cause you at any time remaininge sole, may haue wherwith to liue. And marke how after theyr deathes, you may alwaies aske it: the whiche is cleane contrary to that that thou layest, for it is all to the hurt of your husbandes, and of theyr sub­staunce. And it should be rather vsed, and so right would, that the husband when he marieth a wife, should on thother part bring as much money with him, as the wife geueth her for his ioynter, and after they should both spend in cōmon, as longe as it lasted, and then euery one prouide for him self. For in dede it is not very good for vs, that we attend alwaies to get abrode, and you to consume at home. And then [Page] at our death, destruction and spoyle to be made onely of our goodes

Our gaynes in the house are farr greater Vlis­ses, then yours abrode: and to proue this true, thou shalt neuer see any gather toge­ther great quantitie of riches, if he haue not a womā in the house, that kepeth and seeth well to that, that he hath gathered together.

I beleue this, and in this I thinke well that you are much better then we. For by your smale hart, you are by nature much more houshold seruaun­tes then we: but then if you must take care onely, of that that we gather, then it belōgeth more to you to obey then to com­maunde. For in as much as your witte is occupied, and vigilaunt about small thin­ges, in so much is it vnmete to gouerne great thinges. And therfore it is sayde, that women neuer deserue so much to be praysed for any thing, as for obedience.

This is a thing that you say, be­cause it is good for your purpose: but aske of vs a litle, and if this suffise you not, aske experience, and you shal se whether we be mete to gouern gret things or not. Marke [Page] the kingedome of the Amasones, howe long time it was gouerned by womē, and consider if they haue bene able to enlarge it without your wit and strength? Of the kingdome of Babilonia, so much enlar­ged by Semiramis: and of the deminion of Seithia by Tomiris, I will speake no­thing at all, for that your owne stories be full therof.

And howe many shal they be, that are able to like thinges? could they be reckened with the syngers of one onely hande?

Thankes be to you, who geue them none occasion therof: but alwaies you kepe them fast shette within the walles of your houses, occupied in the moost vyle businesses, that are necessarye to the seruauntes charge: vsyng to saye, that that woman onely deserueth to be praysed, whose dedes and prayses, go not forth of the walles of her house. Notwith­standinge, yf you marke well, you shall knowe also of them, in these so base and seruyle busines, such extreme diligence, that those houses wher women dwel not, & that ar not gouerned by women, seme in [Page] respect of the others, like hogge sties, and not a paradise, as some of you heretofore haue had hert to saye. I will say nothing at all of the gouernement of your bodies, because the apparaunce it selfe, the appa­rell, and many other thinges, cause those men to be manifestlye knowen, who are gouerned by women, from thothers.

Truely in these thinges you can do very well.

We shall also do euen as well in greater thinges, yf you would suffer vs to put our handes ther­to.

Well, go no further, leaste it chaunce to you, as it dyd to a certayne shomaker, who fyndinge fault with an ymage for hauing the buckle of his shoe amysse, and beyng praysed therfore, toke courage to disprayse him in certayne other places: whereby it was sayde to him: hold thy peace, for this belongeth not to thee.

And yet at the least, with all this, I would we might please you. But you neuer do any other thing then lament you of vs, nor yet can we neuer haue good worde of you.

I will not that thou say thus: for we alwayes [Page] honoure you much more then our owne selues.

Not with geuinge vs any rule or aucthoritie at all, eyther in the house, or abrode: but with settinge vs at the highest place of the takle, or with some louing woorde, and this one­lye in the flower of our age, by the occa­syon of our beautie, that draw [...]th your desyres to please vs: but when the beauty is paste, God knoweth howe we are han­deled at your handes, both with wordes and dedes.

Ah, lay not so: for this should be to great vnkindnes.

I will not speake of dedes, for not pub­lishinge of that that euery man know­eth not so well. But howe can you excuse your selues of words, sins you haue made for a prouerbe, that a husband hath onely two good dayes of his wife, that is, the daye that she commeth to his house, and thother is, when she goeth out thereof, borne to her graue?

Those are thin­ges that men sometimes speake merely one to an other, and to passe ouer the trou­bles of the world, but they thinke not so in dede. And that this is true: see howe the [Page] most parte, or rather all men, take wines and I will say further to thee, that they that take none, are alwaies taken for straunge mē, and of a life of small praise.

And what, vse you not also to say, that he who hath had a wife, deserueth a crowne of pacience, but he that hath had twaine; deserueth a crowne of folly.

This was not saide without some occasion. For the second mariages, and chiefely to them that haue children, are for the more parte, greater occasions of euill, then of good. And they seldome tyme haue that knot of loue, that y ^e firste haue. And also in keping you companye, pacience is very necessary, for you are all by nature somewhat vngracious, so that one of our wise men was wont to say, that when a woman went to her husbād, she caried one of her handes before, and therein a litle fyre brand a light, mea­ninge thereby that she put fyre in [...]o the house wherein she entred.

Nay, be not ashamed to say the reste also, howe he said that she caried in the hande behinde a hoke, to robbe the house, whereof she [Page] went out.

I will not denye that some of these thinges haue not bene sayde by some of those, whom we haue called wise men, and the frowarde nature of some of you, hath bene thoccasion therof: nor I will not also denye the straungenes that some of vs somtimes vseth towardes you, they I say that are nought and of li­tle knowledge: for they knowe not howe profitable you are vnto vs, and with how many incommodities, and troubles, we should leade our life without your helpe: But I will euen confesse vnto thee, that we are without you a thinge imperfecte: wherefore we oughte alwaies to make much of you, and haue the same estimati­on of you, that we haue of our selues. And he that doeth otherwise, deserueth not to be called a man. And although it appere vnto vs, that nature hath made you of lesse valor then vs, we should yet consider that she hath done it for our benefite. For yt you were of that valor, and of that wit that we are, you would not take paynes, in those thinges that you do, in seruing vs wherof the profite commeth to be ours, of [Page] the which we are no lesse bound vnto you thē vnto nature, for geuing vs the being. So that let it not greue you, if some one haue spoken vnaduisedly of you, that that thou saiest, for they are many moo, that haue praysed you, and worthely. For there hath bene no lacke of those, that haue sayd, that we should liue so misera­bly without you, that it should be better to dye, and that you are our crowne: As that most wise king of Egypt did, who willing to shewe his riches, to an other king, at the last for the most noble thing he had, he shewed him his wife, saying that there coulde not be founde by any man, a more precious [...]ewell, then a wise woman.

And if it be so how chaun­seth it then, that we be so euill handled by you?

And what would you in thende that we should do?

Haue I not told thee alredy, that you should kepe vs for companions, and not for seruants? Tell me I pray thee what right is this, that you haue taken for a custome, that it is lawfull for you, to do as you liste, and not for vs, brideling vs with the daun­ger [Page] of our honesties? why doo not you as­well also dishonest a familye, when you geue place so losely to your appetites, as you say that we do, who are muche more prouoked therto thē you are, not so much by that most burning desyre, that the for­bydding vs a thyng causeth, as by your insatiable and cursed importunitie? And then yf you haue taken ons our honesties from vs, do you not thinke vs worthye of all blame?

Why do ye not keepe it then more diligently then you do?

Howe shoulde it be possible for vs to kepe it, when euery one of you hath a keye thereof? So that blame your selues and lay the faut one your selues, whē you see any of vs lose our honesty. And by soo much the more, as you say you are of gre­ter braine and more wisedome then we,

Yf thou diddest well consider, the cause that moueth vs to do this, thou wol­dest saye it were reasonablye done. But thou measurest your beinge with oures, and hereby groweth the errour. Tell m [...] a litle, dost thou thinke it reasonable that a man shuld leue those goodes, and those [Page] honors that he hath gotten, with his tra­uayle, and his wisedome, to one that is not his childe?

No truelye.

And howe should he be by any mea­nes assured that the childe were his, if it were lawfull for you to do your desires? the which thing maketh no matter at all to you beastes, who make onely so much accompt of them, as is necessarye for them. And when they are brought to that passe, that they liue of them selues, you knowe them no more.

And in this thyng of chyldren also, what compa­ny is youres, and what righte, or what equitie is there amonge you, that whi­les they are little, and of most great trou­ble (for thou knowest howe great a paine it is to bring vp a man) you leaue them holely vnder our charge, and you will heare of no trouble at all: the which thing is geuen to none other beast, then to you?

And you peraduenture canne not geue them to nurse to auoyde your selues of them, wherby they are very litle bound to you, none other creature but you vsing the same?

And whoo is the cause [Page] thereof but you, that will not onely some­times not heare them crye, but also wyll not take with them any most litle troble? And after when they are bygge, both you and they together agre to make none ac­compte of vs at all, and not only in dedes but also in wordes, sins they are called only your children, and of you they take their name, their familye, and all that euer they haue without making any mē ­tion of vs at all.

This is not done without most great consideration.

And what is the cause, but your auc­thoritie, as in all other thinges, that for being more able then we, you make your reason as your selues list.

The cause is for that they haue the sensitiue substaunce, and the being man, onely of vs.

And serue we there then for no­thing?

No not in this, because thou must perceyue, that the female, of her self can not giue two thinges, that are engen­dred by her, but the vegitatiue substaunce the which is that y ^e tres haue: nor cā bring thē to any greater perfection, without the male. And therfore nature that doeth no­thing [Page] in vaine, made not the male and fe­male amonge plantes. But if she did make in any, as for example in the Cor­ [...]oll, (the which bereth beries like a haw) the female onely beareth fruite, and the male is barren, & it nedeth not that they ioine together, sins that that is engen­dred by them, shall not haue, but the ve­getatiue substaunce, the whiche the fe­male alone may geue. And y ^t this is true, marke it in hennes, who of them selues make the egge, the whiche hath the ve­gitatiue substaunce, after that he wax­eth to a certaine determinate quantetye: but the beast can not be made by them, the which hath the sentitiue substaunce yf they couple not with the cocke, that he maye geue it them. And also you wo­men sometimes engender of your selues, in the mattrice, a pece of fleshe, called by Phisitions, Mola, the whiche for that it hath the vegitatiue substaunce, groweth to a certaine point, but it perceyueth not for that it hath not the sensitiue substaūce for this (as I haue told thee) the male gy­ueth. Then yf our chyldren haue their [Page] animate being of the sensitiue substance, and finally the being men, onely by vs, they are worthely called oures: and for this only cause, you are permitted to leue them when you list, and we cannot.

And what reward shall we haue for our painfull bringing them vppe?

That that women continually haue, that is, to be alwaies honored, and maintei­ned by them, yf you forsake them not: for almoost all children doe this: and whoe that doeth it not, is vnworthy to be called a man. But nature, because they should not faile hereof, hath put into them a cer­taine inclination of loue, towardes the mothers, that it semeth that the greater parte, loue them more tenderly then they do the fathers.

As though we lo­ued not out of measure, bothe them, and also our husbandes: ye rather there haue bene of those amonge vs, who heryng of the death of ther children, haue died soden­ly, and others who seing their husban­des dye, haue killed theym selues with their owne handes: iudging that it was vnto them, neither lawfull to liue with­oute [Page] a man, nor honest to accompanye them selues with mo then one.

These are thinges, that althoughe they seme at y ^e first sight to deserue some praise for y ^t they seme to procede of loue, or by stoutnes of minde: come rather euen of folishnes, or of weakenes of hart, by dou­tinge not to be able to lyue alone: for yf nature, who euer doth the best in al thin­ges, had knowen, that it had bene beste, that the wife and the husband shoulde dye at one tyme, she shoulde haue caused that it should haue ben so. But let vs let these so longe discourses go: wylte thou returne into thy former being, and come with me into Gretia?

No I saye, for I will not become a woman againe in no case? for thou myghtest well haue perceiued, whether the occasions that I haue tolde were reasonable or not.

And because they seme not so vnto me, I aske thee it againe.

Thou maist talke of it at plesure, for it toucheth the nothing at all: I am thus an Hynde, of as much aucthoritie at the least as the male, & I go abrode as he doeth: Neither [Page] yet haue I so many sorowes in the dely­ueraunce of my younge, nor so manye troubles in bringing of them vp, as I should haue of my children, being a wo­man.

Very well said: as thoughe you also haue no troubles and griefes at your deliueraunces: and haue you not nede also to pourge you as our women haue?

Ye, but nature hath geuen vs such strength, that we can do it of our selues: and so much knowledge, that we eate of a certaine herbe called Ara, the which restoreth vs to health at the firste.

And haue not you also troubles in bringing vppe of your younge, aswel as we haue in bringing vp of oures?

Most fewe in comparison of you: for they hauing nede of farre fewer thinges then yours, must nedes geue vs lesse troubles, and those fewe being prouoked by a cer? tame naturall instinction, that gideth vs in all our doinges, seme to vs nothinge harde at all: wheras to you, who are not guided so cōtinually by nature, they seme more grenous. So y ^t labor no more Vlisses in cōforting me to become a womā again for I [Page] liue far better contented, and more frelye thus a Hinde, then I did whiles I was a woman. But I saye vnto thee, that if I should chaunge my state, I wold more willinglye become a humaine creature againe, then chaunge me into any other beaste. And of thys thou mayest be sure, for when I must faune, I fle more the pathes made by beastes, then the waies be­ten by mennes feete. Go then thy waies on thy vyage, and I likewise will go to consume the rest of my life, among these woodes: for now sins I haue had power to speake againe, wythout retur­ning vnto a woman, I beare not only no enuye to the Goddes, but also not vnto men.

I will not Hynde that thou stand so much in this thine opinion, but that thou consider, that men vnderstande more then you, and that I geue thee this counsell onely for thyne owne profit, and for the loue that I beare the, for that thou arte of my Gretia, and for no profit of mine at all.

You say alwaies thus whiles we haue conuersation with you, and yet notwithstandinge you kepe vs [Page] alwaies vnder.

Besides this thou shalt vnderstand, that Cyrces hath geuen thee power to speake, only because thou maiest saye thy minde: for she will not that I cause any to take theyr former shape a­gayne, sauinge they onely that will. So that if thou wilt remaine thus in an Hind thou shalte haue noo power to speake any more, the which thinge, as thou did­dest shewe, thou very much estemedst.

If I beleued that this were true, I can not well tell what I would do.

Oh shouldest thou doubt hereof, and kno­west that Deare speake not?

But what matter is that: sins I also must be conuersaunt onely with Deare, and we haue other meanes to shewe our necessities one to an other, the which are so fewe, and so rare, that they trouble vs little. So that seke some other Vlysses for I for my part wil remaine in this state.

I Knowe not what the cause may be, that na­ture (who men saye can not erre) hath made the female so farr different from the male, onely in the humaine kinde. Yf I looke among fowles, the one is of as muche valoure as the other, or els of so lytle lesse, that it is almoost not knowen: and all men may see, that the female in coueringe the egges, or in bringing vp of the younge, will not take any moore paynes at all, then the male. As it is also among the beastes of the earthe, and in those that liue in the waters: for that the female (as I sayd) is of as great vertue, and of as much force as the male. But in the humayne kynde, the woman is of so muche lesse valoure, and of so much lesse strength, then the man, that those vertues [Page] that are in him, eyther they are not in her, or els they are so imperfecte there, that they are scar [...]ely perceyued to be in her. Let them then complayne of nature, that hath made them so, and let them not com­playne of vs, yf it seeme to them rather to be our seruauntes, then our compani­ons: for this commeth nether by our force, nor by tyranny, but of theyr lytle valour, and spirite. Wherby, fearinge that they coulde not knowe, or be able to lyue with­out vs, they bringe theym selues vnder our obedience, remayninge willinglye vnder that yoke: where as yf they were of lyke noblenesse of mynde, or of lyke strengthe as we are, we shoulde neuer be able to kepe them by force. Ther­fore it is not to be marueyled at, yf she with whom I spake, wyll not from an Hinde, retourne to an humaine creature, synce she muste becomme a woman a­gayne: Because, that where thus an Hynde, she lyueth in libertie, a thinge so pleasaunte, as none other thynge is more, she shoulde beynge a woman, be­comme a seruaunte: none other thing [...] [Page] in all the worlde more greuous to hym, who is a man in dede. Let me then seke, yf I canne do this benefite, to suche as it maye do good, since it should do hurt to her. And peraduenture there maye be some one amongest these Liones that I see come towardes me. But what doo I? Who knoweth, troublinge them, whether they will hurte me, or not: the which they would not do, yf I disturbe theim not, yf they be not pro­uoked thereunto by hunger? And althogh Cyrces hath tolde me, that I should haue no feare of any beast, that is within thys her Island: I can not yet but haue some feare of these, theyr countenaunce is so horrible, and fearefull. Notwithstanding knowing the loue that she beareth me, I will trust to her wordes, and go bolde­lye towardes them. Lyons (as nature kepe you withoute anye trouble, in thys your kynde, or he that can chaunge you into that that you most desyre) tell me is here anye of you, who, whiles he was man, was a Gretian? lette him tell it me gentelly. For yf he desyre (as he should [Page] do,) to become manne againe, and to re­tourne into his countrey, he hath thys daye (thanked be loue) chaunced on one, that maye doo for him both the one and the other.

I was a Gretian, as thou also shouldest be, yf the speach that thou speakest be naturall to thee.

Yea, I am also a Gretian, and my name is Vlisses, yf thou euer hearde thereof whiles thou were a man.

Yea, ve­rye often: and not onelye whiles I was in Grecia, but afterwardes also in many other places as I sayled. But tell me, haste thou lefte the arte of warre, by the whiche I thinke thy name be spredde not onelye thoroughe Gretia, but tho­roughe all the worlde, that thou art so here arryued? eyther els hathe fortune dryuen thee hither, as she didde me?

Not fortune, but desyre to see the worlde. For our Gretia hauing ouer­come all those people, who were enemies thereunto, and I, not knowing what thing more to do, to gette me honour, gaue my selfe to saylynge.

And lyueth yet thy Penelope, whose honestye [Page] was an example of all our Gretia?

She liueth, and the desier that I haue to see her agayne, together with desier to see my frendes, and my countrey, styrreth me so much, that I haue asked lycence of Cyrces, (of whom I am peraduenture no lesse beloued then of her) to retourne into my countrey: and for the loue that I bere to my Gretians, to make all those to re­tourne men, that will, and to carye them with me. And this is the occasion that I asked yf there were any Gretian amon­gest you: and I am glad that I haue found thee, to geue thee so fayre a gyfte.

Although sometimes it chaunce, that one desyring to doo thee a pleasure, doo of­fend thee, yet shouldest thou thinke thy selfe not a lytle bound vnto him, hauing respect to the goodnes of his minde, and not to his little knowledge: for of the one the will should be praised, and of the other nature blamed. And so do I to the Ʋlisses, thankinge thee of the good mynde that thou hast towardes me, but the gifte I will not accept: for where thou thynkest [Page] it shoulde be profitable and deare vnto me, it should be noysome and to my great displeasure.

And why so? is it then better to be a beast then a man?

Ye truely: and that this is true, aske of that our wise Gretian, who was com­monly wont to saye: that if man mought be sene well within, it should easelye be knowen, that he were euen a vessell, and a store house, made by nature, to laye vp therein all his euilles.

He ought herefore to blame him selfe, muche more then nature: for oftentimes, by ouer­muche folowinge his appetite, he de­stroyeth his complexion in suche sorte, that he him selfe is the cause of all his hurtes.

I speake not of euyles of the body Ʋlysses, I speake of them of the mynde, who are farre more weighty and more daungerous.

Nay I will not that thou saye this, so resolutely.

For this our bodye beynge none other thinge, then a wagan that carieth our soule, yf he be feable and weake: the soule canne not doo perfectlye her [Page] operatiōs, or els with very gret difficultie.

I will not deny, that the vnapte dis­positions of the body let not the operatiōs of the mynd: But I saye verely, that the infirmities of the mynd, do much more hurt to man, then those of the bodie do: and that there come many mo euils, and daungers of the one then of thother. But why labour I in this? who shal he be that can say, that they are not farre worse and more greuous, being in the best part, and most noble of man?

I knowe well that the mynd is more noble then the bo­dy, notwithstanding, not being able to worke without the body, euen so hurteth the euill of the one, as of the other.

Wilt thou see Ʋlysses, that the euils of the body are farre lesse daungerous thē those of the mind? for man eyther by the yll colour of the face, or by thinordinate mouing of the pulses, or by wekenes, or by a thousand other meanes knoweth thē all, and seketh streight to be holpen ther­of: where as those of the mynde, deceiue vs very often times, soo much, that not [Page] onely we seke not to be fre therof, but we accoumpte theym good, whereby after­warde groweth our misery, and continu­all vnquietnes: and often times the losse of our countrye, of our frendes and chil­dren, of goodes, and honestie, and a thou­sand other mischiefes. Where as by them of the bodie the worst that can come there­of is death, the which must come in anye wise. But what needeth anye more? yf among the euils of the body, you recken those the worse that take from the patient the sense and knowledge, as the letharge the franzie, the fawlling sickenes, and such lyke: And if those of the minde do in such sort, that he who hath them, know­eth them not: are not they then to be ac­compted most greuous?

Truely this sayinge is most true.

Thou knowest that to be sicke sometimes, is graunted by the Phisitions to be no great euill, for that nature so requireth. But yet not so much, that manne knowe not, that he is not in health, and hath not nede to be holpen: for the knowinge to haue nede of remedie, is a very good signe in y ^e [Page] paciente, that he shall recouer his health. And thys can not be done in the euilles of the minde: for he who by them is gre­ued, can make no right iudgemēt of himselfe, the euil being in that parte, to the which the iudgement thereof appertey­neth. And for thys cause, folishnes is the gretest euill that can chaunce to man. For asmuch as he that hath it, neuer kno­eth it: and knowing it not, neuer seketh also if he may find any remedy to vnbur­den him selfe thereof.

This selfe same thing chaunseth properly to dron­kerdes, who till those fumes of the wyne be setled, that let the places wher thinner senses must worke their operations, kno­ing not their dronkennes, whereby they thinkinge to do well, do a thousand thin­ges worthy blame.

Dronkennes is none other thing then a kind of folly: But where as in this, those organnes, where the knowledge is made, are mar­red for a time, by the meanes of the wine, in that other they are most commonlye marred for euer. But what more greater [Page] signe wilte thou, that the euilles of the mynde are more greuous, then those of y ^e body, then that y ^u shalt neuer find any, speking of these of y ^e body, cal an ague helth, nor the hauing y ^e tisicke, good soundnes, nor the gout, good disposition of y ^e wintes: and in those of the mind, thou shalte find many, that call anger stoutnes, wanton loue, frendship: enuy, emulation: and ferefulnes, diligence? Whereby it com­meth, that those seke and loue the Phisi­tion, and these flye and hate the rebuker.

Of howe much euill is this coue­ring of vices with the cloke of vertue, thoccasion in this worlde? and wyth a name worthy of honor, to do those thyn­ges, that deserue none other thynge then blame and dispraise.

And put al­so to this, that he who is troubled wyth any infirmitie of the bodye, goeth most commonly to bed, where he findeth, why­les he gouerneth him selfe, some rest, and also some time, to auoide the griefe of the euill: yf he tosse aboute in the bed, or moue to much, he hath about him y ^t coue­reth him again, & ceseth not to bid him lye [Page] as stil as he may: But he that is sicke in y ^e mind, neuer findeth quiet, or any rest at all, but rather he lyueth in a continu­all trouble, and hath none that geueth him any contentation or helpe: whereby euen as to them that saile, that tempeste that suffereth them not to take the hauen is farre worse, then that that letteth the sailinge: So also the euils of the mynde, neuer permitting him to take the hauen of reason, and to anker in the same, that is troubled with them, are muche worse. Finally if thou wilt plainely knowe, howe farre they of the minde are worse, consider that he, who is subiecte to those of the bodie, suffereth onely the euill: but he that is subiecte to those of the mind, suffereth not onely the euil, but he doth it also.

Howe can this be sene, sins all they cōmonly that do euil, take hede y ^e men know it not.

Seke the occasion of all the variaunces, and calamities that chaunce in the worlde, and thou shalt see it. For thou shalte knowe that they come of none other thing, then of ambition, enuy, auarice, anger, or of lyke infirmi­ties [Page] of the mind of man, the which be­sides the taking the vse of reason from him, trouble him continuallye so muche, that he neuer suffereth either him self, or others in quiet, and one of this sorte only is sufficient to trouble a whole citie, and chiefely yf he be of any degre or authori­tie at all.

Are not these diseases of the mynde, the which thou saiest are so much more greuous and more daunge­rouse then those of the bodye, found also amonge you?

No.

Take hede yet that thou be not so much decey­ued by them, that thou knowe them not: for me thinketh, that reason will, that they be farre worse in you, then in vs, for that you haue not the vse of reason, wher with you myght rule them.

Yf we haue not the reasō as you haue, wher­with you coulde perchaunce reframe theym: though not all together, yet at the lest in some part: we haue not also an appetite so immoderate, and so insatiable, as you haue, for that we know not of manye thinges that you knowe. Tell me, what ambition wilte thou that there be [Page] amongest vs, for that all we be equall, wherby the one of vs neuer dispiseth the other: nor anye superioritie, or degree of honor is amongest vs, that should styrre our mindes to obteine it, by any kind of vniust meanes, as you do, who are so far blinded by this desyre, that you are wont to saye, that yf one should violate iustice, he should do it onely to reygne? Enuye can neuer be amongest those of one selfe kinde, they all being equall, and lesse amonge those of an other kinde, we ha­uing no iudgemente, or knowledge at all of their felicitie. Couetousnes for that we haue not thine, deuyded from myne, hath no place also amongest vs: and soo lykewise manye other vyces, that cause your lyfe to be most vnhappye: whereby there haue bene amongest our wise Gre­tians, which haue said: that man amonge all other creatures, helde the principalitie onelye of miseries and euilles.

Well, admit that it be true, that we haue many euils that you haue not: we haue also many good things that are not amōg you.

And what are those?

Vertues.

And I say further to shee Vlisses, that ther is no vertue at al in you that is not farre greater and more perfect in vs.

I would gladlye that thou shouldest shew me this.

And I de­syre nothing els, and I will begyn wyth Fortitude: whereof thou takest so muche vayne glorie, that thou causest thy selfe to be called a taker of cities, and a tamer of people: and not caryng in thyne en­terprises, to winne with crastes and de­ceiptes, so that thou winne: thou couerest vnder the name of sagacitie, & warenes that that is in thee a most euill vice.

Oh, do me none iniurye I praye thee.

I say not so, to speake of thee alone, wherfore pardon me yf thou thinke that I of­fend thee: for I knowe well that all you esteme winning to be a laudable thing, be it in what sorte soeuer it be, the whiche is not so amongst vs: wherby thou ma [...] se y ^e al those wars y ^t we make, aswel amō ­gest our selues, as against you, are made without any gyle or deceit of our parte at al: and howe euerye one of vs trusting [Page] in his owne strength, seketh to reuenge those in [...]uries that are done vnto hym, not being vnder any lawe at all, that in­forceth him to do it, nor fearing any pu­nishemēt, or dishonestie for the not doing them.

And who doeth shewe me that this is not anger rather then forti­tude?

The maner that we vse in fight, where euery one of vs, neuer suffe­ring him selfe to be ouercome by the ene­mye, makinge resistaunce with all his force, euen to the vttermost, without any abashmente, or feare, either of pu­nishmente or of death, seketh rather to dye fyghting then to be taken, and neuer yeldinge to the enemye, yf with none other thinge, at the least with the minde: the which thinge sheweth plainely that we praye not, or put forth any petition towardes him at the least with signes, or mercifull or p [...]tifull gestures: and after yet when we lese, (for it is not alwayes geuen to eache parte to winne) we suffer our selues most commonlye to dye: go then further, and thou shalte not fynde that the Lyon serueth the Lyon, or the [Page] Harte the Harte, as one man doeth an other, without caringe to be reputed fearefull and vyle. And wherof commeth this, but of our inuincible and mightie mynde? The which is farre more ma­nifestly seene, when you take vs, who abyde paciently hunger and thyrst: yea manye of vs suffer oure selues to dye, then to remayne with you: willingly preferring death before bondage.

Wherfore you are enforced, when you will make any of vs tame, to take of our little younglinges, who not knowinge what they do, suffering you to fede them familiarly by your vayne intisementes, lose at one time, with theyr libertie, the same strength of mynd, and sustines of bodye (craftely so taken from theym by you) that appertayne vnto theyr kynde. But wilt thou see that nature hath ge­uen more strength of harte to vs then to you? for she hath made vs more pacient to beare paynes, and incommodities, then she hath done you: and not onely the males, but also the females, makinge them no lesse apte then the male to de­sende [Page] wherin truste shoulde be put: and there­fore you become bold to runne into euery kind of daunger, without any conside­ration, or else you seare lytte that, that should be feared: whereby you become timerous, being afeard of euery thinge: and secondarely, because you haue not the discourse of reason, wherby you might eyther knowe the good or the honest, and by occasion thereof, onely you put your selues in daungers: but you do it eyther for profyte or for pleasure, or to reuenge some iniurie. And this is not fortitude: for he who putteth him self to great daun­gers by anger, by delighte, or by igno­raunce, is bestiall and [...]olishe, and not for­tiall. The which thinge chaunseth chief­lye to you, for that you knowe not which those thinges are, that should reasonably be feared, and lesse those, in the whiche truste shoulde iustely be put,

Thou makest vs of very lyttle know­ledge, yf thou beleue that we knowe not, that the yll is that that should be feared.

It is true that there are euilles, of the whiche a fortiall man shoulde be [Page] afearde (but yet therfore not of all.) For there are of those, that he, who woulde haue no feare of them, should be a foole, and should deserue blame: as for exam­ple, infamye, pouertie, and sutche like. Besides this yet, one should feare nothing (how horrible or euill so euer it appeared to be) for cause of the good, and the honest. And therfore he is called mooste fortiall that feareth not deathe, the whiche is mooste horrible of all, for that it is thende of lyfe. Notwithstandinge, this maketh not, that euery kynde of death must not be feared. Nor the hauing feare of the na­turall death, or of that that chaunseth by fortune in the sea, or by other like occasi­ons, maketh not that man can not bee fortiall. Then shall he be fortiall, that shall not feare sutche death, as shall be mooste honourable: as that is that chaun­seth in the warres, for honest occasion, or for defence of the countrey: the whiche death is so fayre, that the people haue or­deyned perticuler honoures to all those, that dye by lyke deathe.

Who haue lesse feare of death then we? and this may [Page] euery man see, that considereth well our warres, and howe mightely we defende vs, euen as long as euer we can, without feare of any thinge.

Thoughe it seme not that you haue fere of death, whē you fyght, yet you do it not for occasion of the honest, or of the good, but to represse the iniuries that are done vnto you, or for the conseruation of your selues, or of your yonglinges, or of such other thinges, whereby you deserue not for this, to be called fortiall, as it also chaunseth among vs, to them that put them selues to suffer it, eyther for loue, or to auoyde pouertie, or somelike thinge: the whiche commeth not of vs by our faulte: but rather these such are to be called fereful. For to auoide thinges painefull, or to choose deathe to flye some miserie, or some euyll, and not for beyng an honest thinge, commeth of lacke of harte, and corage, and not of for­titude.

What, fere not we perad­uenture also, horrible and fearefull thin­ges but a lytle? For we knowe not in our fyghtinge, and in our other doinges, any [Page] daunger at all.

And therfore you are bolde and not fortiall. For among horrible thinges, there are also of those that he who feareth them, can not be sayd for this that he is not fortiall, as all those thinges are that passe the might of man: as for example, the erth quakes, the thunder belt, and such like: the which are yet suf­fred also by the mighty, with a more sted­fast mynde, then the others commonly do. But euen as the feare of euery thing when there is no nede, is a vyce called fearefulnes, so also the not hauinge feare of any thinge, when, and as it behoueth, the which is thother extremitie, is a vyce called rashe boldenes: in the middes of the whiche two extremes (for vyces are none other then extremes, that offende eyther in to lyttle [...], or to muche) forti­tude is put by reason, and therfore thou shalte see that fortiall men will neuer put them selues in any daunger, without some reason: for it should be to great a fol­lye to venture the lyfe, the whiche is the dearest thynge that manne hathe, but for some honest enterpryse: and [Page] they ought much more to do it, that are most wise, as those that are most worthye to line, for that they are mooste apte to helpe others. Wherfore this name of for­titude is not also geuen amonge vs, to them that put theyr liues in daungers of warre for money, but onely to him that doeth it, eyther to defende his countrey, or for his owne honestie, or for lyke ho­nest enterprises: neyther are they also called fortiall, but lecherous, and coue­teous, who either for unmoderate desier of plesures, or of loue, or to possesse riches, esteme no daunger. Soo also they that do it for anger, or for ignoraunce, are cal­led by vs [...]refull and rashe. Finallye he is onely fortiall that feareth not death, either for winning of honesty, or for the auoy­ding of soone dishonest thing: the which thinge can not be in you, for that you haue not reason (as I tolde thee before) that may geue right iudgemente therof.

Call not you also those fortiall, who constrained by the lawes, to gette some honour in theyr citie, put them selues to [Page] many daungers?

Ye, but they are not fortiall in dede, though they seme ve­ry lyke. For the manne that is fortiall in dede, doth the dedes of fortitude, first and principally for the loue of vertue, and let it after folowe as it will: and these do it eyther to get glorye, or profite.

And they that are very experte and valiant in warres, do you not also cal the fortiall?

Ye, but this yet is a forti­tude somewhat vnaptly named, & much [...] worse then those others, for it commeth of arte and of experience, the which tea­cheth thee to hurte others, and to defende thy selfe, and not of election guyded with reason as the true fortitude. The which also thou must note, that although it be exercised both about suertie, and feare, yet it consisteth more about terrible and fearefull thinges: for he that in this, go­uerneth him selfe in such sort as is con­uenient, deserueth more to be called forti­all, then he that doth it about those thyn­ges, in the which man should trust, being much more easye to abstaine from plea­sures, then to bere griefes. And although

WHat doest y ^u here thus alone Vlisses? & what thinkest thou on, that thou standest thus musinge?

The beautie of the place, & the pleasauntnes of these shadowes, were the thynges that prouoked me firste to rest in thys place: and then afterward I stayed here, thyn­kyng howe fewe those mē are, that know them selues perfectlye, or that seke to knowe, whiche parte of them is the most noble and best part. The which thyng is euen so necessarye to him, that desy­reth to obteine the true ende (the which euery one naturally desyreth) that wyth­out the same, it is impossible to arryue vnto it. For the which cause there hath bene written by our wise men in manye honorable places of our Gretia, this good lesson: Knowe thy selfe.

And [Page] wherby gatherest thou, that ther are few that knowe theym selues?

By their workes: for (as thou knowest) man is made of two natures, the one corporall and earthye, and the other heauenly and deuyne: with the one of the which he is lyke to brute beastes, and with the other to those immateriall substaunces y ^t turne the heauens. This last should be much more set by, by him then the other, being the better parte: notwithstanding, all menne almost forgetting it, attende to the other, which is the bodye, and they make none accompte but of that onelye, and that they seke to decke, and to make most happye, and most eternall that they can.

I haue yet heard thee saye, that in thy Gretia there are manye wyse menne, the which seke onely sciences and vertues, to make this part perfect, that thou sayest is in them the best parte.

It is true, but in respect of those that at­tende to the wealth, and to the pleasures of the bodye, they are most fewe: and of these also, the most parte, seke vertue for the benefites sake of the body, hoping to [Page] be able afterwardes therwith, to procure vnto them mo cōmodities, and pleasures, and these truelye deserue not to be cal­led vertuous, not seking vertue for it self and because it is good, but to get therby some gaine, for the principal desire of our soule, is the knowing the truth: and the occasion of thinges, to quiet it selfe there­in, as in his ende, and not to get oute therof commodities to the bodye, as they doo, who knowing nothing but that in them only, neuer thinke on other thing, then of the benefites of the same: where­by afterward al the miseries, and al y ^e hu­maine infelicities growe.

Ulisses I thought that this litle time, that thou wilt remaine with me, thou wouldest haue bestowed in those pleasures whereof this my so faire and pleasaunt Island aboun­deth: prouoked yf by none other thinge, yet by the continuall spring, the which is euer in this place, and by that suertye, and by those delyghtes, that thou seest so manye diuerse beastes take the one with the other, that goo all the daye without any suspitiō, a sporting by these my fayre [Page] and grene littell woddes, after the sorte of those first times, so much celebrate by your Poetes, in the which, discorde, and hatred were not yet cōmen into y ^e world: and thou standest all the day musinge, nowe vnder the shadowe of some tree, on a stone, now by the waues of the Sea, w ^t thy mind so farre drowned in imagina­tions, that thou semest vnto me almost a bodye without a soule: and whereas I would thinke that thou shouldest be al­waies mery, both for the qualitie of the place that requireth it, & for the loue that I bear to the, y ^u makest me oftē dout, that thou hast some sorow within the that con­tinually vexeth thee.

Se also howe thou Circes thinkest of nothing but of the body, and of pleasures, and delightes of the same, neither hast thou any know­ledge of the pleasure that is gotten in be­holding the secretes of most wise nature, kepinge euer harde to the earth, with the bandes of the bodye, that parte that should be lifte vp euen vnto heuen: wher as beholdinge those diuine substaunces, [Page] he should fele other pleasures, then these earthly pleasures are, that thou estemest so much, for those pleasures of the mind, are farre greater, then those of the body: and marke what I saye, yf I coulde ob­taine to cause to retourne men, foure of these Gretians, that haue bene by the transfourmed into beastes, and to leade them againe with me, I woulde thinke to haue so much glorye, and honor there­fore, with my wise men of Gretia (the whiche thing although be slippery and mortall, is put among the welthes of the minde) that I should haue more pleasure therof, and more contentation, then of al the plesures of the body that euer I could finde, either here or in any other place.

Yf these thy wise men of Gretia, be so few as thou saist, in respect of thothers this thy glory should be very smale, and not to be much estemed: for that others should not knowe the glorious dedes that thou shouldest do, because they know not howe muche manne is more noble then beastes.

Rather cleane contrary: for it is farre better to be praised by one [Page] onely, who also is praysed him selfe by many, then of an hundred others, of whō euen the name onely is not knowen.

And wherof commeth it then that thou obteinest not thy desier? haste thou found none yet that will become manne agayne?

No: for all they with whom I haue hitherto spoken, ar of those who whyles they were men, neuer knew them selues, nor neuer knewe their owne valure, but they attended onely to the bo­dye, and to the benefites of the same: and because thus beastes they thinke to finde mo commodities, and benefites, apper­teyning to the conseruation and good be­yng of the bodie: thinking nothinge at all of the deuine and celestiall parte, they rather remayne thus beastes.

If those be so fewe in number that knowe this diuinitie, that thou sayest you haue within you, it is no meruaile that thou hast not chaunced on any: but if this de­syre strayne thee so much, forsake not thy enterpryse, for it can not be, that thou find not some one of those, that is of thine opi­nion: for thou knowest howe diuerse the [Page] wittes of man are, and I in this meane time (for that I take no delite in these thy speculations) will go passing the time in these valleys, according to my wonted cu­stome.

And I will not fayle to fol­lowe that that I moost minde: For if I fynd but one of those that knoweth the noblenes of man (for the which thinge he deserueth to be put in the nomber of the wise, the knowing him selfe, beinge the fyrst fruite of wisedome) and that I may restore him to the perfecte beynge, I shall not think to haue spent my time in vaine: since one benefite that is done to a wise man, is farre better placed, then all those are, that euer may be done to a thousand fooles. Se yonder cōming towardes me a very fayre Horse: oh what a fayre beast it is: truely nature besides man, hath put all her knowledge in this: the beholdinge him hath taken me in such sort, y ^t I would desier that he, who was chaunged into him, had ben a Gretian, that I might doo him this benefite: Wherfore I will aske him. Horse, tell me I praye thee, what countrieman were thou, before thou wer [Page] thus made by Cyrces?

I was it Gretian whiles I was a man: but whye doest thou aske me this?

To make thee retourne man, yf thou be therewith contented: for Cyrces hath graunted me power to do it, and after to take thee out of this bondage, geuing the libertie, either to retourne into thy country, or to go whi­ther thou list best.

This wil I not that thou do: For, so much as I loued the be­yng man, and not a beast, whiles I was a man: so much it woulde greue me, now that I haue proued this other lyfe, to re­tourne from a horse to a man.

And for what cause? tell it me I may thee, yf it please thee: for this is farre contrary to that that humaine reason geueth.

Because I finde in this state many fewer thinges that might lette me to lyue qui­etly, and to obteyne that perfection, and that ende, that apperteyneth vnto my kynde, and to my nature: the whiche I dydde not whyles I was man, in that that belonged vnto man.

I knowe well that thou arte a beast, that cannest do very well without the gouernaunce and [Page] nor flyeth those to muche that bringe it sorowe. And so hauinge these passions more moderate in vs, we must doo farre more easlyer that that apperteyneth vn­to our nature, then you do that that belon­geth to yours.

I would saye in dede that thou were fyne, if thou couldest proue vnto me, that these were more per­fecte in you, then in vs.

I will not trauayle at all in talking of fortitude: For it is so manifest a thing, that your wri­ters (I speake not of Poetes, to whom it is lawfull because of delectation, to saye sometimes that that is not, but the histo­riographers, whose duety is onely to saye the trueth) when they will saye that some man is most strong, they liken him vnto a Lyon, or to a bull, or to some lyke beast: and when they will speke of our strength, they neuer liken it to that of a mā. And frō whence commeth this? but because y ^t they knowe that we are far more stronge then you are.

This is lustines of body & not fortitude it selfe. O I se wel this fel­low is also one of those, who knoweth no­thing, but the benefites of y ^e body.

And [Page] from whence commeth the strength of the body, but from that of the minde?

Ye, vnto him who hath a mynde that can per­ceiue it.

And we are of those who haue mindes most apte to perceaue it: For that we haue it much lesse trobled, by hauing fewer passions then you haue.

And what are those passions, that you haue not as we haue?

Fyrst al those thin­ges that growe of thinges past, or of thin­ges to come. Because we knowe not that that is present to vs, nor foresee that that is to come.

What passions growe also of these to vs?

What passions? doest not thou knowe it? feare and hope: feare of those thinges that displease thee, and hope of those that please thee, and as also gladnes, and sorrowe, do by those things that are present vnto thee, and that delite thee, or by those that are against thy minde. And these very often kepe your mind vnquiet and thoughtful, in such sort that they suffer you not to doo that that apperteyneth to a fortiall man: and from these foure spring after, as from one head, all the others. But let vs passe ouer further, vnto that that taketh away the [Page] reason requireth, blusteringe abroade to others their shamefull desires, eyther in prose or in rime, or finally that haue by this occasiou ronne into some foule deth: it suffiseth that you perswade your selues that beautie is a diuine thing, & that loue being a desire thereof, is a thinge lauda­ble, hiding with that spirituall beautie, that is thought to be in God, that little grace, the whiche the well proporcioned bodies haue: and couered with well made colours, and with the name of the desyre of that, the which is one of the fyrste per­fections of your soule, you hyde this your humaine passion. I saye humaine, by­cause in vs, it neuer falleth so imbridledly and so continually, but farre more mode­rate, and in those times only that nature hath ordeined for the maintenaunce of the kinde.

So that we see not you also do a thousande follies, by the like oc­casion?

And what see you vs do? but thone of vs to become sometime som­what enemy to thother: the which com­meth of gelosye, that is a common passi­on that groweth alway together, w ^t this [Page] desire. But I would not reason hereof, fearing least thou shouldest disdaine ther­at, the thinges are so wicked and abho­minable that sometimes it leadeth to do. Rede the histories a litle, and thou shalte see, howe many deceites, how much ha­tred, how many treasons, and how many deathes, aswell of sworde, as also of poi­son (the whiche is a more foule thynge) haue growen in the worlde by this. Soo that I will lay it a side, and passe euer to those pleasures that grow by eating, and by drinkinge. Where thou shalte finde that what beast soeuer thou wilt, aswell wilde, as tame, is farre more moderate then you. For thou shalt not finde anye, that at any time eateth or drinketh more then he nedeth, nor that seketh for other meates, then those that were ordeined for him by nature: some sede, some grasse, some fleshe, and some fruite. Whereas you not contēted with one only, eat of al, and more ouer you cause diuerse thynges to be brought frō euery part of the world to eate. And not contented herewith, you also seke with arte, that they may [Page] vntemperat, that taketh great plesure of thinges that appertaine to the sight, as pictures, images, and lyke thinges are: and much lesse he that taketh delighte of those thinges that belong to the hearing, as voices and soundes are: and so also he that delighteth of sauours, if it be not for respect of fode, as it chaunseth to you bea­stes, as the dogge for an example doth, that taketh onely delyght of the smell of the Hare, for that he hopeth to eate her. Then resteth that this vertue be only ex­ercised about the delectations of the tast, and of the felinge: and also I will saye, further vnto the, that the pleasure of the touchinge is onelye his obiecte, for that the taste is a kinde of touchinge, and that this is true, se howe he, to whom wine was so pleasaunt, required the Gods that they would make him a longe necke like the cranes: for that the pleasure that the wine gaue him by touching, thorough a longer space, might endure the more, and be greater.

And to what ende saiest thou this?

Harken a litle yf it please the, thou [Page] must also marke that manne hath the in­strument of this sence more perfect then any other beaste.

And howe pro­uest thou this?

Marke: All the orgaines, and members, wherin the sen­sations are made, must be clcane voide, and naked of all their obiectes, forasmuch as nothing can take againe, that that it hathe: and therefore it behoueth that the eye haue no coloure in him selfe at all, nor the taste likewise sauoure: otherwyse thone should see euery thing of that color he had in himself, (as it is to him, who lo­keth thorough a glasse of somme coloure) and thother shoulde fele euerye thinge of that sauoure whereof he had altered the taste, as he doeth who hath made that place bitter, where the tast is made, by some colerike ague, vnto whom euerye thinge seemeth bitter.

This is most true, but I see not yet to what ende thou [...]sayeft it.

I saye it, be­cause the instrumentes, in the whyche the touchinge is made, whether they be synowes, fleshe, or skynne, [Page] it can not come so to passe, because theyr obiectes, are chiefelye the firste qualities: that is to saye, heate, drythe, colde, and moisture: & they being made of foure ele­mentes, can not be altogether boyde of them.

How do they then to per­ceiue them, receiuing them agayne into them, if they haue them?

They fele but onely the excesse, or the lacke of them, that is to say, onely those thinges, that are more or lesse, hote, colde, drye, or moiste, then they: and therefore he that hath the flesh and the skinne most tem­perate, shall haue his sence best, for he shall fele the more euery most litle diffe­rence: and these we men are, (who as it is most sure) haue more temperat complex­ion then any other beast: whereby it fo­loweth that we haue this sente more per­fecte, and that we fele greater delyghte in the operations of the same, then you doo. So that it should be no maxuaile, we feling greater pleasure, yf we also were lesse temperate: but I graunte thee not this.

What? wylte thou denye me, that we suffre not our selues [Page] to be lesse drawen by these pleasures then you, seing experience contrary at all ty­mes?

I will graunt thee that you abstayne more from pleasures, and troble your selues lesse by sorowes, then we do, & farre more easely: but not yet that it com­meth of temperaunce.

And why?

Because (as I haue tolde thee) tem­peraunce is an electiue habit, made with a right discourse of reason: howe can you then haue this vertue in you? fyrste not hauing reason, by the which you shoulde determine what this habite is, and what that meane is, by the whiche you shoulde not excede in sorowing, or in takinge de­light of those thinges, without the whiche the kinde should not be maynteyned: for the which cause so great delectations haue bene put by nature, in those thinges that maynteine the indeuision, as is the eating and the drinking, and in those that▪ main­teyne the kinde, as the thinges of Venus are, you can not afterward also chose fre­lye, because you be guided in all your ope­rations by nature, and not of so much ly­bertie as we are.

Then from [Page] whence come these effectes of temperance in vs, that are such as thou canst not deny them, yf we haue them not?

From an instinction that nature hath grue you: who knowing that you are not of so per­fecte knowledge, that you of your selues can choose that, that is beste for your con­seruation, hath caused that you can ney­ther eate, nor drinke, more then your nede requireth: nor also, so to vse superfluous­lye anye thinge, whereby your hurte or corruption should growe. And this is not temperaunce, whervnto belongeth frely, neither to be to sorowfull for those thin­ges that are not conuenient, nor to take to mutche delyghte of thoose thynges that are conueniente, and to doo all thin­ges with measure, and when time is.

Yf we do all those selfe thinges that you saye, whether it be by nature, or it be by temperaunce, it is sufficient for vs.

If this were true, it should also fo­lowe, that the being led by force, to some ende, shoulde be better, then the goynge freely and willingly therevnto. Ah, these are seruile, and of vile mindes: retourne [Page] then, retourn man, and into the state that thou were before, and come with me into thy countrey.

I will not graunt thee this: for although I can not defend my reason as thou dost, yet it maketh not that I knowe not, that this beynge is so muche better then yours, that I will not remayne thus a beaste.

If thou be then fully thus determined, remaine thou so a beaste still: for truely thou deseruest none other beyng then this, synce thou sufferest thy selfe to be so much gui­ded by the sence, that thou re­membrest no more the lighte of rea­son.

YF nature (as our wyse men of Gretia saye) de­syer that euery thinge should come to his ende and perfection: from whence then commeth it, that she hath geuen so great power, to these our senses, that they drawe continually vnto the earthe, this our mynde? and kepe it almooste al­wayes occupied in these earthlye thin­ges (as it is with this▪ fellowe that was chaunged into an horse, with whom I spake euen nowe) so that we are lytle dif­ferent from brute beastes: who, for that they haue theyr ende in the earth, were all made by nature, with theyr face tourned towardes the same, and man onely with the face tourned towardes heuen, to geue him to vnderstande, that he shoulde con­tinually lyft vp him selfe therevnto: and [Page] beholdinge the operations of those de­uine substaunces, to obteyne a felicitie that maketh him more then a man. But what would this Dogge, that commeth thus towardes me? and beyng by lyttle and lytle commen nigh me, standeth then so styll? Truely he should haue done it willingly, folowing his nature, the which is very frendly to man, and for that he should see them very seldome in this place. I beleue, yea rather I know it for a suer­tie, because experience hath taught it me, that nature hath geuē vs these sences, that are not necessary to the mainteinaunce of our life, onely for our better being, and to make our knowledge more perfect: & ther­by it commeth, that they so encline to the earth, where they haue theyr obiectes this our better part: the which (if they wer not) would by her owne nature lyft vp her self continually to heauen. Alaslee howe this Dogge taketh pleasure in beholding me, and marke if it seme not, by the gestures that he maketh, whyles I reason thus with my selfe, that he vnderstandeth all that [Page] ydle, as the more part do, vntill such time as one day arriuing here, I was trans­fourmed by Cyrces, as thou seest, into a Dogge, of the which being I content my selfe far better, then I did of that of man.

But I loke after, or rather most er­nestly desyer thee, that thou tell me, for what cause thou iudgest, that your beyng is better then ours?

I am contented Vlysses, and I will begin with the ver­tues, of the which you neuer cease to glo­ry your selues, euen as though you passed all other beastes: as of Justice, of forti­tude, of temperaunce, and of al other ver­tues. But I will fyrst that thou aunswer me to this. Which ground deserueth to be most praysed, eyther that, [...]nhaby­ted by the Circlopes, the which is sayde to bring forth of all kind of corn [...], and fruite by her owne naturall goodnes, without being sowen, laboured, or lylled by any meanes by men: or that grounde of our barren and hylly Itaca, scarcely apte to fede gotes: the which though it be tylled with moste diligence is so barren, that [...] neuer yeldeth other then a most pore har­uest: [Page] nor it neuer geueth to those that la­bour it, iust reward of their paines? But see that herein thou set aparte the loue of thy country.

Howe can I say that that land of the Ciclopes is not to be praised more, being so fertile, (although I guyded by nature loue mine owne coun­trye better) if I will not say vntruely▪

And the same thou shouldest confesse to me of the soule, who in this is lyke to the earth: praising those soules mooste, who without any study or labor, bryng foorth of them selues, the good and per­pecte operations.

And this also I confesse to be true.

Then thou grauntest me that the soules of beastes, who of them selues, without any labour or study, bryng forth vertues, are far bet­ter, and more noble then youres.

Why, what vertues are these that bea­stes of their owne nature are endued with.

Far greater then those, of the which mā is decked with art. And if thou wilt seke this diligently, let vs begin with that that is the first and principal of them all.

And whyche is that?

Wisedome, withoute the whiche there can be no vertue at all. For vertue being none other thing then a meane be­twene two extremities, determined with iust reason, it foloweth thereby that there can be no vertue without wisedome.

For that meane that is a vertue, is not like the arithmeticall middes, that consi­steth of like farnes from his extremes, as is (for an example) in the continual quāti­tie, the centrie of the circle: from the whi­che centre as many lines as thou wilte, drawen to the circumference ar al equal: or as the sixe, is betwene two and tenne in seperate quantitie, the whiche is as farre distaunte from the one as from the other. But it is like the geometricall mid­des, the which is distaunt from his ex­tremes by a similitude, or els a reasona­ble proportion, as for example: the sixe is betwene nine and foure, where it contei­neth once & a halfe the four, and is contei­ned once and a halfe likewise by the nine: Wherby it is said to be a middes betwen thone & thother, by proportiō of reason: so also the middes, in the which vertue consi­steth, [Page] not being put betwene his extre­mes by equall distaunce, after the simi­litude of the Arithmetricall middes, it be­houeth that a vertue determine it, accor­dinge to a reasonable proportion of ex­tremes, to the similitude of the geometri­call middes: and this vertue to whom it belongeth to determine it, is wisedome. Then there can be no vertue w ^tout wise­dome, and therefore it is reasonably takē, for the rule and foundation of al: and this (as I haue tolde thee) is found farre more among vs, then among you.

And who sheweth me that this is true?

Reason: tell me I pray the, doest thou not graunt me, that the habites are kno­wen by the meanes of the operations?

Ye that I do, for it is true.

Then shalte thou also graunt me, that we are more wise then you, sins we do our ope­rations, farre more wisely, then you do yours. And that this is true, thou shalt proue it, by thine owne selfe: considering diligentlye the operation of euery one of oure kindes, beginning at the lesser beastes: where first thou shalt see the ant [Page] to be so wise, that he laieth vp in sommer, all that that he nedeth in winter: and the spiders lay their snares with very great consideration, to take certain litle beastes to fede them on: and the Waspes, and many other like, to hide thē selues vnder the earth, at those times that are hurtfull to them, I will say nothing to thee, of the most wise gouernaunce of the bees, for that there are so many among you, whoo haue consumed their best yeares in discribinge their life, and the manoure how they gouerne them selues. Then go to the birdes, and thou shalt see them all to chaunge their place time by time, as it is fit for their nature: thou shalt see of those, who knowing them selues vnapt to bring vp their younge, cause them to be couered and nourished by an other, as the Cockow, thou shalt see of those, who douting that the young the whiche they haue bred, should be none of theirs, haue with most greate wisedome founde the meanes to be assured therof, as the Egle, who turneth their eies to the rayes of the sonne. I wyll also passe ouer wyth scy­lence, [Page] the wisedome of the Cranes, that rule them selues soo ordinately vnder the principalitie of y ^e one of them, and howe when the others take their rest, he onely standeth with his head alofte, to take hede to the others, holding a stone wyth the one of his fete, for that he woulde not sleape, and hearing any thinge, he shew­eth them straighte therof. The Partrid­ges, what wisedome vse they in defēding their young from the fowlers? the olde set them selues before, till the other haue time to escape. The Swallowes, when they can find no durte to fasten together those litle splintars of wood, or of strawe, wherof they make their nestes, (for they wale them in such sorte as you do youre houses) haue not they so much wisedome that they washe them in water, and tum­blinge them afterward in the duste, they make it euē as you make morter: then in bringing vp of their young, howe great wisedome doo they vse, in causinge that euery one may haue his part of the meat, and in getting forthe of all the filthe of the neast for that they should lye cleane: [Page] nor howe they can gouerne them selues, and defende them from suche as would take them, in troubling the water wyth their phines or w ^t casting certaine blacke water like inke, and some by one menes, and some by an other: it suffiseth me that you haue learned of them, the making of shippes, and the art of sailing, the which bring so many commodities to the hu­maine kinde, making the ores after the fashion of some of their fete, and the say­les in likenes of certaine winges that some fishes haue, who comminge to the toppe of the water, and spreading them forth, are by the helpe of the winde, ca­ried by them: So that finally, if thou shalt wel consider the operations of al beastes, thou shalt be enforced to confesse that we haue more wisedome then you, and con­sequently, that our being is farre better then yours: for that we haue had all these benefites frelye of nature: euen as thou hast also confessed, that the ground of the Cicsopes▪ the whiche bringeth forth her fruit by her own proper nature, is better then our Itaca, the which would bryng [Page] for the nothinge at all, if it were not labe­red, and tylled by you.

Truely Cleantos, when thou begannest to talke of wisedome, I beleued that whiles thou were man, thou haddest studied morall thinges: but thou dyddest procede very lytle further, that I perceiued it to be no­thinge so: since thou art not able to tell what wisedome properly is, and besides this, confoundinge it often times with arte.

Wylt thou denye vnto me, that wisedome is the knowing to gouerne her operations well? and to dispose them well about those thinges that are good for vs?

No, but this suffiseth not: for he is not called wyse, who prouideth, and ordeyneth well one thinge onely: as he (for example) should be, that coulde go­uerne him selfe well about the healthe of the bodye, or in the exercising him selfe in the warres, but he that doeth this about all those thinges that appertayne to good and quiet liuinge: and this can not you do, and therfore wisedome can not be in you: and that this is true, harken to me and I will proue it. Wisdome is a vertue that [Page] [...] a diche, wherein he hath heretofore fal­len, will not (as it is sayde for a prouerbe) passe. And this commeth of nothing else, but for that the imaginatiue represen­teth vnto him onely the fallynge into that dyche indistinctlye, and without anye tyme: wherefore, he not beyng hable to discusse, whether such a thinge hath bene in the time passed, or it be in the time pre­sent, or it hath to be in the time to come, the which are partes of the tyme, he fly­eth, and will not passe it. It is very true, that those kindes, who haue this power of the imaginatiue, a lyttle moore per­fecte, whereby they knowe thinges som­what more distinctlye, seeme to haue the memorie: amonge the whiche kindes, thine hath the chiefe place. And therfore it seemeth that you remember thinges more, and knowe them better, and perti­culerly the mayster, then any other beast doeth. And those other kindes, who haue it moore imperfecte, seeme to remember lesse (as the flyes, whoo driuen from a place, forget it by and by, and retourne thyther agayne. See then howe man [Page] only, for that he knoweth the tyme, is he that hath memorie, whereby he onely, amongest all other beastes, may be cal­led wise. For he that hath not knowledge of the tyme, canne not iudge, when it is good to doo a thinge, and when it is not, the whiche properlye apperteyneth to wisedome.

If we haue not wise­dome, what is that that leadeth vs so, to doo onely that, that belongeth to our na­ture?

An instinction, and a pro­prietie, that nature hath geuen you for your benefite, that directeth you to your ende. Wherefore, yf thou (for example) shouldest aske those antes that were bred the spryng tyde past, for what cause they laye vp in theyr nestes, wherof to eate, who hauing no knowledge of the win­ter paste, can not do it by wisedome, as thou sayest: it is sure that they woulde aunswere, eyther for that we see those which begate vs do so, or by an inclinati­on that nature hath geuen vs, the whiche causeth vs so to do.

Is not this the selfe same in vs, that you call wisdome in you?

No: rather thone thing is very farre [Page] thing in vayne, hath geuen you neyther thone nor thother, since you hauing not to gouerne any others then your selues, (except your yong, for the smale time that they could not liue without you) the which chaunseth not to vs, to whom the gouer­naunce of a houshold, and of publike mat­ters belongeth: in the whiche, wisedome perchaunse is farre more necessarie, then in those of our owne causes (and you ha­uing no nede of any thing, besides of that, that nature of her selfe bringeth forth vn­to you, haue no nede to supply with arte.

Ʋlisses thine eloquence is suche, and hath so great force, that he who shoulde heare thee, and knowe not somewhat be­yond, would beleue that all that thou hast sayd, were true: notwithstanding as thou beganst to speake, thou diddest fayle (as it is sayd for a prouerbe) at the gates.

And I pray the tel me, what error haue I made?

Thou diddest not number a­mong the knowing habites of your vnder standing, the opinion, when thou diddest recken them, and yet thou knowest that by the meanes therof you knowe many [Page] thinges.

Nay, thou thy self hast fayled: for thou perceyuedst not, that I woulde not speake therof, when I saide, speking of thinges chauncyng, that I would re­son onelye of those thinges that depend of vs, about the which, wisdome is exercised: and I would let those passe, that depend on nature, about the knowledge of the which the opinion is excercised: whereby it is no maruell if it be sometimes decey­ued, the thinges that nature bringeth [...] forth, being so many and so diuerse.

And what was the occasion that moued thee to doo this?

Because that is not worthy to be numbred amon­gest these vertues, or intellectual habits, for as much as that bringeth no perfecti­on at al to the vnderstanding, as these do. For man is neuer called wise for hauing opinion of a thing, as he is for knowing it. And besides this, the opinion maye be deceued, and none of the rest of them can.

What none? Can not the other ha­bites also be deceiued?

Not these first three that are in the speculatiue vn­derstanding, for that their obiectes are vnua­ture. [Page] The whiche if it be more ryght­lye guided thereby in vs, then it is in you, it is a signe that it is better, and that we be more perfecte then you. So that geuing nowe an ende to our commo­ning, enioy thou the kind that thou thinkest better: for I thinking this better wherin I am, wil so re­maine.

(⸫)

IWill now say verely, that the prouerbe is true, which saith, that ther is nothing in this worlde that hath bene by nature more iustly deuided thē the braine: sins it semeth euen to euery one of these beastes, with whom I haue spoken, to haue so much therof in that state wherin they ar, that ther is not one of them that wil geue place to the reason of man, who yet discorseth and worketh with reason: esteming their chaunce farre better, then ou [...]s, the which yet I can neuer thinke that they had heart to saye whiles they were men: but this also maye rise of the great loue, that eache thinge beareth to his being, of the whiche it is so ielouse, that there is none that altogether would chaunge it, with anye kinde of other, for [Page] feare at that change to be put in daunger of losse therby, and these perchaunce hap­pen more also to man, then to any other thing. I speake of the substaunciall be­inge, and not of the accidētal: for I know very well, that an olde manne would chaunge his age, with the age of a young man, and one sicke, his disposition withe that of a hole, and euery poore man his state with that of a riche. But to chaunge them selues substancially, and to become an other, there are fewe that will do it: for that there is none, or most fewe, that beleue that an other is better then theirs. So that it is no maruaile, if none of these beastes would be perswaded by me to be­come manne againe. But alas see what a faire Calfe this is that commeth so safe­lye feding towardes me: O, what fierce­nes sheweth this beast in his forehead? and notwithstanding howe gentle yet he is, and how he suffereth man to handle him: surely we are not litle bounde to na­ture, that she hath made this beast, for it is plainely sene, that she hath made hym [Page] for that he should take from man a great parte of his paines, he beinge of suche strength, and therewith so easye to be handled. I will see, if he, who was chaunged into him, was by chaūce a Gre­tian, the which should happely be: for sins he hath drawen so nigh me, that he mighte heare me reason, he hath stande still to harken vnto me, euen as thoughe he vnderstode me. Calfe, tell me, (as he who may do it, geue thee that thou most [...] desirest) who were thou, and of what place, before thou haddest this shape?

Euen of the selfe same countrye that thou also art, yf that that thou spea­kest be thine owne proper language.

Then thou shouldest desire alsoo to returne to see Gretia thy countrye a­gaine, aswell as I doo,

No true­lye. For where one is well there is hys countrye: but this commeth of the be­inge that I nowe haue, that thoughe I might well, I woulde in no wise be­come manne agayne, and hauynge to remaine thus as I am, this is so fruitfull and [Page] would destroye his beyng: but it mighte well be possible that in one onely man, all vertues mighte be founde, yf he had so longe lyfe, that he might gette them, hauing an apte witte to doo all thinges.

And howe so?

Because vy­ces beyng contrary the one to the other, as for example, feare is vnto boldnes, and couetousnes to prodigalitie, they canne not stande togethers: where as vnto ver­tues, not beynge contrary, but the one rather helper of the other, it foloweth not so.

And are there not vertues al­so among vs?

Not so perfecte as in man: and when it were euen as thou sayest, one, or fewe mo onely for a kinde, wher (as I haue tolde thee) man only may haue them all.

Yea, so saye you, but we are of a contrary opinion: Ra­ther I saye to thee, that there are many moo vertues amonge vs, then amonge you.

And whoo shall be iudge hereof?

Thou thy selfe: for yf thou herken vnto me, I will proue it so playnely, that thou shalte geue sen­tence [Page] agaynst thy selfe. Tell me a lytle: Saye not your wyse men, that Justice is an assemble of all vertues, and that she conteyneth theym all in her, geuyng to euery thynge the rightnesse, and rule, with the which they shoulde vse theym selues? For what other is there but she, that commaundeth the fortiall that he feare not, and that he flye not those daun­gers, that brynge him renowne: and to the temperate, that he geue not him selfe ouermuch vnto pleasures, or that he doo not any thinge inconueniente, to auoyde displeasures: and vnto the meke, that he doo none iniurie vnto others? Who is there besides this, but Justice, that ordey­neth all the doynges of man, measuring, and reducinge into a conueniente mea­nes all theyr doynges: as well those that they doo willinglye and freely, as to [...]ell, to lende, to gage, and lyke thinges: as also those that they doo, as enforced, eyther by disdayne, or by theyr euill cu­stome, or secretely, as thefte, kyllinge by treason, poysones, treasones, and false [Page] witnes bearing are, or openly, or with­out any respecte at all, as are villanyes, strypes, meyming of the members, and manslaughters, and other such lyke out­rages.

Truely, this that thou sayst is true: and for this cause there are some, that call iustice the hole vertue: addinge besydes this, that she is more perfect then any other. For as muche, as the others make him good, that possesseth them one­lye, as touching them selues: and she go­uerneth man, not onely as touchinge her selfe, but as touchinge others: and way­eth not onely the perticuler benefite, but the vniuer [...]all.

Then that that I say beyng true, yf I shall prove vnto the, that amonge you there is no Justice, or moost lytle, and not iustice truely: it shall be proued by consequence, that amonge you there is no vertue at all, or moost ly­tle and not vertue truely. Also yf I shall proue vnto thee afterwarde, that there is more iustice among vs, then among you, it shalbe lykewise proued by consequence, that we haue many moo vertues then you, and that our beyng is farre better [Page] then yours.

Thy conclution is mooste true: but the difficultie is in pro­uyng it.

Shall it not alwayes be proued, when the propositions are pro­ued that bringe it in?

Knowest thou so muche logike?

Why, what miracle is that, I beyng a Gretian? For thou knowest that all we laboure therin, whiles we be children.

Go to, folow then.

The greater of the two pro­positions, the whiche is, where there is no iustice, there is no vertue at all, I haue already proued to thee, synce thou haste graunted me, that she conteyned all ver­tues in her: for the whiche cause she hath bene called, as thou saydest, the hole ver­tue.

Go to, I am contente: nowe to the lesser.

And this also is moost euident, yf that so famous a proposition of your wyse men be true, sayinge: that euery thinge is knowen by his operati­ons. And I will haue hereof none other witnesse then thyne: for I thinke my selfe mooste sure, that yf thou shalte diligently consider the operations of men, thou shalt saye as I saye.

Ye, peraduenture [Page] yf they did all after one forte.

It suffiseth that thou shalt see the more part do vniustly, by whom the occasion should alwaies be taken, to make iudgement of thinges. But tell me I pray thee: yf there were iustice amonge you naturally, as there is amongest us: or yf you liued ac­cording to that lawe that is written by na­ture in the hart of eche of you, what nede should you haue of so many lawes, as you haue made? although as it is vsed to be sayd for a prouerbe: they are lyke spiders webbes, for the great beastes break them, and the flyes remayne there.

It is true, that yf eche one would doo vnto others, as he would be done vnto, as the lawe of nature willeth, there should then nede none other lawes: notwithstandinge the greater part of them, are made by the declaration of the natural law, and if they should swarue from that, they should not be accompted iust. For as thou shouldest knowe, lyke as in speculatiue thinges, there are somme as principles that are knowen to euerye man by theyr owne nature, and by the lyghte of the vnder­standing: [Page] wherfore they nede not be pro­ued, as it should be for an example, that one onely thinge can be, and can not be in one time. And some other▪ thinges as conclusions that procede from those fyrst poyntes, and are grounded in them: Soo are there also in actiue thinges certayne lightes, and naturall principles, know­en by a commune notyce, and by the pro­per nature to eueryman, as for example it should be, not to do that vnto others, that thou wouldest not shoulde be done vn­to thee. And then by these principles, come these lawes written, and are grounded on them.

It semeth to me, that they are made, for that you maye be able to interprete this naturall reason after your owne fashion, and to plucke it this waye and that waye, as it pleaseth you, shewing that very often to be iuste with wordes, that is most vniust in dedes: and if thou take good hede to y ^t that I haue sayde vnto the, w ^t experiēce thou shalt se, that he who can best wrest a lawe vnto his desier, is taken for the best doctor.

Speake to me of the lawes as touching them selues, and [Page] led by Princes, as those, that are gouer­ned by the chiefe men, or by the publike gouernaunce, and thou shalte se what place the euill haue there: and howe litle the good are estemed, by the onely faut of the proper inordinat loue of those, to whō the distribution both of rewards and pu­nishmentes belongeth: who very often suffer them selues to be so much corrup­ted by profit, or by pleasure, or by some o­ther vnreasonable passion, that it is some­times sene, for one like vertuous operati­on, one to be rewarded, and no estimati­on at all to be made of an other. And like­wise also for one like offence, to punishe one greuously, & one other not only not to be punished, but to be rewarded and set in some degree.

And when that that thou saist were true, that there is no di­stributiue iustice among vs: howe is it then found amonge you? for thou haste told me that you are farre more iust then we.

Euen asmuch as is required for our state and nature. And yf thou ob­serue our operations, thou shalte know it of thy self, and perticulerly whē thone of [Page] vs, fighteth with an other: where thou shalt see all vs reioise and make mirth to h [...]n that is the winner. And that they that are vnprofitable are by vs continu­allye dispised.

These you shoulde knowe of your owne selues whether it be true or not. Nor I will dispute no more with thee thereof. But what wilte thou say to me of the comutatiue parte, how much is that among you?

Euen as much as is amongest you, who haue not one most litle part therof: but this difference ther is, that among vs it is not founde, for we haue no nede thereof, ha­uing euery thing in common: and among you, for hauing seperate thine from mine you cannot liue frely without it, for that couetousnes, & that your wicked hungar of riches, hath driuen it away, whereby you neuer do any other thing thē thone to thinke, to possesse y ^e, y ^t is the others, with­oute hauinge any respecte at al vnto the good and the right in your bargains and commutations of thinges that the one of you maketh with thother: but rather he is accompted amongest you the mooste valiante, who in his trauailing can make the [Page] that carye burdens for hier, or to the beu­tie of harlottes, that geue them selues for euerye vyle thinge.

Go no farther in numbring the wronges, that are in humain operations: for I also know wel that ther are many men, who drawen by their proper loue, do very often, not only that that they should not do: but that that after whē they are not appassioned, wold they had neuer done. But this maketh not that there is no iustice amongest vs: for there are many, aswel in the distribu­tiue, as also in the cōmutatiue, who wold neuer do anye thinge against the lawe thereof. The examples of whom, for not to be tedious vnto thee, and for that bookes are full thereof, I will not shewe the. And those your operations that thou hast rekened vnto me, shew also that ther is lesse iustice among you, though they [...]eme ordeined, or disposed after the order of iustice.

And why so, sins eue­rye thing is knowen by his operations?

Because in you they are customes and properties, that you haue had by na­ture who knowing that you haue not the [Page] knowledge, nor can gyde you of your sel­ues, in the path that is best for you, hath so directed you for your best commoditie. But tell me, canst thou shew me proper­lye what thing iustice is?

It is a constant and perpetuall wyll, the which geueth [...] euery one that that is his, and that that belōgeth to him, as I haue hard say of your wise men of Gretia: and soo I thinke it is: what saiest thou, am I de­ceyned?

No, yf for the wyll, thou vnderstande therein an habite caused by frequented actes: for he is not iust, who once or twise worketh iustlye, but he that alwayes, or at the least most commonly, worketh according to the same.

I also vnderstande it soo, for I knowe wel that those powers that neuer come to effecte, are vaine thinges and impos­sible.

Then yf it so be, what iu­stice wilte thou that there be in you, since you [...]aue not the will, the which is the subiecte, on the whiche iustice is fyrste grounded? For that this as thou know­este, is a reasonable power. And none [Page] but reasonable creatures can haue it.

And why can it not be in the sensitiue appetite, the which we also haue aswell as you?

Because iustice ordeineth and ruleth that parte called appetite, the which foloweth the knowledge: and this is the will, the which foloweth the vn­derstanding, who knoweth not onelye the thinges (as it might be said) that the sense also doth, but also knoweth the pro­portion that is betwene them: whereby it may iudge that that belongeth both to the one, and to the other, the which thing the sense canne not doo.

Yf we haue not iustice, what is that then that bride­leth our appetite, and that maketh it iust towardes others? for as I haue tolde thee before, we liue farre more iustly the one with the other then you doo.

Haue I not told it thee? it is a law put therin by nature for your benefit: by the meanes of the which lawe, you worke necessari­lye according to the same: and for those operations that come by nature, there is neither praise nor dispraise at all deser­ued. As a stone for fallinge downe is [Page] neyther praysed nor dispraysed, nor the fier for goyng vpwarde. And when thou wouldest say to me that you worke freely, (for I thinke it semeth vnto you that you haue a free appetite) I would a [...]nswere thee, that when this also were soo, you knowe not perfectlye and distinctlye that that you doo: whereby it foloweth, that your operations can not be truely called good. For, to will that an acte be vertu­ous and perfecte, it chiefely behoueth that he, who worketh, worke knowingly and wittingly.

These are sub [...] ­ties, and craftes, that you of your selues fynde, to be accompted superiours of o­thers: but he that shal well note your ope­rations, shall say, that yf Justice be found among you, it is onely in woordes. The which thinge is not so with vs, for we neyther knowe, nor can by any meanes, geue notice contrary to that that we haue within vs, as you do.

Let vs goo ouer somewhat more distinctlye the ope­rations that procede from iustice: accor­dinge that diff [...]nition that thou haste ge­uen me of her, the which in very dede is true [Page] towardes them, who knowe them not, sauing so longe as you haue nede to re­mayne vnder theyr custodie.

Are there not also amonge vs of those that vse that pitte? Consider the storcke a lyttle who when he seeth his father and mother not beyng able to flye any more, for age to remaine in the nest, nourisheth, and su­steineth them euen with his owne bloud: and seyng theym to lacke fethers, pluc­keth him selfe, and couereth theym, for that they should not be hurte eyther with colde, or with the ayer.

And what matter is this, fynding it in one kynde onely? for thou shalte fynde none other but the Storcke that doeth this: of the whiche it maye be also sayde, that he doeth it more for his owne commoditie, then to restore his father and mother: for he be­yng very cold by nature, after that he hath gotten his fode, remayneth also together in the neste with theym, to warme him selfe. Go then further to those dueties that shoulde be geuen to the superioures, or vnto those, who by some vertue deserue [Page] to be more honoured thē the others, called by vs obedience, or reuerence, what steppe or token of theym is there founde among you?

This nedeth not to vs, we beyng all equall: thoughe yet amonge those kyndes, who haue nede of a guyde, as the cranes, or the bees, thou shalte see a mooste greate obedience, and reuerence to theyr superioures.

Call it ra­ther a naturall inclination, and thou shalt say true. Go then to that that should be yelded to such as do thee a benefite, cal­led by vs thankefulnes, or kyndnes, what parte thereof shalte thou fynde amonge you?

Is there not many of vs sene, not onely to be kynde one towar­des an other, but to serue man, for that he geueth theym whereof to eate, or some other necessary thinge for theym?

Yea, as longe as your selues lyste: but it is afterwarde seene, as the toye commeth in your heade, you flyinge at vs with your heeles, and doo vs a thousande other outrages, forgettinge all the benefites that you haue receaued [Page] of vs. I will not speake of frendshyp, for that it can not be amonge you: I speake of that frendeshippe that hath vertue for a foundation: by the which the free electi­on of the mynde is after moued, and not of the naturall frendshyppe: for in this there consisteth no parte of iustice at all. And so lykewise the care and discretion that should be had of those that are our inferiours. All the whiche thinges ha­uyng the discourse of reason for a foun­dation, can not be founde amonge you. So that speake no more soo folishlye, that your state, because there are manye moo vertues amonge you, then amongest vs, should be better then oures: For thou arte deceyued by thy lyttle knowledge.

I will dispute it no moore with thee. For▪ although thou shouldest, haue the better hande of me with woordes, I not beyng able to make thee aunswere, for beyng muche lesse exercised in thys arte then thou; this opinion woulde al­wayes reste in my mynde, as moost true, because the same groweth in me by expe­rience, [Page] and by the sensitiue knowledge, the which (as I thinke) passeth in certen­tye all others. And therefore than­kynge thee of thy good will to­wardes mee, I will take my leue at thee, for I will lyue thus. ()

TRuely it is a maruey­lous thing, that among so many Gretians as I haue spokē with, trans­fourmed by Circes in­to diuers beastes, there hath bene none that would become man agayne. And yf the prouerbe, the which is common through our Gretia, saying: that it is impossible, that that, the which many saye, can be al­together false, were true in all thinges, I might make by this iudgement, that the being of beastes, who are voyde of reason, wer farre better then ours. But it should onely be true, in thinges that appertayne to the actiue life of man: for when one spe­keth of the knowledge of our vnderstan­ding, about the trueth and the nature of thinges: I haue heard moost commonlye one other prouerbe vsed, cleane contrary [Page] to this: the which saith, that one shoulde knowe as the fewest. And besides this I haue alwaies herde our wile men geue many Epithetes to the cōmon people of erring, of vnstablenes, of wauering, and of many other qualities, all the whiche betaken, litle knowledge and imperfecte iudgement, where by we can not main­teine them both to be true (and yet the nature of prouerbes is, by longe experi­ence to be true) except we vnderstand the one for things practicall, and th [...]ther for speculatiue. Then since the knowledge of the noblenes of the humaine nature, and howe muche the same knowledge passeth in perfection, the knowledge of other beastes, who lacke of the vnder­standing, and of the ablenes to discourse with reason, appertaineth to the contem­platiue parte, whose office is the seking the truth, it is no maruaile though the most parte erre: it shall then be best since Circes hath alreadye restored my compa­nions and shippes, and they tarye onely for me, that I returne home, and lose no more time, where I can not see that I [Page] might do any profit at all. For I will not therefore that their litle knowledge hurt me, as it doth them: because remaining here, amonge them beastes, though I be a man, I should liue after the imaginati­on, and the memorye, as they doo: where as amonge men I should liue according to art, and reason: by whose menes, draw­ing nere continually to my perfection, ye rather getting from day to daye part therof, I shall come to liue with a more quiet, and better contented mind. Let vs then go towardes the shippes, and let vs not take more care for others, thē for our selues, for this should be a most great fol­ly. But what beast do I see of such vnme­surable gretnes walking on the se strōd? it is an Elephant, if I through the farre distaunce, that is betwene vs, be not de­ceiued. O howe great is the varietie of nature, in the production of beastes: and howe glad I would be, that he who was turned into him, had bene a Gretian, his countenaunce hath caused me to loue him so much by beholdynge hym: I [Page] will therefore aske him it: for if I could finde but euen one onely who would by my meanes become man againe, I shuld not thinke to haue spente these my tra­uailes in vaine. Tell me Elephaunt, yf thou were a man, (as I thinke thou wer) before thou haddest this shape, what thou were.

I was a Gretian, & of the most famous citie of Athenes, where I studied philolophye a very longe time, and my name was Aglafemos. But tell me now why thou askest me this? for thou knoest that Philosophers seke none other thing then to knowe the occasion of all things, to quiet and satisfye that desire of know­ing, that euery one hath by nature.

Oh thanked be the goddes infinite­ly, that at the last I haue founde one lo­uer of the truthe: and one that maye truelye call him selfe manne: Knowe thou Aglafemos, that Circes hath graū ­ted me, thorough her gentlenes, that I may restore the humaine shape to al those Gretians, that I find in this her I stand, who haue bene by her transformed into beastes [Page] in so an Elephante, of the which beinge I am not yet fully resolued, whether it be better then yours or not. And ther fore I wil not beleue the thus at the first: but folowing the custōe of true philosophers, who although they beleue nothing with­out the reason therof, neyther doo they set anye thing at nought, that is sayde vnto them, though they vnderstande it not: yf it be not so farre contrary to the order of nature that it appere manifestly faulse of it selfe. For he, who thoughte not that there were any thing, but that that he vnderstode, should be counted a foole: I wil therfore harken by what rea­son thou thoughtest to do me a mooste greate benefitte in restoring me the hu­maine beinge: and if it shall be such as may proue vnto me, that your being is better then ours, (as it semeth that thou thinkest them,) this nature leste, and I becomen man againe, I will gladly re­tourne with thee into my countrye.

And I on the other part promise thee, if thou shalt proue vnto me, that your be­inge is better then ours, that then I will [Page] praye Circes, she will transfourme me also into one of these beastes, yea and I wil liue afterward here with thee: thy speche hath pleased me so much, and thy so mo­dest proceding, such as in dede belongeth to a ryght Philosopher.

I will not binde my selfe herevnto, for though it seme that I much care not to become man againe, I felte so great an altera­tion and trauaile in my transmutation, (an occasion that I now agre not so ease­lye to chaunge this state againe) I finde not yet in dede in this state so many com­modities, that I may iudge it better then yours. But what reason hast thou, that iudging your being so much better then ours, doest comfort me so earnestlye to become man againe?

I will tell thee it, and because thou art a Philosopher, I will procede with thee philosophically. Thou knowest that though there be in this worlde almost an infinite number, of kindes of creatures, that yet there canne none bee founde whoe hath not some proper and particuler operation, the whiche groweth in the same kynde [Page] by that fourme, that geueth it that being that it hath, wherby till it lacketh of the beinge, it can not also lacke of the wor­kinge.

Yea and if it were other­wise, nature shoulde haue made them in vayne, the whiche is impossible.

Thou knowest also that the nature, and the being of thinges, is knowen, by their operations. And they saye that we haue moste noble, and best being, the whyche haue beste, and most noble operations: for man is not able to knowe the causes, but by their effectes.

Yea, for the knowing the causes of them selues, and then by the meane of the knowledge of them to know their effects, appertaineth onely to the firste cause, the whiche is oc­casion of all.

And by these two foundations, thou mayst manifestly per­ceiue, y ^t the being of man is far more per­fect, then the being of beastes. For what is the proper operations of beastes?

The perceiuing, I thinke: for the nou­rishing, growing, and the ingendering, they haue in common together with the plantes: but for hauinge the sense only, [Page] they are beastes animate.

And what meanest thou by the perceauinge?

To knowe the nature of thinges, by the meanes of the senses.

And what is the operation of man?

The same I thinke, though the knowe­ledge of manne be called intellectiue: and that of beastes sensitiue. For this your vnderstandinge, can knowe nothing at all, without the senses,

Nay, saye not that they be one thynge, for soo thou shouldest erre: neyther saye thou al­so, that the intelligence of manne, canne vnderstande nothinge without the sen­ses: for it may fourme and brynge forthe within it selfe, many intelligible thyn­ges, and many conceytes, ingenderinge one thinge by the other, without the helpe of the senses. But it is very true that the begynninge of them, haue prece­ded from the senses: for there canne be no thinge at all vnderstode, that the fyrste begynninge thereof hath not sprounge frome the sensytiue knowledge: and in this sorte, this proposition shoulde be vn­derstode.

Those are inuen­tions, [Page] and vayne fantasies, the whiche not beyng necessary to the conseruation of the beyng, seeme rather to vnquiete, and kepe some thoughtefull, then to any thynge els. It suffiseth vs, to be able to know the nature of thinges, that are pro­fytable for vs, or necessary or delectable, with our sensitiue knowledge: the whi­che I thinke to be no lesse inferiour then this your intellectiue, that you so call.

Saye not so, of that that thou knowest not: for thou knowest that it appertey­neth not to the blynde, to geue iudgement of colours.

I will proue it thee. Tell me a lytle: howe muche the more a knowledge is certayne, is it not so much the more perfecte?

Yea.

And that of the sence is mooste sure aboue all others.

And who assureth thee of this?

Who? I my selfe: Do not I see that the leaues of yonder baye tree, the whiche is ouer agaynst vs, are grene? and I am sure thereof, in such sorte, that yf all the worlde woulde agree to saye the con­trary, I would neuer beleue it.

And what assuraunce shouldest thou haue [Page] that thou were not deceiued, and that they sayd not true?

Of what other assu­raunce shoulde I haue nede, if I see it?

To knowe that thyne eye were not deceyued: and this thou myghtest haue, hauinge the vnderstandinge, whereby thou shouldest be more certaine then thou arte, hauing onely the sence: and that this is true, harken vnto me, and I will make the most sure therof. Tel me: secst thou the sonne yonder? thinkest thou that he goeth, or not?

It semeth to me that he standeth styll.

And howe bigge thin­kest thou that he is, and of what coloure?

I thinke him about thy greatnes, yf thou were one rounde bodye as he is: and he seemeth vnto me of the coloure of these orenges.

See howe muche thou deceauest thy selfe to saye, that the sensitiue knowledge, is mooste true of it selfe, and without the lyght of the vnder­standinge: For of three thinges that thou sayest, two are mooste false, and yet thou thynkest to see the trueth therof.

And what are they.

That the Sonne moueth not, and that he is of so small bignes: for he moueth soo swiftely, that he hath no comparison at all, eyther with shafte, or with any other thing of the world, hauing euery day once (beyng drawen by the fyrste mouing) to compasse the earth, so farre distaunt from him, wherby be must make a farr greater circumference, then that of the earthen globe, the which they say is more thē twen­tye and two thousand myles in compasse. And besides this, it is greter then the earth about a hundred threscore and fyue times, as thou myghtest playnely know, yf thou were practised in mathemeticall thyn­ges. The which are no lesse sure to our vnderstanding, then it is to thee to knowe that the colour of the leaues of yonder bay tree are grene, wherof thou deceiuest not thy selfe: but thou hast not the suerty ther­of, as thou shouldest haue, yf thou haddest the vnderstanding.

And why so?

Because thou shouldest be able to discerne, which are the proper sensibles, of one sence, and whiche are the common, [Page] and are knowen by more senses: and thou shouldest knowe, howe no sense can be de­ceyued in the knowledge of his proper sensibles: a due distaunce beyng betwene the one and the other, and the middes pro­porcionate: and certayne other conditions necessary to lyke operations. And thou shouldest knowe also, howe it might be easelye deceaued by the common sensi­bles: wherby thou shouldest see, that thou couldest not be deceaued in iudginge that those leaues are grene, the due dystaunce beyng betwene thyne eye and them, and the ayre lyghtsome, and the colour, beyng the proper obiecte of the eye: as thou arte deceaued of the mouing, and of the great­nes of the sonne, both the one and thother beyng common sensibles. So that prayse noo more so muche the knowledge of the sences, the which is the weakest of all, yf it be not helpen by the vnderstandinge.

And what are the other?

Ther are three powers, or knowing vertues: the fyrste of the which, are the vnderstan­dinges of those seperated substaunces that continually turne the heauens, the obiect of [Page] to consider it, and so thou canst not haue of it anye surenes, or certentie of anye iudgement. Where our vnderstandinge withdrawing the things frō the matter, and considering theyr proper beyng, and deuidinge there beynge in his partes, or composing their predicates, substantialles and accidentalles, with theyr subiectes, hath most certaine knowledge of theyr nature.

What perfect knowledge can he haue (for example) of man, yf he consider him without matter: for that there is no man, but he is of fleshe and bones?

The matter of thinges is of two sortes: thone of the which is called comune, and the other particuler. The comune matter of man is the fleshe, the bones, the sinoes and other thinges: and the particuler mat­ter is this fleshe, these bones, and these synoes. And this perticuler is that, that going continually vnto breking, alwaies varieth. And without this the vnderstan­ding consydereth it: but not yet without the fleshe and bones: whereby consyder man as a reasonable creature of boones, and fleshe, and mortall: and in this sorte [Page] vniuersally, and without perticuler mat­ter, he commeth to be vnuariable: and as­sured knowledge may be had of him.

Haue not we also the phantasie that doth the selfe same? for it receyueth the Images of thinges by the senses im­materiallye, and besides this deuideth and maketh all that it listeth, and at all times when it will.

It is true that the fantasie is a power soo noble, that some heretofore haue douted, that it is the selfe same thing in vs, that the vn­derstanding is. And they that haue not thought thus, haue said that the vnder­standing at the least, coulde not worke withoute the phantasie, the whiche is most true. But this maketh not yet that it is not farre more inferior then the vn­derstandinge: and that this is true, the fantasye is a minister of the vnderstan­dyng, and serueth it continuallye in his operations, and those powers that are made by nature for the seruice of others, are lesse parfect, then the others: as thou maist manifestly see in thy selfe, that the outer senses, as are the sight, the hearing [Page] and others, for that they serue to our common sense (the which hath not for obiect one onely sensible, as they haue, but al) are lesse noble then he. And he then that serueth vnto the estimatiue, or fantasy, is also farre lesse noble then that. But yf thou wilt be more sure hereof, consider the operations of youre fantasie, and those of our vnderstāding, and thou shalt see howe farre the fantasie is inferiour vnto the vnderstāding. For though your fantasie take the semblaunces, and re­presentations of thinges immateriallye, it can not yet take them, without the pro­perties of the matter that are, the being in quantitie, the being in place, and in tyme, and such like: whereby you canne neuer imagin any thing at all withoute these conditions. The which happeneth not vnto our vnderstanding that can perceiue the nature of thinges, without con­sidering quantitie, or place, time, or vari­etie, and such like appertaining to y ^e mat­ter: it is true that he getteth these his kno­ledges, from the images that are in the fātasy, immaterially: for he could not get them of the things it self, for being so spi­rituall. [Page] Besides this, althoughe youre phantasie, can make also, and deuide as it should be, to make of a horse, & a man, a centaur: and to feine a man without fete & without hands, it can not yet deuide the matter from the form [...], nor the accidents from the substaunce: or make them toge­ther as our vnderstanding doth. And this is, for that the fantasie comprehendeth both thone and thother, with one only sē ­sation, and in one onely subiecte. Besides this it can neuer imagin any thing, that it hath not sene to fore: and yf not altoge­ther, yet at the least his partes.

Naye I wil not graunt the this yet. For we al­so do cogitate and thinke of many things that we neuer sawe. Tell me a litle, the shepe when he flieth the wolfe, doeth he flye him for that his coloure displeaseth him, or because he hateth his shape?

No.

Why doth he then flye him?

Because he thinketh him to be his enemy.

And yet notwithstanding he neuer sawe, what thing hatred was: see then, howe we can thinke on things that we neuer sawe.

It is true that you haue [Page] hunger, fiercely running, conferring all these thinges together, he will iudge he commeth to hurt him: wherfore he wyll chose to ronne away. So that thou maiest see howe much all these powers are more perfecte in vs then in you.

I vn­derstande some of those thinges that thou shewest me, and some I vnderstand not.

This commeth of thy nature, the whiche can c [...]yme no hygher: wherefore become man agayne, who is the most no­ble of all creatures, and thou shalt vnder­stande all together.

And what is the principall cause of his noblenes?

Two powers that he properly hath, the whiche none other beast hath, that make him most excellent of all others. The one of the which is called vnderstan­dyng, and the other is called wyll.

And what operations growe of these powers, that make him superior to vs?

From the vnderstanding the know­ledge of thinges, and from the wyll, the willinge and not willinge.

Doo not the sence and appetite the selfe same thinge in vs?

Yea, but so much as [Page] is onely necessary vnto your life, and far more imperfectly: for they work not only in man, for the conseruation of the being, but of the good and happye beinge. For the vnderstanding (beginning with him, for that a thing is first vnderstode before it is willed or refused) perceiueth not only the singuler thinges, as the sence doth (for this is the most base operacion, because, as I tolde the before, for that they varye continually, one can not get of them any true certaintie of any thynge at all) but vnderstandeth the vniuersalles, forming in him selfe a knowledge representatiue of mo indiuisibles, of one onely kinde, in the whiche mo perticulers doo equallye agre, the whiche knowledge he maketh in this maner. The phantasye repre­senteth a semblaunce vnto the vnderstanding, and the kinde of one onelye man: with those conditions, that make him to be one onely indiuisible, that is to saye, that he is in one perticuler place, and that he is now, and of such shape, and such: and for that such one is not foūd as hath these [Page] suche conditions, other then that indiui­sible onelye: the vnderstanding in thys knowledge, knoweth none other thinge then that perticuler manne. But if he tourne after into that resemblaunce, and vppon that kynd, and begin to dispoile him of those perticuler conditions, taking all that away that is perticuler, in that indiuisible: and beholding only the hu­maine nature, the whiche is in him, for­meth in him self an intellectiue kind, bringing forth thys vniuersall knowledge: the which is, that humaine nature is a corporall substaunce, mortall, and able to perceiue reason: and that in this, all men equally agree.

And what more per­fectiō in it self hath this vniuersal know­ledge of this your vnderstandinge, then the perticuler knowledge of oure sense hath?

A greater suerty of know­ing, then that, that thou knowest is so, and none otherwise: and that thou canst not be deceiued: the which thing the sen­sitiue knowledge can neuer haue. For he that seeth this man, and that other man, resonable, knoweth not yet herefore assu­redlye [Page] that euery man is reasonable. And so he that seeth that a Dogge perceyueth, and a Horse perceiueth, he shall not know by this that all Dogges, and all Horses perceyue. But he who knoweth that man is none other thing, then a reasonable creature, knoweth that euery man is rea­sonable: and he who knoweth that a beast is none other then a corporall substaunce, animate of a sensitiue soule: knoweth that euery Dogge, and euery Horse beyng a beast perceiueth. And besides this he is sure, that that, that he knoweth, is so: and he can not be deceyued: for he knoweth it by hys proper cause, forasmuche as the being man is cause, that this and the other perticuler man vnderstandeth: and the be­yng a beaste is occasion that this Dogge and that Horse perceiueth.

Sure­lye I beginne to knowe, that this your intellectiue knowlege, is far more noble, for the certeyntie thereof, then our sensi­tiue knowledge is.

Our vnder­standyng can also perceiue, thinges not onely holely and set all togethes, as your sense doeth: but can consider seperatelye, [Page] all the intentions, and all the properties that are in them particulerlye: whereby for an example, when hee seeth a whyt [...] thinge, he can of him selfe vnderstande what thyng whytenes is, and howe it is a colour seperatiue of the seynge vertu [...] and what bodye that is, in whose superfy­ciall it is grounded, where as your sence can not knowe whyte, but in knowing a white thinge, and comprehendinge with one like knowledge, the subiecte, with the fourme and accidentes. For the seing ver­tue can not take the colour of him self, but the thinge coloured. And that this is true, marke howe you neuer make iudgement of colours, but onely of thinges coloured: as also all those men do, who folow onely the knowledge of the sence.

Truely this way of knowinge, is very playne and distincte.

Our vnderstanding can also, by knowing perfectly the nature of thinges, affyrminge and denying, set them together, and lykewyse deuyde them: the which the sence can not do. For knowing that the substaunce receyueth and [...] stey­neth the accidentes, and that the bodies su­steine [Page] the colours, the which are accidents he putteth these two natures togethers [...] saying affirmatiuelye, the bodye is a sub­staunce: and so knowynge that the sub­staunce is gouerned of it selfe, and that the coloure can not be but in others, he wil de­uyde, and seperate these two natures, with denyinge the one not to be the other, sayinge the coloure is no substaunce. And besides this, he can with many of these affy [...]mations, and of these negations, bringe forth manye diuerse conclusions, that the sence could neuer haue knowen: the which thing you can not do. For thogh you flye some thinge that is noysome vnto you, you do it not affyrminge, or denying by waye of discourse, for thys operation passeth your power: but guided by the ap­petite that draweth you, withoute anye thought at al so to do.

And this also I vnderstand very wel.

Our vnderstan­ding climeth yet higher: for he loking on the semblaunces, and vpon the images of those things that the senses haue reposed in the fantasy, draweth out of them that kno­ledge of many mo things, then those y ^t the [Page] senses haue knowen, aswell the inner senses, as outer. For by the meanes of thē he knoweth the vniuersall natures, and the fourmes seperate from the matter, and the intelligences that moue the hea­uens. And fynally, the fyrste cause of all thinges, vnto the whiche knowledge, neyther the phantasie, nor the estimatiue, nor any other of your powers can ariue.

And after what sorte canne he ar­riue vnto the knowledge of the fyrst cau­ses?

Not onely by negation, as many haue sayde: but ymagininge a fyrste cause, and then after denyinge all the predicates of the same, the which haue in them any imperfection at all, as all the materiall conditions are, the which we see to be in these corporall creatures, sayinge: that this fyrst cause can not be engendred, is incorruptible, and not variable, by acci­dent, or by any alteration, not taken from any place, not made, not subiecte to anye poynt of continuaūce, and such other thin­ges: nor also only by that other meanes of passyng excellency, as certaine others say, affyrming that it passeth in goodnes, in [Page] beautye, in amiablenes, and in all other perfections, al good things, fayre, louing, and perfecte, that we see in this vniuersal world. But he can know it loking in him selfe. For he considering the nobilitie of his nature, the which consysteth onely in this, that vnderstanding all thinges, as wel such as are inferior vnto him, as those that are aboue him, can after a certayne sort make him selfe like vnto them all, and become all. And consideringe afterwarde that imperfection, the which he findeth in him selfe, that is so say: that he is in power vnto all thinges, but not yet in acte, and therfore vnderstandeth not alwayes, but somtime ye, & somtime no: he can fourme within him selfe a kynde of an vnderstan­ding more high, and more perfect then him selfe, the which may be alwayes in acte, and may alwayes vnderstand all thinges, and hath so vnderstode them from the be­ginninge, and can not be in power to re­ceaue any intelligence againe, hauing the kindes in him selfe of al thinges that haue bene, or euer shalbe. And this is the fyrste cause, who hauing gouerned, and alwaies gouer­or [Page] as signifying of some comune passion, as ioye, sorowe, feare and such lyke are, as you do: but we also vnderstand the sig­nification thereof, by the meanes of the wordes determined by vs, to declare our meanynges, in such sort as we best lyste: whereby it is that man onely amonge all other creatures, is able to take learnyng. By reason whereof they who know litle, may be made better lerned and more wise by them that knowe more: and although the mayster can not fourme in the scoller, an intelligible kynde of that that he tea­cheth him, he notwithstandinge ministe­reth to hym the waye and meanes, that he may of him selfe fourme it. Certeine most wise Egiptians beyng heretofore moued by thys so great vertue and / propertie of the vnderstandinge, called man, earthly god, diuine, and celestiall creature: messen­ger of the goddes, Lord of the inferioure thinges, and famylier of the superioure: and finally a myracle of nature.

Truely this vnderstandinge ma­keth him so excellent, and so noble, that it is no meruell, that they haue called him [Page] by so worthy and honorable names.

The wyll also maketh him no lesse excellent, then that his other perticuler power that he hath: by the meane of the which he wyll or will not frelye, that that he iudgeth good or yll, with the vn­derstanding: as you also folowe, or flye, that you iudge conuenient, or inconueni­ent with the sense.

Could not the appetite do the selfe same office, without ioining other power in man?

No: for folowinge the appetite, the sense coue­reth or hateth only those thinges, that the sense knoweth: and notwithstanding we see that man loueth many vertues, & hateth many vices, the whyche chaunce not vnder the sensitiue knowledge. And this power (as I haue told thee) maketh man very noble: for it maketh him free, and maister of all his operations. And this is for that the will is free, and hath not bene determined by nature, more vnto one contrarye, then vnto an other. For although the good be her obiecte, she is not therefore determined more vnto that, then vnto the contrarye. Wherfore [Page] it is not with it as with the naturall ele­mentes, who being nere their obiectes and hauing due distaunce betwene them, can not chose but worke: as it is mani­festly sene in the fyre, the whiche hauing a matter by it apte to burne, can not stay to not burne it. But our will, hauing a good thing set before it, and thoughe it be somewhat enclyned by nature to fo­lowe it, is not yet constrained by any ne­cessitie to loue it: whereby she maye loue it and not loue it. Then al the other pow­ers that man hath as a creature, are sub­iecte vnto this power, not alwayes in such sort that they can not be moued by their obiectes, without the commaunde­mente of the same will, but for that they are dispoled and ordeyned, to moue at all times that it pleaseth her. Where by al thoughe the syght, when a visible ob­iecte is presented vnto it, is moued natu­rally by that: the will maye commaund it that it turne it vnto an other obiecte, and so maye she doo to all the other sensitiue powers. And there is no obiecte, nor force at all, either of earthly, or celestiall thyn­ges, [Page] that can commaund her that she wil, but that that she list: the which is not so with your sensitiue appetite, For an ob­iecte offered vnto it, that it desireth, mo­ueth of necessitie the beast to folow it na­turally, and without any election, as eue­ry body may well knowe, who will dili­gently obserue your operations.

And what worthines geueth vnto man thys his free will?

A worthines soo marueilous, that those chiefe wise men of Egipte (as I haue tolde thee) called him for this onely, the gret miracle of nature.

For what cause?

For that al other creatures, haue hadde a certeine lawe, by the whyche they can comme to none other ende, then that the whiche was ordeined vnto them by nature, nor can in no wise goo foorth of those bon­des that she hath appointed vnto them. And man, by hauing this will free, maye obtaine a more woorthye, or lesse worthy ende, at his pleasure: either in bin­dinge him selfe towardes those thyn­ges, that are inferioure vnto hym, or [Page] turninge him selfe towardes those that are superiour vnto him. For if he will geue him selfe wholy vnto the belly: hol­ding his countenaunce, and face conti­nually fixed on the earth, he shall become as one that perceiueth nothinge, and like to the plantes: and if he shal drowne him selfe to much in the sensitiue pleasure, he shall become like the brute beastes: but yf he lyfting his face towardes heauen, playing the philosopher, shal consider the beautie of the heauens, and the maruey­lous order of nature, he shall change him self from an erthly beast, vnto an heuen­ly creature: and if he, dispising all the im­pedimentes of the body, shall attende to beholde the diuine thinges, he shal make him selfe almost a god. Who shall there then be that maruaileth not at this man? who is not onely most noble and lorde of al other beastes, but he hath also this per­ticuler condition, geuen by nature, that he can doo, all that he wyll

And what is then the cause, that this his wyll hauing the good for an obiect, and wor­king frely, you most commonly chosing [Page] that that is not good: followe vyces, and leaue vertue aparte?

For that the will is so maruelouslye vnited and knytte vnto the senses, and that our vnderstan­dinge muste take (vnto the knowledge of the whiche vnderstandinge, the election of the will foloweth) all his knowledges by the sence: who most commonlye shew­eth vnto him, in chaunge of the true good, a good disguised. Wherby the will being drawen and set loose by the knowledge of that, and by the intisementes of the senses, though she chose not that that is not good, at the least she flyeth it not: and she doeth not seuerely the office, that she shoulde, to commaunde the sensitiue appetite: and so all our errours, depende finally, by those partes of nature: that we haue without reason, together and in cōmon with you: and not by those by the which we are men.

No more, no more Vlisses, cause me nowe to leaue this beastyshe nature, and to become man agayne, [...]or my losse was to great, to haue bene so longe tyme con­uerted by Gyrces into an Elephante.

And I graunt it thee by the auctho­ritie

Thou hadst not this knowledge of the first cause of this hole world, whiles thou liuedst in that body of a beast.

No: but as sone as I was become man againe I felt it spring in my mind, almost as my naturall propertie: or rather to say bet­ter, I felt it returne into me againe. For before I was transformed by Circes in­to an Elephante, I remember that I had it (but nowe I haue this more, that hauinge muche more perfectly knowen the noblenes of man, then I did before, I begin to thinke that this firste cause ha­uing loued him, aboue all other thinges, as the making him more noble then any other beast doth plainely declare, that his ende, shall not be like vnto thend of other beastes▪ [...] not hauing the vnderstan­dynge