← catalogue

Literary and Philosophical Essays: French, German and Italian

by Michel de Montaigne · English · Gutenberg #5637 · 897,506 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Literary and Philosophical Essays: French, German and Italian
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Literary and Philosophical Essays: French, German and Italian

Author: Michel de Montaigne
        Immanuel Kant
        Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
        Giuseppe Mazzini
        Ernest Renan
        Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve
        Friedrich Schiller


        
Release date: May 1, 2004 [eBook #5637]
                Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5637

Credits: David Turner, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS: FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN ***




David Turner, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.



LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS

HARVARD CLASSICS V32




CONTENTS

THAT WE SHOULD NOT JUDGE OF OUR HAPPINESS UNTIL AFTER OUR DEATH THAT
TO PHILOSOPHISE IS TO LEARNE How TO DIE OF THE INSTITUTION AND
EDUCATION OF CHILDREN OF FRIENDSHIP OF BOOKES BY MONTAIGNE

MONTAIGNE

WHAT IS A CLASSIC? BY CHASLES-AUGUSTIN SAINTE-BEUVE

THE POETRY OF THE CELTIC RACES BY ERNEST RENAN

THE EDUCATION OF THE HUMAN RACE BY GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING

LETTERS UPON THE AESTHETIC EDUCATION OF MAN BY J. C. FRIEDRICH VON
SCHILLER

FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS

TRANSITION FROM POPULAR MORAL PHILOSOPHY TO THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS

IMMANUEL KANT

BYRON AND GOETHE BY GIUSEPPE MAZZINI



INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Michel Eyquem De Montaigne, the founder of the modern Essay, was
born February 28, 1533, at the chateau of Montaigne in Pirigord. He
came of a family of wealthy merchants of Bordeaux, and was educated
at the College de Guyenne, where he had among his teachers the great
Scottish Latinist, George Buchanan. Later he studied law, and held
various public offices; but at the age of thirty-eight he retired to
his estates, where he lived apart from the civil wars of the time,
and devoted himself to study and thought. While he was traveling in
Germany and Italy, in 1580-81, he was elected mayor of Bordeaux, and
this office he filled for four years. He married in 1565, and had
six daughters, only one of whom grew up. The first two books of his
"Essays" appeared in 1580; the third in 1588; and four years later
he died.

These are the main external facts of Montaigne's life: of the man
himself the portrait is to be found in his book. "It is myself I
portray," he declares; and there is nowhere in literature a volume
of self-revelation surpassing his in charm and candor. He is frankly
egotistical, yet modest and unpretentious; profoundly wise, yet
constantly protesting his ignorance; learned, yet careless,
forgetful, and inconsistent. His themes are as wide and varied as
his observation of human life, and he has written the finest eulogy
of friendship the world has known. Bacon, who knew his book and
borrowed from it, wrote on the same subject; and the contrast of the
essays is the true reflection of the contrast between the
personalities of their authors.

Shortly after Montaigne's death the "Essays" were translated into
English by John Florio, with less than exact accuracy, but in a
style so full of the flavor of the age that we still read Montaigne
in the version which Shakespeare knew. The group of examples here
printed exhibits the author in a variety of moods, easy, serious,
and, in the essay on "Friendship," as nearly impassioned as his
philosophy ever allowed him to become.

Reader, be here a well-meaning Booke. It doth at the firth entrance
forewarne thee, that in contriving the same I have proposed unto my
selfe no other than a familiar and private end: I have no respect or
consideration at all, either to thy service, or to my glory: my
forces are not capable of any such desseigne. I have vowed the same
to the particular commodity of my kinsfolks and friends: to the end,
that losing me (which they are likely to doe ere long), they may
therein find some lineaments of my conditions and humours, and by
that meanes reserve more whole, and more lively foster the knowledge
and acquaintance they have had of me. Had my intention beene to
forestal and purchase the world's opinion and favour, I would surely
have adorned myselfe more quaintly, or kept a more grave and solemne
march. I desire therein to be delineated in mine owne genuine,
simple and ordinarie fashion, without contention, art or study; for
it is myself e I pourtray. My imperfections shall therein be read to
the life, and my naturall forme discerned, so farre-forth as publike
reverence hath permitted me. For if my fortune had beene to have
lived among those nations which yet are said to live under the sweet
liberty of Nature's first and uncorrupted lawes, I assure thee, I
would most willingly have pourtrayed my selfe fully and naked. Thus,
gentle Reader, myself I am the groundworke of my booke: it is then
no reason thou shouldest employ thy time about so frivolous and
vaine a subject.

Therefore farewell.

From MONTAIGNE,
  The First of March, 1580.




THAT WE SHOULD NOT JUDGE OF OUR HAPPINESSE UNTILL AFTER OUR DEATH

     scilicet ultima semper
     Expectanda dies homini est, dicique beatus
     Ante obitum nemo, supremaque funera debat.
     [Footnote: Ovid. Met. 1, iii. 135.]

     We must expect of man the latest day,
     Nor ere he die, he's happie, can we say.

The very children are acquainted with the storie of Croesus to this
purpose: who being taken by Cyrus, and by him condemned to die, upon
the point of his execution, cried out aloud: "Oh Solon, Solon!"
which words of his, being reported to Cyrus, who inquiring what he
meant by them, told him, hee now at his owne cost verified the
advertisement Solon had before times given him; which was, that no
man, what cheerefull and blandishing countenance soever fortune
shewed them, may rightly deeme himselfe happie, till such time as he
have passed the last day of his life, by reason of the uncertaintie
and vicissitude of humane things, which by a very light motive, and
slight occasion, are often changed from one to another cleane
contrary state and degree. And therefore Agesilaus answered one that
counted the King of Persia happy, because being very young, he had
gotten the garland of so mightie and great a dominion: "yea but said
he, Priam at the same age was not unhappy." Of the Kings of Macedon
that succeeded Alexander the Great, some were afterward seene to
become Joyners and Scriveners at Rome: and of Tyrants of Sicilie,
Schoolemasters at Corinth. One that had conquered halfe the world,
and been Emperour over so many, Armies, became an humble and
miserable suter to the raskally officers of a king of AEgypte: At so
high a rate did that great Pompey purchase the irkesome prolonging
of his life but for five or six moneths. And in our fathers daies,
Lodowicke Sforze, tenth Duke of Millane, under whom the State of
Italic had so long beene turmoiled and shaken, was seene to die a
wretched prisoner at Loches in France, but not till he had lived and
lingered ten yeares in thraldom, which was the worst of his
bargaine. The fairest Queene, wife to the greatest King of
Christendome, was she not lately scene to die by the hands of an
executioner? Oh unworthie and barbarous cruelties And a thousand
such examples. For, it seemeth that as the sea-billowes and surging
waves, rage and storme against the surly pride and stubborne height
of our buildings, so are there above, certaine spirits that envie
the rising prosperities and greatnesse heere below.

     Vsque adeb res humanas vis abdita quadam
     Obterit, et pulchros fasces sav&sque secures
     Proculcare, ac ludibrio sibi habere videtur.
     [Footnote: LUCRET. I. v. 1243.]

     A hidden power so mens states hath out-worne
     Faire swords, fierce scepters, signes of honours borne,
     It seemes to trample and deride in scorne.

And it seemeth Fortune doth sometimes narrowly watch the last day of
our life, thereby to shew her power, and in one moment to overthrow
what for many yeares together she had been erecting, and makes us
cry after Laberius, Nimirum hoc die una plus vixi, mihi quam
vivendum fuit. [Footnote: MACHOB, 1, ii. 7.] Thus it is, "I have
lived longer by this one day than I should." So may that good advice
of Solon be taken with reason. But forsomuch as he is a Philosopher,
with whom the favours or disfavours of fortune, and good or ill
lucke have no place, and are not regarded by him; and puissances and
greatnesses, and accidents of qualitie, are well-nigh indifferent: I
deeme it very likely he had a further reach, and meant that the same
good fortune of our life, which dependeth of the tranquillitie and
contentment of a welborne minde, and of the resolution and assurance
of a well ordered soule, should never be ascribed unto man, untill
he have beene scene play the last act of his comedie, and without
doubt the hardest. In all the rest there may be some maske: either
these sophisticall discourses of Philosophie are not in us but by
countenance, or accidents that never touch us to the quick, give us
alwaies leasure to keep our countenance setled. But when that last
part of death, and of our selves comes to be acted, then no
dissembling will availe, then is it high time to speake plaine
English, and put off all vizards: then whatsoever the pot containeth
must be shewne, be it good or bad, foule or cleane, wine or water.

      Nam vera voces tum demum pectore ab imo
      Ejiciuntur, et eripitur persona, manet res.
     [Footnote: LUCEET. 1. iii. 57.]

     For then are sent true speeches from the heart,
     We are ourselves, we leave to play a part.

Loe heere, why at this last cast, all our lives other actions must
be tride and touched. It is the master-day, the day that judgeth all
others: it is the day, saith an auncient Writer, that must judge of
all my forepassed yeares. To death doe I referre the essay
[Footnote: Assay, exact weighing.] of my studies fruit. There shall
wee see whether my discourse proceed from my heart, or from my
mouth. I have scene divers, by their death, either in good or evill,
give reputation to all their forepassed life. Scipio, father-in-law
to Pompey, in well dying, repaired the ill opinion which untill that
houre men had ever held of him. Epaminondas being demanded which of
the three he esteemed most, either Chabrias, or Iphicrates, or
himselfe: "It is necessary," said he, "that we be scene to die,
before your question may well be resolved." [Footnote: Answered.]
Verily, we should steale much from him, if he should be weighed
without the honour and greatnesse of his end. God hath willed it, as
he pleased: but in my time three of the most execrable persons that
ever I knew in all abomination of life, and the most infamous, have
beene seen to die very orderly and quietly, and in every
circumstance composed even unto perfection. There are some brave and
fortunate deaths. I have seene her cut the twine of some man's life,
with a progresse of wonderful advancement, and with so worthie an
end, even in the flowre of his growth and spring of his youth, that
in mine opinion, his ambitious and haughtie couragious signes,
thought nothing so high as might interrupt them who without going to
the place where he pretended, arived there more gloriously and
worthily than either his desire or hope aimed at, and by his fall
fore-went the power and name, whither by his course he aspired. When
I judge of other men's lives, I ever respect how they have behaved
themselves in their end; and my chiefest study is, I may well
demeane my selfe at my last gaspe, that is to say, quietly and
constantly.




THAT TO PHILOSOPHISE IS TO LEARNE HOW TO DIE

Cicero saith, that to Philosophise is no other thing than for a man
to prepare himselfe to death: which is the reason that studie and
contemplation doth in some sort withdraw our soule from us, and
severally employ it from the body, which is a kind of apprentisage
and resemblance of death; or else it is, that all the wisdome and
discourse of the world, doth in the end resolve upon this point, to
teach us not to feare to die. Truly either reason mockes us, or it
only aimeth at our contentment, and in fine, bends all her travell
to make us live well, and as the holy Scripture saith, "at our
ease." All the opinions of the world conclude, that pleasure is our
end, howbeit they take divers meanes unto and for it, else would men
reject them at their first comming. For, who would give eare unto
him, that for it's end would establish our paine and disturbance?
The dissentions of philosophicall sects in this case are verbal:
Transcurramus solertissimas Hugos [Footnote: Travails, labours.]
"Let us run over such over-fine fooleries and subtill trifles."
There is more wilfulnesse and wrangling among them, than pertains to
a sacred profession. But what person a man undertakes to act, he
doth ever therewithal! personate his owne. Allthough they say, that
in vertue it selfe, the last scope of our aime is voluptuousnes. It
pleaseth me to importune their eares still with this word, which so
much offends their hearing. And if it imply any chief pleasure or
exceeding contentments, it is rather due to the assistance of
vertue, than to any other supply, voluptuousnes being more strong,
sinnowie, sturdie, and manly, is but more seriously voluptuous. And
we should give it the name of pleasure, more favorable, sweeter, and
more naturall; and not terme it vigor, from which it hath his
denomination. Should this baser sensuality deserve this faire name,
it should be by competencie, and not by privilege. I finde it lesse
void of incommodities and crosses than vertue. And besides that> her
taste is more fleeting, momentarie, and fading, she hath her fasts,
her eyes, and her travels, and both sweat and blood. Furthermore she
hath particularly so many wounding passions, and of so severall
sorts, and so filthie and loathsome a societie waiting upon her,
that shee is equivalent to penitencie. Wee are in the wrong, to
thinke her incommodities serve her as a provocation and seasoning to
her sweetnes, as in nature one contrarie is vivified by another
contrarie: and to say, when we come to vertue, that like successes
and difficulties overwhelme it, and yeeld it austere and
inaccessible. Whereas much more properly then unto voluptuousnes,
they ennobled, sharpen, animate, and raise that divine and perfect
pleasure, which it meditates and procureth us. Truly he is verie
unworthie her acquaintance, that counter-ballanceth her cost to his
fruit, and knowes neither the graces nor use of it. Those who go
about to instruct us, how her pursuit is very hard and laborious,
and her jovisance [Footnote: Enjoyment] well-pleasing and
delightfull: what else tell they us, but that shee is ever
unpleasant and irksome? For what humane meane [Footnote: Human
meana. man's life is subject, it is not with an equall care: as well
because accidents are not of such a necessitie, for most men passe
their whole life without feeling any want or povertie, and othersome
without feeling any griefe or sicknes, as Xenophilus the Musitian,
who lived an hundred and six yeares in perfect and continuall
health: as also if the worst happen, death may at all times, and
whensoever it shall please us, cut off all other inconveniences and
crosses. But as for death, it is inevitable.] did ever attaine unto
an absolute enjoying of it? The perfectest have beene content but to
aspire and approach her, without ever possessing her. But they are
deceived; seeing that of all the pleasures we know, the pursute of
them is pleasant. The enterprise is perceived by the qualitie of the
thing, which it hath regard unto: for it is a good portion of the
effect, and consubstantiall. That happines and felicitie, which
shineth in vertue, replenisheth her approaches and appurtenances,
even unto, the first entrance and utmost barre. Now of all the
benefits of vertue, the contempt of death is the chiefest, a meane
that furnisheth our life with an ease-full tranquillitie, and gives
us a pure and amiable taste of it: without which every other
voluptuousnes is extinguished. Loe, here the reasons why all rules
encounter and agree with this article. And albeit they all leade us
with a common accord to despise povertie, and other accidental!
crosses, to which

     Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium
     Versatur urna, serius, ocius
     Sors exitura, et nos in aeternum
     Exilium impositura cymbae,
     [Footnote: Hor. I. iii. Od. iii. 25.]

     All to one place are driv'n, of all
     Shak't is the lot-pot, where-hence shall
     Sooner or later drawne lots fall,
     And to deaths boat for aye enthrall.

And by consequence, if she makes us affeard, it is a continual
subject of torment, and which can no way be eased. There is no
starting-hole will hide us from her, she will finde us wheresoever
we are, we may as in a suspected countrie start and turne here and
there: quae quasi saxum Tantalo semper impendet.[Footnote: Cic. De
Fin. I. i.] "Which evermore hangs like the stone over the head of
Tantalus:" Our lawes doe often condemne and send malefactors to be
executed in the same place where the crime was committed: to which
whilest they are going, leade them along the fairest houses, or
entertaine them with the best cheere you can,

     non Siculae dapes Dulcem elaborabunt saporem:
     Non avium, citharaeque cantus
     Somnum reducent.
     [Footnote: Hor. I. iii. Od. i, 12.]

     Not all King Denys daintie fare,
     Can pleasing taste for them prepare:
     No song of birds, no musikes sound
     Can lullabie to sleepe profound.

Doe you thinke they can take any pleasure in it? or be any thing
delighted? and that the finall intent of their voiage being still
before their eies, hath not altered and altogether distracted their
taste from all these commodities and allurements?

     Audit iter, numeratque dies, spatioque viarum
     Metitur vitam, torquetur peste futura.
     [Footnote: Claud, in Ruff. 1. ii. 137]

     He heares his journey, counts his daies, so measures he
     His life by his waies length, vext with the ill shall be.

The end of our cariere is death, it is the necessarie object of our
aime: if it affright us, how is it possible we should step one foot
further without an ague? The remedie of the vulgar sort is, not to
think on it. But from what brutall stupiditie may so grosse a
blindnesse come upon him? he must be made to bridle his Asse by the
taile,

     Qiti capite ipse suo instituit vestigia retro.
     [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iv. 474]

     Who doth a course contrarie runne
     With his head to his course begunne.

It is no marvell if he be so often taken tripping; some doe no
sooner heare the name of death spoken of, but they are afraid, yea
the most part will crosse themselves, as if they heard the Devill
named. And because mention is made of it in mens wils and
testaments, I warrant you there is none will set his hand to them,
til the physitian hath given his last doome, and utterly forsaken
him. And God knowes, being then betweene such paine and feare, with
what sound judgment they endure him. For so much as this syllable
sounded so unpleasantly in their eares, and this voice seemed so ill
boding and unluckie, the Romans had learned to allay and dilate the
same by a Periphrasis. In liew of saying, he is dead, or he hath
ended his daies, they would say, he hath lived. So it be life, be it
past or no, they are comforted: from whom we have borrowed our
phrases quondam, alias, or late such a one. It may haply be, as the
common saying is, the time we live is worth the mony we pay for it.
I was borne betweene eleven of the clocke and noone, the last of
Februarie 1533, according to our computation, the yeare beginning
the first of Januarie. It is but a fortnight since I was 39 yeares
old. I want at least as much more. If in the meane time I should
trouble my thoughts with a matter so farre from me, it were but
folly. But what? we see both young and old to leave their life after
one selfe-same condition. No man departs otherwise from it, than if
he but now came to it, seeing there is no man so crazed,[Footnote:
Infirm] bedrell, [Footnote: Bedridden.] or decrepit, so long as he
remembers Methusalem, but thinkes he may yet live twentie yeares.
Moreover, seely [Footnote: Simple, weak.] creature as thou art, who
hath limited the end of thy daies? Happily thou presumest upon
physitians reports. Rather consider the effect and experience. By
the common course of things long since thou livest by extraordinarie
favour. Thou hast alreadie over-past the ordinarie tearmes of common
life: And to prove it, remember but thy acquaintances, and tell me
how many more of them have died before they came to thy age, than
have either attained or outgone the same: yea, and of those that
through renoune have ennobled their life, if thou but register them,
I will lay a wager, I will finde more that have died before they
came to five and thirty years, than after. It is consonant with
reason and pietie, to take example by the humanity of Jesus Christ,
who ended his humane life at three and thirtie yeares. The greatest
man that ever was, being no more than a man, I meane Alexander the
Great, ended his dayes, and died also of that age. How many severall
meanes and waies hath death to surprise us!

     Quid quisque vitet, nunquam homini satis
     Cautum est in horas
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Od. xiii. 13.]

     A man can never take good heed,
     Hourely what he may shun and speed.

I omit to speak of agues and pleurisies; who would ever have
imagined that a Duke of Brittanie should have beene stifled to death
in a throng of people, as whilome was a neighbour of mine at Lyons,
when Pope Clement made his entrance there? Hast thou not seene one
of our late Kings slaine in the middest of his sports? and one of
his ancestors die miserably by the chocke [Footnote: Shock.] of an
hog? Eschilus fore threatned by the fall of an house, when he stood
most upon his guard, strucken dead by the fall of a tortoise shell,
which fell out of the tallants of an eagle flying in the air? and
another choaked with the kernell of a grape? And an Emperour die by
the scratch of a combe, whilest he was combing his head? And
Aemylius Lepidus with hitting his foot against a doore-seele? And
Aufidius with stumbling against the Consull-chamber doore as he was
going in thereat? And Cornelius Gallus, the Praetor, Tigillinus,
Captaine of the Romane watch, Lodowike, sonne of Guido Gonzaga,
Marquis of Mantua, end their daies betweene womens thighs? And of a
farre worse example Speusippus, the Platonian philosopher, and one
of our Popes? Poore Bebius a Judge, whilest he demurreth the sute of
a plaintife but for eight daies, be hold, his last expired: And
Caius Iulius a Physitian, whilest he was annointing the eies of one
of his patients, to have his owne sight closed for ever by death.
And if amongst these examples, I may adde one of a brother of mine,
called Captain Saint Martin, a man of three and twentie yeares of
age, who had alreadie given good testimonie of his worth and forward
valour, playing at tennis, received a blow with a ball, that hit him
a little above the right eare, without apparance of any contusion,
bruse, or hurt, and never sitting or resting upon it, died within
six houres after of an apoplexie, which the blow of the ball caused
in him. These so frequent and ordinary examples, hapning, and being
still before our eies, how is it possible for man to forgo or for
get the remembrance of death? and why should it not continually
seeme unto us, that shee is still ready at hand to take us by the
throat? What matter is it, will you say unto me, how and in what
manner it is, so long as a man doe not trouble and vex himselfe
therewith? I am of this opinion, that howsoever a man may shrowd or
hide himselfe from her dart, yea, were it under an oxe-hide, I am
not the man would shrinke backe: it sufficeth me to live at my ease;
and the best recreation I can have, that doe I ever take; in other
matters, as little vain glorious, and exemplare as you list.

   --praetulerim delirus inersque videri,
     Dum mea delectent mala me, vel denique fallant,
     Quam sapere et ringi
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Episi. ii 126]

     A dotard I had rather seeme, and dull,
     Sooner my faults may please make me a gull,
     Than to be wise, and beat my vexed scull.

But it is folly to thinke that way to come unto it. They come, they
goe, they trot, they daunce: but no speech of death. All that is
good sport. But if she be once come, and on a sudden and openly
surprise, either them, their wives, their children, or their
friends, what torments, what out cries, what rage, and what despaire
doth then overwhelme them? saw you ever anything so drooping, so
changed, and so distracted? A man must looke to it, and in better
times fore-see it. And might that brutish carelessenesse lodge in
the minde of a man of understanding (which I find altogether
impossible) she sels us her ware at an overdeere rate: were she an
enemie by mans wit to be avoided, I would advise men to borrow the
weapons of cowardlinesse: but since it may not be, and that be you
either a coward or a runaway, an honest or valiant man, she
overtakes you,

     Nempe et fugacem persequitur virum,
     Nec parcit imbellis juventae
     Poplitibus, timidoque tergo.
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. iii. Od. ii. 14.]

     Shee persecutes the man that flies,
     Shee spares not weake youth to surprise,
     But on their hammes and backe turn'd plies.

And that no temper of cuirace [Footnote: Cuirass.] may shield or
defend you,

     Ille licet ferro cauius se condat et aere,
     Mors tamen inclusum protraket inde caput.
     [Footnote: Propert. 1. iii. et xvii. 5]

     Though he with yron and brasse his head empale,
     Yet death his head enclosed thence will hale.

Let us learne to stand, and combat her with a resolute minde. And
being to take the greatest advantage she hath upon us from her, let
us take a cleane contrary way from the common, let us remove her
strangenesse from her, let us converse, frequent, and acquaint our
selves with her, let us have nothing so much in minde as death, let
us at all times and seasons, and in the ugliest manner that may be,
yea with all faces shapen and represent the same unto our
imagination. At the stumbling of a horse, at the fall of a stone, at
the least prick with a pinne, let us presently ruminate and say with
our selves, what if it were death it selfe? and thereupon let us
take heart of grace, and call our wits together to confront her.
Amiddest our bankets, feasts, and pleasures, let us ever have this
restraint or object before us, that is, the remembrance of our
condition, and let not pleasure so much mislead or transport us,
that we altogether neglect or forget, how many waies, our joyes, or
our feastings, be subject unto death, and by how many hold-fasts
shee threatens us and them. So did the AEgyptians, who in the
middest of their banquetings, and in the full of their greatest
cheere, caused the anatomie [Footnote: Skeleton] of a dead man to be
brought before them, as a memorandum and warning to their guests.

     Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse supremum,
     Grata superveniet; quae non sperabitur, hora?
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. i. Epist. iv. 13.]

     Thinke every day shines on thee as thy last,
     Welcome it will come, whereof hope was past.

It is uncertaine where death looks for us; let us expect her everie
where: the premeditation of death, is a forethinking of libertie. He
who hath learned to die, hath unlearned to serve. There is no evill
in life, for him that hath well conceived, how the privation of life
is no evill. To know how to die, doth free us from all subjection
and constraint. Paulus AEmilius answered one, whom that miserable
king of Macedon his prisoner sent to entreat him he would not lead
him in triumph, "Let him make that request unto himselfe." Verily,
if Nature afford not some helpe in all things, it is very hard that
art and industrie should goe farre before. Of my selfe, I am not
much given to melancholy, but rather to dreaming and sluggishness.
There is nothing wherewith I have ever more entertained my selfe,
than with the imaginations of death, yea in the most licentious
times of my age.

     Iucundum, cum atas florida ver ageret
     [Footnote: Catul. Eleg. iv. 16.]

     When my age flourishing
     Did spend its pleasant spring.

Being amongst faire Ladies, and in earnest play, some have thought
me busied, or musing with my selfe, how to digest some jealousie, or
meditating on the uncertaintie of some conceived hope, when God he
knowes, I was entertaining my selfe with the remembrance of some one
or other, that but few daies before was taken with a burning fever,
and of his sodaine end, comming from such a feast or meeting where I
was my selfe, and with his head full of idle conceits, of lore, and
merry glee; supposing the same, either sickness or end, to be as
neere me as him.

    Iam fuerit, nec post, unquam revocare licebit.
    [Footnote: Lucr. I. iii. 947.]

    Now time would be, no more You can this time restore.

I did no more trouble my selfe or frowne at such conceit, [Idea.]
than at any other. It is impossible we should not apprehend or feele
some motions or startings at such imaginations at the first, and
comming sodainely upon us; but doubtlesse, he that shall manage and
meditate upon them with an impartiall eye, they will assuredly, in
tract [Course.] of time, become familiar to him: Otherwise, for my
part, I should be in continuall feare and agonie; for no man did
ever more distrust his life, nor make lesse account of his
continuance: Neither can health, which hitherto I have so long
enjoied, and which so seldome hath beene crazed, [Enfeebled.]
lengthen my hopes, nor any sicknesse shorten them of it. At every
minute me thinkes I make an escape. And I uncessantly record unto my
selfe, that whatsoever may be done another day, may be effected this
day. Truly hazards and dangers doe little or nothing approach us at
our end: And if we consider, how many more there remaine, besides
this accident, which in number more than millions seeme to threaten
us, and hang over us; we shall find, that be we sound or sicke,
lustie or weake, at sea or at land, abroad or at home, fighting or
at rest, in the middest of a battell or, in our beds, she is ever
alike neere unto us. Nemo altero fragilior est, nemo in crastinum
sui certior: "No man is weaker then other; none surer of himselfe
(to live) till to morrow." Whatsoever I have to doe before death,
all leasure to end the same seemeth short unto me, yea were it but
of one houre. Some body, not long since turning over my writing
tables, found by chance a memoriall of something I would have done
after my death: I told him (as indeed it was true), that being but a
mile from my house, and in perfect health and lustie, I had made
haste to write it, because I could not assure my self I should ever
come home in safety: As one that am ever hatching of mine owne
thoughts, and place them in my selfe: I am ever prepared about that
which I may be: nor can death (come when she please) put me in mind
of any new thing. A man should ever, as much as in him lieth, be
ready booted to take his journey, and above all things, looke he
have then nothing to doe but with himselfe.

     Quid brevi fortes jaculamur aevo
     Multa:
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Od. Xiv]

     To aime why are we ever bold,
     At many things in so short hold?

For then we shall have worke sufficient, without any more accrease.
Some man complaineth more that death doth hinder him from the
assured course of an hoped for victorie, than of death it selfe;
another cries out, he should give place to her, before he have
married his daughter, or directed the course of his childrens
bringing up; another bewaileth he must forgoe his wives company;
another moaneth the losse of his children, the chiefest commodities
of his being. I am now by meanes of the mercy of God in such a
taking, that without regret or grieving at any worldly matter, I am
prepared to dislodge, whensoever he shall please to call me: I am
every where free: my farewell is soone taken of all my friends,
except of my selfe. No man did ever pre pare himselfe to quit the
world more simply and fully, or more generally spake of all thoughts
of it, than I am assured I shall doe. The deadest deaths are the
best.

   --Miser, de miser (aiunt) omnia ademit.
     Vna dies infesta mihi tot praemia vitae:
     [Footnote: Luce. 1. iii. 941.]

     O wretch, O wretch (friends cry), one day,
     All joyes of life hath tane away:

And the builder,

   --manent (saith he) opera interrupta,
     minaeque Murorum ingentes.
     [Footnote: Virg. Aen. 1. iv. 88.]

     The workes unfinisht lie,
     And walls that threatned hie.

A man should designe nothing so long afore-hand, or at least with
such an intent, as to passionate[Footnote: Long passionately.]
himselfe to see the end of it; we are all borne to be doing.

     Cum moriar, medium solvar et inter opus
     [Footnote: Ovid. Am. 1. ii. El. x. 36]

     When dying I my selfe shall spend,
     Ere halfe my businesse come to end.

I would have a man to be doing, and to prolong his lives offices as
much as lieth in him, and let death seize upon me whilest I am
setting my cabiges, carelesse of her dart, but more of my unperfect
garden. I saw one die, who being at his last gaspe, uncessantly
complained against his destinie, and that death should so unkindly
cut him off in the middest of an historie which he had in hand, and
was now come to the fifteenth or sixteenth of our Kings.

     Illud in his rebus non addunt, nec tibi earum,
     Iam desiderium rerum super insidet uno.
     [Footnote: Luce. 1. iii. 44.]

     Friends adde not that in this case, now no more
     Shalt thou desire, or want things wisht before.

A man should rid himselfe of these vulgar and hurtful humours. Even
as Churchyards were first place adjoyning unto churches, and in the
most frequented places of the City, to enure (as Lycurgus said) the
common people, women and children, not to be skared at the sight of
a dead man, and to the end that continuall spectacle of bones,
sculs, tombes, graves and burials, should forewarne us of our
condition, and fatall end.

     Quin etiam exhilarare viris convivia caede
     Mos olim, et miscere epulis spectacula dira
     Certantum ferro, saepe et super ipsa cadentum
     Pocula, respersis non parco sanguine mensis.
     [Footnote: Syl. 1. xi. 51]

     Nay more, the manner was to welcome guests,
     And with dire shewes of slaughter to mix feasts.
     Of them that fought at sharpe, and with bords tainted
     Of them with much bloud, who o'er full cups fainted.

And even as the AEgyptians after their feastings and carousings
caused a great image of death to be brought in and shewed to the
guests and bytanders, by one that cried aloud, "Drinke and be merry,
for such shalt thou be when thou art dead: "So have I learned this
custome or lesson, to have alwaies death, not only in my
imagination, but continually in my mouth. And there is nothing I
desire more to be informed of than of the death of men; that is to
say, what words, what countenance, and what face they shew at their
death; and in reading of histories, which I so attentively observe.
It appeareth by the shuffling and hudling up[Footnote: Collecting]
of my examples, I affect[Footnote: Like] no subject so particularly
as this. Were I a composer of books, I would keepe a register,
commented of the divers deaths, which in teaching men to die, should
after teach them to live. Dicearcus made one of that title, but of
another and lesse profitable end. Some man will say to mee, the
effect exceeds the thought so farre, that there is no fence so sure,
or cunning so certaine, but a man shall either lose or forget if he
come once to that point; let them say what they list: to premeditate
on it, giveth no doubt a great advantage: and it is nothing, at the
least, to goe so farre without dismay or alteration, or without an
ague? There belongs more to it: Nature her selfe lends her hand, and
gives us courage. If it be a short and violent death, wee have no
leisure to feare it; if otherwise, I perceive that according as I
engage my selfe in sicknesse, I doe naturally fall into some
disdaine and contempt of life. I finde that I have more adoe to
digest this resolution, that I shall die when I am in health, than I
have when I am troubled with a fever: forsomuch as I have no more
such fast hold on the commodities of life, whereof I begin to lose
the use and pleasure, and view death in the face with a lesse
undanted looke, which makes me hope, that the further I goe from
that, and the nearer I approach to this, so much more easily doe I
enter in composition for their exchange. Even as I have tried in
many other occurrences, which Caesar affirmed, that often some
things seeme greater, being farre from us, than if they bee neere at
hand: I have found that being in perfect health, I have much more
beene frighted with sicknesse, than when I have felt it. The
jollitie wherein I live, the pleasure and the strength make the
other seeme so disproportionable from that, that by imagination I
amplifie these commodities by one moitie, and apprehended them much
more heavie and burthensome, than I feele them when I have them upon
my shoulders. The same I hope will happen to me of death. Consider
we by the ordinary mutations, and daily declinations which we
suffer, how Nature deprives us of the sight of our losse and
empairing; what hath an aged man left him of his youths vigor, and
of his forepast life?

     Heu senibus vita portio quanta manet
     [Footnote: Com. Gal. 1. i. 16.]

     Alas to men in yeares how small
     A part of life is left in all?

Caesar, to a tired and crazed [Footnote: diseased] Souldier of his
guard, who in the open street came to him, to beg leave he might
cause himselfe to be put to death; viewing his decrepit behaviour,
answered pleasantly: "Doest thou thinke to be alive then?" Were man
all at once to fall into it, I doe not thinke we should be able to
beare such a change, but being faire and gently led on by her hand,
in a slow, and as it were unperceived descent, by little and little,
and step by step, she roules us into that miserable state, and day
by day seekes to acquaint us with it. So that when youth failes in
us, we feele, nay we perceive no shaking or transchange at all in
our selves: which in essence and veritie is a harder death, than
that of a languishing and irkesome life, or that of age. Forsomuch
as the leape from an ill being unto a not being, is not so dangerous
or steepie; as it is from a delightfull and flourishing being unto a
painfull and sorrowfull condition. A weake bending, and faint
stopping bodie hath lesse strength to beare and under goe a heavie
burden: So hath our soule. She must bee rouzed and raised against
the violence and force of this adversarie. For as it is impossible
she should take any rest whilest she feareth: whereof if she be
assured (which is a thing exceeding humane [Footnote: human]
condition) she may boast that it is impossible unquietnesse,
torment, and feare, much lesse the least displeasure should lodge in
her.

     Non vultus instantis tyranni
     Mente quatit solida, neque Auster,
     Dux inquieti turbidus Adria,
     Nec fulminantis magna Jovis manus.
     [Footnote: Hor. I. iii. Od. iii.]

     No urging tyrants threatning face,
     Where minde is found can it displace,
     No troublous wind the rough seas Master,
     Nor Joves great hand, the thunder-caster.

She is made Mistris of her passions and concupiscence, Lady of
indulgence, of shame, of povertie, and of all for tunes injuries.
Let him that can, attaine to this advantage: Herein consists the
true and soveraigne liberty, that affords us meanes wherewith to
jeast and make a scorne of force and injustice, and to deride
imprisonment, gives [Footnote: Gyves, shackles] or fetters.

       --in manicis, et
     Compedibus, savo te sub custode tenebo.
     Ipse Deus simui atque volam, me solvet: opinor
     Hoc sentit, moriar. Mors ultima linea rerum est.
     [Footnote: Hor. I. i. Ep. xvi. 76.]

     In gyves and fetters I will hamper thee,
     Under a Jayler that shall cruell be:
     Yet, when I will, God me deliver shall,
     He thinkes, I shall die: death is end of all.

Our religion hath had no surer humane foundation than the contempt
of life. Discourse of reason doth not only call and summon us unto
it. For why should we feare to lose a thing, which being lost,
cannot be moaned? but also, since we are threatened by so many kinds
of death, there is no more inconvenience to feare them all, than to
endure one: what matter is it when it commeth, since it is
unavoidable? Socrates answered one that told him, "The thirty
tyrants have condemned thee to death." "And Nature them," said he.
What fondnesse is it to carke and care so much, at that instant and
passage from all exemption of paine and care? As our birth brought
us the birth of all things, so shall our death the end of all
things. Therefore is it as great follie to weepe, we shall not live
a hundred yeeres hence, as to waile we lived not a hundred yeeres
agoe. "Death is the beginning of another life." So wept we, and so
much did it cost us to enter into this life; and so did we spoile us
of our ancient vaile in entring into it. Nothing can be grievous
that is but once. Is it reason so long to fear a thing of so short
time? Long life or short life is made all one by death. For long or
short is not in things that are no more. Aristotle saith, there are
certaine little beasts alongst the river Hyspanis, that live but one
day; she which dies at 8 o'clocke in the morning, dies in her youth,
and she that dies at 5 in the afternoon, dies in her decrepitude,
who of us doth not laugh, when we shall see this short moment of
continuance to be had in consideration of good or ill fortune? The
most and the least is ours, if we compare it with eternitie, or
equall it to the lasting of mountains, rivers, stars, and trees, or
any other living creature, is not lesse ridiculous. But nature
compels us to it. Depart (saith she) out of this world, even as you
came into it. The same way you came from death to life, returne
without passion or amazement, from life to death: your death is but
a peece of the worlds order, and but a parcell of the worlds life.

   --inter se mortales mutua vivunt,
     Et quasi cursores vitae lampada tradunt.
     [Footnote: Lucret. ii. 74. 77.]

     Mortall men live by mutuall entercourse:
     And yeeld their life-torch, as men in a course.

Shal I not change this goodly contexture of things for you? It is
the condition of your creation: death is a part of yourselves: you
flie from yourselves. The being you enjoy is equally shared betweene
life and death. The first day of your birth doth as wel addresse you
to die, as to live.

     Prima quae vitam dedit, hora, carpsit.
     [Footnote: Sen. Her. Sw. ckor. Iii.]

     The first houre, that to men
     Gave life, strait, cropt it then.

     Nascentes morimur, finisque ab origine pendet:
     [Footnote: Manil. At. l. iv]

     As we are borne we die; the end
     Doth of th' originall depend.

All the time you live, you steale it from death: it is at her
charge. The continuall worke of your life, is to contrive death: you
are in death, during the time you continue in life: for, you are
after death, when you are no longer living. Or if you had rather
have it so, you are dead after life: but during life, you are still
dying: and death doth more rudely touch the dying than the dead, and
more lively and essentially. If you have profited by life, you have
also beene fed thereby, depart then satisfied.

     Cur non ut plenus vitae conviva recedis?
     [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iii. 982.]

     Why like a full-fed guest,
     Depart you not to rest?

If you have not knowne how to make use of it: if it were
unprofitable to you, what need you care to have lost it to what end
would you enjoy it longer?

   --cur amplius addere quaeris
     Rursum quod pereat male,
     et ingratum occidat omne?
     [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iii. 989.]

     Why seeke you more to gaine, what must againe
     All perish ill, and passe with griefe or paine?

Life in itselfe is neither good nor evill: it is the place of good
or evill, according as you prepare it for them. And if you have
lived one day, you have seene all: one day is equal to all other
daies. There is no other light, there is no other night. This Sunne,
this Moone, these Starres, and this disposition, is the very same
which your forefathers enjoyed, and which shall also entertaine your
posteritie.

     Non alium videre patres, aliumve nepotes
     Aspicient.
     [Footnote: Manil. i. 523.]

     No other saw our Sires of old,
     No other shall their sonnes behold.

And if the worst happen, the distribution and varietie of all the
acts of my comedie, is performed in one yeare. If you have observed
the course of my foure seasons; they containe the infancie, the
youth, the viriltie, and the old age of the world. He hath plaied
his part: he knowes no other wilinesse belonging to it, but to begin
againe, it will ever be the same, and no other.

     Versamur ibidem, atque insumus usque,
     [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iii. 123.]

     We still in one place turne about,
     Still there we are, now in, now out.

     Atque in se sua per vestigia volvitur annus.
     [Footnote: Virg. Georg. 1. ii. 403.]

     The yeare into it selfe is cast
     By those same steps, that it hath past.

I am not purposed to devise you other new sports.

     Nam tibi praterea quod machiner, inveniamque
     Quod placeat nihil est; eadem suni omnia semper.
     [Footnote: Lucret. 1. ii. 978.]

     Else nothing, that I can devise or frame,
     Can please thee, for all things are still the same.

Make roome for others, as others have done for you. Equalitie is the
chiefe ground-worke of equitie, who can complaine to be comprehended
where all are contained? So may you live long enough, you shall
never diminish anything from the time you have to die: it is
bootlesse; so long shall you continue in that state which you feare,
as if you had died, being in your swathing-clothes, and when you
were sucking.

   --licet, quot vis, vivendo vincere secla.
     Mors sterna tamen, nihilominus ilia manebit.
     [Footnote: Ib. 1126.]

     Though yeares you live, as many as you will,
     Death is eternall, death remaineth still.

And I will so please you, that you shall have no discontent.

     In vera nescis nullum fore morte alium te,
     Qui possit vivus tibi te lugere peremptum,
     Stansque jacentem.
     [Footnote: Idt. 1. Iii. 9.]

     Thou know'st not there shall be not other thou,
     When thou art dead indeed, that can tell how
     Alive to waile thee dying, Standing to waile thee lying.

Nor shall you wish for life, which you so much desire

     Nec sibi enim quisquam tum se vitamque requirit,
     [Footnote: ib. 963.]
     Nec desiderium nostri nos afficit ullum.
     [Footnote: Ib. 966.]

     For then none for himselfe or life requires:
     Nor are we of our selves affected with desires.

Death is lesse to be feared than nothing, if there were anything
lesse than nothing.

     --multo mortem minus ad nos esse putandum,
     Si minus esse potest quam quod nihil esse videmus.
     [Footnote: Ib. 970.]

     Death is much less to us, we ought esteeme,
     If lesse may be, than what doth nothing seeme.

Nor alive, nor dead, it doth concern you nothing. Alive because you
are: Dead, because you are no more. Moreover, no man dies before his
houre. The time you leave behinde was no more yours than that which
was before your birth, and concerneth you no more.

     Respice enim quam nil ad nos anteacta vetustas
     Temporis aeterni fuerit.
     [Footnote: Ib. 1016.]

     For marke, how all antiquitie foregone
     Of all time ere we were, to us was none.

Wheresoever your life ended, there is it all. The profit of life
consists not in the space, but rather in the use. Some man hath
lived long, that hath a short life, Follow it whilst you have time.
It consists not in number of yeeres, but in your will, that you have
lived long enough. Did you thinke you should never come to the
place, where you were still going? There is no way but hath an end.
And if company may solace you, doth not the whole world walke the
same path?

   --Omnia te, vita perfuncta, sequentur.
     [Footnote: Ib. 1012.]

     Life past, all things at last
     Shall follow thee as thou hast past.

Doe not all things move as you doe, or keepe your course? Is there
any thing grows not old together with yourselfe? A thousand men, a
thousand beasts, and a thousand other creatures die in the very
instant that you die.

     Nam nox nulla diem, neque noctem aurora sequuta est,
     Que non audierit mistus vagitibus aegris
     Ploratus, mortis comites et funeris atri.
     [Footnote: Id. i. ii. 587.]

     No night ensued day light; no morning followed night,
     Which heard not moaning mixt with sick-mens groaning,
     With deaths and funerals joyned was that moaning.

To what end recoile you from it, if you cannot goe backe. You have
seene many who have found good in death, ending thereby many many
miseries. But have you seene any that hath received hurt thereby?
Therefore it is meere simplicitie to condemne a thing you never
approve, neither by yourselfe nor any other. Why doest thou
complaine of me and of destinie? Doe we offer thee any wrong? is it
for thee to direct us, or for us to governe thee? Although thy age
be not come to her period, thy life is. A little man is a whole man
as well as a great man. Neither men nor their lives are measured by
the Ell. Chiron refused immortalitie, being informed of the
conditions thereof, even by the God of time and of continuance,
Saturne his father. Imagine truly how much an ever-during life would
be lesse tolerable and more painfull to a man, than is the life
which I have given him. Had you not death you would then uncessantly
curse, and cry out against me, that I had deprived you of it. I have
of purpose and unwittingly blended some bitternesse amongst it, that
so seeing the commoditie of its use, I might hinder you from over-
greedily embracing, or indiscreetly calling for it. To continue in
this moderation that is, neither to fly from life nor to run to
death (which I require of you) I have tempered both the one and
other betweene sweetnes and sowrenes. I first taught Thales, the
chiefest of your Sages and Wisemen, that to live and die were
indifferent, which made him answer one very wisely, who asked him
wherefore he died not: "Because," said he, "it is indifferent. The
water, the earth, the aire, the fire, and other members of this my
universe, are no more the instruments of thy life than of thy death.
Why fearest thou thy last day? He is no more guiltie, and conferreth
no more to thy death, than any of the others. It is not the last
step that causeth weariness: it only declares it. All daies march
towards death, only the last comes to it." Behold heere the good
precepts of our universall mother Nature. I have oftentimes
bethought my self whence it proceedeth, that in times of warre, the
visage of death (whether wee see it in us or in others) seemeth
without all comparison much lesse dreadful and terrible unto us,
than in our houses, or in our beds, otherwise it should be an armie
of Physitians and whiners, and she ever being one, there must needs
bee much more assurance amongst countrie-people and of base
condition, than in others. I verily believe, these fearefull lookes,
and astonishing countenances wherewith we encompass it, are those
that more amaze and terrifie us than death: a new forme of life; the
out cries of mothers; the wailing of women and children; the
visitation of dismaid and swouning friends; the assistance of a
number of pale-looking, distracted, and whining servants; a darke
chamber; tapers burning round about; our couch beset round with
Physitians and Preachers; and to conclude, nothing but horror and
astonishment on every side of us: are wee not already dead and
buried? The very children are afraid of their friends, when they see
them masked; and so are we. The maske must as well be taken from
things as from men, which being removed, we shall find nothing hid
under it, but the very same death, that a seely[Footnote: weak,
simple] varlet, or a simple maid-servant, did latterly suffer
without amazement or feare. Happie is that death which takes all
leasure from the preparations of such an equipage.




OF THE INSTITUTION AND EDUCATION OF CHILDREN; TO THE LADIE DIANA OF
FOIX, COUNTESSE OF GURSON

I never knew father, how crooked and deformed soever his sonne were,
that would either altogether cast him off, or not acknowledge him
for his owne: and yet (unlesse he be meerely besotted or blinded in
his affection) it may not be said, but he plainly perceiveth his
defects, and hath a feeling of his imperfections. But so it is, he
is his owne. So it is in my selfe. I see better than any man else,
that what I have set downe is nought but the fond imaginations of
him who in his youth hath tasted nothing but the paring, and seen
but the superficies of true learning: whereof he hath retained but a
generall and shapelesse forme: a smacke of every thing in generall,
but nothing to the purpose in particular: After the French manner.
To be short, I know there is an art of Phisicke; a course of lawes;
foure parts of the Mathematikes; and I am not altogether ignorant
what they tend unto. And perhaps I also know the scope and drift of
Sciences in generall to be for the service of our life. But to wade
further, or that ever I tired my selfe with plodding upon Aristotle
(the Monarch of our moderne doctrine 1) or obstinately continued in
search of any one science: I confesse I never did it. Nor is there
any one art whereof I am able so much as to draw the first
lineaments. And there is no scholler (be he of the lowest forme)
that may not repute himselfe wiser than I, who am not able to oppose
him in his first lesson: and if I be forced to it, I am constrained
verie impertinently to draw in matter from some generall discourse,
whereby I examine, and give a guesse at his naturall judgement: a
lesson as much unknowne to them as theirs is to me. I have not dealt
or had commerce with any excellent booke, except Plutarke or Seneca,
from whom (as the Danaides) I draw my water, uncessantly filling,
and as fast emptying: some thing whereof I fasten to this paper, but
to my selfe nothing at all. And touching bookes: Historie is my
chiefe studie, Poesie my only delight, to which I am particularly
affected: for as Cleanthes said, that as the voice being forciblie
pent in the narrow gullet of a trumpet, at last issueth forth more
strong and shriller, so me seemes, that a sentence cunningly and
closely couched in measure keeping Posie, darts it selfe forth more
furiously, and wounds me even to the quicke. And concerning the
naturall faculties that are in me (whereof behold here an essay), I
perceive them to faint under their owne burthen; my conceits,
[Footnote: Ideas.] and my judgement march but uncertaine, and as it
were groping, staggering, and stumbling at every rush: And when I
have gone as far as I can, I have no whit pleased my selfe: for the
further I saile the more land I descrie, and that so dimmed with
fogges, and overcast with clouds, that my sight is so weakned, I
cannot distinguish the same. And then undertaking to speake
indifferently of all that presents it selfe unto my fantasie, and
having nothing but mine owne naturall meanes to imploy therein, if
it be my hap (as commonly it is) among good Authors, to light upon
those verie places which I have undertaken to treat off, as even now
I did in Plutarke reading his discourse of the power of imagination,
wherein in regard of those wise men, I acknowledge my selfe so weake
and so poore, so dull and grose-headed, as I am forced both to
pittie and disdaine my selfe, yet am I pleased with this, that my
opinions have often the grace to jump with theirs, and that I follow
them a loofe-off, [Footnote: At a distance.] and thereby possesse at
least, that which all other men have not; which is, that I know the
utmost difference betweene them and my selfe: all which
notwithstanding, I suffer my inventions to run abroad, as weake and
faint as I have produced them, without bungling and botching the
faults which this comparison hath discovered to me in them. A man
had need have a strong backe, to undertake to march foot to foot
with these kind of men. The indiscreet writers of our age, amidst
their triviall [Footnote: Commonplace.] compositions, intermingle
and wrest in whole sentences taken from ancient Authors, supposing
by such filching-theft to purchase honour and reputation to
themselves, doe cleane contrarie. For, this infinite varietie and
dissemblance of lustres, makes a face so wan, so il-favored, and so
uglie, in respect of theirs, that they lose much more than gaine
thereby. These were two contrarie humours: The Philosopher
Chrisippus was wont to foist-in amongst his bookes, not only whole
sentences and other long-long discourses, but whole bookes of other
Authors, as in one, he brought in Euripides his Medea. And
Apollodorus was wont to say of him, that if one should draw from out
his bookes what he had stolne from others, his paper would remaine
blanke. Whereas Epicurus cleane contrarie to him in three hundred
volumes he left behind him, had not made use of one allegation.
[Footnote: Citation.] It was my fortune not long since to light upon
such a place: I had languishingly traced after some French words, so
naked and shallow, and so void either of sense or matter, that at
last I found them to be nought but meere French words; and after a
tedious and wearisome travell, I chanced to stumble upon an high,
rich, and even to the clouds-raised piece, the descent whereof had
it been somewhat more pleasant or easie, or the ascent reaching a
little further, it had been excusable, and to be borne with-all; but
it was such a steepie downe-fall, and by meere strength hewen out of
the maine rocke, that by reading of the first six words, me thought
I was carried into another world: whereby I perceive the bottome
whence I came to be so low and deep, as I durst never more adventure
to go through it; for, if I did stuffe any one of my discourses with
those rich spoiles, it would manifestly cause the sottishnesse
[Footnote: Foolishness.] of others to appeare. To reprove mine owne
faults in others, seemes to me no more unsufferable than to
reprehend (as I doe often) those of others in my selfe. They ought
to be accused every where, and have all places of Sanctuarie taken
from them: yet do I know how over boldly, at all times I adventure
to equall my selfe unto my filchings, and to march hand in hand with
them; not without a fond hardie hope, that I may perhaps be able to
bleare the eyes of the Judges from discerning them. But it is as
much for the benefit of my application, as for the good of mine
invention and force. And I doe not furiously front, and bodie to
bodie wrestle with those old champions: it is but by flights,
advantages, and false offers I seek to come within them, and if I
can, to give them a fall. I do not rashly take them about the necke,
I doe but touch them, nor doe I go so far as by my bargaine I would
seeme to doe; could I but keepe even with them, I should then be an
honest man; for I seeke not to venture on them, but where they are
strongest. To doe as I have seen some, that is, to shroud themselves
under other armes, not daring so much as to show their fingers ends
unarmed, and to botch up all their works (as it is an easie matter
in a common subject, namely for the wiser sort) with ancient
inventions, here and there hudled up together. And in those who
endeavoured to hide what they have filched from others, and make it
their owne, it is first a manifest note of injustice, then a plaine
argument of cowardlinesse; who having nothing of any worth in
themselves to make show of, will yet under the countenance of others
sufficiencie goe about to make a faire offer: Moreover (oh great
foolishnesse) to seek by such cosening [Footnote: Cheating.] tricks
to forestall the ignorant approbation of the common sort, nothing
fearing to discover their ignorance to men of understanding (whose
praise only is of value) who will soone trace out such borrowed
ware. As for me, there is nothing I will doe lesse. I never speake
of others, but that I may the more speake of my selfe. This
concerneth not those mingle-mangles of many kinds of stuffe, or as
the Grecians call them Rapsodies, that for such are published, of
which kind I have (since I came to yeares of discretion) seen divers
most ingenious and wittie; amongst others, one under the name of
Capilupus; besides many of the ancient stampe. These are wits of
such excellence, as both here and elsewhere they will soone be
perceived, as our late famous writer Lipsius, in his learned and
laborious work of the Politikes: yet whatsoever come of it, for so
much as they are but follies, my intent is not to smother them, no
more than a bald and hoarie picture of mine, where a Painter hath
drawne not a perfect visage, but mine owne. For, howsoever, these
are but my humors and opinions, and I deliver them but to show what
my conceit [Footnote: notion] is, and not what ought to be beleeved.
Wherein I ayme at nothing but to display my selfe, who peradventure
(if a new prentiship change me) shall be another to morrow. I have
no authoritie to purchase beliefe, neither do I desire it; knowing
well that I am not sufficiently taught to instruct others. Some
having read my precedent Chapter [Footnote: "Of Pedantism"], told me
not long since in mine owne house, I should somewhat more have
extended my selfe in the discourse concerning the institution of
children. Now (Madam) if there were any sufficiencie in me touching
that subject, I could not better employ the same than to bestow it
as a present upon that little lad, which ere long threatneth to make
a happie issue from out your honorable woombe; for (Madame) you are
too generous to begin with other than a man childe. And having had
so great a part in the conduct of your successeful marriage, I may
challenge some right and interest in the greatnesse and prosperitie
of all that shall proceed from it: moreover, the ancient and
rightfull possession, which you from time to time have ever had, and
still have over my service, urgeth me with more than ordinarie
respects, to wish all honour, well-fare and advantage to whatsoever
may in any sort concerne you and yours. And truly, my meaning is but
to show that the greatest difficultie, and importing all humane
knowledge, seemeth to be in this point, where the nurture and
institution of young children is in question. For, as in matters of
husbandrie, the labor that must be used before sowing, setting, and
planting, yea in planting itselfe, is most certaine and easie. But
when that which was sowen, set and planted, commeth to take life;
before it come to ripenesse, much adoe, and great varietie of
proceeding belongeth to it. So in men, it is no great matter to get
them, but being borne, what continuall cares, what diligent
attendance, what doubts and feares, doe daily wait to their parents
and tutors, before they can be nurtured and brought to any good? The
fore-shew of their inclination whilest they are young is so
uncertaine, their humours so variable, their promises so changing,
their hopes so false, and their proceedings so doubtful, that it is
very hard (yea for the wisest) to ground any certaine judgment, or
assured successe upon them. Behold Cymon, view Themistocles, and a
thousand others, how they have differed, and fallen to better from
themselves, and deceive the expectation of such as knowe them. The
young whelps both of Dogges and Beares at first sight shew their
naturall disposition, but men headlong embracing this custome or
fashion, following that humor or opinion, admitting this or that
passion, allowing of that or this law, are easily changed, and soone
disguised; yet it is hard to force the naturall propension or
readinesse of the mind, whereby it followeth, that for want of
heedie fore-sight in those that could not guide their course well,
they often employ much time in vaine, to addresse young children in
those matters whereunto they are not naturally addicted. All which
difficulties notwithstanding, mine opinion is, to bring them up in
the best and profitablest studies, and that a man should slightly
passe over those fond presages, and deceiving prognostikes, which we
over precisely gather in their infancie. And (without offence be it
said) me thinks that Plato in his "Commonwealth" allowed them too-
too much authoritie.

Madame, Learning joyned with true knowledge is an especiall and
gracefull ornament, and an implement of wonderful use and
consequence, namely, in persons raised to that degree of fortune
wherein you are. And in good truth, learning hath not her owne true
forme, nor can she make shew of her beauteous lineaments, if she
fall into the hands of base and vile persons. [For, as famous
Torquato Tasso saith: "Philosophie being a rich and noble Queene,
and knowing her owne worth, graciously smileth upon and lovingly
embraceth Princes and noble men, if they become suiters to her,
admitting them as her minions, and gently affoording them all the
favours she can; whereas upon the contrarie, if she be wooed, and
sued unto by clownes, mechanicall fellowes, and such base kind of
people, she holds herselfe disparaged and disgraced, as holding no
proportion with them. And therefore see we by experience, that if a
true Gentleman or nobleman follow her with any attention, and woo
her with importunitie, he shall learne and know more of her, and
prove a better scholler in one yeare, than an ungentle or base
fellow shall in seven, though he pursue her never so attentively."]
She is much more readie and fierce to lend her furtherance and
direction in the conduct of a warre, to attempt honourable actions,
to command a people, to treat a peace with a prince of forraine
nation, than she is to forme an argument in Logick, to devise a
Syllogisme, to canvase a case at the barre, or to prescribe a receit
of pills. So (noble Ladie) forsomuch as I cannot perswade myselfe,
that you will either forget or neglect this point, concerning the
institution of yours, especially having tasted the sweetnesse
thereof, and being descended of so noble and learned a race. For we
yet possesse the learned compositions of the ancient and noble
Earles of Foix, from out whose heroicke loynes your husband and you
take your of-spring. And Francis Lord of Candale, your worthie
uncle, doth daily bring forth such fruits thereof, as the knowledge
of the matchlesse qualitie of your house shall hereafter extend
itselfe to many ages; I will therefore make you acquainted with one
conceit of mine, which contrarie to the common use I hold, and that
is all I am able to affoord you concerning that matter. The charge
of the Tutor, which you shall appoint your sonne, in the choice of
whom consisteth the whole substance of his education and bringing
up; on which are many branches depending, which (forasmuch as I can
adde nothing of any moment to it) I will not touch at all. And for
that point, wherein I presume to advise him, he may so far forth
give credit unto it, as he shall see just cause. To a gentleman
borne of noble parentage, and heire of a house that aymeth at true
learning, and in it would be disciplined, not so much for gane or
commoditie to himselfe (because so abject an end is far unworthie
the grace and favour of the Muses, and besides, hath a regard or
dependencie of others) nor for externall shew and ornament, but to
adorne and enrich his inward minde, desiring rather to shape and
institute an able and sufficient man, than a bare learned man; my
desire is therefore, that the parents or overseers of such a
gentleman be very circumspect, and careful in chusing his director,
whom I would rather commend for having a well composed and temperate
braine, than a full stuft head, yet both will doe well. And I would
rather prefer wisdome, judgement, civill customes, and modest
behaviour, than bare and meere literall learning; and that in his
charge he hold a new course. Some never cease brawling in their
schollers eares (as if they were still pouring in a tonell) to
follow their booke, yet is their charge nothing else but to repeat
what hath beene told them before. I would have a tutor to correct
this part, and that at first entrance, according to the capacitie of
the wit he hath in hand, he should begin to make shew of it, making
him to have a smacke of all things, and how to choose and
distinguish them, without helpe of others, sometimes opening him the
way, other times leaving him to open it by himselfe. I would not
have him to invent and speake alone, but suffer his disciple to
speake when his turne commeth. Socrates, and after him Arcesilaus,
made their schollers to speake first, and then would speake
themselves. Obest plerumque iis qui discere volunt, auctoritas eorum
qui docent: [Footnote: CIC. De Nat. 1. i] "Most commonly the
authoritie of them that teach, hinders them that would learne."

It is therefore meet that he make him first trot-on before him,
whereby he may the better judge of his pace, and so guesse how long
he will hold out, that accordingly he may fit his strength; for want
of which proportion we often marre all. And to know how to make a
good choice, and how far forth one may proceed (still keeping a due
measure), is one of the hardest labours I know. It is a signe of a
noble, and effect of an undanted spirit, to know how to second, and
how far forth he shall condescend to his childish proceedings, and
how to guide them. As for myselfe, I can better and with more
strength walke up than downe a hill. Those which, according to our
common fashion, undertake with one selfe-same lesson, and like maner
of education, to direct many spirits of divers formes and different
humours, it is no marvell if among a multitude of children, they
scarce meet with two or three that reap any good fruit by their
discipline, or that come to any perfection. I would not only have
him to demand an accompt of the words contained in his lesson, but
of the sense and substance thereof, and judge of the profit he hath
made of it, not by the testimonie of his memorie, but by the
witnesse of his life. That what he lately learned, he cause him to
set forth and pourtray the same into sundrie shapes, and then to
accommodate it to as many different and severall subjects, whereby
he shal perceive, whether he have yet apprehended the same, and
therein enfeoffed himselfe, [Footnote: Taken possession.] at due
times taking his instruction from the institution given by Plato. It
is a signe of cruditie and indigestion for a man to yeeld up his
meat, even as he swallowed the same; the stomacke hath not wrought
his full operation, unlesse it have changed forme, and altered
fashion of that which was given him to boyle and concoct.

[Wee see men gape after no reputation but learning, and when they
say, such a one is a learned man, they thinke they have said
enough;] Our minde doth move at others pleasure, and tyed and forced
to serve the fantasies of others, being brought under by authoritie,
and forced to stoope to the lure of their bare lesson; wee have
beene so subjected to harpe upon one string, that we have no way
left us to descant upon voluntarie; our vigor and libertie is cleane
extinct. Nunquam tutelae suae fiunt: "They never come to their owne
tuition." It was my hap to bee familiarlie acquainted with an honest
man at Pisa, but such an Aristotelian, as he held this infallible
position; that a conformitie to Aristotles doctrine was the true
touchstone and squire [Footnote: Square.] of all solid imaginations
and perfect veritie; for, whatsoever had no coherencie with it, was
but fond Chimeraes and idle humors; inasmuch as he had knowne all,
seene all, and said all. This proposition of his being somewhat over
amply and injuriously interpreted by some, made him a long time
after to be troubled in the inquisition of Rome. I would have him
make his scholler narrowly to sift all things with discretion, and
harbour nothing in his head by mere authoritie, or upon trust.
Aristotles principles shall be no more axiomes unto him, than the
Stoikes or Epicurians. Let this diversitie of judgements be proposed
unto him, if he can, he shall be able to distinguish the truth from
falsehood, if not, he will remaine doubtful.

     Che non men che saper dubbiar m'aggrata.
     [Footnote: DANTE, Inferno, cant. xi. 93.]

     No lesse it pleaseth me,
     To doubt, than wise to be.

For if by his owne discourse he embrace the opinions of Xenophon or
of Plato, they shall be no longer theirs, but his. He that meerely
followeth another, traceth nothing, and seeketh nothing: Non sumus
sub Rege, sibi quisque se vindicet: [Footnote: SEN. Epist. xxxiii.]
"We are not under a Kings command, every one may challenge himselfe,
for let him at least know that he knoweth." It is requisite he
endevour as much to feed himselfe with their conceits, as labour to
learne their precepts; which, so he know how to applie, let him
hardily forget, where or whence he had them. Truth and reason are
common to all, and are no more proper unto him that spake them
heretofore, then unto him that shall speake them hereafter. And it
is no more according to Platoes opinion than to mine, since both he
and I understand and see alike. The Bees do here and there sucke
this and cull that flower, but afterward they produce the hony,
which is peculiarly their owne, then is it no more Thyme or Majoram.
So of peeces borrowed of others, he may lawfully alter, transforme,
and confound them, to shape out of them a perfect peece of worke,
altogether his owne; alwaies provided his judgement, his travell,
[Footnote: Travail, labor.] studie, and institution tend to nothing,
but to frame the same perfect. Let him hardily conceale where or
whence he hath had any helpe, and make no shew of anything, but of
that which he hath made himselfe. Pirates, pilchers, and borrowers,
make a shew of their purchases and buildings, but not of that which
they have taken from others: you see not the secret fees or bribes
Lawyers take of their Clients, but you shall manifestly discover the
alliances they make, the honours they get for their children, and
the goodly houses they build. No man makes open shew of his receits,
but every one of his gettings. The good that comes of studie (or at
least should come) is to prove better, wiser and honester. It is the
understanding power (said Epicharmus) that seeth and heareth, it is
it that profiteth all and disposeth all, that moveth, swayeth, and
ruleth all: all things else are but blind, senselesse, and without
spirit. And truly in barring him of libertie to doe any thing of
himselfe, we make him thereby more servile and more coward. Who
would ever enquire of his scholler what he thinketh of Rhetorike, of
Grammar, of this or of that sentence of Cicero? Which things
thoroughly fethered (as if they were oracles) are let flie into our
memorie; in which both letters and syllables are substantiall parts
of the subject. To know by roat is no perfect knowledge, but to keep
what one hath committed to his memories charge, is commendable: what
a man directly knoweth, that will he dispose of, without turning
still to his booke or looking to his pattern. A meere bookish
sufficiencie is unpleasant. All I expect of it is an imbellishing of
my actions, and not a foundation of them, according to Platoes mind,
who saith, constancie, faith, and sinceritie are true Philosophie;
as for other Sciences, and tending elsewhere, they are but garish
paintings. I would faine have Paluel or Pompey, those two excellent
dauncers of our time, with all their nimblenesse, teach any man to
doe their loftie tricks and high capers, only with seeing them done,
and without stirring out of his place, as some Pedanticall fellowes
would instruct our minds without moving or putting it in practice.
And glad would I be to find one that would teach us how to manage a
horse, to tosse a pike, to shoot-off a peece, to play upon the lute,
or to warble with the voice, without any exercise, as these kind of
men would teach us to judge, and how to speake well, without any
exercise of speaking or judging. In which kind of life, or as I may
terme it, Prentiship, what action or object soever presents itselfe
into our eies, may serve us in stead of a sufficient booke. A
prettie pranke of a boy, a knavish tricke of a page, a foolish part
of a lackey, an idle tale or any discourse else, spoken either in
jest or earnest, at the table or in companie, are even as new
subjects for us to worke upon: for furtherance whereof, commerce or
common societie among men, visiting of forraine countries, and
observing of strange fashions, are verie necessary, not only to be
able (after the manner of our yong gallants of France) to report how
many paces the Church of Santa Rotonda is in length or breadth, or
what rich garments the curtezan Signora Livia weareth, and the worth
of her hosen; or as some do, nicely to dispute how much longer or
broader the face of Nero is, which they have seene in some old
ruines of Italie, than that which is made for him in other old
monuments else-where. But they should principally observe, and be
able to make certaine relation of the humours and fashions of those
countries they have seene, that they may the better know how to
correct and prepare their wits by those of others. I would therefore
have him begin even from his infancie to travell abroad; and first,
that at one shoot he may hit two markes he should see neighbour-
countries, namely where languages are most different from ours; for,
unlesse a mans tongue be fashioned unto them in his youth, he shall
never attaine to the true pronunciation of them if he once grow in
yeares. Moreover, we see it received as a common opinion of the
wiser sort, that it agreeth not with reason, that a childe be
alwaies nuzzled, cockered, dandled, and brought up in his parents
lap or sight; forsomuch as their naturall kindnesse, or (as I may
call it) tender fondnesse, causeth often, even the wisest to prove
so idle, so over-nice, and so base-minded. For parents are not
capable, neither can they find in their hearts to see them checkt,
corrected, or chastised, nor indure to see them brought up so
meanly, and so far from daintinesse, and many times so dangerously,
as they must needs be. And it would grieve them to see their
children come home from those exercises, that a Gentleman must
necessarily acquaint himselfe with, sometimes all wet and bemyred,
other times sweatie and full of dust, and to drinke being either
extreme hot or exceeding cold; and it would trouble them to see him
ride a rough-untamed horse, or with his weapon furiously incounter a
skilful Fencer, or to handle or shoot-off a musket; against which
there is no remedy, if he will make him prove a sufficient,
compleat, or honest man: he must not be spared in his youth; and it
will come to passe, that he shall many times have occasion and be
forced to shocke the rules of Physicke.

     Vitamque sub dio et trepidis agat
     In rebus.
     [Footnote: Hor. I. i. Od. ii. 4.]

     Leade he his life in open aire,
     And in affaires full of despaire.

It is not sufficient to make his minde strong, his muskles must also
be strengthened: the mind is over-borne if it be not seconded: and
it is too much for her alone to discharge two offices. I have a
feeling how mine panteth, being joyned to so tender and sensible
[Footnote: Sensitive.] a bodie, and that lieth so heavie upon it And
in my lecture, I often perceive how my Authors in their writings
sometimes commend examples for magnanimitie and force, that rather
proceed from a thicke skin and hardnes of the bones. I have knowne
men, women and children borne of so hard a constitution, that a blow
with a cudgell would lesse hurt them, than a filip would doe me, and
so dull and blockish, that they will neither stir tongue nor
eyebrowes, beat them never so much. When wrestlers goe about to
counterfeit the Philosophers patience, they rather shew the vigor of
their sinnewes than of their heart. For the custome to beare
travell, is to tolerate griefe: Labor callum obducit dolori.
[Footnote: Cic. Tusc. Qu. I. ii.] "Labour worketh a hardnesse upon
sorrow." Hee must be enured to suffer the paine and hardnesse of
exercises, that so he may be induced to endure the paine of the
colicke, of cauterie, of fals, of sprains, and other diseases
incident to mans bodie: yea, if need require, patiently to beare
imprisonment and other tortures, by which sufferance he shall come
to be had in more esteeme and accompt: for according to time and
place, the good as well as the bad man may haply fall into them; we
have seen it by experience. Whosoever striveth against the lawes,
threats good men with mischiefe and extortion. Moreover, the
authoritie of the Tutor (who should be soveraigne over him) is by
the cockering and presence of the parents, hindred and interrupted:
besides the awe and respect which the houshold beares him, and the
knowledge of the meane, possibilities, and greatnesse of his house,
are in my judgement no small lets [Footnote: Hindrances.]in a young
Gentleman. In this schoole of commerce, and societie among men, I
have often noted this vice, that in lieu of taking acquaintance of
others, we only endevour to make our selves knowne to them: and we
are more ready to utter such merchandize as we have, than to
ingrosse and purchase new commodities. Silence and modestie are
qualities very convenient to civil conversation. It is also
necessary that a young man be rather taught to be discreetly-sparing
and close-handed, than prodigally-wastfull and lavish in his
expences, and moderate in husbanding his wealth when he shall come
to possesse it. And not to take pepper in the nose for every foolish
tale that shall be spoken in his presence, because it is an uncivil
importunity to contradict whatsoever is not agreeing to our humour:
let him be pleased to correct himselfe. And let him not seeme to
blame that in others which he refuseth to doe himselfe, nor goe
about to withstand common fashions, Licet sapere sine pompa, sine
invidia: [Footnote: SEN. Epist. ciii. f.] "A man may bee wise
without ostentation, without envie." Let him avoid those imperious
images of the world, those uncivil behaviours and childish ambition
wherewith, God wot, too-too many are possest: that is, to make a
faire shew of that which is not in him: endevouring to be reputed
other than indeed he is; and as if reprehension and new devices were
hard to come by, he would by that meane acquire into himselfe the
name of some peculiar vertue. As it pertaineth but to great Poets to
use the libertie of arts; so is it tolerable but in noble minds and
great spirits to have a preheminence above ordinarie fashions. Si
quid Socrates et Aristippus contra morem et consuetudinem fecerunt,
idem sibi ne arbitretur licere: Magis enim illi et divinis bonis
hanc licentiam assequebantur: [Footnote: CIC. Off. 1. i.] "If
Socrates and Aristippus have done ought against custome or good
manner, let not a man thinke he may doe the same: for they obtained
this licence by their great and excellent good parts:" He shall be
taught not to enter rashly into discourse or contesting, but when he
shall encounter with a Champion worthie his strength; And then would
I not have him imploy all the tricks that may fit his turne, but
only such as may stand him in most stead. That he be taught to be
curious in making choice of his reasons, loving pertinency, and by
consequence brevitie. That above all, he be instructed to yeeld, yea
to quit his weapons unto truth, as soone as he shall discerne the
same, whether it proceed from his adversarie, or upon better advice
from himselfe; for he shall not be preferred to any place of
eminencie above others, for repeating of a prescript [Footnote:
Fixed beforehand.] part; and he is not engaged to defend any cause,
further than he may approove it; nor shall he bee of that trade
where the libertie for a man to repent and re-advise himselfe is
sold for readie money, Neque, ut omnia, que praescripta et imperata
sint, defendat, necessitate ulla cogitur: [Footnote: CIC. Acad. Qu.
I. iv.] "Nor is he inforced by any necessitie to defend and make
good all that is prescribed and commanded him." If his tutor agree
with my humour, he shall frame his affection to be a most loyall and
true subject to his Prince, and a most affectionate and couragious
Gentleman in al that may concerne the honor of his Soveraigne or the
good of his countrie, and endevour to suppresse in him all manner of
affection to undertake any action Otherwise than for a publike good
and dutie. Besides many inconveniences, which greatly prejudice our
libertie by reason of these particular bonds, the judgment of a man
that is waged and bought, either it is lesse free and honest, or
else it is blemisht with oversight and ingratitude. A meere and
precise Courtier can neither have law nor will to speake or thinke
otherwise than favourablie of his Master, who among so many
thousands of his subjects hath made choice of him alone, to
institute and bring him up with his owne hand. These favours, with
the commodities that follow minion [Footnote: Favorite.] Courtiers,
corrupt (not without some colour of reason) his libertie, and dazle
his judgement. It is therefore commonly scene that the Courtiers-
language differs from other mens, in the same state, and to be of no
great credit in such matters. Let therefore his conscience and
vertue shine in his speech, and reason be his chiefe direction, Let
him be taught to confesse such faults as he shall discover in his
owne discourses, albeit none other perceive them but himselfe; for
it is an evident shew of judgement, and effect of sinceritie, which
are the chiefest qualities he aymeth at. That wilfully to strive,
and obstinately to contest in words, are common qualities, most
apparent in basest mindes: That to readvise and correct himselfe,
and when one is most earnest, to leave an ill opinion, are rare,
noble, and Philosophicall conditions. Being in companie, he shall be
put in minde, to cast his eyes round about, and every where: For I
note, that the chiefe places are usually seezed upon by the most
unworthie and lesse capable; and that height of fortune is seldome
joyned with sufficiencie. I have scene that whilst they at the upper
end of a board were busie entertaining themselves with talking of
the beautie of the hangings about a chamber, or of the taste of some
good cup of wine, many good discourses at the lower end have utterly
been lost. He shall weigh the carriage of every man in his calling,
a Heardsman, a Mason, a Stranger, or a Traveller; all must be
imployed; every one according to his worth; for all helps to make up
houshold; yea, the follie and the simplicitie of others shall be as
instructions to him. By controlling the graces and manners of
others, he shall acquire unto himselfe envie of the good and
contempt of the bad. Let him hardly be possest with an honest
curiositie to search out the nature and causes of all things: let
him survay whatsoever is rare and singular about him; a building, a
fountaine, a man, a place where any battell hath been fought, or the
passages of Caesar or Charlemaine.

     Quae tellus sit lenta gelu, qua putris ab aestu,
     Ventus in Italiam quis bene vela ferat.
     [Footnote: Prop. 1. iv. El. iii. 39.]

     What land is parcht with heat, what clog'd with frost.
     What wind drives kindly to th' Italian coast.

He shall endevour to be familiarly acquainted with the customes,
with the meanes, with the state, with the dependances and alliances
of all Princes; they are things soone and pleasant to be learned,
and most profitable to be knowne. In this acquaintance of men, my
intending is, that hee chiefely comprehend them, that live but by
the memorie of bookes. He shall, by the help of Histories, in forme
himselfe of the worthiest minds that were in the best ages. It is a
frivolous studie, if a man list, but of unvaluable worth to such as
can make use of it, and as Plato saith, the only studie the
Lacedemonians reserved for themselves. What profit shall he not
reap, touching this point, reading the lives of our Plutark? Alwayes
conditioned, the master bethinke himselfe whereto his charge
tendeth, and that he imprint not so much in his schollers mind the
date of the ruine of Carthage, as the manners of Hanniball and
Scipio, nor so much where Marcellus died, as because he was unworthy
of his devoire [Footnote: Task.] he died there: that he teach him
not so much to know Histories as to judge of them. It is amongst
things that best agree with my humour, the subject to which our
spirits doe most diversly applie themselves. I have read in Titus
Livius a number of things, which peradventure others never read, in
whom Plutarke haply read a hundred more than ever I could read, and
which perhaps the author himselfe did never intend to set downe. To
some kind of men it is a meere gramaticali studie, but to others a
perfect anatomie [Footnote: Dissection, analytical exposition.] of
Philosophie; by meanes whereof the secretest part of our nature is
searched into. There are in Plutarke many ample discourses most
worthy to be knowne: for in my judgement, he is the chiefe work-
master of such works, whereof there are a thousand, whereat he hath
but slightly glanced; for with his finger he doth but point us out a
way to walke in, if we list; and is sometimes pleased to give but a
touch at the quickest and maine point of a discourse, from whence
they are by diligent studie to be drawne, and so brought into open
market. As that saying of his, That the inhabitants of Asia served
but one alone, because they could not pronounce one onely syllable,
which is Non, gave perhaps both subject and occasion to my friend
Boetie to compose his booke of voluntarie servitude. If it were no
more but to see Plutarke wrest a slight action to mans life, or a
word that seemeth to beare no such sence, it will serve for a whole
discourse. It is pittie men of understanding should so much love
brevitie; without doubt their reputation is thereby better, but we
the worse. Plutarke had rather we should commend him for his
judgement than for his knowledge, he loveth better to leave a kind
of longing-desire in us of him, than a satietie. He knew verie well
that even in good things too much may be said: and that Alexandridas
did justly reprove him who spake verie good sentences to the
Ephores, but they were over tedious. Oh stranger, quoth he, thou
speakest what thou oughtest, otherwise then [Footnote: Than.] thou
shouldest. Those that have leane and thin bodies stuffe them up with
bumbasting. [Footnote: Padding.] And such as have but poore matter,
will puffe it up with loftie words. There is a marvelous
cleerenesse, or as I may terme it an enlightning of mans judgement
drawne from the commerce of men, and by frequenting abroad in the
world; we are all so contrived and compact in our selves, that our
sight is made shorter by the length of our nose. When Socrates was
demaunded whence he was, he answered, not of Athens, but of the
world; for he, who had his imagination more full and farther
stretching, embraced all the world for his native Citie, and
extended his acquaintance, his societie, and affections to all man-
kind: and not as we do, that looke no further than our feet. If the
frost chance to nip the vines about my village, my Priest doth
presently argue that the wrath of God hangs over our head, and
threatneth all mankind: and judgeth that the Pippe [Footnote: A
disease.] is alreadie falne upon the Canibals.

In viewing these intestine and civill broiles of ours, who doth not
exclaime, that this worlds vast frame is neere unto a dissolution,
and that the day of judgement is readie to fall on us? never
remembering that many worse revolutions have been seene, and that
whilest we are plunged in griefe, and overwhelmed in sorrow, a
thousand other parts of the world besides are blessed with
happinesse, and wallow in pleasures, and never thinke on us?
whereas, when I behold our lives, our licence, and impunitie, I
wonder to see them so milde and easie. He on whose head it haileth,
thinks all the Hemispheare besides to be in a storme and tempest.
And as that dull-pated Savoyard said, that if the seelie [Footnote
31: Simple.] King of France could cunningly have managed his
fortune, he might verie well have made himselfe chiefe Steward of
his Lords household, whose imagination conceived no other greatnesse
than his Masters; we are all insensible of this kind of errour: an
errour of great consequence and prejudice. But whosoever shall
present unto his inward eyes, as it were in a Table, the Idea of the
great image of our universall mother Nature, attired in her richest
robes, sitting in the throne of her Majestic, and in her visage
shall read so generall and so constant a varietie; he that therein
shall view himselfe, not himselfe alone, but a whole Kingdome, to be
in respect of a great circle but the smallest point that can be
imagined, he onely can value things according to their essentiall
greatnesse and proportion. This great universe (which some multiplie
as Species under one Genus) is the true looking-glasse wherein we
must looke, if we will know whether we be of a good stamp or in the
right byase. To conclude, I would have this worlds-frame to be my
Schollers choise-booke. [Footnote: Book of examples] So many strange
humours, sundrie sects, varying judgements, diverse opinions,
different lawes, and fantasticall customes teach us to judge rightly
of ours, and instruct our judgement to acknowledge his imperfections
and naturall weaknesse, which is no easie an apprentiship: So many
innovations of estates, so many fals of Princes, and changes of
publike fortune, may and ought to teach us, not to make so great
accompt of ours: So many names, so many victories, and so many
conquests buried in darke oblivion, makes the hope to perpetuate our
names but ridiculous, by the surprising of ten Argo-lettiers,
[Footnote: Mounted Bowmen.] or of a small cottage, which is knowne
but by his fall. The pride and fiercenesse of so many strange and
gorgeous shewes: the pride-puft majestie of so many courts, and of
their greatnesse, ought to confirme and assure our sight,
undauntedly to beare the affronts and thunder-claps of ours, without
feeling our eyes: So many thousands of men, lowlaide in their graves
afore us, may encourage us not to feare, or be dismaied to go meet
so good companie in the other world, and so of all things else. Our
life (said Pithagoras) drawes neare unto the great and populous
assemblies of the Olympike games, wherein some, to get the glorie
and to win the goale of the games, exercise their bodies with all
industrie; others, for greedinesse of gaine, bring thither
marchandise to sell: others there are (and those be not the worst)
that seek after no other good, but to marke how wherefore, and to
what end, all things are done: and to be spectators or observers of
other mens lives and actions, that so they may the better judge and
direct their owne. Unto examples may all the most profitable
Discourses of Philosophic be sorted, which ought to be the touch-
stone of human actions, and a rule to square them by, to whom may be
said,

    ---quid fas optare, quid asper
     Vtile nummus habet, patriae charisque propinquis
     Quantum elargiri deceat, quem te Deus esse
     lussit, et humana qua parte locaius es in re.
     [Footnote: Pers. Sat. iii. 69.]
     Quid sumus, aut quidnam victuri gignimur.
     [Footnote: Ib. 67.]

     What thou maiest wish, what profit may come cleare,
     From new-stampt coyne, to friends and countrie deare
     What thou ought'st give: whom God would have thee bee,
     And in what part mongst men he placed thee.
     What we are, and wherefore,
     To live heer we were bore.

What it is to know, and not to know (which ought to be the scope of
studie), what valour, what temperance, and what justice is: what
difference there is betweene ambition and avarice, bondage and
freedome, subjection and libertie, by which markes a man may
distinguish true and perfect contentment, and how far-forth one
ought to feare or apprehend death, griefe, or shame.

     Et quo quemque modo fugiatque. feratque laborem.
     [Footnote: Virg. Aen. 1. iii. 853.]

     How ev'ry labour he may plie,
     And beare, or ev'ry labour flie.

What wards or springs move us, and the causes of so many motions in
us: For me seemeth, that the first discourses, wherewith his conceit
should be sprinkled, ought to be those that rule his manners and
direct his sense; which will both teach him to know himselfe, and
how to live and how to die well. Among the liberall Sciences, let us
begin with that which makes us free: Indeed, they may all, in some
sort stead us, as an instruction to our life, and use of it, as all
other things else serve the same to some purpose or other. But let
us make especiall choice of that which may directly and pertinently
serve the same. If we could restraine and adapt the appurtenances of
our life to their right byase and naturall limits, we should find
the best part of the Sciences that now are in use, cleane out of
fashion with us: yea, and in those that are most in use, there are
certaine by-wayes and deep-flows most profitable, which we should do
well to leave, and according to the institution of Socrates, limit
the course of our studies in those where profit is wanting.

                    ----sapere aude,
     Incipe: vivendi qui recte prorogat horam,
     Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis, at ille
     Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis avum.
     [Footnote: Hor. I. i. Epist. ii. 40.]

     Be bold to be wise: to begin, be strong,
     He that to live well doth the time prolong,
     Clowne-like expects, till downe the streame be run,
     That runs, and will run, till the world be done.

It is mere simplicitie to teach our children,

     Quid moveant Pisces, animosaque signa Leonis,
     Lotus et Hesperia quid Capricornus aqua.
     [Footnote: Prop. I. El. i. 85.]
     What Pisces move, or hot breath'd Leos beames,
     Or Capricornus bath'd in western streames,

the knowledge of the starres, and the motion of the eighth spheare,
before their owne;
     [Greek text quote omited]
     [Footnote: Anacr. Od. xvii. 10, 12.]

     What longs it to the seaven stars, and me,
     Or those about Bootes be.

Anaximenes writing to Pythagoras, saith, "With what sense can I
amuse my selfe in the secrets of the Starres, having continually
death or bondage before mine eyes?" For at that time the Kings of
Persia were making preparations to war against his Countrie. All men
ought to say so: Being beaten with ambition, with avarice, with
rashnesse, and with superstition, and having such other enemies unto
life within him. Wherefore shall I study and take care about the
mobility and variation of the world? When hee is once taught what is
fit to make him better and wiser, he shall be entertained with
Logicke, naturall Philosophy, Geometry, and Rhetoricke, then having
setled his judgement, looke what science he doth most addict
himselfe unto, he shall in short time attaine to the perfection of
it. His lecture shall be somtimes by way of talke and sometimes by
booke: his tutor may now and then supply him with the same Author,
as an end and motive of his institution: sometimes giving him the
pith and substance of it ready chewed. And if of himselfe he be not
so throughly acquainted with bookes, that hee may readily find so
many notable discourses as are in them to effect his purpose, it
shall not be amisse that some learned man bee appointed to keepe
him, company, who at any time of need may furnish him with such
munition as hee shall stand in need of; that hee may afterward
distribute and dispense them to his best use. And that this kind of
lesson be more easie and naturall than that of Gaza, who will make
question? Those are but harsh, thornie, and unpleasant precepts;
vaine, idle and immaterial words, on which small hold may be taken;
wherein is nothing to quicken the minde. In this the spirit findeth
substance to bide and feed upon. A fruit without all comparison much
better, and that will soone be ripe. It is a thing worthy
consideration, to see what state things are brought unto in this our
age; and how Philosophie, even to the wisest, and men of best
understanding, is but an idle, vaine and fantasticall name, of small
use and lesse worth, both in opinion and effect. I thinke these
Sophistries are the cause of it, which have forestalled the wayes to
come unto it: They doe very ill that goe about to make it seeme as
it were inaccessible for children to come unto, setting it foorth
with a wrimpled [Footnote: wrinkled.] gastlie, and frowning visage;
who hath masked her with so counterfet, pale, and hideous a
countenance? There is nothing more beauteous, nothing more
delightful, nothing more gamesome; and as I may say, nothing more
fondly wanton: for she presenteth nothing to our eyes, and preacheth
nothing to our eares, but sport and pastime. A sad and lowring looke
plainly declareth that that is not her haunt. Demetrius the
Gramarian, finding a companie of Philosophers sitting close together
in the Temple of Delphos, said unto them, "Either I am deceived, or
by your plausible and pleasant lookes, you are not in any serious
and earnest discourse amongst your selves;" to whom one of them,
named Heracleon the Megarian, answered, "That belongeth to them, who
busie themselves in seeking whether the future tense of the verbe
___, hath a double, or that labour to find the derivation of the
comparatives, [omitted] and of the superlatives [omitted], it is
they that must chafe in intertaining themselves with their science:
as for discourses of Philosophie they are wont to glad, rejoyce, and
not to vex and molest those that use them."

     Deprendas animi tormenta latentis in agro
     Corpore, deprendas et gaudia; sumit utrumque
     Inde habitum facies.
     [Footnote: Juven, SAT. ix, 18]

     You may perceive the torments of the mind,
     Hid in sicke bodie, you the joyes may find;
     The face such habit takes in either kind.

That mind which harboureth Philosophie, ought by reason of her sound
health, make that bodie also sound and healthie: it ought to make
her contentment to through-shine in all exteriour parts: it ought to
shapen and modell all outward demeanours to the modell of it: and by
consequence arme him that doth possesse it, with a gracious
stoutnesse and lively audacite, with an active and pleasing gesture,
and with a setled and cheerefull countenance. The most evident token
and apparant signe of true wisdome is a constant and unconstrained
rejoycing, whose estate is like unto all things above the Moone,
that is ever cleare, alwaies bright. It is Baroco [Footnote:
Mnemonic words invented by the scholastic logicians] and Baralipton
[Footnote: Mnemonic words invented by the scholastic logicians],
that makes their followers prove so base and idle, and not
Philosophie; they know her not but by heare-say; what? Is it not
shee that cleereth all stormes of the mind? And teacheth miserie,
famine, and sicknesse to laugh? Not by reason of some imaginarie
Epicicles [Footnote: A term of the old astronomy.], but by naturall
and palpable reasons. Shee aymeth at nothing but vertue; it is
vertue shee seekes after; which as the schoole saith, is not pitcht
on the top of an high, steepie, or inaccessible hill; for they that
have come unto her, affirme that cleane-contrarie shee keeps her
stand, and holds her mansion in a faire, flourishing, and pleasant
plaine, whence as from an high watch tower, she survaieth all
things, to be subject unto her, to whom any man may with great
facilitie come, if he but know the way or entrance to her palace:
for, the pathes that lead unto her are certaine fresh and shadie
greene allies, sweet and flowrie waies, whose ascent is even, easie,
and nothing wearisome, like unto that of heavens vaults. Forsomuch
as they have not frequented this vertue, who gloriously, as in a
throne of Majestie sits soveraigne, goodly, triumphant, lovely,
equally delicious, and couragious, protesting her selfe to be a
professed and irreconcileable enemie to all sharpnesse, austeritie,
feare, and compulsion; having nature for her guide, fortune and
voluptuousnesse for her companions; they according to their
weaknesse have imaginarily fained her, to have a foolish, sad, grim,
quarelous, spitefull, threatning, and disdainfull visage, with an
horride and unpleasant looke; and have placed her upon a craggie,
sharpe, and unfrequented rocke, amidst desert cliffes and uncouth
crags, as a scar-crow, or bugbeare, to affright the common people
with. Now the tutour, which ought to know that he should rather seek
to fill the mind and store the will of his disciple, as much, or
rather more, with love and affection, than with awe, and reverence
unto vertue, may shew and tell him, that Poets follow common
humours, making him plainly to perceive, and as it were palpably to
feele, that the Gods have rather placed labour and sweat at the
entrances which lead to Venus chambers, than at the doores that
direct to Pallas cabinets.

And when he shall perceive his scholler to have a sensible feeling
of himselfe, presenting Bradamant [Footnote: A warlike heroine in
Boiardo's "Orlando Innamorato" and Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso."] or
Angelica [Footnote: The faithless princess, on account of whom
Orlando goes mad, in the same poems.] before him, as a Mistresse to
enjoy, embelished with a naturall, active, generous, and unspotted
beautie not uglie or Giant-like, but blithe and livelie, in respect
of a wanton, soft, affected, and artificiall-flaring beautie; the
one attired like unto a young man, coyfed with a bright-shining
helmet, the other disguised and drest about the head like unto an
impudent harlot, with embroyderies, frizelings, and carcanets of
pearles: he will no doubt deeme his owne love to be a man and no
woman, if in his choice he differ from that effeminate shepheard of
Phrygia. In this new kind of lesson he shall declare unto him, that
the prize, the glorie, and height of true vertue, consisted in the
facilitie, profit, and pleasure of his exercises: so far from
difficultie and incumbrances, that children as well as men, the
simple as soone as the wise, may come unto her. Discretion and
temperance, not force or way-wardnesse are the instruments to bring
him unto her. Socrates (vertues chiefe favorite) that he might the
better walke in the pleasant, naturall, and open path of her
progresses, doth voluntarily and in good, earnest, quit all
compulsion. Shee is the nurse and foster-mother of all humane
[Footnote: Human.] pleasures, who in making them just and upright,
she also makes them sure and sincere. By moderating them, she
keepeth them in ure [Footnote: Practice.] and breath. In limiting
and cutting them off, whom she refuseth; she whets us on toward
those she leaveth unto us; and plenteously leaves us them, which
Nature pleaseth, and like a kind mother giveth us over unto
satietie, if not unto wearisomnesse, unlesse we will peradventure
say that the rule and bridle, which stayeth the drunkard before
drunkennesse, the glutton before surfetting, and the letcher before
the losing of his haire, be the enemies of our pleasures. If common
fortune faile her, it cleerely scapes her; or she cares not for her,
or she frames another unto herselfe, altogether her owne, not so
fleeting nor so rowling. She knoweth the way how to be rich, mightie
and wise, and how to lie in sweet-perfumed beds. She loveth life;
she delights in beautie, in glorie, and in health. But her proper
and particular office is, first to know how to use such goods
temperately, and how to lose them constantly. An office much more
noble than severe, without which all course of life is unnaturall,
turbulent, and deformed, to which one may lawfully joyne those
rocks, those incumbrances, and those hideous monsters. If so it
happen, that his Disciple prove of so different a condition, that he
rather love to give eare to an idle fable than to the report of some
noble voiage, or other notable and wise discourse, when he shall
heare it; that at the sound of a Drum or clang of a Trumpet, which
are wont to rowse and arme the youthly heat of his companions,
turneth to another that calleth him to see a play, tumbling, jugling
tricks, or other idle lose-time sports; and who for pleasures sake
doth not deeme it more delightsome to returne all sweatie and wearie
from a victorious combat, from wrestling, or riding of a horse, than
from a Tennis-court or dancing schoole, with the prize or honour of
such exercises; The best remedy I know for such a one is, to put him
prentice to some base occupation, in some good towne or other, yea,
were he the sonne of a Duke; according to Platoes rule, who saith
"That children must be placed, not according to their fathers
conditions, but the faculties of their mind." Since it is
Philosophie that teacheth us to live, and that infancie as well as
other ages, may plainly read her lessons in the same, why should it
not be imparted unto young Schollers?

     Vdum et molle lutum est, nunc nunc properandus, et acri
     Fingendus sine fine rota.
     [Footnote: PES. Sat. iii. 23.]

     He's moist and soft mould, and must by and by
     Be cast, made up, while wheele whirls readily.

We are taught to live when our life is well-nigh spent. Many
schollers have been infected with that loathsome and marrow-wasting
disease before ever they came to read Aristotles treatise of
Temperance. Cicero was wont to say, "That could he out-live the
lives of two men, he should never find leasure to study the Lyrike
Poets." And I find these Sophisters both worse and more
unprofitable. Our childe is engaged in greater matters; And but the
first fifteene or sixteene yeares of his life are due unto
Pedantisme, the rest unto action: let us therefore imploy so short
time as we have to live in more necessarie instructions. It is an
abuse; remove these thornie quiddities of Logike, whereby our life
can no whit be amended, and betake our selves to the simple
discourses of Philosophy; know how to chuse and fitly to make use of
them: they are much more easie to be conceived than one of Bocace
his tales. A childe comming from nurse is more capable of them, than
he is to learne to read or write. Philosophy hath discourses,
whereof infancie as well as decaying old-age may make good use. I am
of Plutarkes mind, which is, that Aristotle did not so much ammuse
his great Disciple about the arts how to frame Syllogismes, or the
principles of Geometric, as he endevoured to instruct him with good
precepts concerning valour, prowesse, magnanimitie, and temperance,
and an undanted assurance not to feare any thing; and with such
munition he sent him, being yet verie young, to subdue the Empire of
the world, only with 30000 footmen, 4000 horsemen, and 42000 Crownes
in monie. As for other arts and sciences; he saith Alexander
honoured them, and commended their excellencie and comlinesse; but
for any pleasure he tooke in them, his affection could not easily be
drawne to exercise them.

       --petite hinc juvenesque senesque
     Finem animo certum, miserisque viatica canis.
     [Footnote: Sat. v. 64]

     Young men and old, draw hence (in your affaires)
     Your minds set marke, provision for gray haires.

It is that which Epicurus said in the beginning of his letter to
Memiceus: "Neither let the youngest shun nor the oldest wearie
himselfe in philosophying, for who doth otherwise seemeth to say,
that either the season to live happily is not yet come, or is
already past." Yet would I not have this young gentleman pent-up,
nor carelesly cast-off to the heedlesse choler, or melancholy humour
of the hasty Schoole-master. I would not have his budding spirit
corrupted with keeping him fast-tied, and as it were labouring
fourteene or fifteene houres a day poaring on his booke, as some
doe, as if he were a day-labouring man; neither doe I thinke it fit,
if at any time, by reason of some solitairie or melancholy
complexion, he should be scene with an over-indiscreet application
given to his booke, it should be cherished in him; for, that doth
often make him both unapt for civill conversation and distracts him
from better imployments: How many have I scene in my daies, by an
over-greedy desire of knowledge, become as it were foolish?
Carneades was so deeply plunged, and as I may say besotted in it,
that he could never have leasure to cut his haire, or pare his
nailes: nor would I have his noble manners obscured by the
incivilitie and barbarisme of others. The French wisdome hath long
since proverbially been spoken of as verie apt to conceive study in
her youth, but most unapt to keepe it long. In good truth, we see at
this day that there is nothing lovelier to behold than the young
children of France; but for the most part, they deceive the hope
which was fore-apprehended of them: for when they once become men,
there is no excellencie at all in them. I have heard men of
understanding hold this opinion, that the Colleges to which they are
sent (of which there are store) doe thus besot them: whereas to our
scholler, a cabinet, a gardin, the table, the bed, a solitarinesse,
a companie, morning and evening, and all houres shall be alike unto
him, all places shall be a study for him: for Philosophy (as a
former of judgements, and modeler of customes) shall be his
principall lesson, having the privilege to entermeddle her selfe
with all things, and in all places. Isocrates the Orator, being once
requested at a great banket to speake of his art, when all thought
he had reason to answer, said, "It is not now time to doe what I
can, and what should now be done, I cannot doe it; For, to present
orations, or to enter into disputation of Rhetorike, before a
companie assembled together to be merrie, and make good cheere,
would be but a medley of harsh and jarring musicke." The like may be
said of all other Sciences. But touching Philosophy, namely, in that
point where it treateth of man, and of his duties and offices, it
hath been the common judgement of the wisest, that in regard of the
pleasantnesse of her conversatione, she ought not to be rejected,
neither at banquets nor at sports. And Plato having invited her to
his solemne feast, we see how kindly she entertaineth the companie
with a milde behaviour, fitly suting her selfe to time and place,
notwithstanding it be one of his learned'st and profitable
discourses.

     AEque pauperibus prodest, locupletibus aque,
     Et neglecta aeque pueris senibusque nocebit.
     [Footnote: HOR. 1. i. Epist. 125.]

     Poore men alike, alike rich men it easeth,
     Alike it, scorned, old and young displeaseth.

So doubtlesse he shall lesse be idle than others; for even as the
paces we bestow walking in a gallerie, although they be twice as
many more, wearie us not so much as those we spend in going a set
journey: So our lesson being past over, as it were, by chance, or
way of encounter, without strict observance of time or place, being
applied to all our actions, shall be digested, and never felt. All
sports and exercises shall be a part of his study; running,
wrestling, musicke, dancing, hunting, and managing of armes and
horses. I would have the exterior demeanor or decencie, and the
disposition of his person to be fashioned together with his mind:
for, it is not a mind, it is not a body that we erect, but it is a
man, and we must not make two parts of him. And as Plato saith, They
must not be erected one without another, but equally be directed, no
otherwise than a couple of horses matched to draw in one selfe-same
teeme. And to heare him, doth he not seeme to imploy more time and
care in the exercises of his bodie: and to thinke that the minde is
together with the same exercised, and not the contrarie? As for
other matters, this institution ought to be directed by a sweet-
severe mildnesse; Not as some do, who in liew of gently-bidding
children to the banquet of letters, present them with nothing but
horror and crueltie. Let me have this violence and compulsion
removed, there is nothing that, in my seeming, doth more bastardise
and dizzie a welborne and gentle nature: If you would have him stand
in awe of shame and punishment, doe not so much enure him to it:
accustome him patiently to endure sweat and cold, the sharpnesse of
the wind, the heat of the sunne, and how to despise all hazards.
Remove from him all nicenesse and quaintnesse in clothing, in lying,
in eating, and in drinking: fashion him to all things, that he prove
not a faire and wanton-puling boy, but a lustie and vigorous boy:
When I was a child, being a man, and now am old, I have ever judged
and believed the same. But amongst other things, I could never away
with this kind of discipline used in most of our Colleges. It had
peradventure been lesse hurtfull, if they had somewhat inclined to
mildnesse, or gentle entreatie. It is a verie prison of captivated
youth, and proves dissolute in punishing it before it be so. Come
upon them when they are going to their lesson, and you heare nothing
but whipping and brawling, both of children tormented, and masters
besotted with anger and chafing. How wide are they, which go about
to allure a childs mind to go to its booke, being yet but tender and
fearefull, with a stearne-frowning countenance, and with hands full
of rods? Oh wicked and pernicious manner of teaching! which
Quintillian hath very wel noted, that this imperious kind of
authoritie, namely, this way of punishing of children, drawes many
dangerous inconveniences within. How much more decent were it to see
their school-houses and formes strewed with greene boughs and
flowers, than with bloudy burchen-twigs? If it lay in me, I would
doe as the Philosopher Speusippus did, who caused the pictures of
Gladness and Joy, of Flora and of the Graces, to be set up round
about his school-house. Where their profit lieth, there should also
be their recreation. Those meats ought to be sugred over, that are
healthful for childrens stomakes, and those made bitter that are
hurtfull for them. It is strange to see how carefull Plato sheweth
him selfe in framing of his lawes about the recreation and pastime
of the youth of his Citie, and how far he extends him selfe about
their exercises, sports, songs, leaping, and dancing, whereof he
saith, that severe antiquitie gave the conduct and patronage unto
the Gods themselves, namely, to Apollo, to the Muses, and to
Minerva. Marke but how far-forth he endevoreth to give a thousand
precepts to be kept in his places of exercises both of bodie and
mind. As for learned Sciences, he stands not much upon them, and
seemeth in particular to commend Poesie, but for Musickes sake. All
strangenesse and selfe-particularitie in our manners and conditions,
is to be shunned, as an enemie to societie and civill conversation.
Who would not be astonished at Demophons complexion, chiefe steward
of Alexanders household, who was wont to sweat in the shadow, and
quiver for cold in the sunne? I have seene some to startle at the
smell of an apple more than at the shot of a peece; some to be
frighted with a mouse, some readie to cast their gorge [Footnote:
Vomit.] at the sight of a messe of creame, and others to be scared
with seeing a fether bed shaken: as Germanicus, who could not abide
to see a cock, or heare his crowing. There may haply be some hidden
propertie of nature, which in my judgement might easilie be removed,
if it were taken in time. Institution hath gotten this upon me (I
must confesse with much adoe) for, except beere, all things else
that are mans food agree indifferently with my taste. The bodie
being yet souple, ought to be accommodated to all fashions and
customes; and (alwaies provided, his appetites and desires be kept
under) let a yong man boldly be made fit for al Nations and
companies; yea, if need be, for al disorders and surfetings; let him
acquaint him selfe with al fashions; That he may be able to do al
things, and love to do none but those that are commendable. Some
strict Philosophers commend not, but rather blame Calisthenes, for
losing the good favour of his Master Alexander, only because he
would not pledge him as much as he had drunke to him. He shall
laugh, jest, dally, and debauch himselfe with his Prince. And in his
debauching, I would have him out-go al his fellowes in vigor and
constancie, and that he omit not to doe evill, neither for want of
strength or knowledge, but for lacke of will. Multum interest utrum
peccare quis nolit, aut nesciat: [Footnote: HOR. Epist. xvii. 23.]
"There is a great difference, whether one have no will, or no wit to
doe amisse." I thought to have honoured a gentleman (as great a
stranger, and as far from such riotous disorders as any is in
France) by enquiring of him in verie good companie, how many times
in all his life he had bin drunke in Germanie during the time of his
abode there, about the necessarie affaires of our King; who tooke it
even as I meant it, and answered three times, telling the time and
manner how. I know some, who for want of that qualitie, have been
much perplexed when they have had occasion to converse with that
nation. I have often noted with great admiration, that wonderfull
nature of Alcibiades, to see how easilie he could sute himselfe to
so divers fashions and different humors, without prejudice unto his
health; sometimes exceeding the sumptuousnesse and pompe of the
Persians, and now and then surpassing. the austeritie and frugalitie
of the Lacedemonians; as reformed in Sparta, as voluptuous in Ionia.

     Omnis Atistippum decuit color, et status, et res.
     [Footnote: HOR. Epist. xvii. 25.]

     All colours, states, and things are fit
     For courtly Aristippus wit.

Such a one would I frame my Disciple,

   --quem duplici panno patientia velat,
      Mirabor, vita via si conversa decebit.

     Whom patience clothes with sutes of double kind,
     I muse, if he another way will find.

     Personavnque feret non inconcinnus utramque.
     [Footnote: CIC. Tusc. Qu. 1. iv.]

     He not unfitly may,
     Both parts and persons play.

Loe here my lessons, wherein he that acteth them, profiteth more
than he that but knoweth them, whom if you see, you heare, and if
you heare him, you see him. God forbid, saith some bodie in Plato,
that to Philosophize, be to learne many things, and to exercise the
arts. Hanc amplissimam omnium artium bene vivendi disciplinam, vita
magis quant litteris persequntd sunt [Footnote: Ib. 29.] "This
discipline of living well, which is the amplest of all other arts,
they followed rather in their lives than in their learning or
writing." Leo Prince of the Phliasians, enquiring of Heraclides
Ponticus, what art he professed, he answered, "Sir, I professe
neither art nor science; but I am a Philosopher." Some reproved
Diogenes, that being an ignorant man, he did neverthelesse meddle
with Philosophie, to whom he replied, "So much the more reason have
I and to greater purpose doe I meddle with it." Hegesias praid him
upon a time to reade some booke unto him: "You are a merry man,"
said he: "As you chuse naturall and not painted, right and not
counterfeit figges to eat, why doe you not likewise chuse, not the
painted and written, but the true and naturall exercises?" He shall
not so much repeat, as act his lesson. In his actions shall he make
repetition of the same. We must observe, whether there bee wisdome
in his enterprises, integritie in his demeanor, modestie in his
jestures, justice in his actions, judgement and grace in his speech,
courage in his sicknesse, moderation in his sports, temperance in
his pleasures, order in the government of his house, and
indifference in his taste, whether it be flesh, fish, wine, or
water, or whatsoever he feedeth upon. Qui disciplinam suam non
ostentationem scientiae sed legem vitae putet: quique obtemperet
ipse sibi, et decretis pareat [Footnote: Ib. I. ii.] "Who thinks his
learning not an ostentation of knowledge, but a law of life, and
himselfe obayes himselfe, and doth what is decreed."

The true mirror of our discourses is the course of our lives.
Zeuxidamus answered one that demanded of him, why the Lacedemonians
did not draw into a booke, the ordinances of prowesse, that so their
yong men might read them; "it is," saith he, "because they would
rather accustome them to deeds and actions, than to bookes and
writings." Compare at the end of fifteene or sixteene yeares one of
these collegiall Latinizers, who hath imployed all that while onely
in learning how to speake, to such a one as I meane. The world is
nothing but babling and words, and I never saw man that doth not
rather speake more than he ought, than lesse. Notwithstanding halfe
our age is consumed that way. We are kept foure or five yeares
learning to understand bare words, and to joine them into clauses,
then as long in proportioning a great bodie extended into foure or
five parts; and five more at least ere we can succinctly know how to
mingle, joine, and interlace them handsomly into a subtil fashion,
and into one coherent orbe. Let us leave it to those whose
profession is to doe nothing else. Being once on my journey to
Orleans, it was my chance to meet upon that plaine that lieth on
this side Clery, with two Masters of Arts, traveling toward
Bordeaux, about fiftie paces one from another; far off behind them,
I descride a troupe of horsemen, their Master riding formost, who
was the Earle of Rochefocault; one of my servants enquiring of the
first of those Masters of Arts, what Gentleman he was that followed
him; supposing my servant had meant his fellow-scholler, for he had
not yet seen the Earles traine, answered pleasantly, "He is no
gentleman, Sir, but a Gramarian, and I am a Logitian." Now, we that
contrariwise seek not to frame a Gramarian, nor a Logitian, but a
compleat gentleman, let us give them leave to mispend their time; we
have else-where, and somewhat else of more import to doe. So that
our Disciple be well and sufficiently stored with matter; words will
follow apace, and if they will hot follow gently, he shall hale them
on perforce. I heare some excuse themselves, that they cannot
expresse their meaning, and make a semblance that their heads are so
full stuft with many goodly things, but for want of eloquence they
can neither titter nor make show of them. It is a meere fopperie.
And will you know what, in my seeming, the cause is? They are
shadows and Chimeraes, proceeding of some formelesse conceptions,
which they cannot distinguish or resolve within, and by consequence
are not able to produce them in as-much as they understand not
themselves: And if you but marke their earnestnesse, and how they
stammer and labour at the point of their deliverle, you would deeme
that what they go withall, is but a conceiving, and therefore
nothing neere downelying; and that they doe but licke that imperfect
and shapelesse lump of matter. As for me, I am of opinion, and
Socrates would have it so, that he who had a cleare and lively
imagination in his mind, may easilie produce and utter the same,
although it be in Bergamaske [Footnote: A rustic dialect of the
north of Italy.] or Welsh, and if he be dumbe, by signes and tokens.

     Verbaque praevisam rem non invita sequentur.
     [Footnote: HOR. Art. Poet. 311.]

     When matter we fore-know,
     Words voluntarie flow.

As one said, as poetically in his prose, Cum res animum occupavere,
verba ambiunt; [Footnote: SED. Controv. 1. vii. prae.] "When matter
hath possest their minds, they hunt after words:" and another: Ipsa
res verba rapiunt: [Footnote: CIC. de Fin. I. iii. c. 5.] "Things
themselves will catch and carry words:" He knowes neither Ablative,
Conjunctive, Substantive, nor Gramar, no more doth his Lackey, nor
any Oyster-wife about the streets, and yet if you have a mind to it
he will intertaine you, your fill, and peradventure stumble as
little and as seldome against the rules of his tongue, as the best
Master of arts in France. He hath no skill in Rhetoricke, nor can he
with a preface fore-stall and captivate the Gentle Readers good
will: nor careth he greatly to know it. In good sooth, all this
garish painting is easilie defaced, by the lustre of an in-bred and
simple truth; for these dainties and quaint devices serve but to
ammuse the vulgar sort; unapt and incapable to taste the most solid
and firme meat: as Afer verie plainly declareth in Cornelius
Tacitus. The Ambassadours of Samos being come to Cleomenes King of
Sparta, prepared with a long prolix Oration, to stir him up to war
against the tyrant Policrates, after he had listned a good while
unto them, his answer was: "Touching your Exordium or beginning I
have forgotten it; the middle I remember not; and for your
conclusion I will do nothing in it." A fit, and (to my thinking) a
verie good answer; and the Orators were put to such a shift; as they
knew not what to replie. And what said another? the Athenians from
out two of their cunning Architects, were to chuse one to erect a
notable great frame; the one of them more affected and selfe
presuming, presented himselfe before them, with a smooth fore-
premeditated discourse, about the subject of that piece of worke,
and thereby drew the judgements of the common people unto his
liking; but the other in few words spake thus: "Lords of Athens,
what this man hath said I will performe." In the greatest
earnestnesse of Ciceroes eloquence many were drawn into a kind of
admiration; But Cato jesting at it, said, "Have we not a pleasant
Consull?" A quicke cunning Argument, and a wittie saying, whether it
go before or come after, it is never out of season. If it have no
coherence with that which goeth before, nor with what commeth after;
it is good and commendable in it selfe. I am none of those that
think a good Ryme, to make a good Poeme; let him hardly (if so he
please) make a short syllable long, it is no great matter; if the
invention be rare and good, and his wit and judgement have cunningly
played their part. I will say to such a one; he is a good Poet, but
an ill Versifier.

     Emunciae naris, durus componere versus.
     [Footnote: HOR. 1. i. Sat. iv.]

     A man whose sense could finely pierce,
     But harsh and hard to make a verse.

Let a man (saith Horace) make his worke loose all seames, measures,
and joynts.

 Tempora certa moddsque, et quod prius ordine verbum est,
 [Footnote: Ib. 58.]
 Posterius facias, praeponens ultima primis:
 Invenias etiam disjecti membra Poetae.
 [Footnote: Ib. 62.]

 Set times and moods, make you the first word last,
 The last word first, as if they were new cast:
 Yet find th' unjoynted Poets joints stand fast.

He shall for all that, nothing gain-say himselfe, every piece will
make a good shew. To this purpose answered Menander those that chid
him, the day being at hand, in which he had promised a Comedy, and
had not begun the same, "Tut-tut," said he, "it is alreadie
finished, there wanteth nothing but to adde the verse unto it;" for,
having ranged and cast the plot in his mind, he made small accompt
of feet, of measures, or cadences of verses, which indeed are but of
small import in regard of the rest. Since great Ronsarde and learned
Bellay have raised our French Poesie unto that height of honour
where it now is: I see not one of these petty ballad-makers, or
prentise dogrell rymers, that doth not bombast his labours with
high-swelling and heaven-disimbowelling words, and that doth not
marshall his cadences verie neere as they doe. Plus sonat quam
valet. [Footnote: Sen, Epist. xl.] "The sound is more than the
weight or worth." And for the vulgar sort there were never so many
Poets, and so few good: but as it hath been easie for them to
represent their rymes, so come they far short in imitating the rich
descriptions of the one, and rare inventions of the other. But what
shall he doe, if he be urged with sophisticall subtilties about a
Sillogisme? A gammon of Bacon makes a man drink, drinking quencheth
a mans thirst; Ergo, a gammon of bacon quencheth a mans thirst. Let
him mock at it, it is more wittie to be mockt at than to be
answered. Let him borrow this pleasant counter-craft of Aristippus;
"Why shall I unbind that, which being bound doth so much trouble
me?" Some one proposed certaine Logicall quiddities against
Cleanthes, to whom Chrisippus said; use such jugling tricks to play
with children, and divert not the serious thoughts of an aged man to
such idle matters. If such foolish wiles, Contorta et aculeata
sophismata, [Footnote: Cic. Acad. Qu. 1. iv.] "Intricate and stinged
sophismes," must perswade a lie, it is dangerous: but if they proove
void of any effect, and move him but to laughter, I see not why he
shall beware of them. Some there are so foolish that will go a
quarter of a mile out of the way to hunt after a quaint new word, if
they once get in chace; Aut qui non verba rebus aptant, sed res
extrinsecus arcessunt, quibus verba conveniant: "Or such as fit not
words to matter, but fetch matter from abroad, whereto words be
fitted." And another, Qui alicujus verbi decore placentis, vocentur
ad id quod non proposuerant scribere: [Footnote: Sen. Epist. liii.]
"Who are allured by the grace of some pleasing word, to write what
they intended not to write." I doe more willingly winde up a wittie
notable sentence, that so I may sew it upon me, than unwinde my
thread to go fetch it. Contrariwise, it is for words to serve and
wait upon the matter, and not for matter to attend upon words, and
if the French tongue cannot reach unto it, let the Gaskonie, or any
other. I would have the matters to surmount, and so fill the
imagination of him that harkeneth, that he have no remembrance at
all of the words. It is a naturall, simple, and unaffected speech
that I love, so written as it is spoken, and such upon the paper, as
it is in the mouth, a pithie, sinnowie, full, strong, compendious
and materiall speech, not so delicate and affected as vehement and
piercing.

     Hac demum sapiet dictio qua feriet.
     [Footnote: Epitaph on Lucan, 6.]

     In fine, that word is wisely fit,
     Which strikes the fence, the marke doth hit.

Rather difficult than tedious, void of affection, free, loose and
bold, that every member of it seeme to make a bodie; not
Pedanticall, nor Frier-like, nor Lawyer-like, but rather downe
right, Souldier-like. As Suetonius calleth that of Julius Caesar,
which I see no reason wherefore he calleth it. I have sometimes
pleased myselfe in imitating that licenciousnesse or wanton humour
of our youths, in wearing of their garments; as carelessly to let
their cloaks hang downe over one shoulder; to weare their cloakes
scarfe or bawdrikewise, and their stockings loose hanging about
their legs. It represents a kind of disdainful fiercenesse of these
forraine embellishings, and neglect carelesnesse of art: But I
commend it more being imployed in the course and forme of speech.
All manner of affectation, namely [Footnote: Especially,] in the
livelinesse and libertie of France, is unseemely in a Courtier. And
in a Monarchie every Gentleman ought to addresse himselfe unto
[Footnote: Aim at] a Courtiers carriage. Therefore do we well
somewhat to incline to a native and carelesse behaviour. I like not
a contexture, where the seames and pieces may be seen: As in a well
compact bodie, what need a man distinguish and number all the bones
and veines severally? Quae veritati operam dat oratio, incomposita
sit et simplex [Footnote: Sen. Epist. xl] Quis accurate loquitur
nisi qui vult putide loqui [Footnote: Ib. Epist. ixxr.] "The speach
that intendeth truth must be plaine and unpollisht: Who speaketh
elaborately, but he that meanes to speake unfavourably?" That
eloquence offereth injurie unto things, which altogether drawes us
to observe it. As in apparell, it is a signe of pusillanimitie for
one to marke himselfe, in some particular and unusuall fashion: so
likewise in common speech, for one to hunt after new phrases, and
unaccustomed quaint words, proceedeth of a scholasticall and
childish ambition. Let me use none other than are spoken in the hals
of Paris. Aristophanes the Gramarian was somewhat out of the way,
when he reproved Epicurus, for the simplicitie of his words, and the
end of his art oratorie, which was onely perspicuitie in speech. The
imitation of speech, by reason of the facilitie of it, followeth
presently a whole nation. The imitation of judging and inventing
comes more slow. The greater number of Readers, because they have
found one self-same kind of gowne, suppose most falsely to holde one
like bodie. Outward garments and cloakes may be borrowed, but never
the sinews and strength of the bodie. Most of those that converse
with me, speake like unto these Essayes; but I know not whether they
think alike. The Athenians (as Plato averreth) have for their part
great care to be fluent and eloquent in their speech; The
Lacedemonians endevour to be short and compendious; and those of
Creet labour more to bee plentifull in conceits than in language.
And these are the best. Zeno was wont to say, "That he had two sorts
of disciples; the one he called [Greek word omitted], curious to
learne things, and those were his darlings, the other he termed
[Greek word omitted], who respected nothing more than the language."
Yet can no man say, but that to speake well, is most gracious and
commendable, but not so excellent as some make it: and I am grieved
to see how we imploy most part of our time about that onely. I would
first know mine owne tongue perfectly, then my neighbours with whom
I have most commerce. I must needs acknowledge, that the Greeke and
Latine tongues are great ornaments in a gentleman, but they are
purchased at over-high a rate. Use it who list, I will tell you how
they may be gotten better, cheaper, and much sooner than is
ordinarily used, which was tried in myselfe. My late father, having,
by all the meanes and industrie that is possible for a man, sought
amongst the wisest, and men of best understanding, to find a most
exquisite and readie way of teaching, being advised of the
inconveniences then in use; was given to understand that the
lingring while, and best part of our youth, that we imploy in
learning the tongues, which cost them nothing, is the onely cause we
can never attaine to that absolute perfection of skill and knowledge
of the Greekes and Romanes. I doe not beleeve that to be the onely
cause. But so it is, the expedient my father found out was this;
that being yet at nurse, and before the first loosing of my tongue,
I was delivered to a Germane (who died since, a most excellent
Physitian in France) he being then altogether ignorant of the French
tongue, but exquisitely readie and skilfull in the Latine. This man,
whom my father had sent for of purpose, and to whom he gave verie
great entertainment, had me continually in his armes, and was mine
onely overseer. There were also joyned unto him two of his
countrimen, but not so learned; whose charge was to attend, and now
and then to play with me; and all these together did never
entertaine me with other than the Latine tongue. As for others of
his household, it was an inviolable rule, that neither himselfe, nor
my mother, nor man, nor maid-servant, were suffered to speake one
word in my companie, except such Latine words as every one had
learned to chat and prattle with me. It were strange to tell how
every one in the house profited therein. My Father and my Mother
learned so much Latine, that for a need they could understand it,
when they heard it spoken, even so did all the household servants,
namely such as were neerest and most about me. To be short, we were
all so Latinized, that the townes round about us had their share of
it; insomuch as even at this day, many Latine names both of workmen
and of their tooles are yet in use amongst them. And as for myselfe,
I was about six years old, and could understand no more French or
Perigordine than Arabike; and that without art, without bookes,
rules, or grammer, without whipping or whining, I had gotten as pure
a Latin tongue as my Master could speake; the rather because I could
neither mingle or confound the same with other tongues. If for an
Essay they would give me a Theme, whereas the fashion in Colleges
is, to give it in French, I had it in bad Latine, to reduce the same
into good. And Nicholas Grouchy, who hath written De comitiis
Romanorum, William Guerente, who hath commented Aristotele: George
Buchanan, that famous Scottish Poet, and Marke Antonie Muret, whom
(while he lived) both France and Italie to this day, acknowledge to
have been the best orator: all which have beene my familiar tutors,
have often told me, that in mine infancie I had the Latine tongue so
readie and so perfect, that themselves feared to take me in hand.
And Buchanan, who afterward I saw attending on the Marshall of
Brissacke, told me, he was about to write a treatise of the
institution of children, and that he tooke the model and patterne
from mine: for at that time he had the charge and bringing up of the
young Earle of Brissack, whom since we have scene prove so worthy
and so valiant a Captaine. As for the Greeke, wherein I have but
small understanding, my father purposed to make me learne it by art;
But by new and uncustomed meanes, that is, by way of recreation and
exercise. We did tosse our declinations and conjugations to and fro,
as they doe, who by way of a certaine game at tables learne both
Arithmetike and Geometrie. For, amongst other things he had
especially beene persuaded to make me taste and apprehend the fruits
of dutie and science by an unforced kinde of will, and of mine owne
choice; and without any compulsion or rigor to bring me up in all
mildnesse and libertie: yea with such kinde of superstition, that,
whereas some are of opinion that suddenly to awaken young children,
and as it were by violence to startle and fright them out of their
dead sleepe in a morning (wherein they are more heavie and deeper
plunged than we) doth greatly trouble and distemper their braines,
he would every morning cause me to be awakened by the sound of some
instrument; and I was never without a servant who to that purpose
attended upon me. This example may serve to judge of the rest; as
also to commend the judgement and tender affection of so carefull
and loving a father: who is not to be blamed, though hee reaped not
the fruits answerable to his exquisite toyle and painefull manuring.
[Footnote: Cultivation.] Two things hindered the same; first the
barrennesse and unfit soyle: for howbeit I were of a sound and
strong constitution, and of a tractable and yeelding condition, yet
was I so heavie, so sluggish, and so dull, that I could not be
rouzed (yea were it to goe to play) from out mine idle drowzinesse.
What I saw, I saw it perfectly; and under this heavy, and as it were
Lethe-complexion did I breed hardie imaginations, and opinions farre
above my yeares. My spirit was very slow, and would goe no further
than it was led by others; my apprehension blockish, my invention
poore; and besides, I had a marvelous defect in my weake memorie: it
is therefore no wonder, if my father could never bring me to any
perfection. Secondly, as those that in some dangerous sicknesse,
moved with a kind of hope-full and greedie desire of perfect health
againe, give eare to every Leach or Emperike, [Footnote: Doctor or
quack.] and follow all counsels, the good man being exceedingly
fearefull to commit any oversight, in a matter he tooke so to heart,
suffered himselfe at last to be led away by the common opinion,
which like unto the Cranes, followeth ever those that go before, and
yeelded to customer having those no longer about him, that had given
him his first directions, and which they had brought out of Italie.
Being but six yeares old I was sent to the College of Guienne, then
most flourishing and reputed the best in France, where it is
impossible to adde any thing to the great care he had, both to chuse
the best and most sufficient masters that could be found, to reade
unto me, as also for all other circumstances partaining to my
education; wherein contrary to usuall customes of Colleges, he
observed many particular rules. But so it is, it was ever a College.
My Latin tongue was forthwith corrupted, whereof by reason of
discontinuance, I afterward lost all manner of use: which new kind
of institution stood me in no other stead, but that at my first
admittance it made me to overskip some of the lower formes, and to
be placed in the highest. For at thirteene yeares of age, that I
left the College, I had read over the whole course of Philosophie
(as they call it) but with so small profit, that I can now make no
account of it. The first taste or feeling I had of bookes, was of
the pleasure I tooke in reading the fables of Ovids Metamorphosies;
for, being but seven or eight yeares old, I would steale and
sequester my selfe from all other delights, only to reade them:
Forsomuch as the tongue wherein they were written was to me
naturall; and it was the easiest booke I knew, and by reason of the
matter therein contained most agreeing with my young age. For of
King Arthur, of Lancelot du Lake, of Amadis, of Huon of Burdeaux,
and such idle time consuming and wit-besotting trash of bookes
wherein youth doth commonly ammuse it selfe, I was not so much as
acquainted with their names, and to this day know not their bodies,
nor what they containe: So exact was my discipline. Whereby I became
more carelesse to studie my other prescript lessons. And well did it
fall out for my purpose, that I had to deale with a very discreet
Master, who out of his judgement could with such dexterite winke at
and second my untowardlinesse, and such other faults that were in
me. For by that meanes I read over Virgils AEneados, Terence,
Plautus, and other Italian Comedies, allured thereunto by the
pleasantnesse of their severall subjects: Had he beene so foolishly-
severe, or so severely froward as to crosse this course of mine, I
thinke verily I had never brought any thing from the College, but
the hate and contempt of Bookes, as doth the greatest part of our
Nobilitie. Such was his discretion, and so warily did he behave
himselfe, that he saw and would not see: hee would foster and
increase my longing: suffering me but by stealth and by snatches to
glut my selfe with those Bookes, holding ever a gentle hand over me,
concerning other regular studies. For, the chiefest thing my father
required at their hands (unto whose charge he had committed me) was
a kinde of well conditioned mildnesse and facilitie of complexion.
[Footnote: Easiness of disposition.] And, to say truth, mine had no
other fault, but a certaine dull languishing and heavie
slothfullnesse. The danger was not, I should doe ill, but that I
should doe nothing.

No man did ever suspect I would prove a bad, but an unprofitable
man: foreseeing in me rather a kind of idlenesse than a voluntary
craftinesse. I am not so selfe-conceited but I perceive what hath
followed. The complaints that are daily buzzed in mine eares are
these; that I am idle, cold, and negligent in offices of friendship,
and dutie to my parents and kinsfolkes; and touching publike
offices, that I am over singular and disdainfull. And those that are
most injurious cannot aske, wherefore I have taken, and why I have
not paied? but may rather demand, why I doe not quit, and wherefore
I doe not give? I would take it as a favour, they should wish such
effects of supererogation in me. But they are unjust and over
partiall, that will goe about to exact that from me which I owe not,
with more vigour than they will exact from themselves that which
they owe; wherein if they condemne me, they utterly cancell both the
gratifying of the action, and the gratitude, which thereby would be
due to me. Whereas the active well doing should be of more
consequence, proceeding from my hand, in regard I have no passive at
all. Wherefore I may so much the more freely dispose of my fortune,
by how much more it is mine, and of my selfe that am most mine owne.
Notwithstanding, if I were a great blazoner of mine owne actions, I
might peradventure barre such reproches, and justly upraid some,
that they are not so much offended, because I doe not enough, as for
that I may, and it lies in my power to doe much more than I doe. Yet
my minde ceased not at the same time to have peculiar unto it selfe
well setled motions, true and open judgements concerning the objects
which it knew; which alone, and without any helpe or communication
it would digest. And amongst other things, I verily beleeve it would
have proved altogether incapable and unfit to yeeld unto force, or
stoope unto violence. Shall I account or relate this qualitie of my
infancie, which was, a kinde of boldnesse in my lookes, and gentle
softnesse in my voice, and affabilitie in my gestures, and a
dexterite in conforming my selfe to the parts I undertooke? for
before the age of the

     Alter ab undecimo turn me vix ceperat annus.
     [Footnote: Virg. Buc. Ecl. viii. 39.]

     Yeares had I (to make even)
     Scarce two above eleven.

I have under-gone and represented the chiefest part in the Latin
Tragedies of Buchanan, Guerente, and of Muret; which in great state
were acted and plaid in our College of Guienne: wherein Andreas
Goveanus our Rector principall; who as in all other parts belonging
to his charge, was without comparison the chiefest Rector of France,
and my selfe (without ostentation be it spoken) was reputed, if not
a chiefe-master, yet a principall Actor in them. It is an exercise I
rather commend than disalow in young Gentlemen: and have seene some
of our Princes (in imitation of some of former ages) both
commendably and honestly, in their proper persons act and play some
parts in Tragedies. It hath heretofore been esteemed a lawfull
exercise, and a tolerable profession in men of honor, namely in
Greece. Aristoni tragico actori rem aperit: huic et genus et fortuna
honesta erant: nec ars, quia nihil tale apud Graecos pudori est, ea
deformabat. [Footnote: Liv. Deo. iii. 1. iv.] "He imparts the matter
to Ariston a Player of tragedies, whose progenie and fortune were
both honest; nor did his profession disgrace them, because no such
matter is a disparagement amongst the Grecians."

And I have ever accused them of impertinencie, that condemne and
disalow such kindes of recreations, and blame those of injustice,
that refuse good and honest Comedians, or (as we call them) Players,
to enter our good townes, and grudge the common people such publike
sports. Politike and wel ordered commonwealths endevour rather
carefully to unite and assemble their Citizens together; as in
serious offices of devotion, so in honest exercises of recreation.
Common societie and loving friendship is thereby cherished and
increased. And besides, they cannot have more formal and regular
pastimes allowed them, than such as are acted and represented in
open view of all, and in the presence of the magistrates themselves;
And if I might beare sway, I would thinke it reasonable, that
Princes should sometimes, at their proper charges, gratifie the
common people with them, as an argument of a fatherly affection, and
loving goodnesse towards them: and that in populous and frequented
cities, there should be Theatres and places appointed for such
spectacles; as a diverting of worse inconveniences, and secret
actions. But to come to my intended purpose there is no better way
to allure the affection, and to entice the appetite: otherwise a man
shall breed but asses laden with Bookes. With jerks of rods they
have their satchels full of learning given them to keepe. Which to
doe well, one must not only harbor in himselfe, but wed and marry
the same with his minde.




OF FRIENDSHIP

Considering the proceeding of a Painters worke I have, a desire hath
possessed mee to imitate him: He maketh choice of the most
convenient place and middle of everie wall, there to place a
picture, laboured with all his skill and sufficiencie; and all void
places about it he filleth up with antike Boscage [Footnote:
Foliated ornament] or Crotesko [Footnote: Grotesque] works; which
are fantasticall pictures, having no grace, but in the variety and
strangenesse of them. And what are these my compositions in truth,
other than antike workes, and monstrous bodies, patched and hudled
up together of divers members, without any certaine or well ordered
figure, having neither order, dependencie, or proportion, but
casuall and framed by chance?

     Definit in piscem mulier formosa superne.
     [Footnote: Hon. Art. Poet. 4.]

     A woman faire for parts superior,
     Ends in a fish for parts inferior.

Touching this second point I goe as farre as my Painter, but for the
other and better part I am farre behinde: for my sufficiency
reacheth not so farre as that I dare undertake a rich, a polished,
and, according to true skill, an art-like table. I have advised
myselfe to borrow one of Steven de la Boetie, who with this kinde of
worke shall honour all the world. It is a discourse he entitled
Voluntary Servitude, but those who have not knowne him, have since
very properly rebaptized the same, The Against-one. In his first
youth he writ, by way of Essaie, in honour of libertie against
Tyrants. It hath long since beene dispersed amongst men of
understanding, not without great and well deserved commendations:
for it is full of wit, and containeth as much learning as may be:
yet doth it differ much from the best he can do. And if in the age I
knew him in, he would have undergone my dessigne to set his
fantasies downe in writing, we should doubtlesse see many rare
things, and which would very neerely approch the honour of
antiquity: for especially touching that part of natures gifts, I
know none may be compared to him. But it was not long of him, that
ever this Treatise came to mans view, and I beleeve he never saw it
since it first escaped his hands: with certaine other notes
concerning the edict of Januarie, famous by reason of our intestine
warre, which haply may in other places finde their deserved praise.
It is all I could ever recover of his reliques (whom when death
seized, he by his last will and testament, left with so kinde
remembrance, heire and executor of his librarie and writings)
besides the little booke, I since caused to be published: To which
his pamphlet I am particularly most bounden, for so much as it was
the instrumentall meane of our first acquaintance. For it was shewed
me long time before I saw him; and gave me the first knowledge of
his name, addressing, and thus nourishing that unspotted friendship
which we (so long as it pleased God) have so sincerely, so entire
and inviolably maintained betweene us, that truly a man shall not
commonly heare of the like; and amongst our moderne men no signe of
any such is scene. So many parts are required to the erecting of
such a one, that it may be counted a wonder if fortune once in three
ages contract the like. There is nothing to which Nature hath more
addressed us than to societie. And Aristotle saith that perfect Law-
givers have had more regardfull care of friendship than of justice.
And the utmost drift of its perfection is this. For generally, all
those amities which are forged and nourished by voluptuousnesse or
profit, publike or private need, are thereby so much the lesse faire
and generous, and so much the lesse true amities, in that they
intermeddle other causes, scope, and fruit with friendship, than it
selfe alone: Nor doe those foure ancient kindes of friendships,
Naturall, sociall, hospitable, and venerian, either particularly or
conjointly beseeme the same. That from children to parents may
rather be termed respect: Friendship is nourished by communication,
which by reason of the over-great disparitie cannot bee found in
them, and would happly offend the duties of nature: for neither all
the secret thoughts of parents can be communicated unto children,
lest it might engender an unbeseeming familiaritie betweene them,
nor the admonitions and corrections (which are the chiefest offices
of friendship) could be exercised from children to parents. There
have nations beene found, where, by custome, children killed their
parents, and others where parents slew their children, thereby to
avoid the hindrance of enterbearing [Footnote: Mutually supporting.]
one another in after-times: for naturally one dependeth from the
ruine of another. There have Philosophers beene found disdaining
this naturall conjunction: witnesse Aristippus, who being urged with
the affection he ought [Footnote: Owed.] his children, as proceeding
from his loyns, began to spit, saying, That also that excrement
proceeded from him, and that also we engendred wormes and lice. And
that other man, whom Plutarke would have perswaded to agree with his
brother, answered, "I care not a straw the more for him, though he
came out of the same wombe I did." Verily the name of Brother is a
glorious name, and full of loving kindnesse, and therefore did he
and I terme one another sworne brother: but this commixture,
dividence, and sharing of goods, this joyning wealth to wealth, and
that the riches of one shall be the povertie of another, doth
exceedingly distemper and distract all brotherly alliance, and
lovely conjunction: If brothers should conduct the progresse of
their advancement and thrift in one same path and course, they must
necessarily oftentimes hinder and crosse one another. Moreover, the
correspondencie and relation that begetteth these true and mutually
perfect amities, why shall it be found in these? The father and the
sonne may very well be of a farre differing complexion, and so many
brothers: He is my sonne, he is my kinsman; but he may be a foole, a
bad, or a peevish-minded man. And then according as they are
friendships which the law and dutie of nature doth command us, so
much the lesse of our owne voluntarie choice and libertie is there
required unto it: And our genuine libertie hath no production more
properly her owne, than that of affection and amitie. Sure I am,
that concerning the same I have assaied all that might be, having
had the best and most indulgent father that ever was, even to his
extremest age, and who from father to sonne was descended of a
famous house, and touching this rare-seene vertue of brotherly
concord very exemplare:

       ----et ipse
     Notus in fratres animi paterni.
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Qd. li. 6.]

     To his brothers knowne so kinde.
     As to beare a fathers minde.

To compare the affection toward women unto it, although it proceed
from our owne free choice, a man cannot, nor may it be placed in
this ranke: Her fire, I confesse it to be more

     (---neque enim est dea nescia nostri
     Quae dulcem curis miscet amaritiem.)
     [Footnote: Catul. Epig. lxvi.]

     (Nor is that Goddesse ignorant of me,
     Whose bitter-sweets with my cares mixed be.)

active, more fervent, and more sharpe. But it is a rash and wavering
fire, waving and divers: the fire of an ague subject to fits and
stints, and that hath but slender hold-fast of us. In true
friendship, it is a generall and universall heat, and equally
tempered, a constant and setled heat, all pleasure and smoothnes,
that hath no pricking or stinging in it, which the more it is in
lustfull love, the more is it but a raging and mad desire in
following that which flies us,

     Come segue la lepre il cacciatore
     Alfreddo, al caldo, alia montagna, a lito,
     Ne pin l'estima poi che presa vede,
     E sol dietro a chi fugge affretta il piede.
     [Footnote: Ariost. can. x. st. 7.]

     Ev'n as the huntsman doth the hare pursue,
     In cold, in heat, on mountaines, on the shore,
     But cares no more, when he her ta'en espies
     Speeding his pace only at that which flies.

As soone as it creepeth into the termes of friendship, that is to
say, in the agreement of wits, it languisheth and vanisheth away:
enjoying doth lose it, as having a corporall end, and subject to
satietie. On the other side, friendship is enjoyed according as it
is desired, it is neither bred, nourished, nor increaseth but in
jovissance, as being spirituall, and the minde being refined by use
custome. Under this chiefe amitie, these fading affections have
sometimes found place in me, lest I should speake of him, who in his
verses speakes but too much of it. So are these two passions entered
into me in knowledge one of another, but in comparison never: the
first flying a high, and keeping a proud pitch, disdainfully
beholding the other to passe her points farre under it. Concerning
marriage, besides that it is a covenant which hath nothing free but
the entrance, the continuance being forced and constrained,
depending else-where than from our will, and a match ordinarily
concluded to other ends: A thousand strange knots are therein
commonly to be unknit, able to break the web, and trouble the whole
course of a lively affection; whereas in friendship there is no
commerce or busines depending on the same, but it selfe. Seeing (to
speake truly) that the ordinary sufficiency of women cannot answer
this conference and communication, the nurse of this sacred bond:
nor seeme their mindes strong enough to endure the pulling of a knot
so hard, so fast, and durable. And truly, if without that, such a
genuine and voluntarie acquaintance might be contracted, where not
only mindes had this entire jovissance, [Footnote: Enjoyment.] but
also bodies, a share of the alliance, and where a man might wholly
be engaged: It is certaine, that friendship would thereby be more
compleat and full: But this sex could never yet by any example
attaine unto it, and is by ancient schooles rejected thence. And
this other Greeke licence is justly abhorred by our customes, which
notwithstanding, because according to use it had so necessarie a
disparitie of ages, and difference of offices betweene lovers, did
no more sufficiently answer the perfect union and agreement, which
here we require: Quis est enim iste amor amicitiae? cur neque
deformem adolescentem quisquam amat, neque formosum senem?
[Footnote: Cic. Tusc. Qu. lv. c. 33.] "For, what love is this of
friendship? why doth no man love either a deformed young man, or a
beautifull old man?" For even the picture the Academic makes of it,
will not (as I suppose) disavowe mee, to say thus in her behalfe:
That the first furie, enspired by the son of Venus in the lovers
hart, upon the object of tender youths-flower, to which they allow
all insolent and passionate violences, an immoderate heat may
produce, was simply grounded upon an externall beauty; a false image
of corporall generation: for in the spirit it had no power, the
sight whereof was yet concealed, which was but in his infancie, and
before the age of budding. For, if this furie did seize upon a base
minded courage, the meanes of its pursuit were riches, gifts, favour
to the advancement of dignities, and such like vile merchandice,
which they reprove. If it fell into a more generous minde, the
interpositions [Footnote: Means of approach.] were likewise
generous: Philosophicall instructions, documents [Footnote:
Teachings.] to reverence religion, to obey the lawes, to die for the
good of his countrie: examples of valor, wisdome and justice; the
lover endevoring and studying to make himselfe acceptable by the
good grace and beauty of his minde (that of his body being long
since decayed) hoping by this mentall society to establish a more
firme and permanent bargaine. When this pursuit attained the effect
in due season (for by not requiring in a lover, he should bring
leasure and discretion in his enterprise, they require it exactly in
the beloved; forasmuch as he was to judge of an internall beauty, of
difficile knowledge, and abstruse discovery) then by the
interposition of a spiritual beauty was the desire of a spiritual
conception engendred in the beloved. The latter was here chiefest;
the corporall, accidentall and second, altogether contrarie to the
lover. And therefore doe they preferre the beloved, and verifie that
the gods likewise preferre the same: and greatly blame the Poet
AEschylus, who in the love betweene Achilles and Patroclus ascribeth
the lovers part unto Achilles, who was in the first and beardlesse
youth of his adolescency, and the fairest of the Graecians. After
this general communitie, the mistris and worthiest part of it,
predominant and exercising her offices (they say the most availefull
commodity did thereby redound both to the private and publike). That
it was the force of countries received the use of it, and the
principall defence of equitie and libertie: witnesse the comfortable
loves of Hermodius and Aristogiton. Therefore name they it sacred
and divine, and it concerns not them whether the violence of
tyrants, or the demisnesse of the people be against them: To
conclude, all that can be alleged in favour of the Academy, is to
say, that it was a love ending in friendship, a thing which hath no
bad reference unto the Stoical definition of love: Amorem conatum
esse amicitiae faciendae ex pulchritudinis specie: [Footnote: Cic.
Tusc. Qu. ir. c. 34. ] "That love is an endevour of making
friendship, by the shew of beautie." I returne to my description in
a more equitable and equall manner. Omnino amicitiae, corroboratis
jam confirmatisque ingeniis et aetatibus, judicandae sunt.
[Footnote: Cic. Amic.] "Clearely friendships are to be judged by
wits, and ages already strengthened and confirmed." As for the rest,
those we ordinarily call friendes and amities, are but acquaintances
and familiarities, tied together by some occasion or commodities, by
meanes whereof our mindes are entertained. In the amitie I speake
of, they entermixe and confound themselves one in the other, with so
universall a commixture, that they weare out and can no more finde
the seame that hath conjoined them together. If a man urge me to
tell wherefore I loved him, I feele it cannot be expressed, but by
answering; Because it was he, because it was my selfe. There is
beyond all my discourse, and besides what I can particularly report
of it, I know not what inexplicable and fatall power, a meane and
Mediatrix of this indissoluble union. We sought one another before
we had scene one another, and by the reports we heard one of
another; which wrought a greater violence in us, than the reason of
reports may well beare; I thinke by some secret ordinance of the
heavens, we embraced one another by our names. And at our first
meeting, which was by chance at a great feast, and solemne meeting
of a whole towneship, we found our selves so surprized, so knowne,
so acquainted, and so combinedly bound together, that from thence
forward, nothing was so neer unto us as one unto anothers. He writ
an excellent Latyne Satyre since published; by which he excuseth and
expoundeth the precipitation of our acquaintance, so suddenly come
to her perfection; Sithence it must continue so short a time, and
begun so late (for we were both growne men, and he some yeares older
than my selfe) there was no time to be lost. And it was not to bee
modelled or directed by the paterne of regular and remisse
[Footnote: Slight, languid.] friendship, wherein so many precautions
of a long and preallable conversation [Footnote: Preceding
intercourse.] are required. This hath no other Idea than of it
selfe, and can have no reference but to itselfe. It is not one
especiall consideration, nor two, nor three, nor foure, nor a
thousand: It is I wot not what kinde of quintessence, of all this
commixture, which having seized all my will, induced the same to
plunge and lose it selfe in his, which likewise having seized all
his will, brought it to lose and plunge it selfe in mine, with a
mutuall greedinesse, and with a semblable concurrance. I may truly
say, lose, reserving nothing unto us, that might properly be called
our owne, nor that was either his or mine. When Lelius in the
presence of the Romane Consuls, who after the condemnation of
Tiberius Gracchus, pursued all those that had beene of his
acquaintance, came to enquire of Caius Blosius (who was one of his
chiefest friends) what he would have done for him, and that he
answered, "All things." "What, all things?" replied he. "And what if
he had willed thee to burne our Temples?" Blosius answered, "He
would never have commanded such a thing." "But what if he had done
it?" replied Lelius. The other answered, "I would have obeyed him."
If hee were so perfect a friend to Gracchus as Histories report, he
needed not offend the Consuls with this last and bold confession,
and should not have departed from the assurance hee had of Gracchus
his minde. But yet those who accuse this answer as seditious,
understand not well this mysterie: and doe not presuppose in what
termes he stood, and that he held Gracchus his will in his sleeve,
both by power and knowledge. They were rather friends than Citizens,
rather friends than enemies of their countrey, or friends of
ambition and trouble. Having absolutely committed themselves one to
another, they perfectly held the reines of one anothers inclination:
and let this yoke be guided by vertue and conduct of reason (because
without them it is altogether impossible to combine and proportion
the same). The answer of Blosius was such as it should be. If their
affections miscarried, according to my meaning, they were neither
friends one to other, nor friends to themselves. As for the rest,
this answer sounds no more than mine would doe, to him that would in
such sort enquire of me; if your will should command you to kill
your daughter, would you doe it? and that I should consent unto it:
for, that beareth no witnesse of consent to doe it: because I am not
in doubt of my will, and as little of such a friends will. It is not
in the power of the worlds discourse to remove me from the
certaintie I have of his intentions and judgments of mine: no one of
its actions might be presented unto me, under what shape soever, but
I would presently finde the spring and motion of it. Our mindes have
jumped [Footnote: Agreed.] so unitedly together, they have with so
fervent an affection considered of each other, and with like
affection so discovered and sounded, even to the very bottome of
each others heart and entrails, that I did not only know his, as
well as mine owne, but I would (verily) rather have trusted him
concerning any matter of mine, than my selfe. Let no man compare any
of the other common friendships to this. I have as much knowledge of
them as another, yea of the perfectest of their kinde: yet wil I not
perswade any man to confound their rules, for so a man might be
deceived. In these other strict friendships a man must march with
the bridle of wisdome and precaution in his hand: the bond is not so
strictly tied but a man may in some sort distrust the same. Love him
(said Chilon) as if you should one day hate him againe. Hate him as
if you should love him againe. This precept, so abhominable in this
soveraigne and mistris Amitie, is necessarie and wholesome in the
use of vulgar and customarie friendships: toward which a man must
employ the saying Aristotle was wont so often repeat, "Oh you my
friends, there is no perfect friend."

In this noble commerce, offices and benefits (nurses of other
amities) deserve not so much as to bee accounted of: this confusion
so full of our wills is cause of it: for even as the friendship I
beare unto my selfe, admits no accrease, [Footnote: Increase.] by
any succour I give my selfe in any time of need, whatsoever the
Stoickes allege; and as I acknowledge no thanks unto my selfe for
any service I doe unto myselfe, so the union of such friends, being
truly perfect, makes them lose the feeling of such duties, and hate,
and expell from one another these words of division, and difference:
benefit, good deed, dutie, obligation, acknowledgement, prayer,
thanks, and such their like. All things being by effect common
betweene them; wils, thoughts, judgements, goods, wives, children,
honour, and life; and their mutual agreement, being no other than
one soule in two bodies, according to the fit definition of
Aristotle, they can neither lend or give ought to each other. See
here the reason why Lawmakers, to honour marriage with some
imaginary resemblance of this divine bond, inhibite donations
between husband and wife; meaning thereby to inferre, that all
things should peculiarly bee proper to each of them, and that they
have nothing to divide and share together. If in the friendship
whereof I speake, one might give unto another, the receiver of the
benefit should binde his fellow. For, each seeking more than any
other thing to doe each other good, he who yeelds both matter and
occasion, is the man sheweth himselfe liberall, giving his friend
that contentment, to effect towards him what he desireth most. When
the Philosopher Diogenes wanted money, he was wont to say that he
redemanded the same of his friends, and not that he demanded it: And
to show how that is practised by effect, I will relate an ancient
singular example. Eudamidas the Corinthiam had two friends:
Charixenus a Sycionian, and Aretheus a Corinthian; being upon his
death-bed, and very poore, and his two friends very rich, thus made
his last will and testament: "To Aretheus, I bequeath the keeping of
my mother, and to maintaine her when she shall be old: To Charixenus
the marrying of my daughter, and to give her as great a dowry as he
may: and in case one of them shall chance to die before, I appoint
the survivor to substitute his charge, and supply his place." Those
that first saw this testament laughed and mocked at the same; but
his heires being advertised thereof, were very well pleased, and
received it with singular contentment. And Charixenus, one of them,
dying five daies after Eudamidas, the substitution being declared in
favour of Aretheus, he carefully and very kindly kept and maintained
his mother, and of five talents that he was worth he gave two and a
halfe in marriage to one only daughter he had, and the other two and
a halfe to the daughter of Eudamidas, whom he married both in one
day. This example is very ample, if one thing were not, which is the
multitude of friends: For, this perfect amity I speake of, is
indivisible; each man doth so wholly give himselfe unto his friend,
that he hath nothing left him to divide else-where: moreover he is
grieved that he is not double, triple, or quadruple, and hath not
many soules, or sundry wils, that he might conferre them all upon
this subject. Common friendships may bee divided; a man may love
beauty in one, facility of behaviour in another, liberality in one,
and wisdome in another, paternity in this, fraternity in that man,
and so forth: but this amitie which possesseth the soule, and swaies
it in all sovereigntie, it is impossible it should be double. If two
at one instant should require helpe, to which would you run? Should
they crave contrary offices of you, what order would you follow?
Should one commit a matter to your silence, which if the other knew
would greatly profit him, what course would you take? Or how would
you discharge your selfe? A singular and principall friendship
dissolveth all other duties, and freeth all other obligations. The
secret I have sworne not to reveale to another, I may without
perjurie impart it unto him, who is no other but my selfe. It is a
great and strange wonder for a man to double himselfe; and those
that talke of tripling know not, nor cannot reach into the height of
it. "Nothing is extreme that hath his like." And he who shal
presuppose that of two I love the one as wel as the other, and that
they enter-love [Footnote: Love mutually.] one another, and love me
as much as I love them: he multiplied! in brotherhood, a thing most
singular, and a lonely one, and than which one alone is also the
rarest to be found in the world. The remainder of this history
agreeth very wel with what I said; for, Eudamidas giveth us a grace
and favor to his friends to employ them in his need: he leaveth them
as his heires of his liberality, which consisteth in putting the
meanes into their hands to doe him good. And doubtlesse the force of
friendship is much more richly shewen in his deed than in Aretheus.
To conclude, they are imaginable effects to him that hath not tasted
them; and which makes me wonderfully to honor the answer of that
young Souldier to Cyrus, who enquiring of him what he would take for
a horse with which he had lately gained the prize of a race, and
whether he would change him for a Kingdome? "No surely, my Liege
(said he), yet would I willingly forgot him to game a true friend,
could I but finde a man worthy of so precious an alliance." He said
not ill, in saying "could I but finde." For, a man shall easily
finde men fit for a superficiall acquaintance; but in this, wherein
men negotiate from the very centre of their harts, and make no spare
of any thing, it is most requisite all the wards and springs be
sincerely wrought and perfectly true. In confederacies, which hold
but by one end, men have nothing to provide for, but for the
imperfections, which particularly doe interest and concerne that end
and respect. It is no great matter what religion my Physician or
Lawyer is of: this consideration hath nothing common with the
offices of that friendship they owe mee. So doe I in the familiar
acquaintances that those who serve me contract with me. I am nothing
inquisitive whether a Lackey be chaste or no, but whether he be
diligent: I feare not a gaming Muletier, so much as if he be weake:
nor a hot swearing Cooke, as one that is ignorant and unskilfull; I
never meddle with saying what a man should doe in the world; there
are over many others that doe it; but what my selfe doe in the
world.

     Mihi sic usus est: Tibi, ut opus est facto, face
     [Footnote: Ter. Heau. act. i. sc. i, 28.]

     So is it requisite for me:
     Doe thou as needfull is for thee.

Concerning familiar table-talke, I rather acquaint my selfe with and
follow a merry conceited [Footnote: Fanciful] humour, than a wise
man: And in bed I rather prefer beauty than goodnesse; and in
society or conversation of familiar discourse, I respect rather
sufficiency, though without Preud'hommie, [Footnote: Probity.] and
so of all things else. Even as he that was found riding upon an
hobby-horse, playing with his children besought him who thus
surprized him not to speake of it untill he were a father himselfe,
supposing the tender fondnesse and fatherly passion which then would
posesse his minde should make him an impartiall judge of such an
action; so would I wish to speake to such as had tried what I speake
of: but knowing how far such an amitie is from the common use, and
how seld scene and rarely found, I looke not to finde a competent
judge. For, even the discourses, which sterne antiquitie hath left
us concerning this subject, seeme to me but faint and forcelesse in
respect of the feeling I have of it; And in that point the effects
exceed the very precepts of Philosophie.

     Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. i. Sat. vii. 44]

     For me, be I well in my wit,
     Nought, as a merry friend, so fit.

Ancient Menander accounted him happy that had but met the shadow of
a true friend: verily he had reason to say so, especially if he had
tasted of any: for truly, if I compare all the rest of my forepassed
life, which although I have, by the meere mercy of God, past at rest
and ease, and except the losse of so deare a friend, free from all
grievous affliction, with an ever-quietnesse of minde, as one that
have taken my naturall and originall commodities in good payment,
without searching any others: if, as I say, I compare it all unto
the foure yeares I so happily enjoied the sweet company and deare-
deare society of that worthy man, it is nought but a vapour, nought
but a darke and yrkesome light. Since the time I lost him,

             quem semper acerbum,
     Semper honoratum (sic Dii voluistis) habebo,
     [Footnote: Virg. AEn. iii. 49.]

     Which I shall ever hold a bitter day,
     Yet ever honour'd (so my God t' obey),

I doe but languish, I doe but sorrow: and even those pleasures, all
things present me with, in stead of yeelding me comfort, doe but
redouble the griefe of his losse. We were copartners in all things.
All things were with us at halfe; me thinkes I have stolne his part
from him.

   --Nee fas esse iilla me voluptate hic frui
     Decrevi, tantisper dum ille abest meus particeps.
     [Footnote: Ter. Heau. act. i. sc. i, 97.]

     I have set downe, no joy enjoy I may,
     As long as he my partner is away.

I was so accustomed to be ever two, and so enured [Footnote:
Accustomed] to be never single, that me thinks I am but halfe my
selfe.

     Illam mea si partem animce tulit,
     Maturior vis, quid moror altera.
     Nec charus aeque nec superstes,
     Integer? Ille dies utramque
     Duxit ruinam.
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Od. xvii.]

     Since that part of my soule riper fate reft me,
     Why stay I heere the other part he left me?
     Nor so deere, nor entire, while heere I rest:
     That day hath in one mine both opprest.

There is no action can betide me, or imagination possesse me, but I
heare him saying, as indeed he would have done to me: for even as he
did excell me by an infinite distance in all other sufficiencies and
vertues, so did he in all offices and duties of friendship.

     Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus,
     Tam chari capitis?
     [Footnote: Id. 1. i. Od. xxiv.]

     What modesty or measure may I beare,
     In want and wish of him that was so deare?

     O misero frater adempte mihi!
     Omnia tecum una perieruni gaudia nostra.
     Qua tuus in vita dulcis alebat amor.
     [Footnote: CATUL. Eleg. iv. 20, 92, 26, 95.]
     Tu mea, tu moriens fregisti commoda frater.
     [Footnote: Ib. 21.]
     Tecum una tota est nostra sepulta anima,
     Cujus ego interitu tota de mente fugavi
     Hac studia, atque omnes delicias animi
     [Footnote: CATUL. Bl. iv. 94.]
     Alloquar? audiero nunquam tua verba loquentem?
     [Footnote: Ib. 25.]
     Nunquam ego te vita frater amabilior,
     Aspiciam posthac? at certe semper amabo.
     [Footnote: El. i. 9.]

     O brother rest from miserable me,
     All our delights are perished with thee,
     Which thy sweet love did nourish in my breath.
     Thou all my good hast spoiled in thy death:
     With thee my soule is all and whole enshrinde,
     At whose death I have cast out of my minde
     All my mindes sweet-meats, studies of this kinde;
     Never shall I, heare thee speake, speake with thee?
     Thee brother, than life dearer, never see?
     Yet shalt them ever be belov'd of mee.

But let us a little feare this yong man speake, being but sixteene
yeares of age.

Because I have found this worke to have since beene published (and
to an ill end) by such as seeke to trouble and subvert the state of
our common-wealth, nor caring whether they shall reforme it or no;
which they have fondly inserted among other writings of their
invention, I have revoked my intent, which was to place it here. And
lest the Authors memory should any way be interessed with those that
could not thoroughly know his opinions and actions, they shall
understand that this subject was by him treated of in his infancie,
only by way of exercise, as a subject, common, bareworne, and wyer-
drawne in a thousand bookes. I will never doubt but he beleeved what
he writ, and writ as he thought: for hee was so conscientious that
no lie did ever passe his lips, yea were it but in matters of sport
or play: and I know, that had it beene in his choyce, he would
rather have beene borne at Venice than at Sarlac; and good, reason
why: But he had another maxime deepely imprinted in his minde, which
was, carefully to obey, and religiously to submit himselfe to the
lawes, under which he was borne. There was never a better citizen,
nor more affected to the welfare and quietnesse of his countrie, nor
a sharper enemie of the changes, innovations, newfangles, and hurly-
burlies of his time: He would more willingly have imployed the
utmost of his endevours to extinguish and suppresse, than to favour
or further them: His minde was modelled to the patterne of other
best ages. But yet in exchange of his serious treatise, I will here
set you downe another, more pithie, materiall, and of more
consequence, by him likewise produced at that tender age.




OF BOOKS

I make no doubt but it shall often befall me to speake of things
which are better, and with more truth, handled by such as are their
crafts-masters. Here is simply an essay of my natural faculties, and
no whit of those I have acquired. And he that shall tax me with
ignorance shall have no great victory at my hands; for hardly could
I give others reasons for my discourses that give none unto my
selfe, and am not well satisfied with them. He that shall make
search after knowledge, let him seek it where it is there is nothing
I professe lesse. These are but my fantasies by which I endevour not
to make things known, but my selfe. They may haply one day be knowne
unto me, or have bin at other times, according as fortune hath
brought me where they were declared or manifested. But I remember
them no more. And if I be a man of some reading, yet I am a man of
no remembering, I conceive no certainty, except it bee to give
notice how farre the knowledge I have of it doth now reach. Let no
man busie himselfe about the matters, but on the fashion I give
them. Let that which I borrow be survaied, and then tell me whether
I have made good choice of ornaments to beautifie and set foorth the
invention which ever comes from mee. For I make others to relate
(not after mine owne fantasie but as it best falleth out) what I
cannot so well expresse, either through unskill of language or want
of judgement. I number not my borrowings, but I weigh them. And if I
would have made their number to prevail, I would have had twice as
many. They are all, or almost all, of so famous and ancient names,
that me thinks they sufficiently name themselves without mee. If in
reasons, comparisons, and arguments, I transplant any into my soile,
or confound them with mine owne, I purposely conceale the author,
thereby to bridle the rashnesse of these hastie censures that are so
headlong cast upon all manner of compositions, namely young writings
of men yet living; and in vulgare that admit all the world to talke
of them, and which seemeth to convince the conception and publike
designe alike. I will have them to give Plutarch a barb [Footnote:
Thrust, taunt] upon mine own lips, and vex themselves in wronging
Seneca in mee. My weaknesse must be hidden under such great credits.
I will love him that shal trace or unfeather me; I meane through
clearenesse of judgement, and by the onely distinction of the force
and beautie of my discourses. For my selfe, who for want of memorie
am ever to seeke how to trie and refine them by the knowledge of
their country, knowe perfectly, by measuring mine owne strength,
that my soyle is no way capable of some over-pretious flowers that
therein I find set, and that all the fruits of my increase could not
make it amends. This am I bound to answer for if I hinder my selfe,
if there be either vanitie or fault in my discourses that I perceive
not or am not able to discerne if they be showed me. For many faults
do often escape our eyes; but the infirmitie of judgement consisteth
in not being able to perceive them when another discovereth them
unto us. Knowledge and truth may be in us without judgement, and we
may have judgment without them: yea, the acknowledgement of
ignorance is one of the best and surest testimonies of judgement
that I can finde. I have no other sergeant of band to marshall my
rapsodies than fortune. And looke how my humours or conceites
present themselves, so I shuffle them up. Sometimes they prease out
thicke and three fold, and other times they come out languishing one
by one. I will have my naturall and ordinarie pace scene as loose
and as shuffling as it is. As I am, so I goe on plodding. And
besides, these are matters that a man may not be ignorant of, and
rashly and casually to speake of them. I would wish to have a more
perfect understanding of things, but I will not purchase it so deare
as it cost. My intention is to passe the remainder of my life
quietly and not laboriously, in rest and not in care. There is
nothing I will trouble or vex myselfe about, no not for science it
selfe, what esteeme soever it be of. I doe not search and tosse over
books but for an honester recreation to please, and pastime to
delight my selfe: or if I studie, I only endevour to find out the
knowledge that teacheth or handleth the knowledge of my selfe, and
which may instruct me how to die well and how to live well.

     Has meus ad metas sudet oportet equus.
     [Footnote: Propeet. 1. iv. El. i. 70]

     My horse must sweating runne,
     That this goale may be wonne.

If in reading I fortune to meet with any difficult points, I fret
not my selfe about them, but after I have given them a charge or
two, I leave them as I found them. Should I earnestly plod upon
them, I should loose both time and my selfe, for I have a skipping
wit. What I see not at the first view, I shall lesse see it if I
opinionate my selfe upon it. I doe nothing without blithnesse; and
an over obstinate continuation and plodding contention doth dazle,
dul, and wearie the same: my sight is thereby confounded and
diminished. I must therefore withdraw it, and at fittes goe to
it againe. Even as to judge well of the lustre of scarlet we are
taught to cast our eyes over it, in running over by divers glances,
sodaine glimpses and reiterated reprisings. [Footnote: Repeated
observations.] If one booke seeme tedious unto me I take another,
which I follow not with any earnestnesse, except it be at such
houres as I am idle, or that I am weary with doing nothing. I am
not greatly affected to new books, because ancient Authors are, in
my judgement, more full and pithy: nor am I much addicted to Greeke
books, forasmuch as my understanding cannot well rid [Footnote:
Accomplish.] his worke with a childish and apprentise intelligence.
Amongst moderne bookes meerly pleasant, I esteeme Bocace his
Decameron, Rabelais, and the kisses of John the second (if they
may be placed under this title), worth the paines-taking to reade
them.  As for Amadis and such like trash of writings, they had
never the credit so much as to allure my youth to delight in them.
This I will say more, either boldly or rashly, that this old and
heavie-pased minde of mine will no more be pleased with Aristotle,
or tickled with good Ovid: his facility and quaint inventions,
which heretofore have so ravished me, they can now a days scarcely
entertaine me. I speake my minde freely of all things, yea, of such
as peradventure exceed my sufficiencie, and that no way I hold to
be of my jurisdiction. What my conceit is of them is told also to
manifest the proportion of my insight, and not the measure of things.
If at any time I finde my selfe distasted of Platoes Axiochus, as of
a forceles worke, due regard had to such an Author, my judgement doth
nothing beleeve it selfe: It is not so fond-hardy, or selfe-conceited,
as it durst dare to oppose it selfe against the authority of so
many other famous ancient judgements, which he reputeth his regents
and masters, and with whom hee had rather erre. He chafeth with,
and condemneth himselfe, either to rely on the superficiall sense,
being unable to pierce into the centre, or to view the thing by some
false lustre. He is pleased only to warrant himselfe from trouble
and unrulinesse: As for weaknesse, he acknowledgeth and ingeniously
avoweth the same. He thinks to give a just interpretation to the
apparences which his conception presents unto him, but they are
shallow and imperfect. Most of AEsopes fables have divers senses,
and severall interpretations: Those which Mythologize them, chuse
some kinde of colour well suting with the fable; but for the most
part, it is no other than the first and superficiall glosse: There
are others more quicke, more sinnowie, more essentiall, and more
internall, into which they could never penetrate; and thus thinke
I with them. But to follow my course, I have ever deemed that in
Poesie, Virgil, Lucretius, Catullus, and Horace, doe doubtles by
far hold the first ranke: and especially Virgil in his Georgiks,
which I esteeme to be the most accomplished peece of worke of
Poesie: In comparison of which one may easily discerne, that there
are some passages in the AEneidos to which the Author (had he
lived) would no doubt have given some review or correction: The
fifth booke whereof is (in my mind) the most absolutely perfect. I
also love Lucan, and willingly read him, not so much for his stile,
as for his owne worth and truth of his opinion and judgement. As
for good Terence, I allow the quaintnesse and grace of his Latine
tongue, and judge him wonderfull conceited and apt, lively to
represent the motions and passions of the minde, and the condition
of our manners: our actions make me often remember him. I can never
reade him so often but still I discover some new grace and beautie
in him. Those that lived about Virgil's time, complained that some
would compare Lucretius unto him. I am of opinion that verily it is
an unequall comparison; yet can I hardly assure my selfe in this
opinion whensoever I finde my selfe entangled in some notable
passage of Lucretius. If they were moved at this comparison, what
would they say now of the fond, hardy and barbarous stupiditie of
those which now adayes compare Ariosto unto him? Nay, what
would Ariosto say of it himselfe?

     O seclum insipiens et infacetutn.
     [Footnote: Catul. Epig, xl. 8.]

     O age that hath no wit,
     And small conceit in it.

I thinke our ancestors had also more reason to cry out against those
that blushed not to equall Plautus unto Terence (who makes more show
to be a Gentleman) than Lucretius unto Virgil. This one thing doth
greatly advantage the estimation and preferring of Terence, that the
father of the Roman eloquence, of men of his quality doth so often
make mention of him; and the censure [Footnote: Opinion.] which the
chiefe Judge of the Roman Poets giveth of his companion. It hath
often come unto my minde, how such as in our dayes give themselves
to composing of comedies (as the Italians who are very happy in
them) employ three or foure arguments of Terence and Plautus to make
up one of theirs. In one onely comedy they will huddle up five or
six of Bocaces tales. That which makes them so to charge themselves
with matter, is the distrust they have of their owne sufficiency,
and that they are not able to undergoe so heavie a burthen with
their owne strength. They are forced to finde a body on which they
may rely and leane themselves: and wanting matter of their owne
wherewith to please us, they will have the story or tale to busie
and ammuse us: where as in my Authors it is cleane contrary: The
elegancies, the perfections and ornaments of his manner of speech,
make us neglect and lose the longing for his subject. His
quaintnesse and grace doe still retaine us to him. He is every where
pleasantly conceited, [Footnote: Full of pleasant notions.]

     Liquidus puroque simillimus amni
     [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Epist. II. 120.]

     So clearely-neate, so neately-cleare,
     As he a fine-pure River were,

and doth so replenish our minde with his graces that we forget those
of the fable. The same consideration drawes me somewhat further. I
perceive that good and ancient Poets have shunned the affectation
and enquest, not only of fantasticall, new fangled, Spagniolized,
and Petrarchisticall elevations, but also of more sweet and sparing
inventions, which are the ornament of all the Poeticall workes of
succeeding ages. Yet is there no competent Judge that findeth them
wanting in those Ancient ones, and that doth not much more admire
that smoothly equall neatnesse, continued sweetnesse, and
flourishing comelinesse of Catullus his Epigrams, than all the
sharpe quips and witty girds wherewith Martiall doth whet and
embellish the conclusions of his. It is the same reason I spake of
erewhile, as Martiall of himselfe. Minus illi ingenio laborandum
fuit, in cuius locum materia successerat. [Footnote: Mart. Praf. 1.
viii.] "He needed the lesse worke with his wit, in place whereof
matter came in supply." The former without being moved or pricked
cause themselves to be heard lowd enough: they have matter to laugh
at every where, and need not tickle themselves; where as these must
have foraine helpe: according as they have lesse spirit, they must
have more body. They leape on horsebacke, because they are not
sufficiently strong in their legs to march on foot. Even as in our
dances, those base conditioned men that keepe dancing-schooles,
because they are unfit to represent the port and decencie of our
nobilitie, endevour to get commendation by dangerous lofty trickes,
and other strange tumbler-like friskes and motions. And some Ladies
make a better shew of their countenances in those dances, wherein
are divers changes, cuttings, turnings, and agitations of the body,
than in some dances of state and gravity, where they need but simply
to tread a naturall measure, represent an unaffected cariage, and
their ordinary grace; And as I have also seene some excellent
Lourdans, or Clownes, attired in their ordinary worky-day clothes,
and with a common homely countenance, affoord us all the pleasure
that may be had from their art: but prentises and learners that are
not of so high a forme, besmeare their faces, to disguise
themselves, and in motions counterfeit strange visages and antickes,
to enduce us to laughter. This my conception is no where better
discerned than in the comparison betweene Virgils AEneidos and
Orlando Furioso. The first is seene to soare aloft with full-spread
wings, and with so high and strong a pitch, ever following his
point; the other faintly to hover and flutter from tale to tale, and
as it were skipping from bough to 

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/5637