The passenger: of Beneuento Italian, professour of his natiue tongue, for these nine yeeres in London. Diuided into two parts, containing seauen exquisite dialogues in Italian and English: the contents whereof you shall finde in the end of the booke. To the illustrious and renowmed Prince Henry ...

DIALOGVE. I. In which with diuers sententious, and pleasant witty sayings, are vsed the phrases to enter into an House, to make one ready in the Morning, and specially the discourse of Waking, Sleeping, Dreames, Idlenesse, Idle and lazie persons, and with Petraca they conclude Surfet and Sleepe, &c.

Pompilio.

HO, within?

M.

Who knocks at the doore?

P.

Friends.

M.

Friends walke not in the night.

P.

Thou slouenly lubberd, and toyish fellow, what idle toyes goest thou fantasticating.

M.

What would you haue so earely?

P.

I would speake with thy Master.

M.

Foure dayes agoe he went into the Country.

P.

I saw him yesternight.

M.

Now I remember mee, hee did returne home againe, but now hee sleepes.

P.

Let him sleepe like the Silk-worme, I must needes speake with him.

M.

Few words suffice the wise, you cannot now Sir.

P.

Knowest thou not me? what rusticke complements are these?

M.

Are you my Master? excuse me Sir, now I let you in.

P.

A man must grow Comicall, or Satiricall to make thee open the dore.

M.

In truth I did not know you.

P.

These are Aretines excuses. How you can season the sowre with the sweet, and of vnciuill become ciuill?

M.

We must serue occasion and time.

P.

Thou canst speake so much as thou wilt, and I beleeue as much as please mee: but the more thou dissemblest, the lesse I belieue thee.

M.

I speake from my heart.

P.

I obserue not the winde of the words, but the deedes and the words also.

M.

Belieue me Sir I mislooke you, and I thought it was night.

P.

Thou makest thy selfe a kin to one, whom his Master bid∣ding to see what weather it was, hee being as peraduenture thou art, asleepe and giddy with wine, thinking to put his head out at the window▪ thrust it into a great cubbord and ouerthrew vpon his head a pot of oyle, and returning to his Master he sayd to him, Sir, sleepe quietly, the time being fit to take pleasure with your wise, darke as the throate of a wolfe, and it raines desperately.

M.

O what a foole was hee; yet very often the wisest men haue their breeches fall: I also did sleepe.

P.

D••ddest thou sleepe, when thou tattledst at the dore?

M.

If I were not asleepe, yet I was not very well awake.

P.

We must confesse the truth: you seruants in excusing your errours, are like the foolish Bird caught with the lime, or net, the which how much more hee beates himselfe, so much more is he belim'd and euermore intangled,

M.

What else shall a seruant doe, who is not lesse poore in riches, then in vertue and wit.

P.

If you know your selfe, why deferre you? amend your selfe,* 1.1 for too late repentance doth deceiue many.

M.

Alas my Master, the prouerbe is true,* 1.2 That some change their haire rather then their manners; and the wolfe changes his hide, but not his vice; we seruants as we are born, so we die.

P.

Go to, dost thou remember? I would speake with thy master.

M.

Indeed I dare not molest him.

P.

Thou toldst me he was gone into the countrey.

M.

Did you not beleeue me? and how many times haue I trust∣ed your seruants, that haue vsed the same tricke with me?

P.

I knew not that I was so much thy familiar: this is enough.

M.

Excuse me sir; who hath committed the greater errour, you in not telling me your name, or I in not opening to him I neyther saw nor knew?

P.

No more words: let vs goe from hence: but tell mee, is hee alone or coupled?

M.

God forgiue vs, he cannot abide a woman should come into his chamber, much lesse into his bed.

P.

Oh, oh, neither will the Ape eate Cherryes, nor the Beare hony; nor yet Mistresse Pipa permit her wanton louer to lay his hand vpon her Citterne.

M.

Vntill I see other, I will not change my conceit.

P.

Goe to, dispatch; seeing you dare not, leaue that care to mee, ile waken him well enough. O my Sir, what so noble a crea∣ture as is man, created for the vertues, sleepe yet?

A.

Who is there? who are you?

P.

Who am I? rather who are you, that turnes the night into day, and the day into night?

A.

What voyce is that?

P.

I doubt you be one of the seauen sleepers, or of the kinde of the Dormouse, or sleepy Badger.

A.

Me thinkes rather that you sleepe, since you discerne not by the forme the kinde.

P.

We cannot sleepe and speake Logically at the same time.

A.

Me thinks the daies are very long, frequent, and come thicke.

P.

We are passengers in this present life: we must be waking.

A.

To what purpose serues so much watchfulnesse, being full onely of trouble and of all anguish?

P.

(O vnhappy he, that tels the dayes,* 1.3 and thinkes one to be as long as a thousand yeeres, and liues in vaine, and neuer in his life examines himselfe) much more is sleepe, if you forget not your selfe.

A.

I finde sleepe to be the better part of life.* 1.4

P.

Now I well see that you are troubled with a heauy and dead∣ly Lethargie.* 1.5

A.

O is it you Sir? What good time haue you? you are wel∣come: sit downe and giue me leaue for a little while to shut one eye.

P.

Like Master, like man: you are riuall with Endimion.

M.

Rather I will outgoe Epimenides.

P,

Take heede you fall not into some infamy.

A.

What note or infamy can hee incurre that offends none?

P.

He offends much more that hurts himselfe, then hee that hurts another.

A.

Whatsoeuer it be (which hardly at the length can be depain∣ted) that after a sea of troubles we inioy in this life, it seemes to me to be apparell, that defends our flesh from the harme of the elements, and feedes our spirit with vaineglory; drinke and meat that nourishes our body: sleepe, which strengthens and restores nature: the ioy of the flesh, that glads the hart, and preserues the species: and mony, that obtaines and giues vs euery thing.

P.

It is true, but I tould you before that we were passengers here, incompassed with a thousand enemies, and that which is worse, often without vertue, many times vnarmed for defence and with great store of offensiue weapons of our selues.

A.

It is impossible then not to be ouercome: which few vnder∣standing, they much lesse foresee, neither prouide for them∣selues.

P.

Neuerthelesse there wants not many excellent, nay diuine voyces to stirre vs vp and to inuite vs to heauen. God calling vs with his voyce, who being the onely good, doth also

miraculously allure his progenie to be like himselfe.

A.

The voice likewise of the separated mindes, conioyned to vs with an indissoluble knot, perswade vs to the common father

P.

But who shall be deafe to the liuely sound of the common Trumpets of the heauens,* 1.6 which declaring to vs the glorie of the soueraigne good, wake vs vnto it?

A.

There is also anothe, as I thinke, no lesse potent, which is that of Nature, who hath made vs most apt to seeke, and with the grace of God, to obtaine the same end.

P.

In like manner forcible is the voice of right Reason, because the right and the iust, depending on the true, & the true being the same with good, it conducts vs to the soueraigne good.

A.

Nor is our will vtterly silent, which if it be not depraued, co∣uets nothing but what is good.

P.

Nor lesse effectuall doe I holde the voice of the promise to those that with liuely faith, leauing the lees of base things, as an Eagle, raise themselues vp to diuine ones.

A.

But now where is there such an one to be found amongst vs, which is worthy to be crowned with perpetuall praise?

P.

I doubt the greatest part of vs, not regarding the answere, are quicke of hearing, and too attentiuely hearken after that which carnall men heretofore were wont to alledge, that is to say, Many things are spoken of, and are promised to vs, Sed quis ostendit nobis bona? but where appeare they?* 1.7 Doubt∣ing expelleth Faith, therefore when Faith in such men is ex∣tinct, and with Faith all vertue is gone, if the loue of vertue selfe be not able, yet the terrible voice of strict punishment ought to bridle.

A.

God forbid, these voyces should waken me in vaine,* 1.8 God graunt I neuer may pretend The thing that should my God offend, But God breathe into my breast a heauenly heat To the end that I may bring to the sick world sweet liquors,* 1.9 that the brimmes of the pot being sprinkled, whilst it drinketh the sowre Iuyce, being deceiued by that deceit it may receiue life.

P.

You shall doe honourably.

A.

Who's there? Mignocco, art thou happily drowned in the barrell of Oyle, that I see thee not? Oh, oh, now I smell thee by the stincke. Make a fire.

M.

Of Fagots, or of Coales?

A.

This fellow may be a Captaine commander ouer all igno∣rants, as another Peter Lumbard, hee alwayes speakes by a distinction: but at the end he is a foolish noddie.

M.

I doe this, because I would not erre.

A.

Yet you erre alwayes: well, al's well, so you make it well and quickly.

M.

I cannot finde the bellowes, but I will blow with my mouth.

A.

Take heede least being so dry the smoake carrying you vp the Chimny toppe, doe not sublimate you.

M.

That would make al the company euen to split with laughter

A.

Doe, heare, and be silent, prating knaue as thou art.

M.

I'le dispatch presently.

A.

Dry, warme, and then giue me my shirt, and a waste-cote.

M.

Behold it here, according to your minde: What cloathes will you weare to day?

A.

I haue not yet bethought my selfe, what thinkest thou fit∣test? That of broad cloath, of Florentine cloath rash, or Venetian stuffe, or Taffata, Satin, Silke-grogram, cut, or vn∣cut or figured Veluet, that of cloath of Gold, or of siluer, or the imbrodered, or th'other plaine sute without gard or lace, my perfum'd Ierkin, or my white doublet and hose, taunie, purple, orange coulour, yellow, gray, greene, blew, redde, crimson; or else that I may smell the better of a me∣lancholike and wise man, my sute of blacke? What, either thou speakest too much or nothing at all: What saiest thou of it thou Owles head.

M.

To appeare before the vulgar and others, that many times haue but little iudgement, it is no small folly not to follow the fashion. It were better Sir that you would put on your hose made after the Italian manner, guarded with gold lace, after the humerous fashion, and your doublet with the French body, Spanish sleeues, and Polonian collar.

A.

Thou art wiser then I tooke thee to be: for this Morning I

will try how thy aduise will sort with me.

M.

You shall haue all.

A.

Looke for my slippers; for I see them not. Make hast.

M.

I am at hand.

A.

At hand thou idle lazie fellow? I thincke thou com'st of the race of the fixed Stars, which moue at the end of threescore, or of an hundred yeares, according to Ptolomies opinion.* 1.10

M.

Marry I would to God I were a Starre.

A.

Thou art alwayes playing the foole. Reach me my stock∣ings of Neapolitane silke, or those of Milaine, or my Eng∣lish ones, and those of thread, to weare vnder them.

M.

Behold, they are here.

A.

I suppose I should doe better to put on my bootes, or bus∣kins: are the streetes dry or dirty?

M.

Dirty, pleaseth it you to haue them?

A.

Yes: reach me my needleworke bootehose, or those of cloth made stirrop fashion, and my spurres.

M.

Your Worship is ready now to hunt Apes, or Babounes.

A.

Why goodman cockscombe, take you this to be fit weather to weare silke stockings in, & so euery day to spoile a paire?

M.

No truely.

A.

Where are my garters? thou neuer hast any thing ready.

M.

Am I happily a Prophet? or a diuiner by looking-glasses?

A.

But so Sir, haue you no wit in your head?

M.

I haue some wit, but I am no Prophet.

A.

Why wouldst thou thinke it such a miracle to diuine?

If thou hadst remayned in the caue there where Apollo became a Prophet, thou wouldst not.* 1.11

M.

Indeed I was borne in the Country, my Father was a plaine country man.

M.

If thou hast beene at schoole, dost thou not call to minde that euer thou didst read that which Cicero speakes of Tro∣iane Cassander: of one Publius a Prophet,* 1.12 and of Martian Prophets.

M.

I haue forgot all.

A.

I thinke thou art the fift sonne of Metellus.

M.

Alas good Sir, I am of flesh and bloud, as you see, and not of mettell.

A.

Doest thou not know that Scipio Numantia, against Me∣tellus, the fourth Macedonian sonne, who had foure there, that by reason of their young yeares, came short of sound iudgement amongst them, saide that if the mother euer brought forth the fift, hee would be an Asse. And this fift I beleeue thou art. And if a shee Asse did prophesie, thou maist better doe it being a male.

M.

O Sir, you rich men plunge your selues in pleasure, like Flyes in Milke, like Waspes your are drownde in Hony, and as Germanes stifled in Malmesey.

A.

Whatsoeuer shines dost thou take it to be gold? There is no clocke, how great or little soeuer, which can goe or turne, without his counterpoyse.

M.

Let a rich man say or doe what hee will, his riches like a pre∣tious mantle couers him, and adornes all: and like a great Flye hee breakes through euery cobweb, great or little.

A.

I beseech you Maister Pompilius, doe but hearken to my man, hee is so truely nide and simple, as hee thinkes it im∣possible to diuine.

P.

We read in Ouid of one Mopsus,* 1.13 in Tullie of one Polibius Corinthus, of H••leus in Heroditus, of Arontus in Lucan, Meon in Statius, of Carmenta, of Nicostrata the Prophe∣tesse, of Mantus, of Sosopater, of Theanus, of Marta, of Eusippe, as also of many others.

A.

How thinke you now, are you not conuinced?

Yeeld thy selfe vanquisht▪ it sufficeth for thy honour,* 1.14 that thou maist say that thou contended against vs.

M.

It is no great matter to make such a one as I am beleeue that hee is able by fishing in a well, to catch the Moone.

A.

Well goe to dispatch once.

M.

I am afraid Sir, you take your selfe to be in a Campe, where by sound of Drumme and Trumpet they giue the allarme.

A.

This Ninnie-hammer ••fter hee hath shewed himselfe an ig∣norant Scholler would faine now forsooth appeare to be a Souldiour.

M.

Why Sir, is it not better to be good in something, then in nothing?

A.

Away, away: reach me my combe-case, vvith my combe of Boxe, or of Iuory, the brush, and little spunge, my tooth-picker, and eare-picker.

M.

They are all here readie Sir.

A.

Ready doe you say? I but with vvhat cleanlines & neatnes?

M.

Hold mee excus'd Sir, your going out is in too great haste.

A.

God for his goodnesse made mee a man, and this foole like another Circes, Medea, or Calisto, would transforme mee into some idle-headed woman, to grow old in attyring of my selfe.

M.

I haue but onely two eyes; two hands, and two feete.

A.

Why I know thou hast no wings: but know to him that hath no braine, if two were added to two, and to those two foure thousand, it would all be nothing.

M.

Pardon me gentle Master, for I haue seene many honoura∣ble gentlemen that would apparel themselues very leasurely

A.

Neither doe I runne, as you see sir. How long wilt thou be in making ready?

M.

Three or foure howres.

A.

They haue virile shape, and feminine harts: vvhere spirit or fire is, it must needes operate.

M.

Yet they are held to be of great iudgement.

A.

Oh, but there's great difference betwixt in deed and being so reputed. Dost thou not know that from the beginning the world goes arsie-versie?

M.

I looke not so hie.

A.

Yet the Bees mount in the ayre to make warre.* 1.15 I both know and well discerne your humour and genius; thou wouldest make me one of Diomedes, or Antiphanes scholler, in imi∣tating of these Ganimedes, finicall, spruce-ones, muskats, syrenists, feathercockes, vaineglorious, a cage for Crickits, fickle-braines, adle-sconces, sing-sonnets, and chimerists, who vpon the least blast of winde that blowes, doe turne and reuolue themselues, vvithout any power or vertue of the loadstone, round about euery Hiemsphere or Horizon.

M.

And yet by your fauour Sir, a Gentleman must alwaies be clad like a Gentleman.

A.

Like many other ignorants thou vvilt needs talke of a Gen∣tleman, yet knowest thou not what hee is, or vvhat makes him one.

M.

Why, in al common iudgment, reuenewes, clothes, & mony.

A.

Dost thou know what this populous and common sort is? it is no other then a monster in Nature. This is very strange to mee, that Land, Silkes, and Mony should haue priuiledge at this day, to make a Gentleman.

M.

Without these, a man is little reputed, and can doe nothing.

A.

This is true indeede, vvhich you say, amongst the popular troupes: but yet in the judgement of the vvise, Vertue, Va∣lour, Blood, good manners, and noble proceedings, make a true Gentleman, but riches do only colour, & beautifie him.

M.

I cannot tell, I doe but obserue, after the manner of others, I see that hee vvho is vvell monied, and vvell cloathed, is onely honoured.

A.

What should such an idle silly coxcombe as thy selfe doe o∣therwise, and all those that resemble thee? which neither see, nor attend, neither aspire nor hope, know nor see no further then their owne interests, after which square they measure all things.

M.

The common opinion hath in it the efficacie of a Law.

A.

Art thou so great and grose, and yet hast neuer heard, that the number of fooles is in a manner infinite?

M.

What would you haue mee vviser then the World? In my minde it smels more of a learned man to be reputed vvise of many, then a foole of a fevv.

A.

According to the vvorld indeede thou saist true: reach mee the Chamber-pot to pisse.

M.

There it is Sir.

A.

O see vvhat goodly weather tis, and how the Sunne shines.

M.

I thats true, but by and by it will be darke or misty, or cloudy, and then a little after raine will follow, with moisture, then cold, after that heate and thus in little space of time, we shall haue a taste of euery season.

A.

And with the vveather, man shall also be changed: The change of minde oftentimes is a constance in the mu∣table and light world.* 1.16 Plucke off my Bootes.

M.

VVill it please you then to sit downe sir.

A.

Where are my shoes, my roses, my garters, my girdle and poynard?

M.

You shall haue them all in a trice.

A.

And vvater for my hands, where is it, negligent fellow as thou art?

M.

It is ready, Sir.

A.

In the fountaine, or the vvell. That which is worst; thou growest vvorse and vvorse. I must needes resolue to enter∣taine a soliciter to put thee in minde of all.

M.

Excuse me gentle Sir, ther is a certaine fellow come amongst vs, whose name I doe not vvell remember, who in a paper as long as the Bible, doth promise largely to further memory.

A.

Why thou Organ bellowes, thinkest thou to apprehend that Art?

M.

VVho can tell?

A.

Thou makest me laugh vvhether I vvill or no.

M.

I am perswaded hee can helpe mee much, in that his nar∣ration, hee intimates how hee hath beene sworne and for∣sworne, &c.

A.

Hee is deceiued, hee deceiues thee, and thou deceiuest thy selfe. VVhere Nature failes, Art can little preuaile. Concei∣uest thou not that thou goest along, groping & stumbling?

M

I seeke to grope the best I can.

A.

In learning of the termes, and recording of the points, to set vp thy rest of that little which thou hast already in thy skonce.

M.

Perhaps not Sir. I am neither able nor vvilling, neither can I spend much mony.

A.

For a little mony thou shalt reape but a little good.

M.

Many littles makes a mickle, and enough sufficeth.

A.

Reach me a little of Naples, Venice, or French sope to scou∣er my hands.

M.

It is all spent.

A.

Giue me then some crummes of bread, or of my powder of Almond cakes, with Beane flower, and the little sheeres also.

M.

Heere they are.

A.

The ruffe band.

M.

I haue it in my hand.

A.

Because it is somewhat hot this morning, it were better for me to weare a falling band.

M.

So I thought, behold I giue it you.

A.

Seeing you will be a Scholler of the Art of Memorie, I will now tell you in good earnest some locall memoriall.

M.

All will be well Sir, so as conformable to our first couenants you will please Sir, to command, and call, but not strike.

A.

Tush, after the receipt weele reckon of all. Oh Sir, now I come with all my hart to doe all seruice to my deare Master Pompilio.

P.

No, no, Sir, not to serue, but as a Master to commaund me.

A.

Gentle Sir, tell me haue you seene in your life, a man sooner ready then I am?

P.

No intruth.

A.

I sleepe or watch, when, and as long as I please, or thinke good.

P.

I cannot conceiue how so liuely a spirit as you are, in the Morning when the spirit vseth to fructifie, should suffer it selfe to be subdued by drowsie sleepe.

A.

Why, I pray you Sir,* 1.17 know you not that the falling of the starres doth inuite vs to sleepe, and that euery creature which liueth must necessarilie likewise sleepe? considering that all creatures through long labour and vigilancie, doe waste and perish, and therefore they had neede to be restored with the generation of some new radicall humiditie, and by the reno∣uation of weake spirits, which are obtained from moderate sleepe.

P.

Who knowes it not? Vigilancie being an earnest fixing of of the minde, from his beginning, to all the parts of the bo∣dy, so that when it is moderate, it excites all the senses, dis∣poseth of all the faculties to their due operations, and ex∣pels the excrements of the body: but if it be immoderate it

corrupts the temperature of the braine, it causeth distract∣ing of the wits, enflameth the humours, procures acute in∣firmities, it produceth hunger, it makes men leane, and of a foule aspect, it debilitates the vertue concoctiue, dissolues the spirits, replenisheth the head with vapours, makes hollow eyes, augments heate, kindleth choller, hindereth digestion, and causeth a cruditie in our receiued meates, and therefore it must be moderated & corrected by interposition of sleep.* 1.18 From whence we must confesse that Aleander spake wisely when hee said, Somnus est omnibus valetudo vi••e▪ & sani••as corporis: It is the health of the body, and safety of the soule.

A.

It cannot be denyed but if a man would liue, it is needfull hee should eate, and eating, of necessitie hee must sleepe: for sleepe is procured by the eleuation of the vapors from the receiued meate, which mounting vp to the braine, and finding it cold and thicke, are congealed, and so growne waightie, and discending, they opilate the pores sensitiue of the members, after the selfe same manner as raine is ingen∣dred in the middle region of the Aire by the rising vp of vapours. On the contrary, wakefulnesse is procured by the superfluous heate of the braine, and it causeth tribulations of minde, indigestion of meates, whereupon naturall heate which is the first instrument of life doth become weake, and seruing to all the members, it leaueth the concoction of meates, by which meanes without sleepe, crude humours and many defects in the body would ensue, the which sleepe is the quietnesse of the minde, and the repose of the animall facultie: and in conclusion it heates and corroborates the members, it expelleth the excrements, augments naturall humiditie, fatens the body, cures the infirmities of the soule, and mittigates the molestations of the minde, and at that time the faculties being at rest (as is said) Nature workes the more effectually. Therefore Tassus saith:

Whilst the Sunne delighteth it is time to trauaile,* 1.19 for in the night euery creature would be at rest. Let vs suppresse the griefes, and let vs sweeten the hart,* 1.20 vnder the silence of the secret nightly horrour.

But a thousand inconueniences, I beleeue is caused, if it be superfluous.

P.

Now in truth you speake like a gentleman: for besides that watchfulnes notes an hart addicted to vertue, and waightie enterprizes; too much sleepe cooleth, debilitates, and dryes vp naturall heate, it makes bodies flegmaticke, from whence proceedes sloathfulnes; further it sends vp vapors into the head, from whence are engendred distillatio••s and Catars: it hurts fat bodies wonderfully, in ••ound and weake bodies it causeth shortnesse of winde, it prepareth them to Apo∣plexies, Epilexsies, to stupifaction, and feauers: it procures that the excrements cannot come forth in due time, but that they are detained too long in their vessels: it makes many vnprofitable, with a thousand other inconueniences. And therevpon diuine Plato admonisheth vs that superfluous sleepe is not onely impertinent to the soule and body,* 1.21 but also, for any negotiations or affaires.

A.

The selfe same Eschines deciphered,* 1.22 hee holding opinion that sleepe was more befitting the dead then the liuing.

P.

Of the same opinion was Gorgias the Philosopher:* 1.23 who drawing neere to death said, Sleepe doth commend mee to his brother.

A.

Philo also called it the very image of death.* 1.24

P.

And Alexander, by reason of his workes, fame, and glory,* 1.25 surnamed the great, being after the manner of Courtiers, deepely flattered by his followers, and called a God, wisely made answere, I know my selfe to be mortall by sleepe, which is the true portrature of death.

A.

Diuine Petrarch saith, Sleepe is a kinne to death.* 1.26 And Tas. saith, Hee that is opprest by sound sleepe, hath but a little passage to death.

P.

Sleepe therefore being so detestable, that Wise man saide.* 1.27 How long will thou sleepe, O sluggard? when wilt thou awake from out thy sleepe? To that effect the Apocalipse concludes, saying: Happy is hee who watcheth and keepeth his garments,* 1.28 to the end his shame may not appeare, and then hee addes, I therefore say vnto you, watch.

A.

All this is true, so it be seasoned with Platoes salt, that is, our health, euer considered.

P.

Surely I thinke I may beleeue, and not without reason, that [ 6] eating soberly, and not according to the desire, but the nece∣sitie of his constitution, he vvil also sleepe soberly therupon.

A.

Oh, oh, you will transforme mee into some Tuskaine, or a sober Genouese, or rule me in such manner that after the si∣miorike, I ought to subiect myselfe to clinicall phisicke.

P.

Let a man be of what nation hee will, hee must needes order his life, and little will satisfie to the Nature, therefore Tassus:* 1.29 If the desire be little, also our neede is small whereby our life is preserued.

A.

Why but a man must necessarily eate and drincke, because without these two offices, neither sound or sick can continue: for the bodies of liuing creatures remayning in a daily eb∣bing and flowing, so that momentally the corporall spirits are dissolued and consumed, as also in like manner, the hu∣mours, and solide parts, and if the like substance be not re∣stored, which is dissolued, in short time they dye, and perish: diuine bountie minding to prouide a remedy for this in∣conuenience, gaue vs meate and drinke; to the end, that meate might restore whatsoeuer was consumed by the dri∣er substance, and so that by drinke all the same might be restored, which was consumed by the humide humours.

P.

Obserue sir, the great and enormious abuse hereof amongst Christians, confuted of an Ethnicke Philosopher, who being demaunded why hee eate so little, made this an∣swere:

Ʋt viuam esse decet, viuere non vt edam, It is conuenient that I should eate to liue, And not liue to eate.

And questionlesse, it is an vndoubted point, that few things will serue a man endued with Faith.

A.

But if a man be invred to fill himselfe, what then?

P.

Vse against reason beares no excuse, besides, surfet hurteth the body more then any thing else; so as he that would liue in health, must take heede of surfetting, otherwise hee shall

suffer all distemperatures, chollericke fluxes vpward and downeward, vomite, prosternation of appetite, heauinesse of head, griefe of the stomacke opilation of the Liuer and Mylt, dissenteries, and malignant Agues, the which wee see goe and spread from house to house.

A.

I am of your opinion, being needfull to keepe that rule: Nihil nimis, nothing too much: and yet sir, you must vn∣derstand how requisite it is, that euery one should liue with∣in the termes of ciuill policie, that is, conformable to his state, with honour and reputation.

P.

Honour (so we seeke true honour) as we will speake in my tract of single combat is purchased with vertue, and with va∣lour, and not with such things as are common to vs, with beasts; and when true honour, and true vertue is wanting, then we begge it with meanes void of all vertue, from the vulgar sort; & in such a case we are clad with adultrate honor.

A.

Your opinion arrides me, following more the spirit, the other sense and vaineglory of no moment, but opposing my selfe to you before, I vnderstood it of certaine obseruations and rules of diet, which Physitians often prescribe to others, be∣cause they will not follow them themselues.

P.

I know well that there are some of opinion, that the body growes the more infirme and weake, through good, regular, and orderly life: which contradicts the Wise-man, who testi∣fies that Physicke was created of God, and shall not be despi∣sed of the wise.

A.

I speake not of Physicke, because I know it to be naturall to the creatures: and therefore we read that the birds of Ae∣gypt purge themselues, by thrusting their beackes softly into the water. The Harts vse Dictamus. The Swallow the hearbe Celedonia. The Weasell Fennell seede, for the dus∣kishnesse, and blearishnesse of her eyes. The Dragon wilde Lettuce against vomit. The Panther Libbards-bane which operates against the poison of Wolfes-bane. The Beares, Ants, against the Mandragora. The Black-birds and Partri∣ges vse the leaues of Laurell, against their infirmities. The Cranes, wilde bull-rushes. The shee-Beare being wounded

heales her selfe with Woolblade. The Tortoise vseth Ori∣ganum against the Vipers poison. The Foxes with the teares of Lorice doe heale their wounds. And so almost euery crea∣true I beleeue hath a particular remedie: but I meane not such things, but certaine obseruations in eating, drinking, & sleeping, which make a man vnhappy, and as one lunatick.

P.

Although I know, the authoritie of the Arte is diminished, by the great number of some, who were the other day, but Pedantes, and now beare themselues like arch Doctors, to whom you may ioyne a troope of feminine Physitians and Practitioners. Notwithstanding, vnderstand good sir, that re∣gular life, is annexed and connexed inseperably vnto medi∣cine, which Auicen cals another Physicke,* 1.30 whithout which Physicke effects nothing. Besides this, to draw neare to my purpose; the matter of our bodies, that is not like the stones or mettals, but of a slimy, and therefore fragile nature, we are also more apt to slip easily out of the bounds of health, and therefore a rule of life is requisite, which may preserue vs, though not wholy free vs from death.

A.

Any prolixe disputation, of the selfe same thing is but tede∣ous to me, I consent, yet I beleeue that you know sir the tem∣peratures are diuers, though hee may rule himselfe in his diet, it seemeth to me he cannot in sleepe.

P.

I said before to you, speaking of diet, we ought to regard the complexion, so also in sleepe, therefore if a man by nature be sanguine, with a iust proportion of cold and moist, though he be of a good temperature, yet to keepe himselfe in health it shall be needfull for him to sleepe moderately.

A.

But what if he exceede in hot temperature?

P.

Why, he would be apt to euery infirmitie, by reason of the putrifaction, and abundance of humours, opilation, and ful∣nesse of bloud, and besides other remedies, such an one must take heede, how hee erre in his first digestion, wherein the humours are vitiated by superfluitie, and for such an one fa∣sting, venery, and watching, by reason of his quicke digesti∣on would be healthfull.

A.

But what if he be chollericke?

P.

It will helpe him much, to vse moderate sleepe, because of the quiet of his minde, and in respect of the amendement of his complexion.

A.

If flegmaticke?

P.

Sleepe does good to flegmaticke men, because it concocts the crude humours, whereof afterwards good bloud being engendred, a man growes hot, his naturall heate being as∣sisted by the bloud, but ouermuch will be hurtfull for him, though it make him more able for Venus delights.

A.

Me thinkes I heard, that it benefits euery one, and therefore to stengthen this, Luther addes, crescite & multiplicamine.

P.

It delights euery one, but profits not all.

A.

But what if he were peraduenture Melancholy?

P.

Because sleepe onely changeth their temper through the new purchased heate and humiditie, which be things con∣trary to the complexion, therefore Venerian exercises hurt them, and sleepe doe them good.

A.

But how should one know the sufficient quantitie of sleepe for euery complexion and age?

P.

It must be conceiued by the perfection of concoction, which is discerned by the vrine, for if it be of white colour, it shewes that there is a kinde of raw humour in the veynes, and therefore he must sleepe the more, but if the vrine be of Citron colour, it shewes, that the iuyce is concocted, and that extraordinarie sleepe is no more requisite.

A.

But considering, as hath beene said, that the quantitie of sleepe must vary, according as the age, complexion, and al∣so the seasons vary, how might one gouerne himselfe in this point, without any defect?

P.

They that be of an hot age, as young men, sixe howers sleepe may suffice them; but for others of a cold complexion (the vertue digestiue being in them very weake) they had neede haue longer sleepe.

A.

But how should we discerne such a debilitie?

P.

By the frigiditie, which we perceiue in the region of the sto∣macke, by the sower belchings, by the watrish spettle after eating, for whom it will be good to begin their sleepe vpon

their bellie, because this sleepe causes a fresh colour, in the face, and strengthens the breast and the digestion, so they feele thereby no running of the eyes; and for such like, cu∣shions of soft downe, or of the shearings of scarlet, would be very good, or a good fat dog hath singular prerogatiue in this case, if they doe embrace, and hold them straight to their breasts.

A.

But what if hee were old?

P.

Why hee cannot haue lesse, then eight or nine houres: for long sleepe will helpe, and superfluous watchings will hurt him, by which the braine is weakened, and then vpon that occasion, many flegmaticke superfluities doe multiply.

A.

And I iudge the leuitie of the head, and of all the body, eua∣cuation by stoole, and making of vrine, to be manifest signes of sufficient sleepe, as I haue said: and certainely I beleeue to gouerne a mans selfe is the signe of wisedome and vertue.

P.

Therefore not onely those that were acceptable to God, but [ 8] also to the world, as valiant Captaines, iudicious Princes, powerfull and magnanimious Kings, fortunate and warlike Emperours, and all others, that by their vertue, valour, or Arte, haue laid the foundations, or sowed the seedes of Nobi∣litie, or any other greatnes in their race, (though some haue planted in sweate, and others enioy the fruits of their labors in idlenesse) you shall finde that they were giuen to vigi∣lancie, and not to sleepe.

A.

Also others, that in kingdoms, prouinces, common-wealths, Cities, or Vniuersities, haue any good successe, or that from a base are exalted to high estate, you shall finde that they haue beene all most vigilant.

P.

Doe you not remember that common Prouerbe, Hee that sleepes takes no fish?

A.

Yes, but it is also said; that to one ouer whose head euill for∣tune hangs, it is but in vaine to rise earely.

P.

Because peraduenture bad hap does rather lay hold on him.

A.

Impute nothing to hard hap, for hee that hath no wit, no∣thing can euer sort with him.

P.

And yet they will say, such a one hath more fortune then wit.

A.

This is verified in the fauours that are bestowed on the vn∣worthy, and knowing how to endeauour himselfe in this point, he shall shew much wit.

P.

But there is more wit required to keepe and preserue, then to acquire and get.

A.

By the same meanes that we get, by the same may we pre∣serue and keepe.

P.

It is no time now to talke of state, we will satisfie you in ano∣ther place, let vs prosecute our course begun, for the aboue-named and many other such like courses,* 1.31 Seneca with great iudgement in the person of a Prince, aduiseth vs all to auoid much sleepe.

A.

Iustinian the Emperour doth also say,* 1.32 that a crowne is not giuen to them that sleepe, but to those that are watchfull: whereupon they paint Aurora with a garland in her hand.

P.

But besides the authoritie, and reasons of that aboue produ∣ced, [ 9] I find in my self by long morning sleep, an other incon∣uenience, which is, that in the morning I dreame of a num∣ber of idle toyes, which disquiet my mind all the day after.

A.

Where there are many dreames, there are many vanities,* 1.33 but endeauour thou to feare God, saith, the holy Writ.

P.

I desire another reason.

A.

Platoes Schoole determined on this point,* 1.34 that dreames were certaine kindes of cogitations, engendred in the soule.

P.

And Auerroe, the head of the Atheists,* 1.35 that they procee∣ded from the imagination.

A.

The Philosophers from common, but fantasticall sense.* 1.36

P.

Homer in his Iliades, deriues them from Iupiter, that is,* 1.37 from God.

A.

Albertus Magnus, from the Influence of superiour things,* 1.38 by the meanes of certain species which daily come from heauen.

P.

The bearded, or graue Physitians,* 1.39 hold that they are procu∣red from vaporous humours in the head.

A.

Cicero and Macrobius, from the effects,* 1.40 and thoughts of our will.

P.

The Arabians, from effects intellectuall.* 1.41

A.

The Astrologians, from our Constellations.* 1.42

P.

These are all but words and opinions, I will seeke no fur∣ther: but what say you, that many obserue, how dreames of∣tentimes proue true?

A.

I take this to sauor a little of superstition, as the Southsayers [ 10] did, who obserued the notes, and which way the birds tooke their flight, as if there had beene some diuine spirit in their flight, or prophecie in their bils and beakes. Your Southsai∣ers likewise, with no lesse folly obserued the houres.

P.

I doubt you are in an errour, because the influence of your Planet, may fauour your affaires, more at one time then at another.

A.

All be vaine things, and fall out by chance.

P.

Chance proceedes from the first cause on which the second depends, as I will copiously shew vnto you, when we shall dis∣course of Lot, Chance, and Fortune.

A.

I suppose, Caesar was of such a spirit: for going against Iuba, in disimbarking of himselfe, he fell to the ground, from whence collecting a good presagement, he said: now Africa, I haue possession of thee with my hands.

P.

Such change and others as prodigious,* 1.43 which are generated beyond the order and course of Nature, sometimes they are taken in good, sometimes in euill part.

A.

All is at Gods pleasure, and all these things are vncertaine?

P.

Vncertaine likewise (as I told you) is dreaming, and so much the more, because it occurreth by chance.

A.

I remember to this end, that when Cyrus in the affayres of Persia, dreaming that he saw a Sunne at his feete, the which he striuing to catch three times with his hands, it fled away: It was foretold him thereupon, that that desire of taking the Sun three times, did demonstrate vnto him, how hee should raigne for thirtie yee••e, which succeeded.

P.

We read likewise in Heraclides Ponticus,* 1.44 the dreame of the Mother of Falarides, to whom there appeared amongst the consecrated Idols of her house, Mercury, with a cup in his hand, who sprinckled bloud ouer all the house, the which did confirme the barbarous crueltie, which was vsed toward the children.

A.

In the history of Agathocles, it is also recounted,* 1.45 that A∣miclar the Carthagenian, being one day at the expugnation of Siracusa, he heard a voyce which said to him in a dreame; to morrow thou shalt sup in Siracusa, which came to passe. For there growing a great tumult amongst his owne souldi∣ers, the enemy within tooke occasion to assaile him, where∣upon he remained vanquished, and Amiclar was ledde pri∣soner by his enemie into the Citie.

P.

Authours write many things, without any proofe.

A.

What say you to Plato, who reports,* 1.46 that Socrates being in prison, foretold vnto Crito his owne death, which should be three dayes after, because a faire young woman had appear∣red to him in his dreame, who called him by his name, repea∣ting vnto him that verse of the Greeke Poet;

Tertia te Pithei tempestas laeta locabit.

which punctually fell out.

P.

Aristotle also leaueth written vnto vs of Eudimus his great friend, who going into Macedonia,* 1.47 he arriued in that goodly Citie called Pheu of Thessalonia, which was at that instant cruelly oppressed by Alexander the Tyrant, where Eudimus fell sicke to death, & one night he thought that he saw a yong man of most faire aspect, who comforting him said, that shortly he should be cured, and the Tyrant should be slaine: which succeeded.

A.

Tullius in like manner writes, how Sophocles a famous Poet,* 1.48 dreamed of the theefe that had stolne a cup of gold out of Hercules temple, which he hauing related to the Magistrate, the malefactor was put into prison, and so the dreame was verified.

P.

But what say you to my selfe, that for two or three dayes be∣fore any vnhappy successe, or some misfortune, shall see it in my dreame, and it will infallibly follow?

A.

Sic••rat in Fatis, Your stable Destinie commeth from the starres,* 1.49 And your swift vnderstanding is more then the bow.

P.

To this, I cannot tell what to say. This I onely finde, that though I vse all the caution or circumspection possible, yet

my dreame will proue true: onely the fore-seeing of it pro∣duceth this good effect, that the occasion occurring, so that I can inforce my selfe, bending my selfe like a reede, I suffer the dint of my Starre to passe ouer.

A.

Call you this a dreame, or but rather a vision?

P.

I know not what it is, neither for my further health doe I de∣sire to know.

A.

But if melancholick humour be predominant in you (which according to the opinion of many learned men hath a kind of prerogatiue▪ to make one foresee truth in dreames) I durst be bold to affirme, that it would bring forth such an effect.

P.

Certainely, I thinke this proceeds not from nature, but ra∣ther by change, by mutation of country, of aire, of customs, of life, of stare, and of other such like circumstances, the which I take not onely to be sufficient to change the com∣plexion of an humane body, but to transforme, and subli∣mate any hard mettall whatsoeuer.

A.

I enuy those of Africke, who according to Herodotus,* 1.50 dreame not at all.

P.

Rather (man being for his similitude to God, almost diuine, and by the vnderstanding different from other creatures, whereupon the diuine Poet saith:

That which our nature hath most worthy in it in this world,* 1.51 is from God, by the which the nature of man is in part di∣stinguished from other creatures, that is to say, the intelle∣ctuall vnderstanding. Therefore the same in another place; My minde, which doth presage of thy harmes. Moreouer, Guirinus: The soule is not alwayes with senses darkened,* 1.52 but rather is most wakefull, when it is least troubled with the false forme of the sense, now that it sleepeth.

That novv the minde is not distracted, and in it selfe vvholy retyred alone, to open vvith darknesse the eyes of Linceus.)

I beleeue that many see in their dreames things to come, or

by too much dating they doe darken them, or through care∣lesnesse doe not attend them, and no lesse through igno∣rance they know them not: therefore I could wish that I did know them, and could expound them.

A.

You would expound them according to your owne inclina∣tion, as that silly or loathsome woman did, who hauing a fu∣rious longing to be married, and a match being offered to her of a man scarse worth the taking vp, she went to take ad∣uise of a certaine friend of hers a Monke.

P.

Surely she happened well.

A.

This religious man, who was young, and a good Philoso∣pher, and of no lesse a subtill wit.

P.

Au! you said well in saying subtill or warie, for to a man little circumspect all the learning in the world little helpes.

A.

After he had penetrated into this her hungry feminine en∣clination, hauing heard all, to set her from the dores, hee said: My spirituall Mistresse, goe your wayes home, and the next night, attentiuely hearken after our Mattins bell, which will vndoubtedly instruct you, in whatsoeuer you are to performe.

P.

Oh, good, oh good.

A.

Hauing heard this, the poore soule, reuerently thanking the Frier, tooke her leaue, and wholly attentiue, those few houres which were to runne before the morning, seemed to her a thousand yeares; finally, behold in an happie houre, she heard the Bell.

P.

And what good newes then?

A.

This young woman whose heart was set vpon nothing else, but to iocund with loose raines and open mouth, was per∣swaded, that euerie little perswaded her thereunto.

P.

And not without some reason neither.

A.

The Mattins bell sounding, she sodainely thought,* 1.53 that like the Angell Gabriel, it clearely said vnto her: marrie, mar∣rie, marrie, and thus as it perseuered sounding, that it conti∣nued likewise in exhorting her.

P.

Is it possible?

A.

Without either oyle, or salt, in the morning following, she

concluded the businesse of consolemini.

P.

Oh, then she would be a little quieter I thinke.

A.

Quiet quoth you: the Cow that hunteth after the Bull, must haue other, besides fresh grasse: driuing away from a little braine a thousand toyes, the Crickets from the head, the heart-beatings from the breast, interposing the new Ghost, with a most large pattent omnibus singulis et quibus cunque, did giue him the vsuall fruit, and put him in free possession of the pompe of the Ship.

P.

Yet ought she afterwards to be happie.

A.

Say vnhappie.

P.

O hope, O desire, alwayes deceitfull;* 1.54 certainly we are dust and a shadow: certainely our will is blinde and greedie: certain∣lie hope is deceitfull.

A.

The world a deceauer of his followers, after the sweetnesse filles them with bitternesse:* 1.55 for a little honey with much aloes and gall.

P.

The hope of Louers is doubtfull and their ioy is short,* 1.56 re∣pentance and griefe follow after. But how after the marri∣age was she vnhappie.

A.

Her husband being a fleshly fellow, after a few dayes he be∣gan inwardly to loathe her, after to hate her, then not to e∣steeme her, and then to iniurie her, and long time went not ouer her head, but that her beating was so ordinarie, that blowes were to her in stead of bread and meate.

P.

Obserue my English Gentleman, that blowes haue a won∣derfull prerogatiue in the feminine sex; for if shee be a bad woman, there is no more proper plaister to mend her, then this: but if (which is a rare chance) she be good, to dust her often, hath in it, a singular, vnknowne, and as it were an in∣scrutable vertue to make her much better: and to reduce her, if possible to perfection.

A.

Why take you her to be of the nature or complexion of the Cat of Mountaine, from whom you can haue no ciuer except she be first well bound, and often whipt, and euen so from some women, there is no fruit of honestie, fidelity▪ or

goodnesse to be hoped for, if they be not guarded and kept with walles, gates, and windowes, and as occasion serues, beaten, and well beaten againe, being held in with a bridle, as is fit for their vnperfect state and condition.

P.

One cannot obtaine, anything rare, without great labour, and rare wit: but how did this poore wretch beare and sup∣port such a crosse?

A.

There being no bad neighbours, that might animate her to euill, nor wicked or bad kinsmen to nourish her in it, but such as exhorted her to ouercome the euill with the good, after she had suffered enough, peraduenture for diuers other of her secret sinnes, she went to the Monke and tolde him all succinctly, who answered her in this sort: you did not well obserue the Bell, goe, and the night following obserue it better, for then you will discerne the errour to be your owne.

P.

What did this sheepe after her so much sheepishnesse?

A.

Taking leaue: when night was come, and that shee had a good while repented and sighed for her made marriage, the aboue-named bell sounding, it seemed clearely to say vnto her: Doe not marrie, doe not marrie, doe not marrie: and thus it sounded vnto her this aduise: whereupon she praised the Frier, and blamed her selfe.

P.

The wiser this Cowlist was, the lesse wise thee: but I con∣ceiue your intention well, for you would inferre, that con∣formable to enclination, and appetite, I would also expound mine owne dreames: But you must vnderstand, there is great difference betweene a Kercheife and a Bonnet.

A.

It is true, but you also know, that few wise men are found, which will apply themselues to such a businesse.

P.

In this wee are not different for many reasons [ 12] and authorities: which omitting,* 1.57 that onely of Senecaes, shall suffice me saying: that sleepe doth mingle true things with false: Cato, Ouid, Tibul∣lus, and others did conclude, that wee should not take any heed of dreames. And wittie Gui∣rinus saith, truely dreames are of our hopes, more then vaine hopes of that which is to come.

The imaginations of the day spoil'd and corrupted by the shadow of the night.

A.

Diogenes also said, that considering the policie of man,* 1.58 no creature seemed wiser to him then man, but then conside∣ring the Interpreters of dreames, and their Expositors, hee thought none more foolish then man.

P.

S. Augustine also added hereunto,* 1.59 that S. Porphirius was of opinion, how the interpretation of dreames came from Diuels.

A.

We cannot but blame the exposition of dreames;* 1.60 Ecclesiasti∣cus, saying: Dreames extoll fooles, as he which apprehends shaddow, and followes the wind: so very a foole is he who ob∣serues dreames, as hee which troubles himselfe in vaine to embrace a shaddow, and to follow the winde.

P.

In Leuiticus also we are admonished,* 1.61 not to beleeue in South-sayings, much lesse to obserue dreames.

A.

And moreouer Fool siastes addeth:* 1.62 that dreames haue made many to erre, and how they were fallen, and precipitated that put their trust in them.

P.

But what dreames may we obserue, and what contemne?

A.

They which are repugnant to the sacred scriptures, & to the [ 12] Doctrine of the true Church; but as for the others,* 1.63 wherein we are admonished, we must reuerence as a diuine grace and fauour, of which we haue seene, that God hath oftentimes beene the expounder himselfe:* 1.64 as also the diuine Tassus doth shew to vs. Therefore the God him sent a silent dreame, because hee would reueale to him a high secret.* 1.65 He neuer did reueale to others in sleepe a vision of so faire and fine imaginations, as in this he did to him, in the which he did open to him the secrets both of heauen and earth.

P.

And moreouer I say vnto you, that after a man shall haue passed in his youth any great trouble, whensoeuer hee shall dreame in such a state, he must certainly prepare himselfe for some sinister encounter, and if hee dreame of his dead predecessours, notwithstanding any industrie or meanes so euer that he can vse, he must expect some vnhappie, or at least no wished for successe, of his principallest affaires.

A.

How much hath beene said pleaseth me much, and in con∣clusion [ 13] as we said before, after the moderate supper will fol∣low a quiet and a short sleepe, and that which doth exceede euery other thing, will make vs in the morning more apt vnto vertue.

P.

This is true, whereby we see the iuditious Fathers, to bring vp from childhoode their children in such wise, that they make an artificiall nature to dedicate, not to the birds, nor to the inquired running amongst the woods and fieldes, but to the Muse, the pleasant Aurora.

A.

Such giue large earnest of their wit and noble spirit, and of such, many haue I seene in my dayes, amongst whom, now I remember the illustrious Sir Iohn Hollei, a most worthy Knight, for his vertues, honourable qualities, and merits, meriting of euery one to be not lesse loued, then reuerenced and esteemed, who, and his most honest, and for any respect most honoured, and neuer sufficiently praised Lady, accor∣ding to their vertuous spirits,* 1.66 knowing (as saith the Poet) that if the plant be euill tilled, it produceth euill fruit; they haue, with their morning wakening, and continuall study, made their Sonnes to be brought vp, I will say, saying the truth, endued with all vertue, fitting to an accomplished Gentle∣man, the which doth not merit in this our age no little praise.

P.

Such manifest their wit & wisedome, that besides a thousand defects which follow from long sleepe, moreouer springeth from it Idlenesse, and from Idlenesse vice, and from the one and the other almost euery euill followeth: therefore as the earth (from whence man is deriued) hauing generatiue ver∣tue, if it produceth nothing of good, bringeth forth grasse, not onely vnprofitable, but yet often hurtfull: so man (as saith Cicero, Ouia, and others) borne to labour and contem∣plate, not giuing himselfe to vertue, falleth into vice:* 1.67 homines enim nihil agendo, male agere discunt. As manifest examples doth yeeld vs those Nations, the which esteeming not good workes, wee see them drowned in the lees of all sinne with∣out knowledge of it.

A.

What meruaile is it? for by the saying of the Wiseman, Qui [ 14] sectatur otium, stultus est,* 1.68 He is a foole that followeth idle∣nesse, and he walketh as a blinde man. And Ierome writing to D••metria saith: Nothing is worse then Idlenesse; because it doth not onely get nothing, but it loseth also that which it hath got. Nihil in sancto prop••sito otio deterius;* 1.69 nam non solum nihil acquirit, sed parata cons••mit.

P.

Nilo who was a Bishop and a Martyr,* 1.70 cals it the mother of all defects, Idlenesse taking from vs, whatsoeuer we possesse, and what we doe not, it hinders vs to purchase.

A.

Aristotle Plutarch,* 1.71 and Isidorus doe testifie that Idlenesse is the true contempt and dissolution of all vertue, and that from it, as from a plague, many other euils doe arise.

P.

Plato in the first of his Common-wealth,* 1.72 cals Idlenesse a plague, and here-from peraduenture it hapneth, that where∣soeuer great idlenesse raignes, their a great plague raignes.

A.

Empedocles cals it an vnrecouerable losse of time.* 1.73

P.

And Bion, he termes it a disease or infirmitie of the soule.* 1.74

A.

Menander affirmed, that this did corrupt the virile forces,* 1.75 as rust wasts and consumes iron.

P.

Mercurius was wont to say, that Nature doth infuse wit,* 1.76 vse exalteth it and Idlenesse euer inbaseth and vilifieth the same.

A.

Homer therefore exhorteth vs,* 1.77 neuer to let our vnderstand∣ings fast Idlenesse being too troublesome and pernitious to the minde.

P.

Demosthenes in his fourth Phillippicke Oration saith,* 1.78 that idle men had drunke of Mandrake: they being so drowsie and sleepie in all vertuous actions.

A.

When Democritus did wisely compare an idle man to Ma∣re mortuum, or the dead Sea,* 1.79 there being no difference be∣twixt him and the dead sea.

P.

Deuout Bernard cals Idlenesse the mother of lyes,* 1.80 and the stepmother of vertue.

A.

Seneca termes it the roote of all enuie,* 1.81 Alit liuorem infaelix inertia.

P.

We cannot but praise Pithagoras,* 1.82 in exhorting vs to remoue ignorance from our soule, lust from our mind, discord from

Cities, and Idlenesse from bodyes: and yet we see the quite contrary to be commonly obserued at this day.

A.

Hereupon idlenesse and the idle man being reputed among [ 15] those that were wise, as infamous and alwayes odious; they compared him to that Ci••ara, which was slain by Iahel, while he slept in his bed: to Ionas, that idlely sleeping was cast into the sea: to Sampson amongst the Philistines, while he effe∣minately lay lolling betweene the knees of wicked Dalilah: to the wife of Lot, who for looking backward, was turned in∣to a pillar of salt.

P.

They paraleld him also with that Poeticall Hiobe, who was changed into a picture of marble: an idle man doing no good, but as vnprofitable to deuoure the goods, and vn∣worthy to possesse the earth.

A.

But if the idle man be not confounded with that, yet let him be vtterly ouerthrowne (vnlesse as he doeth nothing, he be∣leeueth nothing likewise) by the example of our Sauiour, who cursed the fruitlesse and barren Figge-tree, the type of an idle man.

P.

Surely we cannot but iustly commend the Indian Gimnoso∣phistes, who suffered not the yong men, whom they taught, to eate, before they had giuen an accompt of what they had studied and done. The Spartans it seemeth to mee are wor∣thy of praise, which would not let the yong men which were sent abroad, returne home, vntill they had attained to some degree of honour.

A.

And from my very heart, I extoll that Law,* 1.83 mentioned by Diodorus, by vertue whereof all the Aegyptians were con∣strained to open their names, and set downe in a Register, wheron, or wherof they liued, and what profession they had.

P.

An holy and diuine Law certainely, a very bridle and a spur to Idlenesse.

A.

That Law of the Athenians seemes vnto me, to be no lesse commendable, which vrged all the idle men, as persons infamous and impudent, to be brought into the open mar∣ket place, for a contumelious spectacle.

P.

It pleaseth me very much, but I beleeue, such great diuision

of fields was not then growne; nor the title of meum & tuum so much enlarged, the true originall of infamous and proud Idlenesse.

A.

Draco his Lawes also amongst the Grecians,* 1.84 seemes to mee no lesse worthy of commendation, by which all idle men were punished capitally.

P.

Oh sacred and holy law, why art thou abolished?

A.

Doe but obserue, sir, how in our times, the number of idle men is so augmented, as there wants Iudges enow to giue sen∣tence, and a sufficient number of executioners to execute the sentence.

P.

It may well be, but questionlesse it was an heauenly Law, it being better to take away an idle mans life, before he should offend the Common-wealth, neyther could hee iustly com∣plaine thereof, seeing by liuing idlely, he iudgeth himselfe vnworthy of a life.

A.

Although you haue cut off many reasons, which I had beene [ 16] able to haue produced to this effect; neuerthelesse, seeing herein a great controuersie between the rich and the poore; the one exprobrating idlenesse vnto the other, I would de∣sire to heare some particular answere to the same.

P.

Neyther God nor nature did diuide the fields, but onely hu∣mane lawes, whereupon, not without reason, may the poore man call many rich men onely idle, vvho will themselues doe nothing; as if they were borne, though void of all ver∣tue, to command others, of nature often better then them∣selues, and to deuoure other mens labours, as idle and vn∣profitable creatures.

A.

To this the rich man will answere, hee that hath not, nor knowes not, he must needes labour, otherwise hee must be punished as an idle man.

P.

Replyed the other, how shall the poore man haue it, if the rich, like a famished Wolfe swallow vp and deuoure all?

A.

To whom the other part will reply; though God diuided not the world, yet did he make it diuisible, open, and nauiga∣ble, to shew it to be his, which by vertue, or arte, or worth did acquire it, & vt qui posset capere, caperet.

P.

Excuse me, sir,* 1.85 God deuided not the world because it was a thing so momentanie and vile in his sight, but with a boun∣tifull hand, he giues the greater part therof often to the wor∣ser sort.

A.

Say rather, that all which God created being good, he giues no part of it to poore men, because they are nought.

P.

If they be nought, the other are worse.

A.

The question seemes to me an hard bone to gnaw on,* 1.86 ther∣fore let vs leaue it to sharper teeth: and tell me, whom doe you call an idle man?

P.

Those, who abusing the goods of Fortune; or rather of God, neuer thinke nor can effect any good, but spend their liues in pleasure and idlenesse, the forge, the shop, the anuill, the hammer, the instrument, the master, and chiefe worke-man of all errour whatsoeuer; enemie of the soule, and also of God, and the manifest ruine of all present and future good.

A.

In my opinion Christ did plainely shew this, hee declaring, that while the rich man slept, the enemie came, and sowed Cockle amongst the corne.

P.

If an idle man deserued infamy for no other respect, yet did [ 17] he deserue it for this consideration,* 1.87 according to Hesiodorius saying, and as by experience we see, the vnhappy and mise∣rable estate of begging growing here-from. And hereupon the Wise-man said; vi•• piger in aegestate est.

A.

And yet neuerthelesse, a man may be brought to beg almes, through infirmitie, or some other misfortune, and not by the meanes of a dissolute and prodigall life.

P.

You shall seldome see an honest man a beggar, the royall Prophet auerring, nunquam vidi iustum derelictum, n••c semen eius querens panem: and if God permit him, that in his youth hath idlely consumed much goods, to be now reduced vnto misery, it is not his infamy, but the blemish of his Christia∣nitie; for like a Wolfe couered with a Lambes skinne, many times hee cares for nothing else but for his owne interest, or else vainely to glut himselfe.

A.

And yet vertue shines not in it selfe, but in another.

P.

You iest with the truth, for if faith liue, it breaths by operation.

A.

For mine owne part, I desire of God with vnfained hart, that he enflaming my frozen hart, with true faith and pure loue, may make it to melt with Charitie, and pitty towards the poore, without so many scholasticall distinctions, but onely with this obiect, that couering and feeding the begger, I co∣uer and feede Iesus Christ himselfe.

P.

Euery good is communicated,* 1.88 but the best is euen poured forth.

A.

Notwithstanding consider the natures and complexions of men, for if we doe but obserue, we shall in a manner feele it with our finger, that that country, whatsoeuer it be, is alwayes full of beggers, that hath a great number of idle persons.

P.

They may proceede not onely from Nature (a most migh∣ty instrument in euery thing) but in that they were by their fathers (thēselues depriued of vertue likewise) euilly educated in pleasures and vanities, whereupon consuming whatsoeuer they haue, when that is gone, being bare and naked of all good qualities, as the second cock-boate is vnto a man after shipwracke; in briefe, friends, neighbours, and also kinsemen being wearie with continuall and frequent succours, there re∣maines no other refuge for these poore wretches, but to beg.

A.

Be it howsoeuer, it seemes but reason throughout all the [ 18] world, he that hath not, auoiding idlenes, must take paines, o∣therwise he is to be registred in the roll of runnagates, who ought according to the lawes to be punished.* 1.89 And S. Paul would that he which workes not, should not eate.* 1.90 In Deu∣teronomie, begging was forbidden.

P.

From hence it will follow, that the rich man, since he works not, should not eate: For if in the olde Testament begging was forbidden; the reason was, because God commaunded them, that such succour should be giuen to the poore, that without wandring, they might liue honestly amongst others: it being a great disgrace to man, who is called humane, (I leaue the name, surely often the name of a Christian) to haue the hospitals, widdowers, that is to say, without hospitalitie, the vnprofitable poore, that is to say, old and sicke to wan∣der vp and downe. But if euery drop of conscience be spent in

them, yet it seemes the zeale of worldly honour is not spent, for which euery one takes so much vpon him of things of no moment.

A.

We cannot saile against the winde: let vs leaue til God awake, and following our purpose, I tell you that Constantine the Emperour did command that a young man being found in health and a begger, he should be taken and set to worke, or to serue, or to be punished.

P.

Amasis King of Aegypt, also commanded by a publicke Edict of his, that no idle man should liue within his Empire, eyther rouing or begging, vnder paine, that hee who would not learne some Art, or labour painefully, should be openly beaten, and then banished, and for the execution of this his Decree, he commanded, that the first day of euery yeere, all his vassals should appeare before the Gouernours, yeelding to them an account, of whatsoeuer they had done, through∣out the yeere, and whereof they liued vnder penaltie, that he which could not shew by writing, that he had thus appea∣red this yeare, he should be depriued of his life.

A.

The chasticement that a certain Magistrate in Flanders vsed, was reputed most iust, who caused an idle vagrant person to be publikely beaten, who stood at the Temple gate deman∣ding of almes, with certaine counterfait plotches of a leaper.

P.

Another was no lesse worthy of commendation, who with one staffe, did three myracles at one time, that is, he made a lame man to goe, a dumbe man to speake▪ and a deafe man to heare.

A.

He that euill sailes, euill arriues. Cosmo Duke of Florence, was highly commended by the w••ser sort, because in a manner in one day he armed all his gallies with the pressing of many mendicant, idle and sound young men, and now his succes∣sors preserue there state neate, by the rigour of the prisons, where in a large place, enuironed with high wals, with daily labour, & continuall abstinence, after the example of others, they performe the pennance of their sloathfulnesse.

P.

Surely, I suppose that many kingdomes haue decent Lawes, and orders for this point; and there they are most obserued,

and best kept, where the greater part fauoureth vertue and honestie, but in those countryes, where the vulgar sort is like a corrupt and putrified body, though more good Lawes be ordained, yet the fewer are obserued.

A.

As said that Tassus:* 1.91 But what is able to rule riffe-raffe peo∣ple? and to instruct the basenesse and the feare?

It was euer the vse, with euery well-gouerned people, to pu∣nish idle vagrants, vagabonds, disturbers, and knaues, who bring no other benefit, but the Arts of all fraud and deceit.

P.

A thousand times with these eares, I heard them weaue, as [ 19] Poets, a thousand counterfaite misfortunes, or rather foo∣lish chimeraes, beginning their proheme from their no∣ble race; then laying open their bad fortunes and strange ac∣cidents, and infirmities; when lastly, with a sad voyce, and a thousand gestures full of compassion, they conclude with demanding of some noble courtesie: and admitting that one, two three or foure denie them, and oftentimes raile vpon them, so long they seeke rouing vp and downe, and knock∣ing here and there, while by chance they light vpon some silly foole, who fondly giuing credit to them, they fish, draw, wring from, deceiue, get into their fingers, and receiue mony out of their purse, then endlesly among themselues, they fa∣bulize, nourish the mistery, laugh, play, ieast, dance, leap, skip, make gambols, friske, lauish, triumph, & with all delight wal∣low wantonly in their idlenesse.

A.

Nay, but marke more, to the end they may obtaine their in∣tent, they doe not onely with their person, and actions, faine, and by their falsities perswade, but with their tongue they al∣so deceiue.

P.

It is true: vsing amongst themselues to the end they may not be vnderstood, as (they themselues being Rogues) they call it rogue language, and speake in pedlers French.

A.

These companions, vvho in the Phisionomie of their fore∣head, eyes, and nose, carry the impression and marke of the Pillerie Galley, and of the halter they call the purse a leafe, and a fleece; money, cuckoes and aste, and Crovvnes, the

Owles eyes, and the teares of a coat-male; the diuision of the theft, to share and cast a sixe.

P.

To take away the cap or cloake, they say: the barke without the peare, a hat they call a creast: the doublet, the straw sad∣dle: and stockings drawers on.

A.

To take away also purse, and money, they call it, to make a shooe: or else, to make a little liuer.

P.

In some yeares past, that ridiculous ieast made me laugh ve∣rie much, which the Disciples of this infamous Schoole made in Venice.

A.

In Venice? Is it possible, it should happen in Venice? but how?

P.

Some of this troupe agreed together, to cast a beame in a cleare day, and to dazle the open eyes of a Merchant, to cousen his youthes, of the richest merchandize that he had in his Cellar.

A.

Oh, now all begins to passe betweene the Galeot, and the Marriner: and well?

P.

After they had premeditated how all should be, and toge∣ther treated of their quando, quare, and quia, they found out a Porter that was as learned as an Asse, as circumspect as an Oxe, and as simple as a sheepish foole, who notwithstand∣ing being adorned with a long beard, and shortwit, leane and long of visage like a Crucifix, reasonable proper of per∣son, and which was framed a faire presence and so relating to him, an whole rablement of flim flam tales: finally, they made him giddie and blinde, by disbursing vnto him an hundred Chickins of very good golde, then they honoura∣bly clad him, with Episcopall roabes, and aduised him, that whither they should conduct him, keeping silence, and standing with a kinde of reuerence. he should accompanie his most illustrious habite, with answerable words and sea∣stures, suffering nothing else to come out of his mouth, what request so euer they made vnto him, but this. Doe you all.

A.

O poore gull, that committed the care of himselfe, to o∣thers.

P.

The head of this match, which as you may imagine, was the head of malice, adorned with rich vestments, went be∣fore: he said vnto the Merchant, that here was come a reue∣rend et caetera. Who desired to spend two hundred, or three hundred thousand Duckets, in cloathes of golde, siluer, silke, and other such like, which should be of the most rich: the which, seeing he was come hither, for certaine of his af∣faires, he would there vpon this opportunitie buy, for cer∣taine Princes his kinsmen.

A,

The Bishoppe would rather sell himselfe, with the Bene∣fice.

P.

This good Merchant, who had not sufficiently studied, nor learned all his lesson, & considering that malé parta, mala dila∣buntur, nec de mal•• partis, gaudebit tertius heres: that which was euill gotten, goes away againe in an euill houre; caused pre∣sently to be brought and prepared, of the richest cloathes which he had in his shop, when behold in the meane while, came the most illustrious, and most reuerend, &c. accompa∣nied with eight of the same troupe, who, as many at this day doe, to make themselues to be reputed more then they are, all apparrelled in silke, hung with chaines of gold, a figure of the halter which by reason was due vnto them, & ringed with Rubies, Emeraulds, Topazes, and Diamonds, they make their secret knaueries to seeme great Signiories, and incontinently with this deceipt they got great credit with e∣uerie one.

A.

Worldly credite, is nothing but meere deceipt: What more?

P.

This most reuerend, came out of the Gondola, and being courted by his noble retinie, hee entred into the shop, to whom, at the motion of a certaine fore-runner, there vvas brought a sumptuous chaire, and then sodainly without intermission of time: Quia periculum est in mora, ideo reorum est timere et fugere: his Steward said; My Lord, after I had sought vp and downe, here and there I can find none so conformeable to your desire as these, and so shew∣ing him diuers and sundrie pieces, hee added, these seeme

vnto me more worthie then all the rest. And therefore if it please your Reuerend Lordship, we will take them, to whom the most reuerend presently replyed. Doe you all.

A.

Doe you quoth ye? this is good: all is that they doe vvell for him.

P.

When they had measured out one rich and long piece, they came to the second, then to the third, and after to the fourth, and in briefe, they came to the eighth, and to dispatch, with a maiesticall answere, of doe you all, they laded thee Gon∣dola.

A.

What a wonderfull deuotion, and reuerence, must that graue presence, that mysticall habite, and that sober phrase of speech needes bring vnto them all, ah?

P.

I, and imagine you, adde the••e the faire beard, and to the beard the title, dignitatem silentio tuebatur.

A.

Thus the vvorld deserues, vvill, and reioyceth to be de∣ceiued.

P.

Hauing with few words, and no money, obtayned their in∣tention, they said: my Lord, the Gondola is whole laden, we shall carrie it all to your lodging, we will here leaue Ro∣baldo, and returne presently for the rest: Robaldo who was formerly enformed remained a little, and faining to salute one, whom he neuer before saw, much lesse knew, and to follow him, the most illustrious remained, euen as without vertue, and onely with title, so onely, with his owne person in pawne.

A.

Oh, what an excellent tale doe you tell? but the end of the Bishop put to the Iewes.

P.

For a great while the Vsurer continued, with good confi∣dence, but the delay exceeding the bounds of honest mea∣ning and no body comming, to tell you in briefe, they found the Bishop to be no other then a piece of flesh with two eyes, an image of deceipt, the picture of fraud, onely bedawbed with cloathes, to gull the blind world with all, which malice

when it was knowne, my most reuerend Lord, with the hal∣ter, payed his defect of counterfait dignitie, and left for an inheritance to the hangman, his, doe you all.

A.

Miserable who working euill trusteth in himselfe.

P.

These are the sower fruites of idlenesse,* 1.92 which depriuing the world of all vertue, draweth it to a vicious custome, re∣pugnant to the naturall order, which is to worke and not to hurt, but to helpe. From hence did sing and say the di∣uine Petrarch, the surfet, the sleepe, and the idle feathers hath banished all vertue from the world,* 1.93 and is almost swar∣ued from his course, our Nature ouercome vvith cu∣stome.

A.

Nature, O man, did raise thy forehead towards heauen: [ 20] and gaue thee spirits generous and high,* 1.94 to the end that vpward thou mightest looke, and with illustrious and wor∣thie workes, exalt thy selfe vnto the highest reward.

P.

The time is short, and our desire is long.* 1.95 Let vs spend the time in some more worthie action of hand or wit, in some faire praise. Let vs turne into some honest studie,* 1.96 so in this world wee reioyce, and the way of heauen is found o∣pen.

A.

Then let euery one begin by little and little,* 1.97 to turne their sport to more graue endeauours: but I thinke to be too late.

P.

It is alwayes time to amend himselfe,* 1.98 and to follow the way of vertue: that neuer late haue beene the diuine grace. What houre is it sir as you thinke?

A.

I know no more then yourselfe sir: how there, what a clock is it?

M.

I know not Maister.

A.

I thinke thou wert borne by chaunce of nothing, onely to know nothing, and finally to be conuerted into no∣thing.

M.

Well, shall I aske sir?

A.

What else doe I require thou Oxe-head?

M.

It is about tenne of the clocke.

P.

It may well be,* 1.99 for a long time and tedious way is passed o∣uer by talking.

A.

Reach me my cloake.

M.

What sword will you weare to day sir?

A.

If thou hadst one that would carry me, it would be very ac∣ceptable, and I would deeme thee for more then another Mahomet.

M.

This cannot I doe.

A.

Now let vs goe gentle sir: but which way goe you sir?

P.

Towards the left hand.

A.

And I towards the right, so we shall goe together, like the East and the west.

P.

Well then sir, what pleaseth it you to commaund me?

A.

Nothing, but that it will please you, to hold me in your good fauour.

P.

Sir, I grant it you, and demand no lesse at your hand.

A.

Before you required it▪ it was fully granted.

P.

I am your faithfull seruant.

A.

And I kisse your hand sir, and shall esteeme it fauour if you will but vouchsafe to command me as yours. I pray you re∣turne before noone.

P.

I will come, let vs meet againe.

A.

God be with you.

P.

God remaine with you sir.

A.

He also continue with your worship.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Aug. de Ciuit. Dei Can. in tit. de Poeni.
• * 1.2

  Petrarch.
• * 1.3

  Petrarch.
• * 1.4

  Seneca.
• * 1.5

  Petrarch.
• * 1.6

  Psal. 18.
• * 1.7

  Psal. 4.
• * 1.8

  Tas. Amin.
• * 1.9

  Tas. G••.
• * 1.10

  Tolom.
• * 1.11

  Petrar.
• * 1.12

  Cicero.
• * 1.13

  Ouid. Tulli. Hero. Lucan. Stati.
• * 1.14

  Tas. C. 6.37.
• * 1.15

  Petrarch,
• * 1.16

  Tas. C. 5.3.
• * 1.17

  Tas. c. 19.131. Arist. de som. & vig.
• * 1.18

  Alea.
• * 1.19

  Tas. c. 6.52.
• * 1.20

  Tas. c. 2.96.
• * 1.21

  Plato.
• * 1.22

  Eschin.
• * 1.23

  G••rgi.
• * 1.24

  Filo.
• * 1.25

  Alexand.
• * 1.26

  Petrar. Tas. Go.
• * 1.27

  Prou. 26.
• * 1.28

  Apoc.
• * 1.29

  Tas. c. 7.11.
• * 1.30

  Auicen.
• * 1.31

  Seneca.
• * 1.32

  In instit. cir. prin.
• * 1.33

  Eccle.
• * 1.34

  Plato.
• * 1.35

  Auerro.
• * 1.36

  Arist.
• * 1.37

  Homer.
• * 1.38

  Albert. Mag.
• * 1.39

  Phisici.
• * 1.40

  Cicero.
• * 1.41

  Arab.
• * 1.42

  Astrol.
• * 1.43

  Hesi. li. 12. sua Eth.
• * 1.44

  Heracl.
• * 1.45

  Histo.
• * 1.46

  Plato.
• * 1.47

  Arist.
• * 1.48

  Tul. in lib. d. diu,
• * 1.49

  Petr.
• * 1.50

  Herod.
• * 1.51

  Petr.
• * 1.52

  Guir.
• * 1.53

  Petr:
• * 1.54

  Petr••r.
• * 1.55

  Petr••r.
• * 1.56

  Petrar.
• * 1.57

  Sen Her. Fur. ac. 4. Cato. Ouid. Tibull. Guir,
• * 1.58

  Diogi.
• * 1.59

  Aug. in lib. de ciui. dei.
• * 1.60

  Eccle. 34.
• * 1.61

  Leuit.
• * 1.62

  Eccle. 34.
• * 1.63

  Deut. 13.1. Gen 41.16. Dan 1.17.23.
• * 1.64

  Tas. c. 14.2.
• * 1.65

  Et 4.
• * 1.66

  Petrar.
• * 1.67

  Cic. Ouid. in metha••▪
• * 1.68

  Prou.
• * 1.69

  Hieron.
• * 1.70

  Nilo.
• * 1.71

  Arist. in tr. d. vi. Plu. in prin. de tranq. ani.
• * 1.72

  Plato.
• * 1.73

  Empe.
• * 1.74

  Bion.
• * 1.75

  Menan.
• * 1.76

  Mercur.
• * 1.77

  Homer.
• * 1.78

  Domosth.
• * 1.79

  Democr.
• * 1.80

  Bern.
• * 1.81

  Seneca.
• * 1.82

  Pithag.
• * 1.83

  Diodor.
• * 1.84

  Drac.
• * 1.85

  Aug. de ciu. Dei.
• * 1.86

  Petrar.
• * 1.87

  Hesiodor.
• * 1.88

  Dio. Areo.
• * 1.89

  Apost.
• * 1.90

  Deut. 25.
• * 1.91

  Tass. Go.
• * 1.92

  Petrar.
• * 1.93

  Petrar.
• * 1.94

  Tas. c. 17.62.
• * 1.95

  Petrar.
• * 1.96

  Petrar.
• * 1.97

  Tas 19.78.
• * 1.98

  Petrar.
• * 1.99

  Aul. Gell.