The workes of Lucius Annæus Seneca, both morrall and naturall Containing, 1. His bookes of benefites. 2. His epistles. 3. His booke of prouidence. 4. Three bookes of anger. 5. Two bookes of clemencie. 6. His booke of a blessed life. 7. His booke of the tranquilitie of the minde. 8. His booke of the constancie of a wiseman. 9. His booke of the shortnesse of life. 10. Two bookes of consolation to Martia. 11. Three bookes of consolation to Heluia. 12. His booke of consolation to Polibius. 13. His seuen bookes of naturall questions. Translated by Tho. Lodge, D. in Physicke.

LVCIVS ANNAEVS SENECA HIS EPISTLES TO LVCILIVS: With the Arguments of Iustus Lipsius.

EPISTLE I.

He commendeth to LVCILIVS the estimation and vse of time, that it ought not to be deferred nor let slippe, neither ill employed.

DOE so, my Lucilius, recouer thy selfe to thy selfe, and that time which hitherto hath beene either taken from thee, or stollen from thee, or that o∣therwise hath escaped thee, recollect and reserue to thy selfe. Perswade thy selfe that it is so as I write: there are some times which are taken a∣way frō vs, some other which are stolne from vs, and other some which slip away from vs: But the shamefullest losse that may be, is that which pro∣ceedeth from our negligence, and if thou wilt se∣riou••ly and neerely obserue, thou shalt perceiue that a great part of life flitteth from those that doe euill, a greater from those that doe nothing; and the whole from those that doe not that they doe. What man wilt thou shew me that hath put any price vpon time, that esteemeth of a day, and that vnderstandeth that he daily dieth? For herein are we deceiued, because wee suppose death to bee farre off from vs, and yet notwithstanding the greater part thereof is alreadie ouer-passed, & all our years that are behind death holdeth in his possession. Do therefore, my Lucilius, that which as thou writest vnto me thou doest. Embrace and lay hold on each houre, so will it come to passe, that thou shalt be lesse in suspence for to morrow, if thou lay hold, and fasten thy hands on to day. Whilest life is deferred it fleeteth. All other things, my Lucilius, are forren to vs: time onely is our owne. Nature hath put vs in possession of this fraile and flee∣ting thing, from which we may be expelled by any man. But so great is the fol∣ly of mortall men, that they suffer all things, yea euen the least and vilest, truly recouerable, to be imputed vnto them, when as they haue obtained them•• Let no man thinke that he oweth any thing, who hath receiued time, when in the meane while this is the thing, which indeed the gratefull man cannot restore. Happily thou wilt aske me what I doe, who command thee these things? I will ingeniously confesse vnto thee, I doe that which befalleth a luxurious man; but

diligent: I take a very strict account of my expence: I cannot say that I lose no∣thing, yet know I well what I lose, and why, and how. I am readie to yeeld a reason of my pouertie. It befalleth me, as to many others, brought to pouertie, not by their owne fault; all men pardon them, no man succoureth them. What is it then? I think him not poore, who supposeth that little remainder which he hath, to be sufficient: yet I had rather thou shouldest keepe thine owne, and be∣gin to vse good time while thou mayest. For as our Elders were of opinion, the sparing that beginneth in the bottome is too late, because not only the least, but also the worst remaineth in the lees.

EPIST. II.

He approueth the quiet of the bodie, and of the mind also in some one thing or studie. He condemneth the o••er-curious, that runne ouer and reade diuers Authors and wri∣tings. He perswadeth rather to reade a ••ew, and those good, and to dwell vpon them. He counsel••eth alwayes to cu•• out some one thing, and commit it to memorie, by his ex∣ample who then made vse of a saying of EPICVRVS touching pouertie.

I Conceiue a good hope of thee, by reason of those things which thou writest vnto mee, and that which I heare spoken of thee. Thou art no wanderer, neither disquieted with the desire of tran∣sporting thy selfe from one place vnto another; this is but the tossing of a sicke minde. In my iudgement, the chiefest testimo∣nie of a well composed minde, is ••o be able to consist and dwell with her selfe. But beware lest this desire to reade many Authors, and all sorts of bookes, con∣taine not giddinesse and inconstancie of mind. Thou must be stayed, and after a maner nourished with certain spirits, if thou wilt apprehend any thing that shall cons••antly remaine in thy memory. He is no where, that is euery where. Those tha•• passe their life in trauel take vp many Innes, but entertaine few friendships. It must needs so befall such, who acquaint not themselues familiarly with one spirit, but lightly trauers, and slightly ouer-runne many things. That meat ne∣uer nourisheth the bodie, which is no sooner taken in, but is deliuered out. There is nothing that so much hindereth a mans health, as the often change of remedies. The wound can hardly be cured, that is couered with diuers sorts of medicines. The tree prospereth not that is transported from one place to ano∣ther. To be short, there is nothing so profitable, that profiteth by passing i•• o∣uer. The multitude of bookes distracteth and distempereth the vnderstanding. Being therfore vnable to read•• as much as thou hast, it sufficeth to haue as much as thou canst reade. But now, sayest thou, will I ouer-runne this booke, now that. The stomacke is distempered, that longeth after diuers sorts of meats, which beeing different and diuers, doe rather choake then com••ort or nour••sh. Reade therefore (if thou wilt credit me) such bookes alwaies as are most appro∣ued, and though for varieties sake thou sometimes change, let the others be vn∣to thee as thy harbour, those as thine ordinarie retreat and house. Purchas•• vnto thy sel••e euery day some new forces against pouertie, and some couns••ls a∣gainst death, & fortifie thy self with other preseruations against th•• other plun∣ges of life, and after thou hast tasted diuers things, lay hold on one which that day thou mayest digest. This likewise doe I of diuers things which I reade, I ap∣prehend somewhat. See heere what I haue learned to day of Epicur••s (for I

am wont sometime to passe into mine enemies campe, not as a fugitiue, but as a spie) A contented pouertie, saith he, is an honest thing; but that is no pouertie which is contented: for he that contenteth himselfe with his pouertie, is a rich man, not he that hath little, but he that desireth the most, is the poore man. For what skilleth it how much a man hath in his chest, how much lieth in his barns, how much he feedeth, how much he profiteth by vsurie, if he still gape after o∣ther mens gaines, if he make reckoning not of those things he hath gotten, but of that which remaineth to be gotten? Thou requirest of me what measure or) proportion there is of riches? The first is to haue that which is necessarie, the next that which sufficeth.

EPIST. III.

That some are oftentimes badly and rashly called friends. If any such there be that deser∣ueth the name of friend, all things are to be reposed and trusted on his faith, and com∣municated vnto him, as another our selues. Such as are fearefull and base minded are reprehended, as likewise those that are ouer-credulous, or to open. The meane is the best.

THou hast deliuered thy letters to be conueyed to my hands, as thou sayest, by a friend of thine, by which thou aduertisest me, not to communicate all thy pertinent affaires with him, because as thou sayest, thou art not accustomed to doe the like: so that in one and the same letter, thou allowest and disauowest him to be thy friend: I beleeue first of all, that thou hast giuen him this name of friend at aduenture, and as a common name in such sort, as we cal euery man that passeth by vs by the name of Sir, if so we be ignorant by what name he is called. But let me tell thee this, that if thou thinkest to haue a friend, in whom thou wilt not put as much confidence, as in thy selfe, thou deceiuest thy selfe very much, and vnderstandest not sufficiently the force of true amitie: deliberate all things with thy friend, but first of all resolue thy selfe, that he is thy friend. After the friend∣ship is contracted, then ought wee to trust; before it bee formed we ought to iudge. But they preposterously confound offices, who contrarie to the precepts of Theophrastus, loue before they iudge, and after they haue iudged loue not at all. Thinke therefore long time with thy selfe, whether any man is to bee entertained into thy friendship; but when thou shalt be resolued to accept of his loue, discouer vnto him readily thy whole hart, and ••s boldly communicate thy secrets with him, as with thy selfe; yet so liue thou, that thy thoughts and actions may be such, that thou mayest commit them to the serious obseruati∣on of thine enemie. But because sometimes diuers things fall out, that custome hath made secret, impart freely vnto thy friend all thy designes and cogitati∣ons, if thou supposest him to be faithfull, thou wilt doe no lesse. For many haue taught how to deceiue, by fearing lest they themselues should be deceiued, and haue ministred other men a priuiledge of offence by their own vaine suspicion. What is the cause therefore, why I should conceale any thing from my friend? Why before him thinke I not my selfe alone? Some there are which commit those things which are onely communicable with their friends to euery one they meete, and disburthen in euery ••are whatsoeuer is distastefull vnto them: some againe likewise are distrustfull of their faith, whom they esteeme most

dearest, yea and if they could, they would scarcely trust themselues, but inward∣ly oppresse themselues with their owne secrets. But neither of these things is to be done, for both of them sauour of infirmitie, both not to credit all men, and not to credit any: but the one in my opinion is the more laudable vice, the other more secure. So reprehend both of them, both those that are alwayes disquiet, as those that are alwayes idle. For the manner of liuing in the first is not industrie, but rather the course & recourse of a tempest that agitateth their soules: and as touching those that thinke that all motion is trouble and vexati∣on, it is rather a dissolution and languor in them than moderation Commit that therefore to memorie which I haue read in Possidonius, There are some, saith he, that are in such sort retired and hidden, that they thinke all things to be in garboile, which are open to the light. It behoueth thee to temper these things together, and to chuse certaine intermissions which are proper to action and re∣past. Deliberate with nature, and she will tell thee, that she made both the day and the night.

EPIST. IIII.

He exhorteth him to perseuer in Philosophie, wherby he may be esteemed a serious, graue and perfect man. For the rest hee concludeth them to be children that feare such things as are not to be feared, as especially death. And this concludeth he to be the end of our euils; and that eyther by sudden motion or desperation many haue contem∣ned the same: and why not with reason? He concludeth therefore that life is not to be loued, but that we ought daily to thinke, vpon how di••ers and light causes death ap∣proacheth vs. Finally, he proposeth an Embleme of EPICVRVS of true riches.

COntinue as thou hast begun, and indeuour thy selfe as much as in thee lieth, to the end thou mayest more plentifully enioy a re∣formed and gouerned minde. And in reforming and moderating the same thou shalt enioy it, but the contentment that a man re∣ceiueth by the contemplation of a conformed minde, and that is replenished with perfect innocencie, is farre more pleasant and agreeable. Thou doest remember what pleasure thou diddest feele, when hauing left thy chil∣dish liuerie, thou tookest vpon thee the abilements of a man, being brought be∣fore the Pretor into the marketplace. I expect a far greater, beyond comparison, when thou shalt cast off thy childish mind, and that Philosophie hath inrouled thee amongst the number of men: for childe-hood ouerslippeth vs easily; but that which is most grieuous, childishnesse remaineth with vs, and the worst that I see, is that we haue alreadie the authoritie of old men, and neuerthelesse pos∣sesse as yet the vices of children; and not onely of children, but of infants. For those are affraid of things of small value, and these other of such things as are false: we feare both the one and the other. If thou wilt well bethinke thy selfe, thou shalt vnderstand that there are certaine things, which for the same cause for which they bring vs much feare, ought the lesse to be feared; No euill is great which commeth the last. We might feare death if it could abide alwayes with vs: but it is necessarie that eyther it befall vs not, or that it ouerpasseth in∣continently. And if thou tell me that it is a difficult thing to perswade the mind to contempt of life, doe but consider vpon how light occasions some haue at∣tempted the same: one hath strangled himselfe with the halter before his Mi∣stris

doores, another hath cast himselfe from the top of the house to the bottom to auoyde his Masters displeasure, another hath stabbed himselfe into the breast, rather then he would be brought back to the place from whence he was fled. Thinkest thou that vertue cannot inforce as much as excessiue feare could? Trust me, no man can enioy a peaceable and secure life, that laboureth ouer much to prolong it, and that esteemeth it for a great benefite, to see and obserue the reuolution of of many yeares. Meditate then euery day to haue the power to leaue thy life freely and willingly, which diuers men entertaine in another maner then they do who embrace bryers and thorns, which haue beene driuen athwart them by the violence of some furious streame. They float betwixt the feare of death, and the torments of life; they will not liue, and they know not how to die. Fashion therefore vnto thy selfe a pleasant life, by forsaking sollici∣tude that may befall thee for the loue of the same. There is no good more plausible to the possessor then that, to the losse whereof the minde is alreadie prepared; and there is nothing, the losse whereof is more easie to be supported, then of that which being lost cannot be redesired. Take thee courage and assu∣rance against those things that are subiect to the same necessitie as thou art, e∣uen those that are most mightie. A * 1.1 Pupill & an * 1.2 Eunuch gaue sentence on great Pompeys head, of Crassus the cruell and insolent Parthian. * 1.3 Caius Caesar com∣manded that Lepidus should present his necke to the Tribune Decimus, and hee himselfe gaue his owne to Chaereas. Fortune hath neuer so much fauoured any man, but that she hath affronted him with as many menaces. Trust not ouer∣much vnto this calme. In an instant the Sea is turned, and those ships are swal∣lowed the same day, where they wantonly played on the water. Thinke that eyther a thiefe or an enemie may ayme his sword at thy throat: and although a greater power be wanting, not the basest slaue that liueth, but hath power of thy life and death. I assure thee that whosoeuer contemneth his life is Lord of thine. Take account of those that are dead, by the complots of their seruants, or by open outrage, or by treason, and thou shalt see that there are no lesse made away by the indignation of their slaues, then the displeasures of their Kings. What importeth it then how mightie he be whom thou fearest, if eue∣ry man may do that which thou fearest? And if by chance thou fallest into the hands of thine enemies, the conqueror will command that thou be ledde and kept in a place, where he may haue thee alwayes at his mercy. Why deceiuest thou thy selfe? Why beginnest thou then only to vnderstand that which thou hast suffered from thy birth? I tell thee, that from the houre thou wert borne thou art led to die. These and such like things ought continually to liue in our remembrance and mind, if we will moderately expect this last houre, the feare whereof replenisheth all others which disquiet. I will heere make an end of my Letter, in making thee partaker of the fruit which this day I haue gathered in another mans garden. Pouertie measured according to the rule of nature, is great riches. But knowest thou well what limits this rule of nature giueth vs? Neyther to haue hunger nor thirst, nor cold. But to the end to driue away this hunger and thirst, thou hast no need to wait or attend on these proude and great g••tes, nor to suffer these disdainfull and imperious contemners, nor to expose thy selfe to the baites of these contumelious courtesies. Thou needest not for the same to attempt the fortune of the Sea and of armes. That which nature deserueth is found euery where: we take paines to obtaine superfluous things: these are they that weare our gownes in peace, that make vs watch in our Tents, and that cast vs on forraine shoares. That which sufficeth vs is already at hand.

EPIST. V.

Hee keepeth backe his friend from the ostentation of Philosophie, and counselleth him not to make himselfe noted by his habit or diet: he perswadeth him not to contemne all things that are vulgar, but to make moderate vse of them, and without abuse: hee detesteth vncleanlinesse, and calleth vs to the lawe of nature: he vrgeth a clause out of HECATON of the coniunction of hope and feare; auowing him to be free of one that hath cast off the other; and obnoxious to both, whosoeuer is to one.

WHereas thou trauellest continually, and all other things set apart, endeuourest to make thy selfe daily more vertuous; I praise thee, and am glad to heare it: and not onely do I counsell thee to per∣seuer therein, but I likewise intreat thee. But thereof I am to ad∣monish thee, that according to the maner of those that seeke not so much to profit as to be seene, thou applie not thy selfe to doe certaine things which are ouer-singular, and remarqueable for their strangenesse, eyther in the manner of thy life, or in thy habit. Flie all sluttish behauiours, as to weare thy haire ouer-long, knotted and filthie, thy beard vncombed, to lie on the ground, and to make profession to haue a sworne hatred against golde and siluer, and whatsoeuer followeth ambition by a wrong course. The sole name of Philo∣sophie, how modest soeuer it be, is of it selfe sufficiently subiect to enuie. What if we separate our selues from the companie of men? Well may we inwardly be in all things vnlike vnto them; but our looks and behauiours must be agree∣able to the good liking of the people. Let not our garment eyther be too gay, or too slouenly: let not our siluer be enchased with gold; and yet let vs be as∣sured that it is no token of frugalitie to be destitute eyther of gold or of siluer: let vs so doe that we leade a better life then the common sort are wont, yet not altogether contrarie to theirs; otherwise in stead of correcting them we shall driue and banish them from vs, and we are the cause that in disliking all our a∣ctions they will not imitate one of them. Philosophie promiseth this first of all, common sense, humanitie, and entercourse and societie, from which we shall become separated by this dissimilitude of profession. Let vs rather take heede lest these fashions for which we would be held in admiration, proue not ridicu∣lous and odious vnto others. Our intent is to liue according to the direction of nature: but it is a thing altogether contrarie vnto her, to afflict the bodie and to hate ordinarie cleanlinesse, and to be loathsome and sordid, to vse not onely grosse meates, but also harmefull and distastefull. For euen as to affect and seeke after delicacie is riot, so also is it a kinde of madnesse to flie from those things which are vsuall and may be recouered without great expence. Philosophie requireth frugalitie, and not miserie: and since an honest and well seeming fru∣galitie may be bad, I thinke it good for a man to keep this measure. It behoueth vs that our life be balanced betwixt good and publike maners. I can be well con∣tent that men admire our life, but yet let it be within their knowledge. What then? shall we doe the same that the rest? shall there be no difference betwixt vs and them? yes a great deale: but he onely shall reknowledge the same that obserueth vs neerely. He that shall enter our houses, let him rather looke on vs then on our moueables. That man is great and generous, who vseth earthen platters like siluer vessell, and no lesse is hee that vseth siluer vessell as earthen platters. Not to be able to endure riches is the part of a weake mind. But to impart vnto thee the profit I haue made this day: I haue found in Hecaton, that

the end of coueting sufficeth to remedie feare. Thou wilt giue ouer, saith he, to feare, if thou ceasest to hope. But thou wilt say, How can these things being so diuers, be together? So is it my Lucilius, although that these things seeme to be contrarie, yet are they ioyned and vnited the one with the other. Euen as one and the same chaine bindeth both the officer and the prisoner, so likewise these things although they seeme different, are conioyned and martch together. Feare fly∣eth hope, and I wonder not thereat; both of them are passions which proc••ed from an inconstant and moueable minde, and that is in thought and care for that which is to come. But the greatest cause both of the one and other is, for that we moderate not our selues, and content not our selues with things that are present, but send our thoughts out farre before vs. So prouidence which is the greatest benefit that betideth mortall men, becommeth hurtfull and harmeful vnto vs. Brute beasts flie those dangers which they see before their eyes, and hauing escaped them, their present securitie extinguisheth the memory of their fear••: but we are affrighted not onely with our dangers past, but with those also that are to come. Many of our goods do harme vs; for our memorie reui∣ueth and representeth vnto vs the torment of the feare past, and prouidence anticipateth it. There is no man miserable alone by present euils.

EPIST. VI.

He declareth that it is an argument that he profiteth in Philosophie•• because he acknow∣ledgeth his vices. He expresseth his affection to communicate all things with him as his true friend, especially such as are profitable. That the counsaile of wise-men seemeth verie effectuall and aboue their precepts, which he teacheth by example of some Phi∣losophers.

I Know, my Lucilius, that I am not onely amended, but transfigu∣red and reformed; not that I eyther vaunt my selfe, or suppose that there remaineth not any thing in me that may not be amen∣ded: I know there are many things, that both ought to be cor∣rected, extenuated, and wholly lifted vp; but euen this is a testi∣monie of a mind that beginneth to be changed for the better, when it knoweth in it selfe those vices that before times it was ignorant of. There is some hope in those that are seazed with certaine sicknesses, when as they feele themselues to be diseased. I would therefore with to communicate with thee this sudden change that is made in me; then should I begin to haue a more certaine confi∣dence of our friendship, of that true friendship I meane, which neyther hope nor feare, neyther any other consideration of particular profit should distroyne, with which men die, and for which they die. I will reckon vp vnto thee diuers men that haue not had want of a friend, but want of friendship: such a thing cannot happen when as two soules are coupled together by a strict alliance, and vniformitie of will in desiring honest things. Why can it not? for they knowe that all things are common vnto them, and chiefly aduersitie. Thou canst no•• coniecture in thy minde how much profit I perceiue that euery day bringeth me. Send me, sayeth thou, those things whose efficacie I haue so tried. Truely I could wish that I might in some sort poure them all into thee: I am glad to learne, to the end I may teach; and there is not any thing, how rare and com∣modious soeuer it be, that can or should yeeld me content, if I might only know

it for my partcular profit. If wisedome it selfe were giuen me vpon condition to conceale it, and not to publish it, I would refuse the same. The possession of no benefit is contenting without a companion. I will send thee therefore the bookes themselues: and lest thou shouldest take too much paines in following those things which profite publikely, I will put certaine markes to finde those things quickly, which I proue and admire; yet our speaking and liuing toge∣ther will profit thee more, then onely reading. It therefore behooueth thee to transport thy selfe hither: first of all, because men giue better credit to their eyes then to their eares. And againe, because the way of precepts is long, where that of example is more short, and far more fruitful. Cleanthes had neuer expres∣sed Zeno had he onely heard him: but he alwaies was conuersant with him, and had an eye into the secrets of his studie, and warily obserued whether he liued according as he taught. Plato, Aristotle, and all other Sages which afterwards spread themselues into diuers families, haue receiued more instructions by the manners then the words of Socrates. Metrodorus, Hermacus, and Poliaemus were great men, not because they had frequented the Schoole of Epicurus, but for that they had conuersed with him. But I call thee not onely vnto me, to the intent thou shouldest receiue profit, but to the end thou shouldest profit others: for we will continually assist one another; mean while to acquit my selfe of the rent I owe thee, I will tell thee that which pleased me to day in Hecaton: Askest thou, saith he, wherein I haue profited? I haue begun to be a friend to my selfe. He hath gotten much: he will neuer be alone. Know this, that he that is friend to him∣selfe is a friend to all men.

EPIST. VII.

To him that is proficient too much company is to be anoyded, and that vices are contra∣cted thereby, Playes and Showes also, chiefely those that are bloodie: neyther is it be∣seeming publikely to recite or dispute amongst vnequals. Let•• saith hee, one or two a••ditors of iudgement be esteemed, or none at all.

WIlt thou know that which in my iudgement thou oughtest espe∣cially to flie? The multitude. For as yet thou canst not safely commit thy selfe vnto them; and for mine owne part I confesse my weakenesse: I neuer returne backe againe with those man∣ners that I carried out with me. Somewhat of that which I had composed is troubled; somewhat of those things which I had chased away returne••h backe againe vnawares. That which befalleth the sicke who are in such sort attainted with a long debility, that they can neuer be remoued, except they grow worse. So fareth it with vs, whose spirits begin to recouer from a long sicknesse. The conuersation of the people is contrarie vnto vs; euery one lendeth vs some staine, or imprinteth it in vs, and leaueth an impression in vs be∣••ore we can beware: and the greater the companie is wherewith we conuerse the greater is the danger. But nothing is so hurtfull to good manners as to sit in a Theatre, ••or there by the pleasures we conceiue, the vices steale on vs more easily. What thinkest thou that I say? I tell thee that I not onely returne more couetous, more ambitious, more luxurious, but more cruell and inhumane, be∣cause I haue beene amongst men. By casualtie I fell vpon the Showes at noone, exspecting some sports and wittie jests, and recreation whereby mens eyes

might be reposed awhile, that in the morning had beene, fedde with the shed∣ding of mens bloud. But I finde it contrarie; whatsoeuer was fought before was mercie. Now letting passe trifles, there is nothing but detested murther: com∣batants haue not wherewith to couer them, but expose their naked bodies to the stroake, and neuer strike without wounding. This spectacle doe many pre∣ferre before that of the ordinarie couples, or that of the extraordinarie, asked for by the people. And why should they not preferre the same? The weapon is kept off neyther by Helmet nor Target: whereto serue these fencings and Gladiatorie Arts? All these are but the delayes of death. In the morning men are exposed to Lions and Bears, at noone to the spectators. The killers are com∣manded to be set against those that are to kill, and they reserue him that is con∣queror for another slaughter: the end and ayme of those that fight is death, by fire and sword the matter is managed. These are done during the intermission of the spectacle. But some man hath committed a theft: what therefore deser∣ueth he? To be hanged. He slew a man: he that slew him deserned to suffer no lesse. But what, hast thou deserued to behold this spectacle? Kill, burn, whip, why runnes he so fearfully on the weapon? Why killes he not couragiously? Why dies he not willingly? By stroakes are they compelled to wounds, and with naked and exposed bodies they receiue the stroakes of one another. Is the spectacle intermitted? in the meane time men are slaine, lest nothing should be done. Go too, vnderstand you not this, that euill example reflecteth on those that doe this? Giue thankes vnto the immortall gods, that you teach him to be cruell who cannot learn. A tender mind and too little apprehensiue of the truth is to be withdrawn from the common people: it is easie to find out many. The frequentation of a different multitude might peraduenture haue shaken the great mindes of Socrates, Cato, and Laelius. So farre is any of vs (though in height of our composed iudgement) from being able to sustaine the force and charge of vices, comming with so great a troupe. One onely example of lust or auarice causeth much mischiefe. The companie of a delicate man by little and little effeminateth those that conuerse with him. A rich neighbour kindleth our co∣uetousnesse. A mischieuous and corrupt man rubbeth on the rust of his infir∣mities, and soileth the most simple and vprightest man. What thinkest thou then will befall those to whom all the world flocketh and approacheth publike∣ly? These of force must thou eyther imitate or hate; but both the one and the other of these ought to be auoyded, for feare lest thou be eyther like vnto the wicked, by reason they are manie, or enemie to diuers, because they are vnlike to thee. Retire thy selfe therefore into thy selfe: haunt those who can make thee better, admit those whom thou canst better; for these things are recipro∣cally done. Men in teaching others learne themselues. Aboue all things beware lest thou expose thy selfe to great assemblies, or affectest to dispute or teach by way of ostentation, or desire to shew thy selfe. I could well with that thou shouldest doe so, if thou couldest in any sort be profitable to the people: but there is not any one amongst them that can vnderstand thee; and if happ••ly thou finde out one or two, yet must thou instruct them how they may vnder∣stand thee. Why then wilt thou aske me, Haue I learned these thing? Feare not that thou hast lost thy labour, if thou hast learned these things for thy selfe. But lest I should reserue vnto my selfe the profit I haue gotten this day, I will communicate with thee three most worthy sentences to one sense; of which the one shal be to acquit this Epistle of that which it oweth thee; the other two shall be giuen thee aforehand. Democritus saith, I co••nt one onely for a whole mul∣titude,

and a whole multitude as one. And he whosoeuer he was •• for it is doubted of the author, when it was demaunded of him, why he tooke so great paines to preferre an arte, which should profit but a few, answered very wisely. A few, saith he, suffice me, one is enough, none is enough. And the third is most excellent. Epicurus writing to one of the consorts of his studies. These things, saith he, write I not to manie, but to thy selfe; for we our selues are a Theatre great e∣nough for one another. Su••h things as these, friend Lucilius, are they which thou must commit to memorie, to the end to contemne this pleasure which proceedeth from the reputation and consent of diuers. For to be praysed by manie, what cause findest thou to reioyce at the more? Then if thou be such as diuers do esteme thee, let them see thy goods within thee.

EPIST. VIII.

This present dependeth on the former Epistle, and is as it were an Obiection: what, wilt thou that I auoyde the multitude and the people? But thy Stoicks teach to follow businesse, and to die in affaires. He answereth, that he perswadeth not idlenesse, but a retirement by his example, who dismissing other offices, intendeth wisedome, and pro∣pagateth the precepts thereof in writing. This, saith he, is of all actions the greatest and most excellent. In conclusion, he inserteth that of EPICVRVS: that Philoso∣phie giueth true libertie.

THou commaundest me by thy aduice to flie the people, to retire my selfe apart, and to be contented with my conscience: What shall then becom of all those precepts of thine, that commanded me to end my life in action? What, seeme I then in this interim to intertaine idlenesse? To this end haue I withdrawne my selfe, to this intent haue I shut vp my doores, that I might profit many men. I spend not a day in idlenesse; yea, and for the most part of the nights, I spend them in s••udie, maintayning and forcing mine eyes against sleepe. I retired my selfe not from me onely, but from affaires, and principally from mine owne particular: I wholly traffique for posteritie, by writi••g that which may be profitable vnto them: I set before their eyes in writing many good and wholsome counsailes, as it were receipts of profitable medicines, which I haue found fruitfull in mine owne vlcers; the which although they be not altogether healed, haue desisted to fester. I shew others the right way•• which I haue learned too late: and after I haue beene too long wearied with wandring and tracing heere and there, I cease not to crie out. Flie all those things which eyther please the common sort, or casualtie attributeth: runne not after casuall benefites, but rather suspicious∣ly and fearfully apprehend, and intertaine all vncertaine pleasures. Both wilde beast and fish is bewitched with the baite is laid for them. Thinke you that these are the giftes of Fortune? Trust mee, they are her lyings in waite; what one soeuer of vs would liue a sweet life, let him flie as much as he may these li∣m••d benefits, wherein we most miserably be deceiued. We think to enjoy them, and they enjoy vs: this course carrieth vs to a down••fall. The issue of a life so eminent is to fall; and that which is worse, it is impossible for vs to stand, when as ••elicitie hath begunne to transport vs, and carrie vs hither and thither: at least wise eyther content thy selfe with such things as are good and certaine, or be thou possessor and lord of thy selfe. Such as doe this, fortune doth not only

ouerturne them, but casteth headlong and crusheth them. Remember there∣fore to obserue this wholsom and fruitfull forme of life, in affoording thy body no further nourishment, then may suffice to continue thee in good health: cha∣stise the same seuerely, lest it rebell against the soule. Let thy meat appease thy hunger, thy drinke asswage thy thirst, thy coat couer thee from cold, thy house be a defence against those things as may offend thy bodie. It skilleth not whe∣ther it be builded of Turfe or rich Marble. Know that a man is as well couered with Thatch as with Golde. Contemne all these things which superfluous la∣bour preferreth eyther for shew or ornament. Thinke that there is nothing admi••able in thy selfe, but thy minde, to which nothing is great, which euen it selfe is great. If I discourse this with my selfe, if I conferre this with posteritie, thinkest thou not that I profit more, then when as vpon demaund I passe my bond for my friend, or set my hand and seale in testimonie to a Testament, or should giue my hand and suffrage to a candidate in the Senate house? Beleeue me, those that seeme to do least•• doe the greatest things; for they intreat both of diuine and humane matters. But it is high time for me now to make an end, and to pay that impost that I owe for this Epistle: it shall not be at mine owne ex∣pence, but on Epicurus charges; in whom this day I read this sentence: Thou must of necessitie serue Philosophie, to the end thou mayest obtaine true libertie. Hee that submitteth and subiecteth himselfe to her, is on the instant made a free∣man; for to serue her is to be at libertie. Thou wilt thinke it strange peraduen∣ture why I vsurpe so often the Epicures words, rather then those of other men; but wherefore thinkest thou not that those sayings are common and publique? How manie things are they which the Poets haue written, which haue beene or ought to be spoken by the Philosophers? I mention not the Tragedians nor those Poems of ours, which are called Togatae; for these haue also some seuerity, and are the mean betwixt Comedies & Tragedies: how many eloquent verses are there in vse euen amongst the Cynicks? How many things of Publius, which not only exceed the Commodies, but are worthy to be inserted in Tragedies? I will repeat one of his verses, which appertaineth to Philosophie, and to this part which now last of all we debated of, wherein he denieth that we ought to account casuall things our owne;

Each thing is forraine that befals by wishing.

I remember this Verse likewise of thine, not much better but more succinct;

It is not thine that fortune made thine.

Neyther will I let slip that likewise which was farre better set downe by thee:

The good that might be giuen, may be bereft.

I require no acquittance for these; for I pay thee with thine owne.

EPIST. IX.

A part and explication also of the former: that a wise-man seeketh not men, but is con∣tented with himselfe. What then? Not a friend also; yea can he likewise be with∣out him: he can lose him, and hauing lost him, can repaire him againe. In himselfe is the fruit and pleasure whilst he prouideth him. What for his owne cause as the Epi∣cures thinke? No, but rather for another, whom he may profit, for whom he may vn∣dergo danger, for whom he may die: the reward of vertue is it selfe. At length more copiously and subtilly: how farre content with himselfe, how farre not; and in words some Stoicall distinctions.

THou desirest to know, whether vpon iust ground the Epicure in a certaine Epistle of his, reprehendeth those that say, that hee that is perfectly wise is content with himselfe, and that for this cause he hath no neede of a friend: this is obiected by the Epicure to S••••lpho, and those who think that the impassibilitie of the mind is their chiefest good. We shall fall into ambiguitie, if we shall striue significant∣ly to expresse the Greeke word 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 in one word, and call it Impatience. For the contrarie of that which we would expresse may be vnderstood: for we in∣tend, him that despiseth all sense of euill, let him be conceiued that can endure no euill: see therefore whether it be better eyther to say an inuulnerable mind, or a minde setled beyond all patience. The difference which is betwixt them and vs is this; our wise-man ouercommeth each incommoditie whatsoeuer, but feele••h the same; theirs hath not so much as a sense thereof. In this we ac∣cord, we say that a wise-man is contented with himselfe, yet notwithstanding that he will haue a friend, a neighbour, a companion, although he himselfe suf∣ficeth, and in such sort sufficeth, that sometimes he is contented with a part of himselfe. For if eyther a sickenesse or enemie hath taken his hand from him, if any accident hath bereft him of his eye, that which remaineth with him shall su••fice him, and as ioyfull shall he be in his maimed and mangled bodie, as hee could be were it whole. He had rather that he wanted nothing; neuerthelesse he desireth not that which he wanteth. Thus is a wise-man so farre content with himselfe, not that he will be without a friend, but that he can be; which is as much to say, as that he beareth patiently the losse of a friend, without a friend he shall neuer be; it lyeth in his power to repaire him as soone as him listeth. As Phidias hauing lost one statue, can suddenly fashion another; so this good Artesan of amitie suddenly substituteth another friend in the place of him that is lost. If thou demandest of me, how he can so suddenly make and repaire so many friendships, I will tell thee, if this first all be agreed betweene vs, that I re∣main acquit of the debt of this letter. I will shew thee, saith HECATON, a means to increase loue without medicine, hearb, or inchantment: if thou wilt be beloued, loue. But there is not only a pleasure in the fruition of an old & ancient amitie, but like∣wise in the creation of a new: and the same difference is between him that hath a friend alreadie gotten, and him that is •• getting, as between the laborer when he ••oweth and when he reapeth. Attalus the Philosopher was wont to say, that it was a farre more pleasant thing to make a friend, then to haue a friend; as it is more agreeable to a painter to paint, then to haue finished his picture. This at∣tention which he applyeth to his worke, hath in it selfe such sweetnesse, that he cannot be partaker of that that hath set his last hand to his labour: after hee hath painted, he possesseth the fruit of his art, but he tooke pleasure in the arte

it selfe when he painted. The youth of our children is more fruitfull vnto vs, but their infancie more sweet. And to returne to our purpose•• the wise-man although he be content with himselfe, will notwithstanding haue a friend, if to no other end but to exercise his amitie, will not endure that so great a vertue should remaine without vse, not (as Epicurus said in the same Epistle) to haue some one to assist him when he is sicke, or to succour him if he be in prison and necessitie, but contrariwise to the end he may haue some one whom he may as∣sist and succour being sicke, relieue and ransome being in need and captiuitie: for he hath an euill intention, that onely respecteth himselfe, when he maketh friendship•• so shal he end his friendship euen as he began the same. He that hath purchased himselfe a friend, to the intent he may be succoured by him in pri∣son, will take his flight as soone as he feeleth himselfe deliuered from his bonds. These are those kindes of friendships, which the common sort call Temporarie. He that is made a friend for profit sake, shall please as long as he may be profita∣ble: so those that are in felicitie see themselues inuironed with a multitude of friends, & where the distressed make their abode there is nothing but solitude: ••or such manner of friends flie those places where they shall bee proued: from thence we see so many wicked examples of som forsaking for feare, of some be∣traying for feare. It is necessarie that the beginning & the end haue correspon∣dence. He that hath begun to be a friend because it is expedient, he that hath thought that there is a gaine in friendship beside it selfe, may well be induced and suborned against the same, by the offer of a greater gaine. For what cause then doe I entertaine a friend? To the end to haue one for whom I may die, whom I may accompanie in banishment, and for whose life and preseruation I may expose my selfe to danger and death. For the other, which onely regardest profit, and that makest account of that which may yeelde thee commoditie, is rather a traffique then a friendship. Certaine it is that friendship hath in some sort a similitude and likenesse to the affections of louers. And not vnfitly may a man call this passion a foolish amitie. But the scope of loue is neyther gaine, nor ambition, neyther glorie; but despising all other consideration of himselfe, hee kindleth in our soules the desire of the beloued forme, vnder hope of a mutuall and reciprocall amitie. And who dare say that a vicious habitude is produced from a cause more honest. But if thou wilt say vnto me, that if friendship be so desired a thing in it selfe, it behoueth not a wise-man who is contented with himselfe to follow the same for any other consideration, how honest soeuer it be, then for the beautie that remaineth in the same: and that it is an abate∣ment of the maiestie and dignitie thereof, to obtaine the same for any other re∣spect. I will answere thee my friend Lucilius, that where we say that the wise∣man is contented with himselfe, is badly interpreted by diuers men. They ex∣clude euery way the wise-man from euery place, and inclose him within him∣selfe. But we must distinguish what and how farre this word extendeth. The wise-man is contented with himselfe to liue happely, but not to liue. To this diuers things are requsit; to that there needeth no more then an intire and e∣rected minde, and such as despiseth fortune. I will shew thee how Chrysippus di∣stinguisheth them: He saith that a wise-man wanteth nothing, and yet hath neede of many things: a foole hath neede of nothing•• because he can make vse of nothing, but wanteth all things. The wise-man hath neede of hands and eies, and diuers other parts of him for the ordinarie vses of life, yet neuerthelesse he wanteth nothing: for to haue neede importeth necessitie; but to him that is wise nothing is necessarie. Thus although he be content with himselfe, yet de∣sisteth

he not to make vse of his friends, but desireth to haue more, but not in re∣gard that he hath need of them to liue happily, for he can liue happily without his friends. The soueraigne good seeketh not externall instruments, it is whol∣ly accomplished in it selfe. It beginneth to bee subiect vnto fortune, ••f it haue neede to seeke any part of it selfe out of it selfe. But yet what shall a wise-mans life be, if he be left in prison without friends, or if in some strange country he be abandoned of all the world, or retained in som long Nauigation, or cast on some desert and vnknowne shoare? Euen as Iupiter, when in the dissolution of the world, and the confused mixture of the gods all into one•• when the nature of things beginning to cease by little and little, he reposeth himselfe, and retireth himselfe into himselfe, giuen ouer to his owne thoughts. The like doth the wise-man, he is hidden in himselfe, he is only with himselfe: but whilst it is law∣full for him to order his affaires, he is contented with himselfe: he marrieth a wife; he is contented with himselfe: he bringeth vp children, hee is content in himselfe; and yet would he not liue, if he should liue without mankinde. No pro••it but a naturall instinct inciteth him to entertain friendship: for as in other things we haue a certaine in bred sweetnesse, so haue we of friendship. Euen as solitude is odious, so is companie agreeable: euen as nature associateth man with man, so likewise is there a certaine instinct in this, that maketh vs desirous of friendships; notwithstanding although he be most affectionate to his friends; although he equall and oftentimes preferre them before himselfe, yet shall all his good be inclosed, and bounded within himselfe, and he shall speake as Stil∣pon did, I meane him against whom Epicurus disputed in his Epistle: for hauing, vpon the surprisall and taking of the Cittie wherein he liued, lost his wife and children, and himselfe left desolate (yet neuertheles happie and content) deliue∣red from the publique ruine & desolation. Demetrius he that was surnamed Po∣liorcetes, that is to say the destroyer of Citties, demanded of him if he had lost nothing. No (said he) I haue lost nothing, because all my goods are with me. Be∣hold how this great and generous personage is victorious ouer the victorie of his owne proper enemie. I haue not (saith he) lost any thing. He compelled him to doubt, whether he were a conqueror, or no. All my goods, saith he, are with me, that is to say, iustice, vertue, temperance, prudence, and especially to thinke nothing good that may be taken away. We wonder at some creatures that trauerse the fire without any harme; how much more admirable was this man, that without losse or harme escaped both fire, sword and ruine? Doest thou see how farre more easie it is, to conquer a whole Nation then one man? This voyce is common to him with the Stoicke, who in his owne person bea∣reth away his goods without hurt, thorow the middest of Citties burned downe, because he is content in himselfe: himselfe is the scope of his owne fe∣licitie. Thinke not that we alone are they that vtter these great and generous words. Epicurus himselfe that reprehendeth Stilphon, hath spoken to the like ef∣fect; which take in good part, although I haue payed thee this daies rent alrea∣die: Whosoeuer (saith he) supposeth not his owne sufficient to content him, though he be the Lord of this whole world, yet is he miserable. Or if thou thinke it better spo∣ken in this sort (for we must relie on sense, not on words) Hee is miserable that thinketh not himselfe most happie, although he command the whole world. And to the end thou mayest know, that these senses are common, which nature infuseth in∣to all in generall, thou shalt finde that in the Cynique Poet,

He is not blest that thinkes himselfe not so.

For what preuayleth it thee of what reckoning or estate thou art of, if in thine owne iudgement it seeme but abiect? What then mayest thou say, if he that is vnworthily rich, and he who is lord ouer diuers other men, but slaue vnto farre more, calleth himselfe happie; shall he be so? I tell thee that thou oughtest not to regard that which he saith, but that which he thinketh; and not that onely which he thinketh one day, but ordinarily. But doe not feare lest an vnworthy man should enioy so great a good: to no one but a wise-man can his goods yeeld any pleasure; all follie laboureth with loathing of it selfe.

EPIST. X.

That solitude is only good to those that are good, and haue profited in goodnesse, to others otherwise: for wicked and foolish men commit most sinne therein, being remoued from a reformer and left to themselues. By the way some precepts of vowes, and that we ought not to conceiue any thing, except that which we durst make knowne to eue∣rie man.

SO it is, I change not mine opinion, but counsaile thee to flie the great assemblies, yea the least; and not the least onely, but the frequentation of one alone. I finde not any man with whom I would haue thee to converse. Consider a little the iudgement that I haue of thee; I dare well trust thy selfe to thy selfe. Cra••es the Auditor of that Stilpon, of whom I made mention in my former Epistle, when he perceiued a young man walking apart by himselfe, asked him what he did there all alone? I speake, said the young man, vnto my selfe. Take heed, I pray thee, replyed Crates, that thou speake not with a wicked man. We are ac∣customed to obserue those that mourne and feare, when they retire themselues apart, for feare lest they abuse their solitude. There is no imprudent man that ought to be left alone: for then is the time that they complot and deuise their euill designes, and studie how to effect their euill intents, both to themselues and others: then dispose they their vnlawfull desires: at that time the minde discouereth and publisheth that which before time their feare or shame enfor∣ced them to conceale: then animate they their boldnesse, quicken they their lusts, and awaken their choler. To conclude, the onely good that solitude hath in it selfe, which is to commit nothing to any man, and to feare no reuealer, that is lost to a foole: for he discouereth and betrayeth himselfe. Consider thou that which I hope, or rather that which I promise my selfe of thee (for to hope is a word of vncertaine good) I finde not any man with whom I could better finde in my hart that thou shouldst be conuersant, then with thy selfe. When I called to remembrance the high and generous discourses that I haue heard thee vt∣ter, I did congratulate with my selfe, and said, These are not words onely, but these wordes haue their foundations; this man is not of the vulgar, he tendeth to safetie. Continue then my friend Lucilius, and speake alwayes after this man∣ner, liue continually thus, that one thing abase thee not, neyther master thy cou∣rage. Giue thankes vnto god for the auncient vowes thou hast made vnto him, and recommend vnto him all the new thou hast conceiued: aske at his hands a good mind, and first of all pray vnto him for the health of thy spirit, and next for that of thy bodie. Why shouldest thou not oftentimes make these vowes vn∣to him? boldly beseech god, since thou intendest to aske nothing of him that is

another mans. But to the end that according to my custome I may accompany this letter of mine with some present, receiue that which I haue found to day in Athenodorus: Then know that thou art disburdened of all euill desires, when thou hast attained so farre, that thou demand nothing at gods hands, but that which may be requi∣red of him openly. For how great at this day is the madnesse of men? They mumble betwixt their teeth some vileinous prayers, and are suddenly silent if any man yeeld an eare vnto them, supposing to hide that from men which they are not ashamed to discouer vnto God: iudge then if this precept should not be profitable; So liue with men as if God saw thee, so speake with God as if men should heare thee.

EPIST. XI.

That he hoped well of LVCILIVS his friend, in whom appeared much shamefastnesse and blushing. That the same is sometimes naturall, and cannot be shaken off by any precepts, and followeth a wise-man also. that somtimes it appeareth in euill men, and is a signe of euill. Then he citeth a wholsome admonition of EPICVRVS. That we ought alwayes represent vnto our selues a good man, who might restraine vs as a Tutor; and that we should doe and speake all things as if he were present.

THat honest natured man thy friend hath spoken with me. The first words he vttered, incontinently testified vnto me how great his hurt was, and how good his spirit, and how much he had pro∣fited in the study he had enterprised: he left me a taste, whereun∣to I assure my selfe he will answer; for I haue taken him vpon the sudden, and he hath spoken vnto me without preparation. When he recolle∣cted himselfe he easily blushed, which is a good signe in a young man, yea, so blushed as he could not moderate it. I doubt not but when he shall be best re∣tired, and despoyled of all his vices, that then this complexion will accompanie him, yea, euen then when perfect wisedome hath possessed him. For those vices which are connaturall eyther in minde or bodie, cannot be wholly defaced by any industrie. That which is borne with vs may be sweetned and corrected by arte, but neyther mastered or rooted out. It hath bin noted that the most assured men in this world, at such time as they presented themselues before a great as∣sembly, to discourse of any thing, were no lesse troubled with a cold sweat, then they that are wearie and pant with trauell: to some their knees tremble, to o∣thers their teeth chatter, their tongue varies, their lips simper. Neyther disci∣pline nor vse can wholly take from them these imperfections: for nature exerci∣seth his force herein, and admonisheth each one of his defects and weakenesse, and I know that blushing is to bee numbred amongst these things. For oft∣times wee obserue that it spreadeth it selfe, and flusheth euen in the face of the grauest men, yet is it more apparent in young men, who haue more heate and are of a soft nature, notwithstanding the eldest are not exempt from the ••ame. Some there are that are neuer so much to be feared then when they blush, as if at that instant they had lauished out all their shamefastnesse. Then was Sylla most violent when his face was most redde. There was nothing more soft then Pompeis countenance. For he neuer spake in solemne companie with∣out blushing. And I remember that Fabianus did as much, being summoned by the Senate to depose in a certain matter, and herein his blushing did maruei∣lously become him, This happeneth not thorow the feeblenesse of the mind,

but rather from the noueltie of the accident, which although it shake not, yet moueth it these which are not accustomed and exercised, and who by a na••urall facilitie and tendernesse of their bodie, are subiect to blushing. For as th••re a•••• some who haue their bloud both good and well rempered, so othersome haue it moueable, and readie to flush vp into the face. No wisedome, as I haue said, can take away this infirmitie, otherwise nature it selfe should be subiect therun∣to, if wisedome had power to raze out those vices which she had imprinted in vs. That which attendeth vs thorow the condition of our birth, and the tem∣perature of our bodies, when the mind hath much and long time composed it self, will remain continually. We cannot eschue these things at our pleasures, no more then we can command them to come at our will. The Commedians who imitate affections, who expresse feare and trembling, who represent sorrow, are accustomed to counterfeit shamefastnesse after this manner: they cast downe their countenance, they speak softly, they fix their eyes on the ground, but blush they cannot; for blushing may n••yther be prohibited nor commanded. Wise∣dome promiseth nothing against those things; profiteth nothing: such things as these receiue no law but from themselues; they come against our wils, and depart without asking leaue. Now this Epistle requireth a clausuall; receiue then from me this precept, as most necessarie and behouefull for thee, & which I wish thee alwayes to retain in memorie: We ought to chuse out som good man, and alwaies fix him be••ore our eies, that we may so liue as if he alwayes lookt on, & do al things as if he continually beheld vs. This, O my friend Lucilius, is one of Epicurus pre∣cepts. He intendeth to giue vs a Guardian and a Tutor, and not without cause. The greatest part of sinnes is taken away, when a witnesse is alwayes present with him that would offend. Let the minde therfore propose vnto it selfe some personage that she respecteth, by whose authoritie shee may make her secret more holy and more religious. O how happie is he that not onely reformeth his actions but his thoughts! Happie is he that can respect one of that sort, that by the onely remembrance of him he can reforme his minde: who can respect in that sort shall suddenly be made worthie to be respected himselfe. Choose therefore Cato, or if he seeme vnto thee ouer-sharp and seuere, choose L••lius, who is more facile and sweet: choose him whose life and wordes shall be most agreeable vnto thee, and fixing alwayes before thine eyes his minde and coun∣tenance, take him eyther for thy guide or thine example. It behoueth vs to haue some one, according to whose maners we may conforme our own. Such things as are depraued, are not corrected but by rule.

EPIST. XII.

He pleasantly discourseth of his olde age, and sheweth how he was admonished thereof in his countrey-house, but so admonished that it was without griefe. That his olde age must not be tedious but pleasant, and lesse subiect to vices. That all life is short, but whatsoeuer to be made ours by vse, and that hand is to be laide thereon. Let vs daily say and thinke we haue liued.

ON which side soeuer I turne my selfe I perceiue the proofes of mine olde age: I repaired lately to my countrey-farme, which adioyneth the Cittie, and complayned of my daily expence in re∣parations, and my Bayliffe that had the keeping thereof answe∣red me, that it was not his fault, alleaging that he had done the

best that he could, but that the building was ouer-olde and ruinous; yet not∣withstanding it was I my selfe that builded it, I leaue it to thee to iudge of mee, since the stones of mine age decay so much through antiquitie. Being touched herewith I tooke occasion to be displeased with him vpon euery first thing that encountreth me in my walke. It well appeareth, said I, that ••hese Plane trees are not well laboured, they are altogether leauelesse, their boughes are knottie and withered, and their stockes couered with mosse and filthinesse: this would not happen if any man had digged about them, and watred them as they ought to be. He sweareth by my Genius, that he doth his vttermost inde∣uour, and that he hath neglected them in no manner, but that the trees were olde. Then remembred I my selfe that I had planted them with mine owne hands, and seene them beare their first leafe. Turning my selfe to the doore, what decrepit fellow is that, said I, that for his age is left at the gate as dead bo∣dies are wont to be, for he looketh outward? Whence came he? What pleasure hast thou to carrie forth the carkasse of a strange man? Knowest thou me not, saith he? I am Felicio to whom thou wert wont to bring childish gifts; I am the sonne of Philo••itus thy Bayliffe, thy play-fellow. Vndoubtedly, said I, this man doateth. My darling then is become an infant; vndoubtedly it may so be, for he is almost toothlesse. This owe I to my Farme, that my olde age appeareth vnto me which way soeuer I turne my selfe. Let vs then embrace and loue the same•• it is wholly replenished with agreeable delights, if a man know how to make vse of it. The Apples are neuer so good then when they begin to wither and ripen. Infancie is must agreeable in the end thereof. To those that delight in carrowsing, the last draught is most pleasant, that which drowneth him in wine, and consummateth his drunkennesse. Whatsoeuer most contenting, all pleasure hath contained in her selfe, is deferred till the end. The age that de∣clineth is also most agreeable, when as yet it is not wholly decr••pit and spent: neyther iudge I that age, without his particular pleasure, whose foote is almost in the graue, or thus succeedeth in place of pleasure that he needeth none. O how sweet and pleasant a thing is it to see a mans selfe discharged of all coue∣tousnesse! But thou mayest say that it is a tedious thing, to haue death alwayes before a mans eyes: first of all this ought as well to be presented to a yong as to an olde mans eyes; for we are not called by the Censor according to our estate, and there is none so old that hopeth not to liue at least one day longer: and one day is a degree of life; for all our age consist••th of manie parts, and is a spheare that hath diu••rs circles, the one inclosed within the other. And one there is that incloseth and comprehendeth all the rest, which is that of the Natiuity vntill death; another that excludeth the yeares of youth, another that containeth all child-hood; after these succeedeth the yeare which incloseth all, the time by the multiplication whereof life is composed. In the circle of the yeare is the moneth, and in that of the moneth is the day, which is the least of all: yet not∣withstanding he hath his beginning and his end, his rise and his set. And for this cause Heraclitus that was called Scotinus, by reason of the obscuritie of his speech, said that one day is like to all which another hath interpreted after ano∣ther manner to wit, that one day is like to all; in number of houres: and he said true; for if a day be the time of foure and twentie houres, it is necessarie that they should be all alike, because the night hath that which the day hath lost: another said that one day was like to all, by reason of the conformitie and re∣semblance; for there is nothing in the space of a very long time, that thou shalt not finde in one day the light and the night, the turnes and returnes of the hea∣uens.

The shortnesse and length of the nights make these things more plainely appeare. Therefore ought we to dispose of euery day, in such sort as if it did leade vp the rereward of our time, and should consummate our liues. Pa••••uius he that vsurped ouer Syria, being buried in the euening, being buried in his wine, and those meates which hee had caused to be richly and sumptuously prepared for him, as if he himselefe had solemnized his owne obsequies, caused himselfe to be transported from his banquet to his bedde, in such manner, that amidst the dances and clapping of hands of his curtezans, it was sung to the Musique, He hath liued, he hath liued: and no day ouer-passed his head wherein he buried not himselfe after this manner. That which he did of an euill conscience let vs performe with a good, and addressing our selues to our rest, let vs ioyful∣ly and contentedly say,

I haue liued, and ended the course that fortune gaue me.

If God vouchsafe vs the next morrow, let vs receiue the same with thanksgi∣uing. He is thrice-happie, & assuredly possessed of himselfe that expecteth the next day without care. Whosoeuer hath said I haue liued, doth daily rise to his profite. But now I must close my letter: What, sayest thou, shall it come to me without any present? Doe not feare, it shall bring somwhat with it. Why said I somewhat? It will be a great deale. For what can be more excellent then this sentence, It bringeth vnto thee? It is an euill thing to liue in necessitie, but there is no necessitie to liue in necessitie: for the way that leadeth vnto libertie is on euery side open, short, & easie to keepe. Let vs giue God thanks for this, that no man can be constrained to liue, and that it is lawfull for euery one to treade necessitie vnder his feete. Thou wilt say, that these words are of Epicurus. What hast thou to do•• with another mans? That which is true is mine, I will perseuer to vrge Epicurus vnto thee, that they who sweare and consent to the words, and consider not what is spoken, but by whom; let them know, that those things are best that are common.

EPIST. XIII.

He excellently informeth against casualties, and ••••••••••rageth against them: But especi∣ally he aduiseth vs not to be tormented with the ••eare of things to come; he a••••weth them to be vncertaine, and such as may not fall out. He concludeth therefore that ••ll feare is to be tempered by hope. Then addeth he this, full of farre more confidency; Doe and teach things to come, they are of God, and for our good.

I Know that thou hast much courage; for before I instructed thee with wholsom precepts, and such as subdue aduersitie, thou wert contented enough to exercise thy selfe against fortune, and hast assured thy selfe also farre more, since thou hast made tryall of thy forces, and grapled with her hand to hand; which can neuer giue an assured proofe of themselues, but where as many difficulties shall ap∣peare on euery side, yea, sometimes neerely assault them. In like manner a true mind, and such as will not subiect it selfe to other mens wils, approueth it selfe: This is his touch stone. The wrestler cannot enter lists with an vndaunted courage, who hath neuer beene sharpely encountred and beaten. He that hath

oftentimes seene his bloud shed, whose teeth haue be••ne shattered by a fist. H•• that hauing beene ouerthrowne hath made his enemie lose his footing, that be∣ing cast downe hath not lost his courage, that as oftentimes as he hath been ••oy∣led recouered new footing and became more fell and furious, he that, I say en∣treth the fielde with the greatest assurance. And to persist in this similitude; Fortune hath oftentimes been aboue thee, yet hast thou neuer at any time yeel∣ded thy selfe her prisoner, but hast alwayes restored thy selfe, and made head against her with more courage and alacritie: and in truth also a generous mind getteth ordinarily some aduantage when he is prouoked; notwithstanding if thou thinkest it good, accept some forces from me to strengthen and defence thy selfe more and more. Diuers things, my Lucilius, do more feare th••n hurt vs, & oftentimes we are more troubled by opinion then eff••ct. I reason not with th••e at this time in a Stoicall language, but somewhat more submisly and vul∣garly: for we say that all these things, which cause in vs these feares and gro∣nings, are but light and contemptible. Let vs omit these great words, yet not∣withstanding most true. I onely admonish thee not to make thy selfe miserable before thy time, by fearing that those things are wholly neere vnto thee, which happily will neuer befall thee, or at leastwise are not yet happened. Somethings therefore doe more afflict vs then they ought, some before they ought, other∣some torment vs when they should not at all. We eyther augment our euill, or presuppose the same, or imagine them to our selues vpon no ground at all: that first because the matter is in controuersie, and the pleas are alreadie re∣corded; let vs deferre for the present. That which I terme light thou conten∣dest to be most grieuous: I know that some doe laugh in their tortures, others groane for a little stroake. We afterwards shall see whether these things are to be valued by their owne forces or our weakenesse. First graunt m•• this, that as oftentimes as thou shalt be amongst men, that shall endeuour to perswade thee that thou art miserable, thou wilt grow into consideration with thy selfe, not of that which thou hearest, but of that which thou feelest: consult first of al with thy patience, & ask thou thy selfe. Who should better know tha•• which toucheth thee then thy sel•••••• Speake vnto thy selfe thus; Why is it that these men lament my fortune? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tremble they, as if they feared that the ••••••••∣gion of my misfortune should attaint and torment them? That which I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is it not more infamous then dan••erous? Enquire of thy selfe after this ma••ner: Am I not perplexed and sorrow••••ll without cause? Make I not that an euill which is not? How sayest thou, ••hall I vnderstand whether the things I feare be ••yther v••••ne or true? Take this rule to discerne the same: eyther present, or future, or both terrifie vs: the iudgement of the present is facile, if the bodie be free, healthfull, and without any griefe, caused by some iniurie done vnto thee. We shall see what shall happen hereafter, to day thou hast no neede to complain. But it will come. First consider whether there be any certaine argu∣m••nts of thy future misfortune; for, for the most part we are troubled with su∣spicions, and affrighted by the illusions of common report, which is accustom∣ed to end whole warres, but much more particular men. Vndoubtedly so it is my friend Lucilius, we are quickly conceited and ouer-ruled by common opi∣nion: we checke not those things which cause our feares, neyther shake them off: but tremble thereat, and turne our backs like those whom a cloude of dust, raised by the triumphing of a troupe of beasts putteth to flight, or those that are dismayed by a report that runneth abroad, that hath neyther ground nor au∣thor. And by mishap, I know not how it commeth to passe that false and fained

things doe trouble vs farre more then true; for the true haue a certain measure, the others are deliuered vs to a wandring coniecture, and license of the fearefull minde, which is alreadie affrighted: whence it happeneth that there are no dis∣mayes so pernicious and irremediable then those that are mad and distracted; for all the rest are without reason, but this without minde. Let vs diligently in∣quire vpon this businesse; Is it likely some mischance will happen? It is not straight-wayes true. How many vnexpected things haue chanced? How manie expected neuer came to passe? And put the case it should happen, what helpeth it to meet with a mans sorrow? We shal partake the pain too ouertimely when it commeth, meane while let vs promise to our selues some better successe; at the leastwise it shall be so much good time gotten. And againe, many things may fall out, by meanes whereof the danger when it shall be more, yea, almost borne by vs, eyther shall subsist or wholly passe away, or happily shall be diuer∣ted on another mans head. Oft-times the flames haue broken and giuen passage thorow the middest of their furie, to auoyde themselues. Such a one hath falne from the top of a house that was softly layde when hee light on the ground. Sometimes he that was exposed to his last punishment, hath beene saued euen in the verie attempt of execution, and some haue suruiued to burie those who should haue beene their hangmen: euill fortune it selfe is neuer without her in∣constancie and leuitie. It may be the mischance shall come, it may be it shall not come: and meane while that it is not come, at least propose vnto thy selfe that better fortune may befall thee. But contrariwise, that happeneth sometimes, that euen then when there is no appearance of euill presage, the minde faineth to it selfe false imaginations, or interpreteth some word of a doubtfull significa∣tion to the worst, or proposeth to it selfe the indignation and displeasure of som one greater then it is, and dreameth not how much hee is incensed, but how much he may if so be he be prouoked. But there is no more occasion of liuing, there is no end of miserie, if a man feare as much as he may feare. It behoueth contrariwise to reiect and contemne the feare it self•• which is attended euerie way with apparant occasions. Herein it is, where 〈◊〉〈◊〉 prudence and the force of ou•• vn••••••••••anding ought principally to serue 〈…〉〈…〉wise it be sitteth vs to 〈…〉〈…〉 one vice by another, and to temp•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 hope. For there is no∣t•••••••• ••o certaine of all that which a man may 〈…〉〈…〉 ••hat is not also more cer∣••••ine, that the things that are feared may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and vanish, and those that are hoped for deceiue. Balance therefor•• th•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with thy hope; and if there be doubt on all sides, beleeue that which be••••••keth thee, and thou co••ldest de∣sire should fall out; and although thou s••••lt haue more and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 probable appearances for to feare, notwithstanding dispose thy selfe to f••uour the better part, and cease to afflict thy selfe. Discourse alwayes in thy vnderstanding, that the greatest part of mortall men are troubled and perplexed in themselues for a thing wherein there is no euill, neyth••r can there be any euill, and the reason hereof is, because no man resisteth himselfe when he beginneth to be shaken and assaulted. No man pretendeth to take the paines to verifie his feare, no man thinketh with himselfe that the author is a vaine man, that eyther might haue dreamed the same, or beleeued it lightly. We yeelde our selues wholly to him that first commeth and reporteth any thing vnto vs: we feare the incer∣taine as certaine, neyther can we keep any measure. A doubt doth incontinent∣ly become feare. But I am ashamed to talke after this manner with thee, and to applie vnto thee so sleight remedies: when any other man shall say vnto thee; be confident that which thou fearest shall not befall thee, say thou quite

contrary, and when it shall happen, what of that? Perhaps it shall be for my good and aduantage if it happen, and this death shall doe honour to my life. Ceuta hath made Socrates most famous and renowned. Wrest from Cato the sword that assured his libertie, and thou shall detract from him the greatest part of his glorie. True it is, that I am too tedious in exhorting thee, who hast no need to bee exhorted, but instructed and admonished onely. These are not contrarie to thy nature, thou art borne to accomplish all that which wee speake of; and by so much more oughtest thou to be carefull, to augment and beautifie the graces that nature hath giuen thee. But now is it high time to fi∣nish my Epistle, as soone as I haue signed it with some high and generous sen∣tence, to be conuayed vnto thee: Amongst other euils folly hath likewise this, that it beginneth alwayes to liue. Consider, worthy Lucilius, what these things signifie, and thou shalt vnderstand how loathsome mens leuitie is, who are alwayes oc∣cupied to proiect new foundations of life, and in their last time bethinke them of new hopes. If thou cast thine eye on euery man, thou shalt meete with olde men that addresse themselues to ambition, trauell, and negotiations. And what is there more absurd, then for an olde man to begin to liue? I would not alledge the author of this sentence, if that it were not one of the most secret, and not couched amongst the vulgar speeches of Epicurus, which I haue permitted my selfe both to vsurpe and adopt as mine owne.

EPIST. XIIII.

A most wise Epistle. He admonisheth that care must be had of the bodie and of life, but not too much: but that three things are feared touching the bodie; Pouertie, Sicke∣nesse, and Violence, but especially this last, which proceedeth from powerfull men and tyrants: To the end thou mayest not feare, three things are to be auoyded; Hatred, Enuie, and Contempt. But how wisedome shall instruct, and in short words he.

I Confesse that ••••ture hath imprinted in euery one 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ffecti∣on & care of 〈…〉〈…〉 person. I confesse that our bodie 〈…〉〈…〉 tuteli•• and prote••••••on. I denie not but that we ought to vse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 indulgence in the behalfe thereof, yet ought it not to holde vs in seruitude. He shall be slaue to ••••ny that will be slaue to his owne bodie, shall too much feare for the same, and referre all things vnto that. So ought we to behaue ou••••••lues, not as though it behoued vs to liue for our bodie; but as if we might not liue without the same. The too tender affection we beare vnto it, disquieteth vs with fears, chargeth vs with diuers thoughts, & exposeth and subiecteth vs to disgraces. Honestie is base to him, that maketh too much ac∣count of his bodie. Reason it is that it be kept carefully, yet so, as when reason, honour, and faith requireth it, a man be ready to cast it into the middest of a fire. Let vs flie notwithstanding as much as in vs lieth, not onely the dangers, but the incommodities. Let vs secure our selues and retire vs into a place of securitie, thinking hourely, by what means we may separate from vs those things which are to be feared; of which (if I deceiue not my selfe) there are three sorts: we feare pouertie, we feare sickenesse, we feare those things that may befall vs tho∣row the violence of the mightie. Of all these three is no one thing more that shaketh vs, then that which hangeth ouer vs from another mans greatnesse, for that commeth with a great noyce and tumult. The naturall euils which I haue

reckoned vp, such as are pouerties and infirmit••es, doe silently assault vs: they neyther affright our eyes nor our eares, but the other mischiefe marcheth forth with greater pompe. He hath about him fire, sword, and bonds, and a troupe of greedy wilde beasts to glut themselues on our entrails. So many pri∣sons, so many gallowses, so many rackes and hookes, and the stakes which men are splitted on, the tortures of drawing a man with wilde horses, and such other types of tyrannie, the variety whereof is so great, and the preparation so terri∣ble. No maruell though they bring much feare with them: for euen as the hang-man, the more instruments of torture he presenteth to the condemned, the more he afflicteth him; so amongst those things that surcharge and wound our minds, those haue the greatest force that present the most obiects to the eie. This is not to inferre that other plagues, I meane famine, thirst, vlcers, and im∣pos••umes of the inwards, and the feuor which dryeth and burneth our bo∣wels, are not as tedious and painfull, but that they are hidden, hauing nothing that they may produce, or cause to martch before them. These as great armies obtaine the entry by the greatnesse of their showe and preparation. But the true remedie against these dangers, is to abstaine to prouoke them. Sometimes the people are those whom we ought to feare; sometimes, if the discipline of the Cittie be such, that diuers things are concluded by the Senate, some grati∣ous men therein, or some one particular man that beares the sway of the Com∣mon-wealth, and hath the gouernement ouer the people. To haue all these thy friends is too difficult, it is enough for thee that thou hast them not thine ene∣mies. A wise-man therefore will n••uer prouoke the displeasure of the mightie, but rather will decline the same, in such sort, as in sayling the Marrin••r shun∣neth a storm. When thou shippedst for Sicily, thou diddest cut ouer the Sea, and the vnaduised Master of thy ship contemned the threatning South••rnly windes, which is that winde which exasperateth the Sicilian Seas, and driueth on the shoales and whirlpooles; he shapeth not his course by the left shoare, but sayleth by that shoare which is neerer Charibdis. But some other more skilfull, would haue enquired of those of the countrey before he had embarqued him∣sel••e, of the nature of this Sea, and of the signes which the cloudes imported, and had held his course farre aloofe from these dangerous places and whirlepools. In like sort doth the wise-man, he flyeth those that may hurt him, hauing an e∣speciall regard to this, that he seeme not to flie them: for the greatest part of securitie consisteth in this, to make no show or appeareance to search the same; because that those things which a man flieth he condemneth. We must there∣fore looke about vs, how we may be secure from the common sort, which wee shal bring to passe, if first of all we couet not any of those things, which set com∣petitors together by the eares; and then, if we haue not any thing, that by ap∣pearance of profit may make vs subiect to treacheries: I also counsaile thee that thou haue not any thing in thy bodie that thou mayest be spoyled of. No man thirsteth after a mans bloud onely, or at least-wise very few. The greater sort rather hunt after the prize then the life. A naked man walketh freely be∣fore the thief•• & in a dangerous passage a poore man findeth no man to bid him stand. Afterwards it behooueth thee, according to the auncient precept, to en∣deuour thy selfe to auoyde three things; that is, to be hated, enuied, and despi∣sed. Wisedome onely can shew vs how this may be affected, otherwise it is a hard thing and much to be feared, lest distrust of enuie bring vs into contempt, lest whilst we will not be trod vpon, we seeme able to be trod on. It hath beene a cause of much feare to mani•• by hauing power to be feared. Let vs euery

way retire our selues: it is no lesse harmefull to be contemned then to be admi∣red at. Let vs therefore haue recourse vnto Philosophie, the instructions wher∣of shall be as markes of dignitie vnto vs, not onely with good men, but such also as are indifferently euill: for eloquence and such other professions, which tend to moue the common sort, haue their aduersarie; but it is peaceable and reti∣red, and such as intermixeth it selfe with nothing but it selfe, that neyther can be contemned, which is respected by all other artes, yea by the consent of the most wicked. Neuer shall vice obtaine so great force, neuer shall any conspire so much against vertue, but that the name of Philosophie shall alwaies remaine holy and venerable; yet must Philosophie it selfe be moderately and peacea∣bly handled. True it is, that happily thou wilt obiect vnto me, that Marcus Cato hath not handled the same with that modestie, who perswaded himselfe, that he might represse by his onely counsailes the heate of ciuill warres, that thrust himselfe amidst the armies of two displeased and inraged Princes, that whereas some displeased Pompey, other som Caesar, he feared not to offend them both at once. But I will answer thee, that it may be debated, whether during that time it was wisely done of him to busie himselfe with publique affaires? What pretendest thou to doe Cato? The title of libertie was not then in questi∣on; for long time before it was troden vnder foot: the question is onely whe∣ther of these two eyther Caesar or Pompey shall bee master of the Common-weale: what haddest thou to doe with this quarrell? Thou haddest no part herein; the question was to choose a Soueraigne: what could it auaile thee which of them it were that conquered? The better cannot conquer, and hee may be the worst that shall be subdued; he cannot be the better that getteth the masterie. I haue touched the last parts of Catoes life, but neyther were his former yeares euer such, that it was conuenient for a wise-man to intermeddle with the Common-weale, which was already exposed for a pray. For what o∣ther thing did he but exclaime, and cast out vnprofitable speeches, whilst the people taking him vp, playde with him like a foot-ball, spit in his face, and drew him perforce out of his place, and from the Senate-house ledde him vnto pri∣son? But we shall see hereafter, whether a wise-man ought to imploy his labor in a place where it should be vtterly lost? Meane while I recall thee to ••hese Stoicks, who excluded from the Common-weale, retired themselues to reform mens liues, and to make lawes for all mankinde, without incurring the indigna∣tion of the mightie. Vndoubtedly it is more expedient for a wise-man to be∣haue himselfe thus, then to goe and trouble publique customes, and cause him∣selfe to be pointed at through the strangenesse of his life. What then? shall he that followeth this course be wholly safe and secured? No more may a man promise this then health to a temperate man, and yet temperance entertaineth and causeth the same. It hath beene seene sometimes that ships haue beene lost in the Hauen, but the danger is greater when they saile in the maine Sea: how much more at hand should his danger be, that intermedleth with manie affaires, and complotteth more, who cannot assure himselfe, no not in his soli∣tude? The innocent is sometimes condemned, but the faultie farre more often. His arte costeth him deare, that is harmed by the verie ornaments of arte. Finally, the wise-man regardeth that which is most expedient in euery thing, and not the successe: for our deliberations are in our hands; but fortune dispo∣seth of the euents, to whose iudgement a wise••man neuer submitteth himselfe, yet will it bring some vexation and aduersitie. The thiefe is not condemned but when he killeth. But I perceiue thou stretchest out thy hand to receiue a

rent which this letter should bring thee, I will pay thee in golde•• see thou how the vse and fruition of the same may be more gratefull vnto thee; He most of all possesseth riches; that least needeth them. Tell me, thou wilt say, who is the au∣thor? That thou mayest know how bountifull I am, I intend to praise another mans; it is eyther Epicurus or Metrodorus saying, or some one of that sect: what skilleth it who spake it? he spake to all men. He that wanteth riches, feareth for them: but no man enuieth a good that breedeth feare: whilst he thinketh to encrease the same, he forgetteth the vse of them; it behooueth him alwaies to haue the counters in his hand, to assist at the bursse time, and visit his bookes of account: briefly, of a Master he becommeth a Factor.

EPIST. XV.

Exercise tendeth to the care of the bodie; but let it not be laborious or troublesome: easie and short sufficeth, as running, leaping, carriage of the bodie, intention of the voyce. A clause from the Epicure, to the end that life should not be deferred, content thee with the present.

THE auncients had a custome, which hath been obserued as yet to my time, to begin their letters with these words; If thou art in health, it is well; for mine owne part I am healthie. Now thinke I that he should say as well, who should begin thus: If thou attendest thy Philosophy, I am glad of it, for that in truth is to be in health. Without it the minde is sicke, and the bodie also notwithstanding it be strong and able: for it is no otherwise healthie then as a man might say, the bodie of one that is madde and troubled with the frensie. Haue care therefore especi∣ally of this first health, afterwards of the second, which will not cost thee much, if thou behaue thy selfe wisely. For it is an vnseemely thing for a man that tra∣uelleth to obtaine wisedom, to imploy himselfe in exercising his armes, to feed himselfe fat, and to strengthen his sides. When thou shalt make thy selfe fleshy and brawny to the vttermost thou canst imagine, yet neyther in force or waight shalt thou equall a fat and growne Oxe. Besides this, the mind being choaked vp with the great charge of thy bodie, is farre lesse agile and quicke of conceit. Containe therefore and restraine thy bodie the most that thou mayest, to the end thou mayest giue a fayrer and more spacious place and harbor vnto thy minde. They that are ouer-carefull of the same, draw after them diuers incom∣modities: first of all the trauell of exercise spendeth the spirit, and disableth it to apprehend the studie of the most secret and hidden secrets. And they leade with them a traine of most dangerous reuolts and debauchments, as that foule and vilainous custome of men, occupied betweene the wine and the oyle, in whose opinion the day is happily passed, if they haue sweat well; and if in stead of that which is exhaled by sweat, they haue anew replenished their emptie sto∣macks with store of another liquor. To drinke and sweat is the life of him that is sicke of the Cardiacque conuersions of the stomacke. There are certaine kindes of exercise, which are easie and short, which loose and supple the body, without great losse of time, to which we ought to haue a principall regard, as to runne, dance, leap, and vault. Choose of all these which thou wilt: the vse will make it easie vnto thee: whensoeuer thou dost retire suddenly from thy bodie to thy minde, exercise the same day and night. Shee is nourished and entertained with

a little labour: neyther cold nor heat hinder not her exercise, no not olde age it selfe. Trauell therefore carefully after this good, which is bettered by waxing olde, yet will I not alwayes that thou hang ouer thy booke, or that thy hand be continually labouring on thy tables. There must some intermission be gran∣ted to the minde; yet so, that it be not giuen ouer altogether, but remitted one∣ly. The carriage of a man in a Litter or otherwise, stirreth the bodie, but hin∣dereth not the studie. Thou mayest reade, dictate, speake and heare also in walking. Contemne not also the eleuation of thy voyce, which I forbid thee to raise by certaine degrees and manners, and afterwards to depresse. Againe, if thou wilt learne how thou shouldest walke, admit those whom hunger hath taught new cunnings: some there be that will temper thy pace, and obserue thy mouth as thou eatest, and will proceede so farre, as by the leuitie of thy pa∣tience thou shalt giue way to their boldnesse; what then? shall thy voyce and discourse begin with clamorous accents, and in the entrance be most violently enforced? Vndoubtedly it is a thing so naturall to raise the voyce by little and little, that such as pleade are ordinarily accustomed to begin their discourse in an humble and submisse manner, and to prosecute the same with a more liuely and lowder accent. No man at the first imploreth ••he mercie of the Iudges. Howsoeuer therefore the force of thy minde shall perswade thee sometimes to exclaime on vices vehemently, sometime more moderately, according as thy voyce and force shall enable thee: when thou hast humbled the same, and drawne it to a lower straine and pitch, so let it fall that it faile not: let it be tem∣pered according to the abilitie and discretion of the speaker, and not breake out after a ru••••icke and vnciuill manner. For it is not our intention to exercise the voyce, but our minde is, that our voyce should exercise vs. I haue disburthe∣ned thee of no small businesse of requitall, now will I adde a gratefull office to these benefits. Behold a worthy precept: The life of a foolish man is ingrate, and full of ••eare, and wholly transported with expectation of future things. But who, sayest thou, speaketh after this manner? The same that spake before. Now what life is that which in thy opinion may be called foolish, that of Babae and Ixion, the noted fooles of our time? It is not so. It is, and is called our life whom blinded couetousnesse casteth headlong vpon those things which torment vs, or at least whiles neuer content vs, to whom if any thing had beene sufficient, already it should be. Who consider not how pleasant a thing it is to demand nothing, and how magnificent a thing it is to be full in himselfe, and not to holde or acknow∣ledge any thing from fortune. Remember thy selfe therefore euery houre, friend Lucilius, how great those things are to which thou hast attained hitherto, when thou hast beheld those things that march before thee•• behold also those that march after. If thou wilt not be vngratefull towards God, and towards thine owne life, c••nsider how many thou leauest behinde thee. But why com∣pare I thee with others? Thou hast, if thou obseruest thy selfe well•• gone b••∣yond thy selfe. Prefix thy selfe certaine bounds which thou wilt not exceede or breake although thou mightest. The flattering and deceiueable blessings, and such as proue better to those that hope for them then those that enioy them, will vanish in the end. If there were any solid thing in them, they would sometime satisfie vs: or contrariwise they inuite vs to taste them onely for their appearance; and the more a man tasteth the more is he altered. But that which the incertaine fate of future time carrieth with it selfe, why should I rather in∣treat fortune to bestow vpon me, or my selfe not to demaund the same? And why in demanding the same should I forget the frailtie of mankinde? Shall I

hoord vp wealth? To what? Shall I take paines? Beholde here the last day, or if it be not, it is the next neighbour to the last.

EPIST. XVI.

That Philosophie is necessarie to life; but that is the true onely which is in action and proficient. Dispose by that thine actions and counsa••les. It skilleth not whether ••ate or fortune be: for Philosophie teacheth to obey God, and contemne fortune and casu∣alties. There is a clause likewise of EPICVRVS. He that liueth according to na∣ture is rich. Despise opinion.

I Know, friend Lucilius, that thou perfectly vnderstandest that no man can liue happily, nay, scarcely tollerably without the studie of wisedome, and that the life is made happie by the perfection of the same, and tollerable by her onely beginning. But it suffi∣ceth not onely that thou know this, it behooueth thee also to im∣print it in thy soule, and assure the same by continuall cotemplation. For there is lesse to do to propose a thing which is honest, then to conserue the same, when a man hath proposed the same to himselfe. We must perseuer, and by continu∣all diligence adde strength, till that which is now only a good will, may become an habituall good minde. Thou needest not therefore to court me with many affirmatiue and long discourses: for I know that thou hast profited very much. I know from what minde the things thou writest do proceed, and that they are neyther fained nor disguised: yet will I tell thee freely mine opinion. I haue alreadie some hope of thee, but not as yet an entire assurance; and if thou wilt beleeue, thou shalt conceiue no otherwise of thy selfe. Beleeue not thy selfe so suddenly and so easily. Sound and obserue thy selfe, and aboue all things se•• whether thou hast profited, eyther in thy science or in thy life it selfe. Philoso∣phie no vulgar craft, neyther is it for ostentation: it consisteth not in wordes but in deedes. She must not be made vse of to passe the time withall, or extin∣guish the tediousnesse of idlenesse. She it is that formeth and conformeth the minde, that disposeth life, and guideth our actions, and sheweth vs what wee ought eyther to flie or follow. She it is that guideth the helme, and directeth their course that saile amidst the shoales and rockes of this life: without her no man is assured. Daily and hourely there fall out innumerable things which re∣quire counsel, which no man may receiue from any other but her selfe. But som one may say, whereto serueth Philosophie, if there be a destinie or a God that ruleth all things, or a fortune that commandeth ouer all men? For such things as are certaine cannot be changed, and against those that are vncertaine what prouision may be made, if God hath preoccupated al the deliberations of men? If alreadie he hath determined that which ought to be done? or if fortune per∣mitteth nothing vnto my counsaile? whatsoeuer be of all this, or if all this were so, we must, my Lucilius, intend Philosophie, whether that destinie detaine vs captiues to her irreuocable lawes, or God the gouernor of the world, disposeth of all things; or fortune confusedly enforceth, or altereth humane affairs, Philo∣sophie must be our retreat. She will exhort vs to obey God willingly, and to re∣sist fortune constantly: she will teach vs to follow God, and to beare with casual∣ties. But we ar•• not now to call in question, whether we haue any interest, and whether prouidence be in our will or power, or whether fate with ineuitable

bondes draweth vs to his subiection, or any sudden or casuall power be our ab∣solute mistris. I returne to exhort thee not to suffer thy selfe to waxe colde, or permit this heate and constancie of thy minde to be weakened. Entertaine the same in such sort, that the viuacitie and agilitie that at this present is contai∣ned therin may grow into a habitude. From thy very infancie (if I haue knowne thee well) thou hast fixed thine eie on that which this present letter importeth. Peruse it well, and thou shall finde it, thou needest not maruaile at me. I conti∣nue still to be liberall of other mens goods; yet are they not others, because that all that which is well said, by whomsoeuer it be spoken, I may tearme mine owne. Epicurus saith, If thou liuest according to nature, thou shalt neuer be poore; if according to opinion, thou shalt neuer be rich: nature hath neede but of a little, opinion of infinite. Be it thou were Lord of all that wealth which many mightie men doe possesse, or that fortune enricheth thee beyond the measure of a priuate man: although she couer thee with golde, and cloath thee in purple, and bring thee to that height of delights and riches, that thou mayest couer the earth with mar∣ble, and mightest not onely possesse riches, but treade on them: adde herevnto moreouer pictures and statues, and what else soeuer any arte or engine hath in∣uented; thou shalt learne from those to couet alwayes more. Our naturall de∣sires are limited; those that are deriued from false opinion haue no end: for there is no limit from a false ground; to him that goeth in the right way, there is an end; error is infinite. Retire thy selfe therefore from vaine things, and when thou wouldest know, whether that thou askest haue a naturall or blinde desire, consider whether it may rest any where: if the neerer thou approachest it, the farther daily it flieth from thee, be assured it is not according to nature.

EPIST. XVII.

That Philosphie is not to be deferred, but, all other things laide aside, to be embraced. But I shall be poore. What if this were to be wished for? Thou shalt play the Philosopher more freely. Nature desireth but a little, and that shall not be wanting. A clause. To him that accounteth pouertie grieuous, riches will be likewise burthensome, for the defect is in the minde.

CAst away all these things if thou beest wise, or rather to the ende thou mayest be wise: then addresse thy selfe speedily and with all thy power to get a good minde. If any thing detaine thee, eyther vnbinde thee also out of the bond or breake it. I am (thou wilt say) hindered by my home••affaires: I will take such a course that my reuenue may maintain me, without doing any thing; to the end that pouer∣tie may not be a hinderance to me, nor I to any other. Whilst thou sayest this, thou seemest not to know the power and strength of that thing whereof thou thinkest. Thou seest generally and in summe, how much Philosophie is profi∣table to thee; but thou doest not subtilly examine all her parts, neither knowest thou yet how much she helpeth vs, and in what sort she may succor vs in great affaires (that I may vse Tullies words) and in what sort shee assisteth vs in great things, and applieth her selfe to the lesse things. Beleeue me, take aduice of her, she will counsell thee not to busie thy selfe about thine accounts. All then that thou searchest is to exempt thy selfe from pouertie; and what wilt thou say if it be desireable? Riches haue hindered many men from studying Philosophie:

pouertie is alwayes free, is alwayes safe, When the enemies trumpet soundeth, the poore man knowes well that the al••rum threatneth not him•• in a surprise or yeelding vp of a towne for lost, he takes no care how to get away, or what to carrie with him: if he must needs make a voyage by Sea, no man attendeth him at his entrance nor at his launching forth: he hath not so great a troupe of ser∣uants to attend him, that he must needes nourish them vpon the fertilitie of a forraine countrey. For it is easie to fill a few bellies, and well taught, that de∣sire but to be filled: it costeth little to appease hunger; but a dainty mouth too much. Pouertie is contented with the satisfaction and supplie of her necessitie: why then wilt thou refuse to make her thy companion, whose manners the ri∣chest themselues doe imitate? If thou desirest to en••oy the freedome of thy minde, eyther it behooueth thee to be poore, or like a poore man. A man can∣not profit in this studie without the care of frugalitie, which is a voluntarie po∣uertie. Lay then apart all these excuses; Say not that thou hast not as yet all that which thou hast neede of, and that if thou mightest compasse that summe, thou wouldest retire thy selfe from the world, to consecrate thy selfe wholly vnto Philosophie. But contrariwise, she it is that ought especially to be sough•• after, which thou deferrest and seekest to attaine last of all. By her it is by whom thou oughtest to begin. I will, sayest thou, recouer whereupon to liue: learne then afterwards how thou oughtest to get; if any thing hinder thee from liuing well, nothing hindereth thee from dying well. There is no reason that pouerty should recall vs from Philosophie, no not necessitie it selfe. We ought in her behalfe endure hunger, which diuers men haue voluntarily endured in sieges. As if the onely price of this patience was not to yeelde it selfe to the discretion of the conquerour: how much more great is that by which a perpetuall liber∣tie is promised, and an assurance neyther to be affrighted by God nor man? Sometimes hunger enforceth vs to this. Whole armies haue su••fered extreame necessitie, yea, so great as to feede vpon the rootes of hearbes, and to support an horrible famine; and all this suffered they (to make the wonder the more) to get a Kingdome, and that which is more strange, for another mans seruice: who then will doubt to endure pouertie, and so free the minde from madnes? There needeth not any preparation for maintenance before hand. A man may attaine vnto Philosophie without prouision and supplies. But touching thy selfe, thou wilt attaine therevnto after all other things, thou esteemest it for the last instru∣ment of life, or to speake more aptly, the accession. Contrariwise whether it be that thou hast any thing, apply thy selfe vnto her (for whence mayest thou know whether alreadie thou hast so much?) or be it thou hast nothing at all, seeke after her the rather, and more then any other thing. Feare not, the want of any necessarie supplyes; nature is contented with a little, to which let a wise-man accommodate himselfe: and if happily extreame necessitie doe sur∣charge him, he shall escape from this life, and shall cease to be troublesome to himselfe. And if he haue wherewith to weare out and prolong the same, he will take it in good part, and will no further endeuour himselfe, but for those things that are necessarie: he will bestow that on his bellie and his backe which apper∣taineth vnto them and being content with himselfe, shall laugh at the occupa∣tions of the rich, and the goings and comings of those who sweat to get riches, and shall say, To what end searchest thou the longer way? Wherefore expect∣est thou the gain of thy vsurie or the succession of some olde man, or the profit of merchandize, if thou canst become rich suddenly. It concerneth thee no more but to recouer wisdome, she will pay thee before hand, and giueth riches

to whomsoeuer she maketh them seeme to be superfluous. But this were good payment for another man; for thine own part thou art rich, discharge thy selfe therefore, for thou hast too much. In euery age shalt thou finde that which is sufficient. I might in this place end my Letter, if I had not taught thee an euill custome. A man may not salute the Kings of Parthia without a present: but to thee a man may not bid adiew gratis. I will therefore borrow of Epicurus to pay thee•• To manie the obtayning of riches hath not beene the end, but the change of their miserie. Hereat wonder I not; for vice is not in the things themselues, but in the minde. The same occasion made riches tedious, that made pouertie grie∣uous. Euen as it is all one to put a sicke man into a bedde of wood, or into a bed of golde, because that into what place soeuer he be remoued, he beareth alwaies his griefe with him. In like manner, there is no difference to thrust a sicke mind into riches or into pouertie, because his euill alwayes followeth him.

EPIST. XVIII.

That a wise-man temperately ••ehaueth himselfe in publique ryots, and is tainted little or nothing with their manners. Howsoeuer, that it is profitable some dayes to abstaine, spare and resemble the poore, it is a sore exercise to trie pouertie if it come so. A clause ••rom EPICVRVS: wrath assisteth madnesse.

DEcember is a moneth wherein all the Cittie is much busied; euery one in publique giueth way to lasciuiousnesse, each eare is filled with the rumour and report of those preparations which are made to ryot with, as if the time were extraordinary, and that there were some difference betwixt the Saturnals and other delights. So little di••ference is there, that in my opinion hee seemeth to haue no way erred, that saith•• that in times past December was a moneth, but that now it is a yeare. If I had thee heere, I would willingly inquire of thee, what in thine opinion ought to be done, whether we should change any thing of our ordinarie custome, or if (lest we should seeme to distaste the common fashion) wee should fall to, and frame our selues to doe that which other men doe: for that which was not wont to be done but in times of tumult, and in the turbulent estate of the Cittie, for pleasure and the holy-dayes sake we changed our garment. If I knew thee well, the matter being committed to thy iudgement; neyther wouldest thou permit that in all things we should resemble the round-cap multitude; neyther also in euery sort to be vnlike vnto them, except happily in these dayes especi∣ally, we ought to command our mindes to retire themselues, and to abstaine from pleasures, wherein all the world is so disordered: she receiueth a most cer∣taine proofe of her firmitie, if she neyther yeeld nor su••fer her selfe to be trans∣ported by adulations, and such things as inuite her to superfluitie. But it is a matter farre more difficult, and worthie a noble mind, to be sober alone: at such time as all the people surfeiteth in drunkennesse, this hath more temperance and discretion in it selfe, not to sequester a mans selfe wholly from popu∣laritie, neyther to particularize himselfe ouer-much•• neyther intermix himselfe with them, but to do the same things that they do, but not after the same man∣ner. For a man may celebrate a festiuall day without drunkennesse. But so am I pleased to tempt the constancie of thy minde, that according to the counsailes of many great men, I aduise thee to choose out certaine dayes, wherein thou

maye••t content thy selfe with the least, and cheapest dyet, and mayst cloath thy selfe in a hard and course garment: say to thy selfe, Is this that which the world so much feared? In the fulnesse of thy securitie let thy mind prepare it selfe vnto aduersities, and against fortunes iniuries confirme it selfe euen in the height of her fauours. In the middest of peace the Souldier exerciseth him selfe in armes and skirmishes, and wearieth himselfe with superfluous labour, to the end he be more able and exercised when time requireth. If thou desirest a man should not ••eare vpon any occurrence, exercise him before hand to the accident. They t••at euery moneth exercise themselues in imitation of pouertie, haue profited ••o ••arre as not to feare pouertie it selfe, which they so oftentimes had both en∣t••••••ained and apprehended. Thinke not now that I command thee to go som∣time•• and take an ill supper with a poore man, contenting thy selfe with his bre••d an•• I win••, or whatsoeuer else it is, whereby luxurie smootheth ouer, and playe•• with the tediousnesse of riches. I aduise thee that both thy bedde and thy apparrell be truely poore, and that thy bread be stale and mouldie•• and that thou entertaine this ••ard pittance for three or foure dayes; yea, sometimes more, to the end it may be vnto thee, not as a pastime but as a proofe. Then be∣lee••e ••e, my Lucilius, thou shalt leap for ioy, when being satisfied with a little, thou ••ha••t vnderstand that to satisfie our selues we haue no need of fortune, for that which sufficeth necessitie she oweth vs in spite of her displeasure, yet hast thou no reason in accomplishing all this, to perswade thy selfe that thou hast done much: for what doest thou that many thousand slaues and beggers doe not daily? All the honor thou canst giue thy selfe, is, that thou doest it volunta∣rily•• It shall be as easie for thee to endure it alwayes, as to attempt it somtimes. Let vs therefore prepare our selues to all casualties, lest fortune surprise vs vn∣prouided. Let vs make pouertie familiar vnto vs: we shall be more assuredly rich, if we know that it is no grieuous matter to be poore. That Master of plea∣sure Epicurus had certaine dayes wherein he very sparingly and niggardly re∣pressed h••s hunger, to proue if any thing were wanting of his full and consum∣mate pleasure, o•• how much wanted, or whether it were a thing of that desert, that a man should employ much labour in repayring the same. Himselfe saith this in his Epistles, which he wrote to Poliaenus Charinus, being magistrate, & he glorieth therein, that all his victuals for one day cost him not three pence halfe∣penie, and that Metrod••rus diet, who had not so farre forth profited as himselfe, cost him no more. Thinkest thou that in this kinde of life there is not a saciety? Vndoubtedly there is pleasure in it, and not such pleasure which is fomie and fleeting, and oft••ntimes to be repaired, but stable and certaine: for neyther is water, nor broth, nor a morsell of barley bread a pleasant dyet; but it is an espe∣ciall pleasure for a man to be able to take his contentment in these, and to haue established himselfe so farre in himselfe, that no iniurie of fortune can shake his resolution. The ordinarie allowance of the prisons is farre more then this, and they that are condemned to die, are not so poorely intreated by him that is their executioner. How great is the magnitude of his minde, that maketh that habi∣tude voluntarie in himselfe, to admit those things with willingnesse which or∣dinarily are accustomed to be enioyned for a penaltie: this is to preoccupate the weapons of fortune. Begin therefore, my Lucilius, to follow these mens customes, and take some dayes to thy selfe, wherein thou mayest retire thy selfe from thine affaires, and content thy selfe with a little. Begin to haue some con∣uerse and familiarity with pouertie.

Be ••olde my guest, and set proude wealth at nought, And make thee worthy God by modest thought.

No other man is worthie God, but he that hath contemned riches, of whose possession I debarre thee not; but my desire is, that thou mightest possesse them without feare, which by one meanes thou shalt obtaine, if thou canst perswade thy selfe that thou mayest liue happily without them, and regard them no o∣therwise then as fleeting benefites, thou canst well want. But now let vs begin to conclude our Epistle: first, sayest thou, Pay me that thou owest. I will send Epicurus to pay thee my debt: Immoderate wrath engendreth madnesse. How true this is thou must needes know, when thou hast had both a slaue and an enemie. This affection kindleth it selfe against al men, it ariseth as wel from loue as from hate, as well amongst serious things as playes and pastimes; neyther skilleth it from how great a cause it grow, but what kinde of minde it meeteth with: so, it is no matter how great the fire be, but where it falleth; for the greatest and soundest tymbers haue sustayned a great fire: againe, drie trees and such as are apt to be ••ired, nourish a sparkle so long till it breake into a flame. So is it, my Lucilius, ••urie is the end of immoderate wrath, and therfore is anger to be auoy∣ded, not for moderation, but for healths sake.

EPIST. XIX.

That publique affaires are to be omitted and cast off, and priuacie to be affected: but pri∣••acie and not solitude, and detestation of conuersation. He counselleth to for••ake the Court and the pompe thereof, both which are attended with tumults and troubles. A clause of the same Masters. See with whom thou communicatest at the table.

I Am heartily glad as oftentimes as I receiue thy letters, for they fill me with much good hope: for now they promise not, but as∣sure me in thy behalfe. Doe therefore in such sort, I pray and beseech thee, as thy letters doe import: for what better thing can I intreat at my friends hand, then that for which I should im∣plore God in his behalfe? Withdraw thy selfe, if thou mayest•• from these busie affaires; or if thou canst not forcibly deliuer thy selfe, we haue ouer-long beene prodigall of time, let vs begin now in our age to play the good husbands. Is this distastfull to thee? We haue liued in the stormie Ocean, let vs die in a quiet harbor. Yet would I not aduise thee to affect a singularitie and name by thy re∣tirement, which neyther thou oughtest to boast of or to conceale. For neuer will I so much condemne the ••urie of mankinde, that to the end thou mayest a∣••oyde the same, I would haue thee locke thy selfe vp in an hermitage, and burie the affaires of this world in euerlasting forgetfulnesse. Behaue thy selfe in such sort, that r••treat of thine be apparent but not eminent; and then shal they who haue libertie to liue according to their own good liking, perceiue whether they ought wholly to hide themselues or no. For thine owne part thou mayest not. The vigor of thy wit, the elegancy of thy writings, thy many great and famous alliances haue brought thee forth into the face of the world. Thou art alrea∣die so farre engaged in the knowledge of men, that though ••hou wert confined in the furthermost corner of the world, yet would thy former actions discouer

themselues. Thou canst not be concealed, there will be alwayes some lus••re of thy former light, which will attend thee, whithersoeuer thou retirest thy selfe. Canst thou settle thy selfe in repose without the hate of any man, without de∣sire or agon••e of minde? For what shalt thou leaue which thou mayest imagine to haue forsaken vnwillingly? What thy clients? But of th••se no one affecteth thee, but gapeth for somewhat from thee•• Shall it be thy friends? In times past men affected friendships now hunt th••y af••er profits•• Art thou afraid that the older sort, being abandoned by thee, should chaunge their willes? Consider in counterpoize of all this that a thing so pretious as is libertie, cannot be purcha∣sed but very deerly. Finally, bethink thy selfe, whether thou hadst rather lose either those things that belong vnto thee, or thy self. Would to God thou hadst beene so happie as to waxe olde aft••r the manner of thine a••ncestors; and for∣tune had not made thee so eminent as she hath done; a sudden felicitie, thy prouince and procreation, and whatsoeuer is promised by these haue transpor∣ted thee very farre from the sight of a contented life. And greater things be∣sides these shall sease thee hereafter, and the one shall b••g••t the other. What shall be the end? Thinkest thou thy contents and honours shall be so affluent, that nothing shall remaine for thee to desire? That time shall neuer happen. That which we say to be the order and vniting of causes which tie destinie, the same likewise say we to be of coueteousnes; the one taketh his beginning from the end of the other. Into that life art thou demised which shall neyther ••nd thy miserie nor seruitude. Pull thy neeke therefore out from the yoake•• it is better to cut it in pieces all at once, then to suffer it perp••tually to be restrained. If thou withdraw thy selfe to a priuate life, all things will be lesser, but they will fill thee the more; but now diuers things, and heaped one vpon another, satis∣fie thee not. But whether haddest thou rather to hau•• ••••curitie in want, or hunger in abundance? Felicitie is both couetous, and expos••d to others greedi∣nesse. As long as nothing shall suffi••e thee, thou shalt not giue contentment to others, How sayest thou, shall I escap•• this? By any meanes whatsoeuer. Be∣thinke thy selfe, how many things thou hast rashly attempted for mon••y, how many things thou hast laboriously vndertaken for honor•• somthing also is to be attempted for thy quiet sake, or in this solicitude of pro••iniation•• and afterwards of ciuill offices, thou must wax•• old in trauell, and be alwayes tossed with new wa••es, which thou canst not auoyde by any modesti•• o•• quiet of life. For what a••ayleth thee to be willing to settle thy quiet, if thy fortune will not? What a••∣so if thou permit the same to encrease? the better the successe is, the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••he feare increaseth. I will recount vnto thee in this place the saying of M••••••nas•• who spake truth amidst the tortures of his dignitie, and ••auours in the Court of AV••VSTVS: For Highnes it selfe thundereth at the highes••. If you enquire of me in what booke he said it: it was in that which was intituled Prometheus. ••his would he say that feare and amaze possesseth the highest. Is there therefore a••••nie power of that esteem that thy speech should be so disordred? The man was ingenious, and such as was to giue a great example of Romane eloquence, if fe∣licitie had not enfeebled him, nay rather geld••d him. This ••nd attendeth if thou restraine not thy selfe presently, and shorten thy say••es•• except (which he to lately affected) thou beare for the land. I could be quit with thee for this sentence of Mecaenas, but I feare me thou wilt not recoin•••• it for good payment in this sort, but wilt cauill (if I know thee well) and ac••••pt of my paym••nt in the coyne I hold currant. Howsoeuer the matter be I will borrow from E••••••CVRVS: Thou art (saith he) to take care with whom thou e••te•••• and drinkest before

thy meate, then what thou eatest and drinkest: for a plentifull and fleshie feast without a friend, is the life of a Lion or a Wolfe. This shall not happen to thee, except thou retire thy selfe, & separate thee from the multitude; otherwise thou shalt haue at thy table, not thy friends, but such as thy remembrancer hath chosen a∣mongst the multitude of thy saluters. But he deceiueth himselfe that searcheth a friend in the base court, and approueth him in the banquet. A man much oc∣cupied and besieged by his goods, hath no one greater mischiefe, then that hee thinketh them to be his friends whom he loueth not, that beleeueth that his benefits are powerfull enough to get him friends, wheras some the more they owe a man, the more they hate him. A little debt maketh a man a debtor, a great an enemie? What therefore, doe not benefits beget friendships? They doe, if a man might make choyse of those that should receiue them, if they were well imployed, and not rashly cast away. Therfore whilst thou beginnest to be thine owne man, in the mean while vse this counsel of the wise-men, that thou think it to be more pertinent to the matter, to regard who receiueth then what.

EPIST. XX.

That Philosophie is in deedes not in words, and that therefore we ought to addresse our selues to them, and that constantly. For wisedome is the conueniency and vniforme tenor of our wils and life. Pouertie also is not to be feared, and riches if they be pre∣sent not to be loued. Moreouer, a warning that on certaine dayes we act and imitate poore men.

IF thou art in health, and thinkest thy selfe worthy at some time to be made thine owne I reioyce: for it shall be my glorie, if I may drawe thee out from thence, whereas thou floatest without hope of getting out. But this I heartily begge and earnestly exhort thee too, my Lucilius, that thou shut vp Philosophie in the secret of thy heart, and that thou make an experiment of thy progresse, not by thy speech or wri∣tings, but by the firmitie of thy minde, and the diminution of thy desires. Ap∣proue the words by the deedes. One is the scope of those that declaime and de∣mand applause of an assembly. Another of those that detaine the cares of yong and idle men with diuers and voluble disputation. Philosophie teacheth vs to doe and not to speake, and exacteth this of vs, that euery one liue according to her law, lest the life should differ from speech, that the life be in it selfe of one colour, without any discord of actions. This is both the greatest office, and to∣ken of wisedome, that the actions be correspondent to the words, and that hee which followeth her be alwayes equal & like vnto himselfe. Who shal perform this? Few, yet some shall. This thing is difficult, neyther say I that a wise-man should alwayes march one pace, but one path. Obserue therefore whether thy garment and thy house doe disagree, whether thou art liberall towards thy selfe, and niggardly towards thine, whether thou suppest frugally and buildest prodigally? Take once vnto thee a certaine rule and measure of life, and leuell the same according to that square. Some men in their houses restraine them∣selues, abroad are lauish and prodigall. This diuersitie is a vice, and the signe of an vnconstant minde, and not as yet brought in frame. Moreouer I will tell thee whence this inconstancie of affaires and counsailes doth proceed. No man pro∣poseth vnto himselfe an end wherevnto he will tend, neyther if he haue pro∣posed

it, doth he perseuer in the same, but ouer-shooteth himselfe; and not on∣ly changeth he, but return••th and re-intangleth himselfe in those vices, which he him••elfe had forsaken and condemned. That I may therefore leaue the olde definitions of wisedome, and comprehend the whole manner of humane life, I can be content with this. What is wisedome? To will one thing, and to nill the same: although thou adde not the exception, that it be iust which thou willest. One and the same thing cannot alwayes please any man, except it bee right. Men therefore know not what they will except in that very moment wherein they will. In summe, no man is positiue in his willing or nilling. The iudgement is daily varied, and turned into the contrarie, and to many men life passeth away like a May-game. Pursue then that which thou hast begun, and thou shalt happily attaine eyther to the height, or at least-wise to that thou a∣lone shalt vnderstand that as yet it is not compleat. What shall become, sayest thou, of this troope of my familiars? All this troope when thou desistest to feed them will feede themselues, or that which thou canst not know by thy merites, thou shalt vnderstand by the meanes of pouertie. She will retaine thy true and certain friends, and whosoeuer shall leaue, followed not thee but another thing. And is not pouertie to be loued for this one thing, that she discloseth vnto thee who are thy vnfained friends? O when will that day come that no man will belie thine honour? Let therefore all thy thoughts tend hither, studie and wish this, remitting all other vowes vnto God, that thou mayest be content with thy selfe and such goods that accrue by thy selfe. What felicitie may be neerer vnto God? Reduce thy selfe, and content thee with the least estate, lower then which thou canst not fall: and that thou mayest the more willingly doe it, to this shall belong the tribute of this Epistle. Although thou enuie it, yet shall Epicurus euen at this present voluntarilie defray the duetie for me. Beleeue me, this thy discourse shall haue more lustre and magnificence in a lowe bedde, and vnder a ragged coate; for it shall not onely be said but approued. And for mine owne part haue I during my life time otherwise heard that which my friend De∣metrius said, when as I saw him naked, couched and lying vpon lesse then straw? For then is he not a Master of truth, but a witnesse. What then, ought we to set light by the riches which are in our possession, and as it were in our bosome? Why may we not? Great is his courage, which hauing long time and much ad∣mired them about him, laugheth at them, and rather heareth then feel••th that they are his. It is much, not to be corrupted by the fellowship of riches. Great is he that is poore in his riches, but more secure is hee that wanteth riches. I know not, sayest thou, how this man will beare his pouertie, if he fall into the same; neyther know I, saith Epicurus, if this poore man wil contemne his riches if he fall on them. Therefore in both of them the minde is to be esteemed and looked into; whether the one affected his pouertie, the other flattered not his riches. Otherwise the ••trawe bed, and ragged coate would be but a slender argument of good will, except it were manifest, that any one suffered them not of necessitie but voluntarily. But it is the signe of a great wit, not to runne after the things as if they were the better, but to prepare himself•• to endure them with facilitie. And truely, Lucilius, they are easier: but wh••n as with mature consideration thou shalt entertaine them, they will be pleasant also: for in them there is a securitie, without which nothing is pleasant. I therefore iudge that necessarie, which as I wrote vnto thee, great men haue often done, to interpose certaine dayes, wherein by imaginarie pouertie we may exercise our selues to entertaine the true; which is the rather to be done because we haue beene

drowned in delights, and all things in our iudgements are hard and difficult: rather ought the minde to be awakened and roused from sleepe, & to be instru∣cted and admonished, that nature hath proposed vs the least. No man is borne rich: whosoeuer entreth life, is commanded to bee contented with bread and milke. From these beginnings Kingdomes containe vs not.

EPIST. XXI.

That true splendor is in Philosophie, and proceedeth not from honours or titles. That she giues to those that haue her, and clea••e vnto her, a perpetuall name and fame. An em∣bleme from EPICVRVS. To the intent thou mayest increase thy riches diminish thy desires.

THinkest thou that thou hast to doe with those thoughts whereof thou haddest writ to me? Thou hast a mightie businesse with thy selfe, and art troublesome to thy selfe. Thou knowest not what thou wouldest: thou doest better allow then follow honest things. Thou seest where felicitie is planted, but thou darest not attaine therevnto. But what it is that hindereth thee, because thou thy selfe doest little conceiue or prie into, I will tell thee. Thou thinkest these things great matters which thou art to leaue, and when as thou hast proposed to thy selfe that securitie whervnto thou art to passe the light of this life from whence thou art to part, retaineth thee as if thou wert to fall into some loathsome and darke places. Thou abusest thy selfe Lucilius, we ascend from this life to the o∣ther. The difference which is betweene splendor and light, whereas this hath a certaine originall and from it selfe, that shineth by reason of another: the same difference is there twixt this life and that. This because it is reflected vp∣pon by an externall light will presently yeeld a thicke shadow to whomsoeuer setteth himselfe before the same; but that other shineth by his owne light. Thy studies will make thee famous and noble. I will relate an example of Epi∣curus when he wrote to Idomenaeus, and reuoked him from a pompeous life to a faithfull and stable glorie, who was a minister at that time of rigorous and regall power and had the handling of many mightie matters. If (saith he) thou art tou∣ched with glorie, my Epistles shall make thee more famous then all those things which thou honourest, and for which thou art honoured. Whether, I pray you, lied he? Who had knowne Idomenaeus except Epicurus had registred and engraued him in his Letters? All those Potentates, Princes, and the King himselfe, from whom Idomenaeus had his estate and dignitie, are buried in eternall obliuion. Ciceroes E∣pistles suffer not the name of Atticus to be extinguished, neyther had Agrippa his sonne in law, nor Tiberius his neeces husband, nor Drusus Caesar his nephews sonne, amongst so great names he had beene obscured, had not Cicero maintay∣ned his reputation, and kept him in memorie. After vs there shall come a long and hidden tract of time, some few wits shall lift vp their heads, and being likely at length to sleepe in the same silence, shall resist obliuion, and shall keepe them∣selues long time in reputation. That which Epicurus could promise his friend, that promise I thee, Lucilius. I shall haue fauour with posteritie, and can beare a∣way with me the names of such as shall liue in memorie. One Virgil promised and performed to two eternall memorie:

You both are fortunate if ought my verses can, No day shall you exempt from memorie of man; Whilst haught AENEAS house shall stand, and lasting bide Vpon the Capitols rocky and loftie side, And Romane father shall the Romane Empire guide.

All those whom fortune hath aduanced, al they that haue bin the members and parcels of another mans power, their credite hath beene inhaunced, their houses haue beene frequented during the time that they themselues flourished, after them their memorie was quickly extinguished. The reputation of wits increa∣seth daily, and not onely continueth for them, but all that is receiued, which is adherent vnto them. And to the end that Idomenaeus be not gratis inclosed in my Epistle, he shall redeeme the same at his owne charge. To him Epicurus wrote this noble sentence, wherein he exhorteth him to make Pithocles rich af∣ter no vulgar or vncertaine manner: If thou wilt (saith he) make PITHOCLES rich, thou must not amplifie his possessions, but diminish his desires. This sentence is so plaine that it needeth no interpretation, and so expresse as it needeth no helpe. I admonish thee this one thing, that thou suppose not this onely to be spoken of riches, howsoeuer thou apply••st it, it is all one. If thou wilt make Pithocles ho∣nest thou must not amplifie his honours, but diminish his desires. If thou wilt that Pithocles be in perpetuall pleasure, thou must not amplifie his pleasures but diminish his desires. If thou wilt make Pithocles olde, and cause him to liue a compleat life, thou must not amplifie his yeares, but diminish his desires. Thou hast no reason to iudge that these are onely Epicurus speeches, for they are pub∣lik. That which was wont to be don in the Senate, that also think I fit to be don in Philosophie. When any one hath deliuered his minde, which partly pleaseth me, I bid him diuide his sentence, and I follow the same so diuided. The more willingly recite I these good sayings of Epicurus, to the end I may shew those who build therevpon, being conducted with a foolish presumption, and that thinke to haue a cloake for their vices, that they ought to liue honestly in what place soeuer they bide. When they shall approach these Gardens, and shall see written ouer the gate of them,

Heere well mayst thou abide my gentle guest, Heere pleasure is esteem'd the chiefest best.

The Host of this house courteous vnto his guests, full of hospitalitie and hu∣manitie, will be addressed, and shall entertain thee with a cake, and present thee with water, as much as will suffice thee, and in the end. ••ll say vnto thee: Hast thou not beene well entertained? These Gardens, I tell thee, prouoke not but ex∣tinguish hunger: neyther make th••y thee thrise-more great by the drinkings; but asswage them by a naturall and gratuitall remedie. In this pleasure am I waxen olde, I speake with thee of these desires which receiue no consolation, to which it is good to release som things, to the end they may cease. For in regard of the extraordinarie which a man may deferre, chastice and oppresse, I will ad∣uertise thee of one thing, that this is neyther a naturall nor necessarie voluptu∣ousnesse. To this thou art in no manner tyed, whatsoeuer thou bestowest on it, it is voluntarie. The bellie heareth no precepts, it demandeth and calleth on vs; yet is he not a troublesome creditor, but satisfied with little, prouided thou giue him that which thou owest, not that which thou payest.

EPIST. XXII.

We ought manfully to dislodge our selues of businesses, and how the snares are eyther to be loosed or broken; yet let opportunity and good occasion be respected, and not let slip. Furthermore he despiseth and casteth from him these false splendors. Then citeth he a sentence of EPICVRVS. That all men part out of this life children, that is igno∣rant o•• the true life.

THou vnderstandest now that thou art to acquit thy selfe of these businesses, in appearance faire, but euill: but how thou mayest ef∣fect the same, thou askest my counsell. Many things cannot bee taught but in presence. A Physitian cannot choose by his Let∣ters the time of repast and bathing, he must feele the pulse. It is an olde prouerb; That the Fencer taketh counsaile in the field appointed for combat. The countenance of his aduersarie makes him thinke on somwhat, the motion of his hand, and the inclination of his bodie aduiseth somewhat to him that bee∣holdeth or looketh on. A man may in generall giue aduice eyther by speech, or writing of that which hath beene accustomed, or of that which is needfull to be done; and such counsell both to the absent and to posteritie, but that other when it ought to be done, and how, no man will aduise from a farre o••f: we must deliberate with the things themselues. It is the duetie of a good man that is not onely present but well aduised, to take the occasion when it commeth; and therefore be intentiue after her, take her by the forlocke when thou seest her, and with all the force of thy minde, and to the vttermost of thy power labour to disburden thee of all these charges, which thou hast taken on thee. Aboue all things obserue what my counsaile is; my opinion is, that eyther thou must dismisse this kinde of life, or lose thy life. But I thinke this also that thou must keepe some moderate course, to the end that what thou hast intangled lewdly, thou mayest rather loose then breake off. And when there should be no other means to discharge thy selfe, that thou mightest boldly breake the same. There is no man so faint hearted, that had rather abide alwayes hanging in the ayre, then to fall once. Meane while beware thou principally, that thou engage not thy selfe ouer-farre, content thy selfe with those affaires thou hast vndertaken, or (since thou wilt that we beleeue so) that haue surprised thee. Thou must not entang••e thy selfe further; otherwise thou wilt loose thy excuse, and wilt make it knowne, that they haue not surprised thee. For these excuses which are wont to be made, are false. I could not do otherwise; and what if I will not? I was forced to doe it. There is no man that is constrained to follow felicitie head-long. It is much if a man cannot repulse her, at least-wise to make head a∣gainst her, and to resist•• he swiftnesse of fortune. Art thou displeased if I come not onely to giue thee counsaile, but if I call others also to thy assistance? True∣ly they are more wise th••n I am, it is of them that I take aduice, if I haue any thing to deliberate. I haue read an Epistle of Epicurus, that tendeth to this pur∣pose, which is written to Idomenaeus, whom he intreateth that as much as in him lieth, he ••lie and hasten before any greater force intercept, and cut off his liberty from retiring: yet addeth the same man, that nothing is to be attempted except when it may be aptly and liuely executed. But when the time that a man hath so long expected shall come, he saith that we ought to dislodge suddenly. Hee forbiddeth him sleepe that supposeth to flie; hee hopeth also an happie issue of those things that are most difficult, if we hasten not our selues before the time, and if wee be not negligent when it shall bee time to hasten. But I

thinke thou demaundest the aduice of the Stoicks; there is no man ought to accuse them towards thee of temeritie, they are more warie then strong. Hap∣pily thou expectest that these things be spoken to thee. It is a shame to faint vn∣der the burthen; thou oughtest to wrastle against the charge thou hast vnderta∣ken. A man that flyeth trauel, is neither valiant nor hardie; he is the man whose courage redoubleth, the more difficult his affaires grow. All this shall be said vnto thee, if perseuerance ought to bring any profit, if it be necessarie if nothing ought to be done or suffered that is vnworthie a good man; otherwise hee will not tire himselfe after a shamefull and dishonest trauaile, and would not meddle with affaires, lest he should reape paine thereby, much lesse would he doe that which thou thinkest he would doe, that finding himselfe entangled in affaires, full of ambition he would alwayes support that passion: but after that he shall know the dangers wherein he is plunged, to be full of incertaintie and doubts, he will withdraw his foote, yet not turne his backe, but by little and little will retire in safetie. Truely it is an easie thing, my Lucilius, to escape from busi∣nesse, if thou contemne the profit of them: they are those that retaine and stay vs. What shall I doe then? shall I leaue so long hopes? Shall I then desist when I am to receiue the profite? Shall I not haue any man to attend me, and giue me? Shall my litter be vnattended? and my base Court without sutors? With much hearts-griefe and vnwillingnesse doe men depart from these hopes; they loue the profit that proceedeth from these miseries, yet hate they the miseries themselues. So complaine they of their ambitions as of their miseries: and if thou consider well their true affection, they hate them not, but they are angrie with them. Shake off those men which deplore that which they haue desired, and speake of the forsaking of those things which they cannot want, thou shalt see that they incessantly keepe company with that which they report incessant∣ly be most distastefull and disliking to them. True it is, my Lucilius, that ser∣uitude retaineth few persons, and few persons retaine seruitude: but if thou art resolued in thy minde to dismisse the same, and that in good earnest libertie best pleaseth thee; and that to this one intent thou demandest counsaile, that with∣out perpetuall felicitie thou mayest haue power to doe the same. Why should not the whole company of Stoicks allow thereof? All Zenoes Chrysippi will per∣swade moderate, honest, and true things. But if for this cause thou recoilest, that thou mayest looke about thee, how much thou shalt carrie with thee, and what great riches thou needest to liue in repose, thou shalt neuer finde an issue: a man loaden with a burden cannot saue himselfe by swimming. Depart from that to enter with the fauour of the goddes into a better life, prouided that this fauour be not like vnto theirs, to whom they haue giuen euils with a smiling and gratious countenance, excused by this one thing, that the goods which burn and torment, were giuen to those that wished for them, I had alreadie sealed vp my letter, but I must open it againe, that I may send it to thee with a solemne present, and bring with it some magnificall sentence; and beholde I knowe not whether one more true or more eloquent is falne in my hand. Whose is it, say∣est thou? Epicurus: for as yet do I fill my packet with other mens purposes. No man departeth otherwise out of this life, but as if he did but newly enter. Surprise what man thou wilt, young, of middle age or olde; thou shalt finde them alike afraid of death, and all of them as ignorant of life. No man hath finished any thing: for we alwayes refer our affaires to the time to come. There is nothing in this sentence that pleaseth me so much, then when it reproacheth olde men, that as yet they are infants. No man, saith he, doth otherwise depart out of this life,

then as he was borne. It is false, we die worse then we were borne: it is our er∣rour and not natures; she must complaine of vs, and say, what meaneth this, I haue bred you without desires, without feares, without superstition, without persidiousnesse, and other plagues, depart out of life such as you entred? That man is seasoned in wisedome, who dieth as securely as he is borne. But now feare we, when danger approacheth our heart, our colour faileth vs, and fruit∣lesse teares fall from our eyes. What is more absurd then to be fearefull euen in the very entrance of securitie? But the cause hereof is this; because we are voyde of all goodnesse, whereas in the end of our life we labour with the desire of them: for no part thereof remaineth with vs, it is lost, it is vanished, no man careth how well he liueth, but how long, whereas all men might haue the hap to liue well, as no men haue to liue long.

EPIST. XXIII.

He warneth to seeke out true ioy: what is that? That which is seuere and bred of true goodnesse. ••he rest are ••allacious and ••ugitiue, this solid and firme, because it is seated in a resolute minde, which is the best part of vs: in a word, it is seated in conscience. At list EPICVRVS his saying. It is a loathsome and troublesome thing alwayes to begin to liue, and such as are inconstant are condemned.

THou supposest that I will write vnto thee how kindly the winter hath dealt with vs, which was both remisse and short; how vn∣kindly the spring was, and preposterous the colde, and such other toyes as delight those that loue words. But I will write somthing which may profit both thee and me. And what else shall that be but to exhort thee to a good mind? Askest thou me what the foundation ther∣of is? Doe not ioy in vaine things. Said I that this is the foundation, it is the perfection and fulnesse thereof. Hee obtaineth the fulnesse of this good, who knoweth wh••rein his pleasure lyeth, and hath not builded his felicitie on ano∣ther mans power: he is altogether in care, and ill assured, who is tickled with a∣ny hope, although hee holdeth it in his hand, although hee easily obtaine the same, although the things he hoped for haue neuer deceiued him. Doe this a∣boue all things, my Lucilius, learne to reioyce. Thou thinkest now that I take many of thy pleasures from thee, who driue from thee those that are gotten by casualtie, who suppose that these hopes and sweetest delights are to be auoy∣ded, nay, rather it is quite contrarie. I will not that at any time thou be without ioy. I will that it be bred vnto thee in thine owne house•• and it is bred, if so be that it be within thy selfe. All other delights replenish not the soule, but cleare the countenance: they are toyes except thou iudgest him to be merrie that laugheth. The minde ought to be resolute and confident, and lifted vp a∣boue all things. Trust me, true ioy is a seuere thing. Thinkest thou that a man with a smooth and smiling countenance, and, as these wanton fellowes speake, with a merrie eye, contemneth death, openeth his house to pouertie, bridleth his delights, and meditateth on patience? He that thinketh on all these things is in great gladnesse, but little pleasing: in possession of this gladnesse I would haue thee be, it will neuer faile thee, when as thou once findest out from whence it proceedeth. The best of the slightest mettals is in the vpper part, they are the most rich which haue their vaine hidden in their centre, and wil make him most rich who shall search their mine with diligence. These toyes and trifles where∣with

the common sort are delighted, haue a pleasure tender and facile to melt, and all that ioy which commeth from without vs, is without foundation. This whereof I speake, wherevnto I endeuour to draw thee, is solid and farre more apparent inwardly. Endeuour, I beseech thee, my welbeloued Lucilius, to pra∣ctise that only which may make thee happie: despise and spurne at those things that outwardly shine, and which are promised thee from another: fixe thie eye vpon the true good, and take thou pleasure in that which is thine owne. But what meaneth this? of thy selfe, and the better part of thy selfe: thinke also of thy bodie (although nothing may be done without it) to be a thing rather ne∣cessarie then great. It sugge••••eth vaine, short and remorsfull pleasures, and such as, if they be not well tempered with great moderation, will turne into a contra∣rie effect. I say this, that pleasure is still falling headlong, and declining vnto griefe, except it keep a mediocritie; and hard it is to keep a mean in that which thou ••irmely beleeuest to be good. The desire of true good is assured. Askest thou me what this true good is, and whence it proceedeth? I wil tell thee; from a good conscience, from honest deliberations, from vertuous and iustifiable acti∣ons, from contempt of such things as are casuall, from a peaceable, and continu∣all institution of life, which hath alwayes traced the same course. For they who leapt from some purposes to other, or else iumpe not, but by a certaine chance are transported; how can they haue any thing certaine or permanent, being themselues inconstant and in suspence? Few there are that dispose both them∣selues and their estates by counsaile. The rest after the manner of those sedges that floate on great riuers, goe not, but are carried; whereof some are detayned, and are softly conuayed by a slower streame, othersom carried away by a more vehement, others a soft tyde hath slowly carried to the shoare, others a strong current hath cast into the Sea. We must therefore be resolued what we will, and in it must we perseuer. Here is the place to pay my debt: for I can pay thee in the words of thine owne Epicurus and discharge this Epistle: It is a tedious thing alwayes to begin life: or if in this manner the sense may be the better expressed; Badly liue they who alwayes begin to liue. Why sayest thou? for this word requireth an explanation. Because their life is alwayes imperfect•• but it cannot be that hee should be prepared for death, that doth but lately beginne to liue. We must so doe, as if we had liued long enough. No man hath thought it that begin∣neth to liue, when he onely beginneth in good earnest: neuerthelesse thinke thou not that these are few in number, for almost all are such. Some doe then begin to liue, when they ought to cease: if thou thinke this and wonder, I will adde that which shall drawe thee more into admiration; some haue ceased to liue before they haue begun.

EPIST. XXIIII.

An Epistle worthie to be ranked amongst the best. He exhorteth not to feare euils to come, although they threaten. But rather to propose them to happen, and so to forme a mans selfe by examining or extenuating them. For what are all these feares? The last of them is death, and contemne that by reason. Great men haue done it. Plebe∣ans and Slaues haue done it. Why shouldest thou not aspire? Take the visard from things: that which thou fearest is paine; which a tender woman hath suffered in her child-bed. Finally, thou art borne to this, to bee tossed, to grieue, to die: acknow∣ledge thy destinie: yet with EPICVRVS precept, neither wish for death, neither feare it.

THou writest vnto me that thou art disquieted in mind about the euent of thy iudgement, which the furie of thine enemie doth denounce against thee, and thou thinkest that I will perswade thee; to propose vnto thy selfe in the meane time good successe, and feed thy selfe with vaine hopes. For what needeth it vs to call on and anticipate our calamities, which will befall vs too soone, and lose the present good for feare of the euill to come? Vndoubtedly it is a great folly to make a mans selfe miserable for the present, because that sometimes hereafter he must be: but I will leade thee to securitie by another way, if thou wilt dis∣burthen thy selfe of all care; make account, that whatsoeuer thou fearest shall befall thee, is alreadie happened, and what euill soeuer it be, measure it by thy selfe, and taxe thy feare. Thereby shalt thou iudge vndoubtedly, either that thine euill is not great, or that it is not long; neither mayest thou spend much time in gathering examples, to conforme thee, euery age is stored with them. In whatsoeuer part of affaires, either ciuill or externall, thou fixest thy memo∣rie, thou shalt meet with wits, either proficient in wisdome, or of great toward∣nesse. Can there then, if so be thou be condemned, a worse fortune befall thee, then to be banished, to be led to prison? Is there any thing more to be feared by any man, then that he shall be burned, then that he shall die? Thinke verie neerely on euery one of these things, and represent vnto thy selfe all those that haue despised them, who are not to be sought for, but chosen out. Rutillius so suffered his condemnation, as if no other thing more troubled him, then for that he was wrongfully iudged. Metellus tooke his exile couragiously, and Rutillius also willingly; the one vouchsafeing his returne for the good of the Common-weale; the other refusing Sylla his returne, to whom in those dayes nothing was denied. Socrates disputed in the prison, and whereas there were some that promised him flight, he refused to make escape; yea and he remained to the in∣tent to take from men the feare of two the most dreadfullest things, that is to say, Imprisonment and Death. Mutius thrust his hand into the flame. A bit∣ter thing it is to be burned, but how farre more intollerable, if thou suffer it by thine owne act? Thou seest an vnlearned man, neuer strengthened by my Pre∣cepts against death or griefe, onely furnished with militarie fortitude, exacting punishment from himselfe, of his frustrated attempt: he stood looking on his right hand dropping away in his enemies fire, neither remoued he his scorched hand burned to the bones, before the fire was withdrawne from him by the e∣nemie himselfe. Something might he haue performed in that campe more hap∣pily, but nothing more couragiously. See how more eager Vertue is to enter∣taine perill, then crueltie to command it. More easily did Porsenna pardon Mu∣tius,

for that he would haue killed him, then Mutius did himselfe, because he had not murthered him. These fables, thou wilt say are ouerworne, and sung amiddest the Schooles. Now wilt thou (now the cause is handled of contempt of death) alledge me Cato. And why should I not nominate and represent him reading that last night Platoes boooke with his sword behind his pillow? These two instruments in extremities had he prouided, the one to haue will to die, the other to haue power. Hauing then giuen order to his affaires, as farre as a broken and desperate estate permitted him; he thought that onely concerned him to act: that no man might either haue power to kill, or opportunitie to saue Cato. And hauing his sword drawne, which vntill that time he had kept pure and neate from all murther. Thou hast not O Fortune, said hee, as yet done any thing against me, in opposing thy selfe against all my designes and en∣terprises. I haue not as yet fought for mine owne, but my countries libertie, nei∣ther haue I endeuoured so much to liue free, as to liue amongst free men. Now since the affaires of humane kind are desperate, Cato will well finde a meanes to set himselfe at libertie. After this he grieuously wounded himselfe in the bo∣die, which being dressed and bound vp by his Physitians. Cato that had alrea∣die lost much blood, and much strength, but nothing lost of the greatnesse and goodnesse of his minde: now not only angrie with Caesar, but incensed against himselfe; he forced his naked hands into his mortall wound, and rendred or rather thrust out that generous soule of his, that contemned all power. I heape not vp together these examples for this present, to the intent to exercise my wit, but rather to giue thee courage against a thing that seemeth so dreadfull and terrible. And more easily shall I exhort thee in my opinion, if I shew, that not only great and generous persons haue contemned this moment of yeelding vp the ghost, but that some men of little value in all other things, haue in this equalled the vertue of the most generous, as that Scipio the father in law to Cncius Pompeius, who being forced by a contrarie winde to be transported into Africa, and perceiuing his ship to be in the possession of his enemies, stabbed himselfe, answering those, who demanded where the emperour was, that the Emperour was well. This vow of his made him equall with his ancestors, and suffered not that the glorie which seemeth to be fatall to the Scipions in Africa, should be interrupted. It was much to conquer Carthage, but more to conquer death. The Emperour, saith he, is well: and in what other sort should an Em∣perour die, namely, such a one that commanded Cato? I will not referre thee to former Histories, nor gather together from all ages the many contemners and despisers of death. Looke onely into these very times of ours, whose neg∣ligence and daintinesse we complaine of, thou shalt meet with men of all estates, all fortunes, all ages, which haue cut off the course of their misfortunes by their deaths. Beleeue me Lucillius, so little ought death to be feared, that nothing is to be preferred before the benefit thereof. Heare therefore securely and confi∣dently the threats of thine enemie, and although thy conscience make thee confident, yet because that many things haue credit, beside the cause, hope for that which is iust, and prepare thy selfe against iniustice. But about all things, remember thou to esteeme things simply as they be, and despoile them of the tumult and bruit that is accustomably giuen them, and thou shalt find in them, that there is nothing terrible in them, but the only feare. That which thou seest befall yong children, befalleth vs also that are greater boyes; they are af∣fraid of those whom they loue, and with whom they frequent and disport eue∣rie day, if they see them masked and disguised. Not from men onely ought we

to take the maske, but from things themselues, and yeeld them their true and naturall appearance. Why shewest thou me swords and fire, and a troope of grinning hang-men about thee? Take away this pompe, vnder which thou li∣est hidden, and wherewith thou terrifiest fooles: thou art Death, which of late my slaue or my hand-maiden hath contemned. Againe, why shewest thou me these whippes and torments, vnder so mightie a preparation? Why seuerall engines for seuerall ioynts, fitted to torture men, and a thousand other instru∣ments to plucke a man in pieces? Lay aside these things which astonish vs, com∣mand the groanes and exclamations, and the irksomenesse of the cries extorted in the middest of the torture. Vndoubtedly it is but the paine, which this gou∣tie man contemneth, which that man sick with the paine of the stomacke, in his very daintinesse endureth, which the tender woman suffereth in her childing. Light it is, if I can endure it, short it is, if I can suffer it. Tosse these things in thy minde, which thou hast oftentimes heard, which thou hast often said. Ap∣proue it by effect, if thou hast truely said it, or truely heard it. For it is a villai∣nous reproach, which is wont to be obiected against vs, if we handle the words of Philosophie, but not the workes. What thinkest thou? Supposest thou that this is the first time that death, banishment, and griefe houered ouer thee? Thou art borne to those. Let vs thinke that any thing may bee don••, as if it were hereafter to be done. That which I aduise thee to do, I surely know thou hast done. Now do I admonish thee, that thou drowne not thy mind in this sol∣licitude, for it will be dulled and haue lesse force, when thou hast reason to raise and rouse it. Withdraw the same from a priuate cause to a publike; say that thou hast a mortall and fraile bodie, which forraine iniurie and tyranny may not onely hurt, but the very pleasures thems••lues may b•• transformed into tor∣ments. The d••licacie of meates causeth the cruditie of the stomake; drunken∣nesse, trembling and astonishment of the sinewes; the pleasures of the flesh and lusts, a generall deprauation of hands and feet, and all the ioynts. If I be∣come poore, I haue many fellowes; if I be banished, I shall perswade my selfe, that the place wherein I am confined, is the place of my birth; if I be tied and manackled, what then, now I am free? That nature, as soone as we are borne, imprisoneth vs in this lumpish masse of the bodie, as in a strong prison. If I must die, I will comfort my selfe in this, that I shall cease to be any more sicke; I shall cease to be bound; I shall cease to haue power to die. I am not so fond as in this place to persecute Epicurus song, or to say that the feare of hell is vaine, that Ixion is not tost on the wheele, nor Sysiphus tied to roule and returne his stone on his shoulder; nor that any mans bowels could be renewed and deuoured daily. There is no man so childish as to feare Cerberus, and darknesse, and the shadowes of ghosts walking by night. Death either consumeth vs, or deliue∣reth vs. A better condition exempted from all charge, attendeth those who are deliuered by death. To those that are consumed, there remaineth nothing more, since both the good and the euill are equally taken from them. Permit m•• in this place to put thee in memorie of a verse thou hast made, and thinke that thou hast not written it to others, but to thy selfe. It is a shamefull and vn∣seemely thing to speake one thing and thinke another, but how odious to write one thing and to thinke another? I remember that thou deb••ting sometime on this place, diddest say, that we fall not suddenly into death, but by little and little walke vnto death. We die daily, and some part of our life is daily scantled: and then also whe•• we encrease, our life doth decrease. We haue lost our infan∣cie, and then our youth, then our mans estate; briefely, all that time which is

passed vntill this present day is death for vs. And this very day w•• liue, w•• di∣uide with death. Euen as in an hou••e-glasse, the last part of the land that falleth is no•• the onely part that discouereth the houre, but all that also which is fal••e before; so the last houre, in which we cease to be, is not the onely that causeth death, but it is that consummateth it. At that time we attaine thither, but we come thereto long before. These things when thou haddest described accor∣ding to thy accustomed stile, thou wert alwayes great, but neuer more wittie, then when thou fittedst thy words to truth, and saydest,

Death hath degrees, that is not first that fast Attempts to rauish vs, but that is last.

I had rather thou shouldest reade thy selfe, then my Epistle: it will appear•• vnto thee, that this death which we feare, is the last, but not the o••ely which we suffer. I perceiue thy bent•• Thou expectest to see what thing I should insert in∣to this my Epistle, what bould speech of any man, what pro••itable precept. Of this very matter which we haue in hand•• I will affoord thee somewhat: Epicurus is displeased as much with those that desire death, as those that feare it, & saith thus; It is a ridiculous thing, that the hatred of life maketh vs runne vnto death, when by ••he course of our life we haue ••ccasioned no lesse, but that needs we must haue recourse vnto death. Likewise in another place he saith: What is more ridiculous th••n to wish for death, when thorow the feare of death, a man hath made his life no lesse then a tor∣ment? Thou mayest also adde this, which is of the same stuffe: That the follie or rather madnesse of men is so great, that there are diuers who are constrained to die for feare of death. Which of these sentences thou shalt keepe in memory, it will confirme thee in the sufferance eyther of life or death: for we haue need both to be admonished and confirmed in both of th••s••, to the end we neyther too much loue, nor too much loath our life; and at that very time when reason counsaileth vs to finish the same, we ought not to doe it rashly, neyther in fet∣ching our race ought we to runne vpon it. A couragious and wise man, ought to leaue his life but not to slie from it: but aboue all things auoyde that affecti∣on wherwith many men are possessed, that is a desire to die: for euen as in all o∣ther things (my Lucilius) so also in death, there is a disordinate and vnbridled in••lination of the minde•• that oftentimes surpriseth men of high and generous spirits, and oftentimes fearefull and faint-hearted men; the one despise life, the other loath the same. Some other there are that are weary of liuing, and glut∣ted with doing one thing alwayes, and hate not so much their life as th••y are wearie of it. And therevnto Philosophie it selfe leadeth vs, whilst we say, How long the same? That is, I shall rise, I shall sleepe, I shall be full, I shall be hungry, I shall be a cold, I shall be hot••; there is no ••nd of any thing, but all things are shut in a circle, they flie and follow. The day expelleth the night, the night se∣condeth the d••y; Summer endeth in Autumne, Winter succeedeth it, and the Spring, Winter: all things passe that they may returne againe: I see nothing new, I doe nothing new. In the end we grow in loathing of these things. There are many that acount it not a bitter thing to liue, but superfluous.

EPIST. XXV.

He prescribeth of two friends a young and an olde in different sort: how they are to be dealt withall, with the one more roughly, with the other more remisly, lest he despaire. He exhorteth LVCILIVS himselfe to mediocritie or pouertie: at length by EPI∣CVRVS words, to take to himselfe a Tutor. Do all things as if a man looked on thee.

AS concerning our two friends, we must proceede after a different manner: for the vices of the one are to be amended, of the other to be extinguished. I will vse an intire libertie: I loue not him ex∣cept I shall offend him. What then wilt thou say? Thinkest thou to containe vnder thy discipline a pupill of fortie yeare olde? Be∣hold his age alreadie hard and vntractable: he cannot be reformed, things ply∣able may be wrought vpon. I know not whether I shall preuaile or no; I had rather the successe then my indeuour should faile me. Despaire not but that a man may heale those that haue beene afflicted with inueterate sickenesses; if thou resist their intemperance, and if thou compell them to doe and endure many things against their will. Neyther of the other can I ha••e any great hope, except this, that as yet he blusheth to offend. This shamefastnesse is to be nou∣rished, which as long as it continueth in the mind, there will be some place for good hope. With this old Souldier I think we must deale more sparingly, lest he fall into despe••ation of himself. Neither was there any more fit time to set vpon him then this, whilst he pawseth and pretendeth a shew of reformation. This int••rmission deceiued others: for my selfe it abaseth me not; I expect the return of his vic••s with great vsurie, which for the present I know are at repose, but not dispossessed. I will bestow some time vpon this matter, and I will make try∣all whether any thing may be done or no. Approue thy selfe a man vnto vs, as thou art accustomed, and trusse vp the baggage. Nothing of that which wee haue is necessarie. Let vs reture to the lawe of nature; riches are at hand, eyther that we want is gratuitall or vile. Nature desires bread & water, no man is poor to these. Vpon those things wherein a man hath confined his desire, he may ar∣gue with Iupiter himselfe of his felicitie, as Epicurus saith, some speech, of whom I will inclose in this Epistle: So doe all things (saith he) as if another man looked on. Vndoubt••dly it is very profitable to haue a guard ouer a mans selfe, and to haue one whom thou mayest respect, whom thou iudgest to haue an insight into thy thoughts. But it is farre better to liue as if one were a slaue to some one good man, who should be alwayes at his heeles: I likewise holde my selfe content•• prouided alwayes that that which thou doest, thou doest it as if a man had an eye vpon thee. Solitude induceth vs to all euill. When thou hast pro••ited so much that thou art ashamed of thy selfe, thou mayest let goe thy Tutor; in the meane time keepe thy selfe vnder the authoritie of some one: eyther let him be Cato, or Scipio, or Laelius, or such as by whose interuiew men of least hope would suppresse their vices also, whilst thou makest thy selfe him before whom thou darest not offend. When thou hast done this, ••nd that thou hast thy selfe in good esteeme, I will begin to permit thee that which Epicurus himselfe perswa∣deth. At that time especially retire thy selfe into thy selfe, when thou art com∣pelled to be in companie, it behooueth thee to differ from many men•• but in the meane while it is no securitie for thee to depart from thy selfe. Consider the one after the other: there is no man that had not rather be with any man what∣s••••uer, th••n with himselfe: then especially retire thy selfe into selfe, when as

thou art compelled to be in companie, if thou beest a good, quiet, and temperate man; otherwise forsake thy selfe, and seeke out companie: for in this case thou approchest more neere to a man of euill life.

EPIST. XXVI.

That he is olde and yet flourishing in minde. He speaketh stoutly of death, which onely (saith he) sheweth if any thing be done. The rest are words. Force and courage shall appeare when thou art dying. A clause from EPICVRVS. Learne to meditate on death.

I Tolde thee not long since that I am in view of olde age, but now I feare me I haue left olde age behinde me: vndoubtedly my yeares and bodie at this time haue neede of another word; for olde is the name of an age wearied and feeble, and not of that which is altogether wasted and worne out. Number me amongst the most decrepit; and that haue, as the prouerbe runneth, One foote already in the graue. Neuerthelesse I accompanie thee in thy ioy: in this I feele not the iniurie of my yeares in my mind, although I am sensible of them in my bo∣die, only vices and the ministeries of them are quenched by old-age. The mind is frolicke and reioyceth, because it hath not much to doe with the bodie: hee hath discharged himselfe of the greatest part of his burthen, hee exsulteth and quarrelleth with me for olde age: This, saith he, is his slower. Let vs beleeue him, and suffer him to enioy his good. I take pleasure to re-knowledge and di∣s••erne in my selfe, what part of this tranquillitie and modestie of maners which I haue, I owe vnto Philosophie, and what part vnto mine age, and diligently to discusse what things I cannot do, and what things I would not do, and whether I can any thing that I will not: for if I cannot any thing, I am glad I cannot: for what cause of complaint is there, or what discommoditie, if that which n••edes must not be, hath ceased to be? It is a great discommoditie, sayest thou, to bee diminished and to perish: and to speake more properly, to melt away. For we are not suddenly forced and cast downe, we are weakened, and euery day depri∣ueth vs of some part of our forces. And what end is better, then to steale softly on a mans end by the dissolution of nature? not that there is any euill in this, to be striken and suddenly depriued of life, but this way is sweet and gentle, to be by little and little dispossessed and robbed of a mans selfe. For mine owne part as if I were on the point of tryall, and the day were come which should pro∣nounce the sentence of all my years, I obserue, and after this manner speake vn∣to my selfe. All that which we haue eyther spoken or done, vntill this houre, is nought else but a simple and light promise of the soule, couered with much de∣ceit: death shall be the only faithfull testimonie, whether I haue profited or not. Thus prepare I my selfe couragiously for that day, wherein I will pro∣nounce of my selfe and iudge, all crafts & subtilties laide aside, whether I speake or thinke constantly, whether the contumacious wordes, whatsoeuer which I vrged and darted out against fortune, were dissembled or fained. Remoue the estimation of men, it is alwayes doubtfull and diuided on both parts. Remoue th•• studies, thou hast handled all thy life time, death must pronounce of thee. I say, this, that the disputes and learned conferences, and the wordes gatherd from the precepts of wise-men, neyther the well-composed discourse doth 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

make shew, and approue the true value of a mans minde: for the fearfullest and forward, and bolde in words. It then will appeare what thou hast done when thou departest thy life. I accept this condition: I feare not the iudgement. Thus speake I with my selfe, but suppose likewise that I speake this to thee. Thou art younger: what skilleth it? our yeares are not numbred, it is vncer∣taine in what place death expecteth thee, therfore expect thou him in all places. I would now haue made an end, and my hand was prefixing the period: but all solemnities must be obserued, and I must giue this Epistle his safe conduct. Think that I tell thee not whence I mean to borrow; for thou knowest whose coffer I vse. Tarrie a little and thou shalt be satisfied out of mine owne stocke; in the meane time Epicurus shall lend me somewhat, who saith; Meditate whe∣ther it be more commodious that death come vnto vs, or we vnto her. The end hereof is manifest: it is an excellent thing to learne to die. Happily thou thin∣kest it to be a fruitlesse thing to learne that which thou must vse but once. This is that for which we ought to meditate; wee must alwayes learne which whe∣ther we know, we cannot make proofe of. Meditate on death, who saith thus, commandeth to meditate on libertie: he that hath learned to die, hath forgot∣ten to serue, it is aboue all power, vndoubtedly beyond all. What careth he for prisons, holds, or restraints? He hath alwayes free passage. There is but one chaine that holdeth vs bound, that is the loue of life, which as it is not to be re∣iected, so is it to be diminished, to the end that if occasion so fall out, nothing may detaine or hinder vs, but that we may be ready to do that presently, which at some other time hereafter we must needs doe.

EPIST. XXVII.

He warneth and excuseth, but what? Is he alreadie good, alreadie perfect? I am not, saith he, but amongst those that are rich. I debate with thee of the common end, and the remedy of the same. Pleasures hurt or falsly helpe. Vertue alone bringeth forth a solid ioy. But assume thou and possesse thou her, by another thou mayest not. A short and merrie historie of CALVISIVS. EPICVRVS saying: Riches are a naturall pouertie.

DOest thou admonish me, sayest thou, for already thou hast admo∣nished, already corrected thy selfe? And therfore employest thou thy selfe to reforme others. And I am not so impudent to goe a∣bout to cure others, being sicke my selfe; but lying, as it were, in the same Hospitall with thee, and of the same sickenesse, I conferre with thee vpon our common infirmitie, and communicate the remedies. Lend me therefore thine eare, as if I spake within my selfe. I giue thee entrance into my countrey-house, and hauing entertained thee, I expostulate with my selfe: I crie vnto my selfe: number thy yeares, and thou wilt blush for shame, that thou willest the same which thou wouldest being a childe, and professest the like; doe thy selfe this good at the last, that thy vices may die in thee before the day of thy death befall thee. Forsake these loathsome pleasures, which thou shalt full dearely satisfie for, not onely those that are to come, but those also which are past doe hurt thee. Euen as the remorse of sinnes (although vnespied when they were commited) remaineth after them, so the repentance of loath∣some pleasures liueth after them: they are not solid, they are not faithfull. Al∣though

they hurt not, they take their flight. Rather looke after some good that remaineth firme: and no one there is, except that which the mind of it selfe fin∣deth out for himselfe. Vertue onely giueth perpetuall and assured ioy, although there be some obstacle. Yet happeneth it after the manner of clouds, which al∣waies fall downwards, and neuer surmount the day. When shall it be our good hap to attaine vnto this ioy? There remaineth much labor for him that maketh ha••••, what for him that giueth ouer and ceaseth? In which worke it concerneth thee to bestow both thy vigilancie and labour, if thou wilt see it effected. This thing admitteth no procuration. If thou wilt be assisted, thou shalt haue need of another forme of letters. Caluisius Sabinus in our time was a rich man, and had both the patrimonie and wit of a libertine and freed man. Neuer saw I man more vndecently happie then he was. This man had so bad a memorie, that now he forgot the name of Vlisses, now of Achilles, and sometimes of Priam, whom he knew as well, as we at this present remember, our Masters. No old fel∣low, keeping the rowles of the people and seruants, not to report their proper names, but to giue them surnames, that more impertinently saluteth the tribes of the people, then he saluted the Troians and Grecians, yet would he be esteemed learned. He therefore found out these short meanes, he bought him slaues with great summes of money, one that held Homer before him, another that held Hesiodus, and to the nine Liriques, besides he assigned a seuerall person. That he bought them so hugely deare, thou needest not wonder, he found them not so, but put them forth to be trained. As soone as he had gotten him this family, he began to importunate those, whom he inuited, to eate with him. At his foote he had his slaues, of whom, when he demanded a verse, to recite the same, for the most part he forgot himselfe in the middest of a word. Satellius Quadratus a smell-feast, and sharker of foolish rich men, and which followeth, a iester, and that which is adiunct to both these, a scoffer, perswaded him to get him Gram∣marians, who should recollect that he let slip, and new informe him. And when Sabinus had told him, that euery one of his slaues had cost him one hundred thousand Sestercies. Thou mightest (said he) haue bought so many cabinets for thy Acates, for lesse price, and better cheape. Yet was hee of that opinion, that he thought he knew all that, that any may in his house knew. The same Satellius on a time began to perswade him to wrastle, being both a sicke, pale and leane man. After that Sabinus had answered him. Alas, how can I doe it, who haue scarcely a handfull of life? Say not so, I pray you, said the other, seest thou not how many robust and well-set slaues thou hast? A good mind may not be bor••owed or bought, and thinke that if it were to bee sould, it should scarcely finde a chapman; but the euill and vnlettered mind is daily bought. But now receiue thou that which I owe thee, and farewell. Pouertie disposed according to the law of Nature, is a great riches. This doth Epicurus inculcate oftentimes in different manners. But it is neuer said to much, that is neuer learned enough. To some we must shew, to other some forcibly apply remedies.

EPIST. XXVIII.

The change of place changeth not the minde, `thou oughtest to change thy selfe. Take from thee thy inward pensiuenesse, euery place will be good and pleasant; yet will I, if I can, chuse the quietest and least subiect to troubles or vices. A clause, know thine owne sinnes, now art thou safe.

THou supposest that this hath only befallen thee, and admirest it as a noueltie, that in so long a voyage, and many diuersitie of places: thou hast not shaken off the sadnesse and heauinesse of spirit, it is thy minde thou must change, and not the aire. Although thou hast ouer-sailed the vast seas, although, as Virgil saith, Lands and Cities retire from thee, yet will thy vices follow thee, and tract thee whither∣soeuer thou trauellest. The same answere made Socrates to a certaine man, that made the same complaint: Why wonderest thou that thy voyages profit thee nothing, since thou thy selfe doest nothing but rowle thy selfe vp and downe in thy selfe? The same cause stayeth thee, that expelleth thee. What can the noueltie of Lands profit thee, whereto serueth the knowledge of Cities and places: it is a fruit∣lesse and friuolous labour. Wilt thou heare why these voyages bring thee no good? Thou fliest with thy selfe. Thou must discharge thy selfe of the burthen of the minde, for before that there is no place will please thee: Imagine thy face that it is as the Poet Virgil induceth and describeth Sibils, alreadie wholly troubled, touched, and full of spirit, other then his owne:

The Prophet stormes and cries, and doth aspire To thrust that god-head out, that did inspire.

Thou goest heere and there to shake off the burthen that ouer-presseth thee, which puzleth thee the more by the length of thy iourney. As in a ship, the la∣dings that are lesse moueable, are those that are lesse troublesome, & those that are vnequally trussed, doe soonest drowne that side on which they settle. All whatsoeuer thou doest, thou doest against thy selfe, and by thy motion thou hurtest thy selfe•• for thou doest shake a sicke man. But when thou hast purged thee of this euill, euery change of place cannot but giue thee pleasure. Thou mayest bee driuen into the most remotest countries, and bee confined in a little corner of Barbarie, yet shall that state be hospitable vnto thee, whatsoeuer it be. It importeth more to know what thou art comming, then where thou arriuest. And therefore ought we not to fixe our minde on any place. In this opinion you must liue. I am not borne for one corner. The whole world is my coun∣trie. And if thou knewest it well, thou wouldest not thinke it strange, that in no sort thou art comforted with the varietie of countries wherein thou hast bin, since that the countrie wherein thou last liuedst was loathsome to thee. For the first thou enteredst had beene agreeable vnto thee if thou haddest made ac∣count that euery countrie had beene throwne downe. Thou trauellest not but runnest the countrie: thou trottest and remouest from place to place, although that very thing thou seekest for (that is to say, to liue well) is found in euery place. Can there bee any thing more turbulent then the Pallace; yet if need be, a man may liue peaceably euen there. And yet if it were lawfull for mee to make mine owne choice, I would retire my selfe farre enough from the fronti∣spice

and view of the Court. For euen as melancholy abodes may hazard the firmest constitution, so are things which are lesse healthfull to a good vnder∣standing, which is not wholely accomplished, but in the way of recouerie. I dif∣fer from their opinions that keepe the mid streame, approuing a tumultuous life, and that couragiously fight daily against all sorts of extreames and tribula∣tions. A wise man will endure, but not chuse these, and had rather be in peace, then in fight. For it profitteth not a man very much to reiect his vices, if hee must contest with others. Thirtie tyrants, sayest thou, enuironed Socrates, and yet could not make him falter in his resolutions. What skilleth it how many Lords there be? It is but one seruitude. He that hath contemned this seruitude, is free before whatsoeuer troope of Commanders. It is time to giue ouer, proui∣ded that I first pay my tollage. The knowledge of a mans fault is the beginning of his health. Epicurus in my opinion hath spoken this very worthily. For hee that knoweth not that he hath offended, will not be corrected. Thou must finde out thine owne errour, before thou amendest thy selfe. Some glorie in their vices; thinkest thou that they dreame of their remedies, that make no dif∣ference betweene villanies and vertues? Therefore as much as in thee lieth re∣proue thy selfe, enquire and search into thy selfe, play the part of an accuser at the first, then of a Iudge, and lastly of a suppliant; once in thy life offend thy selfe.

EPIST. XXIX.

That MARCLLINVS is hard to be corrected: For he scorneth and mocketh, yet will I not giue him ouer, and happily in this sort I will ouercome him. EPICVRVS Sen∣tence, studie not to please the people, that is to say many.

THou enquirest some newes of our friend Marcellinus, and wouldest know what he doth. He commeth very seldome vnto vs, for no other cause, then for that hee feareth to heare the truth. From which perill he is now free, for we are to speake to none, but such as will giue eare vnto vs. Therefore it is wont to bee doubted, whether Diogenes, or any other Cynicks, who haue vsed a promiscuous and indis∣creet libertie, to exhort all such as they meet withall, whether they ought to doe so or no. For to what intent should a man chide the deafe, or controule such as are mute either by nature or sicknesse? Why, sayest thou, should I spare my words, they cost me nothing? I know not whether I shall profit him whom I admonish. This I know, that I shall profit some one, if I admonish many. The hand must be scattered. It cannot be, but he shall effect once, that attempteth often. But I thinke not, my Lucilius, that this is to be done to a great man. The authoritie of the instructer is diminished, and hath almost no power in regard of those that might bee corrected by a meaner power. It is not alwayes needfull that a good Archer hit the wh••te, sometimes hee may misse. It is not an Art that casually commeth to the effect. Wisedome is an Art that must ayme at a certaine end. Let her therefore seeke out those that may bee profited by her, and retire her selfe from those of whom ••he despaireth, prouided alwayes that shee abandon them not too soone, but forcibly and desperately attempt all remedies, when as there is lesse hope. I haue not yet lost all my hope of our friend Marcellinus, as yet he may be saued, prouided he be suddenly assisted. It

is to be feared lest he should draw him, that should set hands to help him. The power of witte is mightie in him, but alreadie depraued, and tending to euill. Notwithstanding I will vndergoe this perill, and dare to shew him his infirmi∣ties. I know well that he will follow his old custom, he will summon & marshall out all those iests, which can prouoke laughter in the eye of lamentation, and will iest at himselfe first, then at vs, and alwaies preuent that in all things, which I am to speake. He will search into our schooles, and obiect to our Philosophers their many gifts, their wenches, and good cheere. Hee will shew mee one in a∣dulterie, another in a Tauerne, another in Court. He will represent vnto me that merry Greeke, the Philosopher Ariston, which was wont to dispute in his Litter, for he had chosen this time to publish his workes. Of whose sect a que∣stion being mooued, Scaurus said vndoubtedly he is no Peripatetiques. Of the same man, when a question was moued to Iulius Graecinus, a man of good recko∣ning, what he thought of him: I cannot (saith he) tell thee, for I know not for what he is proper, ••or he hath not ••ixed a firme soote in any degree of Philosophie; as if hee were to answere from a war-like Chariot. He will cast in my teeth the Monte∣ba••ckes, which might with more honestie contemne, then sell Philosophy; yet am I resolued to suffer his vpbraids•• Let him moue me to laughter, happily I will prouoke him to teares; or if he perseuere in his laughter, I will laugh with him, as in a compleat sicknesse, because he is fallen into so pleasant a manner of madnesse. But obserue this, this iollitie is not of long continuance. Thou shalt behold such as th••se for a while laugh very hartily, and in as little while raue most bitterly. I am resolued to set on him, and to shew him how farre better he were, when they should esteeme him f••rre lesse. If I cannot wholly cut off his vices, at the least-wise I will restraine them, they shall not cease but intermit; but happily they shall cease also, if they take a custome to intermit. Neither is this to be disliked, because in those that are gi••uously sicke, a good remission of the sicknesse is taken for health. Whilest thus I prepare my selfe for him, see that thou, who canst, and knowest whence thou art escaped, and in what state thou standest, and thereby presumest how farre thou oughtest to attaine, go∣u••rne thy manners, raise thy spirit, make head against those things that are to be doubted, and number not those that giue thee cause of feare. If a man should be afraid of a multitude of people gathered together in one place, by which e∣uery one of them, one after another, must haue his passage; wouldest thou not thinke him a foole? Though diuers men threaten thy life, yet diuers cannot attempt after the same manner. The ordinance of Nature is such, that one on∣ly may as soone ridde thee of thy life, as one gaue it thee: if thou haddest any shame in thee, thou haddest sent me backe the last quarter of my pension. But lest I behaue my selfe vntowardly, in paying the vsurie of another mans money, I will pay thee that I owe thee. I would neuer please the people. For those things I know, the people alloweth not, and that which the people alloweth, I know not. Whose is this, sayeth thou? As if thou knewest not whom I command. Is it Epicurus. But the very same will all of them declaime vnto thee, from euery house of the Pe∣ripatetiques, Academickes, Stoickes, Cynickes. For who pleaseth Vertue, that can please the common people: popular fauour is purchased by euill Artes; thou must needs make thy selfe like vnto them. They will not allow thee, except they know thee. But it is farre more expedient that thou take heed to that which thou thinkest thy selfe, then either to attend, or intend the opinion of o∣thers. The friendship that is borne to dishonest things, cannot be formed, but by dishonest reason. What then; shall this Philosophie, so much esteemed and

preferred aboue all arts, and other things haue the vpper hand, that is, that ra∣ther thou make account to please thy selfe, then to please the people; that thou esteemest the opinions of one iudgement according to their waight, and not ac∣cording to their number, that thou gouerne thy life without feare, eyther of gods, or of men: & as touching misfortunes, eyther that thou surmount them, or thou end them. But if I shall see thee in credite by common voyce, and fa∣uoured amiddest the multitude, if then when thou commest into the Theatre, the acclamations, the applauses, and all the equipage of Players and Mimicks make a bruite: if euen to the very women and little children, euery one speaketh well of thee throughout the towne, why should I not haue pittie on thee, kno∣wing what way conducteth thee to this fauour?

EPIST. XXX.

That we ought to be prepared for death, and take courage in it by example of AVFIDI∣VS BASSVS, who being olde both willingly heareth of the same, and speaketh and proueth it with many reasons, that it is not to be feared. By the way some other things.

I Saw that good man Bassus A••fidius broken and wrestling with age, but at this present he is so much surcharged therewith, that it is impossible for him to raise himselfe again; age hath throwne himselfe vpon him with his whole waight. Thou knowest very well, that he hath alwayes had a weake, a drie bodie, which hee hath long time continued; or, to speake more properly, repaired and pieced; but in the end it is all at once defeated. Euen as in a leaking Ship a man stoppeth a leake or two, but when it taketh in water on euery side, there is no more means to auoyde the same, but that it must needes sinke to the bottom: so in a bodie which is olde and crazed, the weakenesse may for a time be relieued and fortifi∣ed, but when the ioynts fall asunder as an olde building, and as the one is repay∣red, the other is loosened, there is no other circumspection to be had, but to thinke how a man may get out of it. Yet our Bassus hath a good courage, for this Philosophie yeeldeth him•• she maketh couragious in all habitudes of the bodie, ioyfull in the presence of death, and not faint, hard in the defiance of life. A good Pilot saileth although his sailes be rent; and if the tempest hath disarm∣ed him, yet maketh he vse of the rest of his rigging to finish his voyage. The like doth our Bassus, and with that minde and countenance beholdeth hee his end, that thou wouldest iudge him to be ouer-firme and resolute, who should in the like sort behold another mans end. This is a great vertue Lucilius, and re∣quireth long time to be learned, to forsake this life with a constant resolution, when that vnauoydable houre of death shall approach vs. All other kindes of death are intermixed with hope: Sicknesses are healed, fire is extinguished, the ruinous house sometimes softly layeth them on the ground, which it should al∣together crush to pieces. He that hath beene swallowed vp with one surge of the Sea, hath beene cast a shoare whole and sound by an opposite billow: the sword which the souldier had aymed to strike, hath beene reuoked by his hand from the very necke of the conquered; but he whom age leadeth vnto death, hath nothing more to hope, onely it is that alone which admitteth no compri∣mise. Men die not more sweetly then after this manner, neyther also in any sort are they longer a dying. Our friend Bassus seemeth so to behaue hims••lfe,

as if he should suruiue himselfe; so great constancie and wisedome sheweth he in this his decadence: for he speaketh much of death, and doth it the more care∣fully, that if there be eyther incommoditie or feare in this businesse, it is the fault of him that dyeth, not of death; and that there is no more euill in the same, then after the same: and as mad is he, who feareth that which he is to suf∣fer, as he that feareth that which he is not to feele. Can any man thinke that these should come to passe, that a man should feele death, by which we feele nothing? Therefore, saith he, death is not onely out of euill, but out of the feare of all euill. I know very well that such discourses haue beene often had, and must oftentimes be made: but it neuer profited mee so much to reade or heare them; when they that saw the same neere themselues, were farr•• from danger of those things, which they said should not be feared. But this man had very much credite and authoritie with me, speaking thus of death, whom I saw in himselfe addressed to die. I will freely speake that which I thinke, that he giueth a better testimonie of his vertue and constant minde, that approacheth the con••ines of death, then he that is in death it selfe, for that it is which giueth heart to the most fearefull, and animateth against that which is ineuitable. So the fearefull and dismayed Fencer during the combate, willingly presenteth his throate vnto his enemie, and if the sword slip aside, himselfe addresseth and gui∣deth it with his owne hand. But despise her ••hat giueth vs leisure to see her ap∣proach, and is vpon the point to lay hands on vs, there needeth more settled and maturely established constancie, which cannot be but in him that is perfectly wise. I therefore attentiuely lent eare vnto him, and more willingly heard him how hee sentenced of death, and discoursed on the nature thereof, as one that had eyed her very nigh. More trust and credite, as I thinke, should he haue with thee that were newly reuiued from death, and that being experien∣ced in the same, should shew ••hee that there w••re no euill in death. What per∣turbation the accesse of death bringeth, they can best tell thee that haue more neerely obserued her, that haue both seene her comming, and entertained her being come. Amongst these thou mayest number Bassus, who vnwilling and loth to haue vs deceiued, telleth vs that it is as foolish a thing to feare death, as to feare olde age: for euen as age followeth youth, so death followeth age. He would not liue that will not die: for life is giuen with an exception of death, to feare which is as much more foolish, then if a man should feare doubtful things, and attend certaine. Death hath a necessitie equall and inuincible, who can complaine that he is in that estate which no man is not in? for the first part of equitie is equalitie. But now it is a vaine matter to pleade natures cause, which would that our condition should be no other then her owne. She resolueth that which she hath compounded, and whatsoeuer she h••th resolued, that com∣poundeth she againe. Now if it be any mans chance to be gently carried away by age, and not suddenly pulled out of life, but drawne away by minutes, hath he not cause to praise the gods, for sending him after sacietie, a necessarie repose to humanitie, and agreeable vnto his wearinesse. Thou seest some men wishing death, yea with ••arre greater z••••le, then they were accustomed to demand life. I cannot very well tell which of these giues vs more heart, eyther they which demand, or else they which attend death without trouble or ••ediousnesse, be∣cause rage and sudden indignation may be cause of this first affection, whereas this last can be no other thing, then a tranquilitie which proceedeth ••rom dis∣course and iudgement. Some man may precipitate himselfe into death through despite and choler, but no man entertaineth her with contentment when shee

commeth, but he that is formed by long custome and continuance. I confesse that I haue more often visited this good man, and my great friend, to see if I might alwayes finde him the same, and whether the constancie of his mind de∣cayed not through the feeblen••sse of bodie: but contrariwise, I haue alwayes found that it encreased in him, euen as we see the ioy more manifest in those, who after they haue been long time tired to gaine the prize of a course, approch the place where the palme is proposed. Hee said (conforming himselfe to the precepts of Epicurus) that first of all he should haue no paine in that last gaspe; or if he had, that he comforted himselfe in this, that it should not be long, because there is no griefe which is long, that is, great: and put the case vpon the same point of the diuision of soule and bodie, if there should fall out any torment; he comforted himselfe with this assurance, that at leastwise after this griefe, there could neuer any more succeed, and that he knew very well, that the soule and life of an old man stucke but a little within his lippes, and with a little breath would be easily seuered. The fire that hath sufficient matter to feed vpon, is extinguished by water, and sometimes by raine; that fire that wanteth fuell, di∣eth of it selfe. I very willingly giue ••are to these things, my Lucilius, not as no∣uelties, but such as presently henceforth I must make proofe of. What then? haue I not seene very m••ny that haue abridged the course of their life? I haue seene them, but I esteeme them farre more, which come vnto death without hatred of life, and which draw her not on, but entertaine her. Furthermore he said, that this trembling and feare which wee haue, when wee beleeue that death is neere vnto vs, is forged by our selues, and we trauell to ti••e our selues. For to whom is she not assistant in all places, and at all times? But let vs consider, saith he, when any occasion of death seemeth to approach vs, how many other causes there bee that are more neere, which are not feared at all. Wee should feare death at the hands of our enemie, and in the meane while cruditie, or a cathar cutteth vs short. If we would distinguish the causes of our feare, wee shall finde that they are other then they seeme to be. We feare not the stroake of death, but the thought. For we are not further off her at one time then wee are at another. So if death be to be feared, it is alwayes to be feared, for what time is exempted from death? But I had need to feare, lest thou hate so long E∣pistles worse then death. I will therefore make an end. But thinke thou alwaies on death, that thou mayest neuer feare her.

EPIST. XXXI.

That both the vowes and iudgements of the common people are to be despised. That the true good is to be sought for, and that is the knowledge of things, by which thou mayest discerne truth from falsehood, perishable from durable. He doth illustrate it by examples.

NOw doe I acknowledge my Lucilius, he beginneth to discouer himselfe to be such a one, as he alwayes promised he would bee. Continue then to keepe this course, and follow this tract and fer∣uour of mind, by which in contemning the popular goods, thou embracest those things that are of better condition. I desire not that thou shouldest make thy selfe either more great or better, then thou endeuourest to be. Thy foundations haue occupied a great place, onely doe as

much as thou hast intended to doe, and keepe thy selfe to those things which thou hast alreadie conceiued. In summe, thou shalt be wise, if thou knewest well how to close vp thine eares, which it sufficeth not to damme vp with waxe: thou must close stop them after another manner, then Vlisses did those of his compani∣ons. The voice which he feared was sweet and alluring, yet not publike. But that which is to be feared, commeth not from one rocke only, it soundeth ••rom all parts of the earth. Passe therefore speedily, not onely one suspected place of this trayterous pleasure, but all Cities. Be thou deafe vnto those that loue thee mos••. They with a good intent afford thee euill wishes, and if thou wilt be hap∣pie, beseech the gods that no one of those things that are wished thee, may fall vpon thee. They are no goods, which they wish thou shouldest be repleni••••ed wi••h. There is but one good, which is the cause and foundation of a blessed life, to trust a mans selfe. But this cannot happen except labour be contemned, and esteemed in the number of these things, which are neither good nor euill. For i•• cannot come to passe, that one thing should bee now euill, and s••raight good; now light and to be suffered, now insupportable, and to be feared. La∣bour is not good, what then is good? the contempt of labour. I should blame those that are vainely industrious, and to no purpose. Againe, such as endeuour a••ter honest ••hings, the more they busie themselues, and the lesse they permit themselues to be ouercome and kept at a stand, I shall admire and crie, arise by so much better, and respire and get the top of this cli••fe with one breath, if thou canst. Labour nourisheth generous minds. Thou art not therefore, according to that old vow of thy parents, to make choice, what thou wouldest, should be∣fall ••hee, or what thou shouldest wish: and in summe, to a man that hath ouer∣passed alreadie mighti•• things, it is vnseemely and loathsome as yet to wearie the gods. What need there any vowes? Make thou thy selfe happie, and happie shalt thou make thy selfe, if thou vnderstand that those things are good, which are mixed with ver••ue; euill, which are coupled with malice. Euen as nothing is cleere without the mixture of light; nothing black, but ••hat which hath dark∣nesse in it, or hath drawne some obscuritie into it selfe. Euen as without the helpe of fire nothing is hot, nothing without the aire is cold; so the societie of vertue and vice•• make things honest, or dishonest. What therefore is good? the knowledge of things: what is euill? the ignorance of things. Hee is a prudent man, and his arts master, that according to the time repelleth or chuseth euery thing. But neither feareth he that which he repelleth, neither admireth he that which he chuseth, if so be his mind be great and inuincible. I forbid thee to sub∣mit or su••fer thy selfe to be deprest. If thou refuse not labour, it is a little matter, require it. What labour therefore, sayest thou, is friuolous and voide? that in∣to which base causes haue called vs, is not euill no more then that which is em∣ployed in worthy actions, because it is onely the patience of the minde, which encourageth it selfe to hard and desperate attempts, and saith: Why feares•• thou? It is not a manly part to feare labour: and hereto let that be annexed, that thy vertue may be perfect, namely, an equalitie and t••nour of life in euery thing consonant vnto it selfe, which cannot be except the knowledge of things happen, and Art, by which both diuin•• and humane things may bee knowne. This is the chiefest good, which if thou possessest, thou beginnest to be a com∣panion•• not a suppliant of ••he gods. But how, sayest thou, may one attaine thereunto? It is not by the Apeninne Al••es, or the mount Graius, neither by the deserts of Candauia, neither art thou to p••sse the Syrtes or Scilla, or Charibdis, all which thou hast done, for the price of a base pettie gouernment. The way

that nature hath made and taught thee, is full of securitie and pleasure. Shee hath giuen thee those things, which if thou forsake not, thou shalt be made like vnto God; but equall with God thy money will not make thee. God hath no∣thing: Thy proud ornaments will not make thee. God is naked: The reputa∣tion of men, thy ostentation, and the knowledge of thy name will not make thee. No man knoweth God, diuers men haue a preposterous opinion of him, yet are they vnpunished. The troope of seruitours and slaues which are about thy litter•• and that beare thee vpon their armes in ••ield and Citie, cannot like∣wise serue thee any thing. That mightie and most powerfull God, he it is that carrieth all things. Neither thy beautie or strength likewise can make th••e bles∣sed, none of these but is subiect to alteration. Thou art therefore to seeke out that, that is not impaired by any, and that is such a thing, as a man cannot wish a better. What is this? a minde: but this right, good, and great. What else wilt thou call this, but a god, dwelling in humane bodie? This mind may fall as well, into a Romane Knight, as a Libertine, or seruant. For these names are forged out of ambition or iniury. It is lawful from the least corner of the world, to leape vp into heauen. Raise thy selfe therefore, and fashion thy selfe worthie of God: but this cannot be made either with gold or siluer. Of such matter as this a man cannot make an Image that resembleth God. Remember that they when they were fauourable vnto vs, their Images were made of earth.

EPIST. XXXII.

He praiseth LVCILIVS his solitude and retyring. Moreouer, he exhorteth that no man should steale away the time, being so short, and flitting. That he contemne also v••lgar vowes.

I Diligently enquire of thy behauiour, and demand of all those that come from the place where thou dwellest, what thou doest, and where, and with whom thou abidest. Thou canst not deceiue me, I am with thee. Liue thou in that fashion, as if I heard what thou diddest, yea as if I saw thine actions. Thou requirest of me, what delighteth me most, of those things I heare of thee? Truly it is that I heare no∣thing of thee, and that the most part of those whom I question with about thee, know not what thou doest. It is a wholesome aduice not to conuerse with those which are different from thy nature, and that affect other things then thou doest. I am setled in this hope, that thou canst not be mis••ed, and that thou wilt ••irmely keepe thy deliberation, although a troope of troublesome men doe haunt round about thee. What is it then? I feare not that they will change thee, but I feare they will hinder thee. But he hurteth very much that delayeth and especially in this life, which is so short, which we abbreui••t by inconstancy, giuing it now one beginning, afterwards, and that instantly another. Wee di∣uide it, and cut it in peeces. Haste thee then, my dearest Lucilius, and thinke with thy selfe, how much thou shouldest double thy pace, if behind thee thou wert pressed by thine enemie, if thou thoughtest the horse-man pursued thee, and traced after the foot-steps of those that fled. Thou art at that point, thou art chased, haste thee, and escape: bring thy selfe into a place of securitie; and then incontinently after consider, how worthy a thing it is to consummate a mans life, before death, then to expect securitie in the remainder part of his

time placed in the possession of a blessed life, which is not made more blessed if longer. O when shalt thou see that time, wherein thou knowest that time ap∣p••rtaineth not vnto thee, wherein thou shalt be peaceable and contented, and neglectfull of to morrow, and in chiefest sacietie of thy selfe? Wilt thou know what it is that maketh men greedie of that which is to come? No man is for himselfe: thy father and mother haue wished thee diuers things•• but contrari∣wise, I wish thee the contempt of all those things, whereof they would haue thee enioy the affluence. Their vowes spoyle manie to enrich thee: whatsoe∣uer they transferre vnto thee, is to be extorted from another. My desire is, that thou shouldest dispose of thy selfe, that thy spirit being assailed with incertaine ••antasies should resist them, and be setled, that it should please it selfe, and vnder∣standing true goods, which are possessed as soon as they are known, should need no adiection of age. Finally, he hath ouer-gone his necessities, and is discharged and free, who liueth when his life is done.

EPIST. XXXIII.

He denieth that sentences or short lessons should be gathered from t••e Stoicks: first, be∣cause all things are replenished and ••ull of such things; againe, because it is vnseemely to speake alwayes by authoritie. Let vs make them ours, and preferre them in our life.

THou desirest in these Epistles also, as in the former, that I set down certaine sentences of our Masters. They were not much occupied about the flowers of discourse: all their maner of speech was sub∣s••antiall and manly: know thou that inequalitie is there, where those things that are eminent are notable. No man admireth one tree, when as all the wood is growne to the same height. With these and such like sentences, all Poems and Histories are stuffed. I will not therefore haue thee think that they are of Epicurus: they are vulgar, and especially mine owne. But in that are they most noted, because they seldome occurre, because vnexpe∣cted, because it is a wonder that any thing should be constantly spoken by a man that professeth delicacie: for so doe diuers men iudge; but in my opinion ••picurus is valiant, although e••••eminately dressed. Fortitude and industrie, and a minde addressed to warre, as well lodgeth in a Persian as a high-girt Roman. Thou must not therefore exact at my handes choyce and well digested stuffe, that is continuall amongst our Masters, which amongst others is selected. Wee vent not therefore these eye-pleasing and odoriferous wares, neyther deceiue we our Merchant, like to finde nothing wh••n he entreth, besides those which are hanged vp in the front for a show. We permit them to take their patterne from whence they please. Thinkest thou that I will take out of the whole Map the particular sentences of any? To whom shall I assigne them, to Zeno, or Cleanthes, or Chrysippus, or Panaetius, or Possidonius? We are not vnder a King; ••uery one maintayneth himselfe in his owne libertie: with them whatsoeuer ••ermarchus saith, whatsoeuer Metrodorus, it is referred to one. All whatsoeuer any man hath spoken in that companie•• is spoken by authoritie, and directions of one alone. We cannot, I tell thee, although we attempt that out of so great abundance of equall things, bring forth any thing:

It is a poore mans part to count his ••locke.

Wheresoeuer thou fixes•• thine eye, thou shalt meete with that which might be eminent, vnlesse it were read amongst others of equall worthinesse: for which cause lay apart this hope, which flattereth thee with the possibilitie, that thou mayest summarily conceiue the choysest things, which the greatest spirits haue conceited. They are intirely to be looked ouer, & wholy to be discussed. When a man doth any thing he intendeth the same, and by the proiect of his spirit the worke is compiled, of which a man can dis••member nothing without the ruine of the whole. I denie thee not but that thou mayest consider euery mem∣ber one after another, prouided it be in a man that hath them. The woman is not faire whose legge or arme is praised, but shee whose full representation is cause that a man admireth not her parts; yet if thou exact the same, I will not deale so niggardly with thee as I make shew for, but with a full hand. There is a huge companie of them that li•• scattered here and there: they are to be ta∣ken, but not gathered; for they fall not, but flow perpetually, and are tyed toge∣ther amongst themselues: neyther doubt I but that they will profite those who are as yet rude, and yeeld but a superficiall attention. For those things that are circumscribed and moulded after the manner of a verse, are more easily re∣membred. Therefore giue we children certaine sentences to commit to memo∣rie, and those which the Grecians call Chries, because a childish wit can compre∣hend them, being as yet vncapable of a more certaine and solid science. A complete man hath no honour to gather nose-gayes, to stay himselfe and build on certaine vsuall or few wordes, and to trust vnto his memorie, hee ought to trust himselfe. Let him speake these but not retaine them: for it is a base thing for an olde man, or such a one as is stept in yeares to be wise in nothing but his note-booke. This said Zeno, what sayest thou? This Cleanthes, but what thou? How long art thou directed by others? both command and say what shall be committed to memorie, and produce somewhat of thine owne. I thinke there∣fore that these neuer-authors, but alwayes interpreters, lying hid vnder the sha∣dow of other men, haue no generous nature in them, which neuer dared to publish that which they had learned in long space of time, but haue exercised their memorie on other mens labours. It is one thing to remember, another thing to know: to remember is to keepe a thing in memorie which is commit∣ted; but contrariwise, to know is to make euery thing his owne, neyther to hang on examples, and so oftentimes to looke backe to his Master. This saith Zeno, that Cleanthes: make some difference betwixt thee and thy booke; how long wilt thou be a learner? At last employ thy selfe to teach others: what profiteth it me to heare that I may reade? The liuing voyce, saith hee, doth much; not that which is recommended by another mans wordes, and serueth but in stead of a Register. Adde hereunto now, that they who are neuer their owne Masters, first in that thing doe follow their ancestors, wherein no man hath not reuoked from the former. Againe, they follow them in that, which is yet in question: and it will neuer be found, if we shall be content with those thing•• that are found. Moreouer, he that followeth another man hath found nothing, and which is worse, he seeketh nothing. What then? Shall I not follow the steps of mine ancestors? Truely I will keepe the olde wayes: but if I finde out one more short, I will take it and maintaine it. They that before vs haue managed these things, were not our Lords, but our guides. Truth is open vnto all men: she is not as yet borne away all; there is much of her left for posteritie to finde out.

EPIST. XXXIIII.

That hee is glad of LVCILIVS proficiencie, because it was ••rom him, and he for∣med him. Moreouer he exhorteth him to goe forward euen to perfection.

I Grow great, and leape for ioy, and shaking off min•• olde age, I grow young againe, as often as I vnderstand by those things thou doest and writest, how much thy selfe exceedest thy selfe (for long since thou hadd••st forsaken the troupes of common so∣cietie) If the tree being grown to beare fruit delighteth the hus∣bandman: if the Shepheard take pleasure in the fruitfulnesse of his flocke: if no man beholdeth his ••oster childe otherwise, but that he reputeth his young y••ares to be his owne: what thinkest thou befalleth them which haue formed yong spirits, when those they haue trained vp raw, they suddenly see ripe. I challenge thee for mine, thou art mine own labor. When first I saw thine incli∣nation, I laide hold on thee, I exhorted thee, I encouraged thee; neyther per∣mitted I thee to pace on sof••ly, but I pricked thee forward, and now doe I the like, and henceforward I am to giue thee courage, as long as thou shalt speedily runne forward, and thou reciprocally art to exhort me. What other thing haue I desired hitherto, sayest thou? In this the greater part of time is spent. For so euen as the beginnings of the worke are said to occupie the halfe, so is this busi∣nes for the mind. The greater part of good, is to desire to become good. Know∣est thou whom I call good? I mean a perfect and absolute man, whom no force or necessitie can prouoke to doe euill. And alreadie, me thinkes, I espie such a man in thy selfe, if thou pers••uer and endeuour, and effect this, that all thy deeds and words may be agreeable and correspondent in themselues, and stamped af∣ter one coyne. His minde is estranged from the right way, whose acts are discordant.

EPIST. XXXV.

He wisheth him to be his friend that is a good man, otherwise no man is a friend, although he loueth. Let him therefore doe, and especially learne this, to liue conueniently; that is constantly, that is wisely.

WHen as so ••arnes••ly I intreat thee to studie, I doe mine owne busi∣nesse: I will haue a friend; which will not come to passe, except thou perseuer to beauti••ie thy selfe, as thou hast begun. For now thou louest me, but thou art not my friend: what then? is there a∣nie difference betwixt these two? what else? they are vnlike. He that is a friend loue••h, and he that loueth is not assuredly a friend. For which cause friendship alwayes profiteth, and loue sometimes hurteth. If thou doest no other thing, profite at least wise so well, that thou mayest learne to loue well. But aboue all things haste thy selfe during the time thou studiest for me, for feare thou learn••st not for another. Verily I doe alreadie participate the fruit••, when I imagine with my selfe that wee shall be of one minde, and that all that vigor which is eclipsed in mine age, shall returne vnto me from thine, al∣though there is little difference betwixt the one and the other, yet will I really and essentially take my pleasure. There is a certain contentment that commeth vnto vs from those, we loue although they be absent; but it is but a light and ••raile pleasure. The sight, the presence, and conuersation haue some liuing plea∣sure

in them, and principally if thou beholdest not onely him whom thou desi∣rest, but him who is such a one whom thou desirest. Present thy s••lf•• therefore vnto me as an honorable and acceptable gift; and to the end thou mayest presse in the more, thinke me to be old, and thy selfe to be mortall. Hasten thee to me, but first of all to thy selfe, profit thy selfe indeed. And aboue all things let this be thy care, that thou be constant to thy selfe. As often times as thou h••st a will to make triall, whether in any sort thou beest changed, obserue thy selfe, whether thou willest the same things to day, that thou diddest yesterday. The change of the will betokeneth that the minde swimmeth in one place, and ap∣peareth in another, euen as the winde carrieth it. That which is firme and hath a good foundation varieth not,. This perfectly happeneth to a wise man, and in some measure to a proficient, and he that hath as yet attained further. What difference is there then? This is in a manner moued, yet passeth not further, but is shaken from his place, the other is in no sort moued.

EPIST. XXXVI.

He prayseth a certaine man that had deposed himselfe to retirement, and forsaken the Common-weale. He aduiseth him to contemne the common talke, to proceed in good∣nesse, or rather to be made good. Let him goe ••orward to despise death, and that with reason.

EXhort thy friend to contemne those with a mightie mind, that blame and reproue him for seeking out retirement and quiet, forsaking his dignities, and for preferring his quiet aboue all things, when as he might haue obtained most honor. Let him make them euery day perceiue, how profitably he hath mana∣ged his affaires. They whose felicitie is enuied, will not desist from alterations, some shall be strucken downe, othersome shall fall. Felicitie is a turbulent thing, she tormenteth her selfe, she moueth the mind after diuers fashions: she push∣eth some into greatnesse, other into effeminacie: these she puffeth vp, those she mollifieth and wholly dissolueth. But some man beareth his felicitie well, yea so as some doe their wine. There is no reason therefore, that these men should perswade thee, that he is happy, who is besieged with many suiters, they flocke to him, as to a lake whom they draw drie, they trouble grieuously. They call this friend, and louer of Philosophy, a trifler and a sluggard. Thou knowest that some men speake peruersely in a contrary sense. They called him happie: what of this? was he so? I make no account of this, that to some man he see∣meth too seuere and sullen minded. Ariston said that he had rather haue a sad yong man, then such a one as was pleasing and amiable to the common sort. The wine is made good which is ••roubl••d and sharpe when it is new, and it becommeth flat before maturitie, that pleased in the fat. Let them call him sad and enemie to his aduancements: this sadnesse of his will giue him good in his latter dayes. L••t him perseuer only to loue vertue, and exercise himselfe in the good and Liberall Sciences, not those wherewith it sufficeth to be only tainted and informed, but those wherewith the minde is to bee stained and confirmed in. This is the true time of learning. What then? Is there any time wherein we are not to learne? Not so, but euen as at all times it is honest for vs to study, so in all ages is it not conuenient to beginne. It is an absurde and base thing to

see an old man at his Abee. The yong man must get, and the old man enioy. Thou shalt therefore doe a thing profitable for thy selfe, if thou makest him a good man, we ought to seeke to giue thee presents, where it is as much expedi∣ent to giue as to receiue. Finally, since he hath alreadie promised very much of himselfe, it concerneth him to continue. For it is lesse absurd to play the banquerout with a mans creditour, then with good hope. To pay this debt of anothers: hee that trafficketh hath need of a good and happie nauigation: hee that tilleth the field, of a fertile soile and a fauourable climate, he onely with a good wil may testifie that which he oweth. Fortune hath no power ouer maners. Let him dispose these in such sort, that that most quiet mind of his may come to perfection, which feeleth nothing taken from him, neither added to him, but remaineth in the same state, whatsoeuer casualties befall him: who, if common fortunes be heaped on him, is eminent aboue his meanes, or if any of these things, or all by fortune are taken from him, is no wayes lessened by his misery. If he were borne in Parthia, he would presently bend his bow, being an infant, if in Germany he were a very infant, he would shake his tender speare. If he had liued in the time of our ancestors, he had learned to ride, and to combate with the enemie hand to hand. These are the things which the discipline of the Countrie teacheth and commandeth euery one. What is it then that this man ought to learne? That which is proofe against all offensiue armes, and all sorts of enemies, is the contempt of death. For it is not to bee doubted, but that it hath in it selfe something terrible, that may offend our mindes (which Nature hath formed in loue of her selfe) neither also should it be needfull for him to addresse and accustome himselfe to that, whereunto our naturall inclination s••fficiently disposeth vs, as is the desire to conserue a mans selfe. No man lear∣neth to haue power, if need so required, to lye sweetly and softly amongst the roses: but to this is he accustomed not to submit his faith and honour to tor∣ments, but to keepe watch in the trenches standing, yea sometimes wounded: neither leaning to the dart, because in the interim sleepe seemeth to steale on those that leane to any stay. Death hath no incommoditie, for there must bee some thing, whereby she would be indamnified. And if thou hast so great a de∣sire of prolonging thy life, consider that none of these things that flie before our eyes, and hide themselues in the bosome of Nature, from which once they are parted, and shall againe depart, is not consumed. They cease, but perish not, and the death which wee feare and refuse, onely intermitteth life, but rauisheth it not. A day will come that shall restore vs once more to light, which happily di∣uers would refuse, except it reduced those that are forgotten. But hereafter I will shew more exactly, if all things which seeme to perish are changed: he ther∣fore that must returne, ought not to be grieued to depart. Obserue the circle of things that returne into themselues, thou shalt see that nothing is extinguished in this world, but that all things descend and mount againe by changes. The Summer departeth, but another yeare bringeth it againe. The Winter passeth, but yet hath he his monthes to bring him backe againe, The night concealeth the Sunne, and presently the day driueth this away. This course of the Starres returneth backe againe to the place where first they began, and which they pas∣sed ouer. A part of the heauen is continually rising and a part setting. To con∣clude, after I haue annexed this one thing, I will make an end, neither infants nor children or madde men feare death. It were therefore more then an abiect error in vs, if reason should not afford vs that securitie, whereunto folly anima∣teth vs.

EPIST. XXXVII.

That wee ought to perseuere in the way and warfare of wisedome: on her dependeth health, felicitie, and libertie. That wee may obtaine, and ouercome the same by the conduct of warre.

THat which is the greatest obligation to prepare a man to a good minde, thou hast promised to be a good man, and by oath thou hast confirmed it. If any man tell thee that a souldiers profession is delicate and facile, he deceiueth thee; I will not haue thee de∣ceiued. The forme of that honorable oath, and of that other so dishonorable are in the same termes, that is, To be burnt, bound, and slaine with the sword. To those that gaue their hands to hire vpon the sands of the Theater, that eat and drink that which they ought to pay with the price of their bloods, it is couenanted with them that they suffer these things against their willes: from thee it is expected, that thou willingly and freely su••fer the same. To them it is permitted to lay downe their weapons, and to implore the mercie of the people. Thou shalt neither submit thy selfe, nor beg for thy life, it is thy part to die constantly, and with an inuincible minde. But what profiteth it to gaine a few dayes or yeares? We come into this world without releasement. How then, sayest thou, may I acquite my selfe? Thou canst not auoide necessities, but thou mayest ouercome them. Make thy way, and Philosophie shall giue it thee; to her haue thy recourse, if thou wilt be safe, if secure, if blessed; and ••inal∣ly (which is aboue all) if thou desirest to be free. This cannot otherwise hap∣pen. Folly is a base abiect•• ••ordide, and a seruile thing, subiect to many, and they most cruel affections. Wisdome which is the sole libertie, dismisseth those rude masters, which sometimes command by course, and sometimes are together. There is but one way to attaine thereunto, and certainely it is the righ•• way: thou canst not wander out of it, martch boldly, if thou wilt make all things sub∣iect vnto thee, subiect thy selfe to reason; thou shalt gouerne many; if thou be gouerned by reason. Thou shalt learne of her, how and to whom thou shalt addresse thy selfe. Thou shalt not be surprised in affaires. Thou shalt not bring me any man that knoweth how he began to will that which he willeth. He is not inuited thereunto by mature deliberation, but it is an enforcement that dri∣ueth him thereunto. Fortune oftentimes doth no lesse haunt vs, then we hunt after her. It is a base thing, not to goe, but to be carried perforce, and sudden∣ly (being altogether amazed amiddest the storme of affaires) to aske; How came I hither.

EPIST. XXXVIII.

That precepts are oftentimes more profitable to wisedome then disputes. That they doe steale vpon the minde, and doe fructisie and spend themselues after the manner of seede.

NOt without cause requirest thou, that we frequent this commerce of Epistles betwixt thee and me. The discourse profiteth much, that by little and little stealeth into the minde. The disputes which a man is addressed to vent in the cares of the attentiue multitude, haue brute enough and lesse priuacie. Philosophie is

good counsell. No man giueth counsell with clamour, yet must we sometimes (as I should say) vse these declamations, when he that doubteth had need to be enforced. But where this is not to be effected, to inkindle a will in man to learne; but that in good earnest hee learneth, it is good to vse these more submissiue speeches. They enter more sweetly; but they continue, for there neede not many, but such as are effectuall. We ought to spread them as seede, which al∣though it be little, dilateth his forces, when it falleth into a good soile; and of so little as it is, it extendeth it selfe into great and meruailous great encreases. The like doth speech, it hath no extent, if thou looke into it, it encreaseth in the worke. They are few things which are spoken, but if the minde entertaine them well, they fructificand encrease in themselues. The same I tell thee is the condition of precepts, as of seeds, they effect much, although they be short•• but as I haue said; let a minde well disposed and setled, draw them to it selfe. Her selfe will profit very much at her time, and shall restore more then it hath re∣ceiued.

EPIST. XXXIX.

That diuers, and they diuersly haue written in Philosophy. That we ought to be stirred vp, and enkindled by example. That Nature hath this scope to call vs to high things. In which there is no plebeian felicitie, neither pleasure, because they are either fraile or hurtfull.

THe Commentaries thou demandest at my hands carefully dispo∣sed and reduced into an abridgement, I will truely compose. But see whether an ordinarie Oration be not more profitable, then this which is now commonly called a Breuiarie, and in times past when we spake Latine, a Summarie. The one is more necessarie for him that learneth, the other for him that vnderstandeth; the one teacheth, the other remembreth. But of both these I will ••econcile both the one and the other. It needeth not now that thou exact at my hands, either this or that au∣thoritie. He is vnknowne that brings his Proctor with him. I will write what thou willest; but after mine owne manner. In the meane time thou hast ma∣ny, whose writings I know not whether they bee sufficiently digested or no. Take in hand the list of the Philosophers. This very sight will compell thee to rouse thy selfe, and if thou seest how many haue laboured for thee, thou thy selfe likewise wilt desire to be one of them. For a generous minde hath this ex∣cellent impression in it, that it is inkindled and incited to honest things. There is no nobly minded man, that is delighted with base and contemptible things: he only seeketh after and extolleth those things, which make shew of greatnes and worthines. Euen as the flame directly mounteth vpward, neither may be diuerted nor depressed, or lose his actiuitie: so is our spirit in continuall motion, by so much the more stirring and actiue, by how much it is more vehement and mightie. But happie is he that hath imployed the viuacitie hereof in matters of better estimate: he shall settle himselfe in a place exempted from Fortunes command or iurisdiction: his felicities he shall temper, his aduersities conquer, and contemne those things that draw other men to admiration. It is the effect of a great minde to contemne great things, and rather to affect the meane, then bee infected with excesse. For these are pro••itable and permanent, the other

hurtfull, because superfluous. So too great fertility layeth the corne, so boughes ouer-loaden are broken, so too much fruitfulnesse neuer endeth in maturitie. The like also be falleth those mindes that are broken, and corrupt with immo∣derate felicitie, because ••hey are not onely imployed to other mens iniurie, but also to their owne. What enemie so outragious against any man, as is some mens voluptuousnesse against themselues? whose impotencie and mad lust thou mayest pardon for this one reason, because they suffer that which they of∣fended in. Neither vndeseruedly doth this furie vexe them; for it is necessari••, that desire should extend it selfe aboue measure, that hath falsi••ied the medio∣critie of nature: for naturall affection hath his end, but vaine things, and such as spring from an excessiue lust, are interminable. Profit measureth things necessa∣rie; how wilt thou confine sup••rfluities? They th••refore drowne themselues in pleasures, which they cannot shake off, in that they are brought into a cu∣stome: and for this cause are they most miserable, because they are growne vn∣to those termes, that those things which were superfluous vnto them, are made necessarie; they therefore s••rue their pleasures, and enioy them not, and loue their owne mischiefe, which is the worst of all mischiefe. And then is infelicitie consummat••, whereas such things as are dishonest, not onely doe delight, but al∣so please: and then is the remedy hopelesse, where such things as were disho∣nest, are reputed for common custome.

EPIST. XL.

He exhorteth to write, because in it is the Image of the minde. Then of SERAPIONS prompt and profuse speech, which he alledgeth to be vndecent for a Philosopher. A graue and slowe speech entreth and descendeth farther.

IN that thou writest often vnto me, I thanke thee; for by that onely meanes which thou canst, thou shewest thy selfe vnto me. I neuer r••ceiue thy Epistle, but that forthwith we are together. If the pi∣ctures of our absent friends be pleasing vnto vs, which renew their m••morie, and by a false and fained solace do lighten the griefe of their absence; how much more pleasing are letters, which set before our eyes the true trace & liuely picture of our absent friends? For that which giueth vs an vnspeakeable conten••, the hand of a friend that writeth a letter vnto vs, causeth vs to feele. Thou writest vnto me, that thou heardest Serapion the Philosopher, when he a∣riued in those parts, and how it was his custome in discoursing to huddle vp his worde•• with great volubilitie, which he powreth not out together, but smothe∣••eth and forceth: for more is vttered then one voyce can articulate. This allow I not in a Philosopher, whose pronounciation, as his life, ought to be composed. But no••••ing is well ordered that is precipitate and hastie. For this caus•• that running and continuate discourse in Homer that falleth incessantly like snow, is properly attributed to the Orator; where that which is more slow, & swee∣ter th••n honey floweth from an olde man. Resolue therefore on this, that this viole••t and abundant vigor of discourse, is more fitte for a jester or Mounte∣banke, then him that debateth on a graue and serious subiect, or such a one that will teach another man. Neyther will I that the discourse be too headlong, neyther too dreaming•• neyther such as may suspend attention, or confound the hearing For that defect & imbecilitie of speech maketh the auditor lesse atten∣tiue,

by reason of the disgust of interrupted slownesse: yet is that more easily im∣printed in memorie which is expected, then that which passeth away slightly. Furthermore men are said to giue precepts to those will learne: it is not giuen, that flieth. Adde hereunto now, that the discourse which serueth to manifest truth, ought to be simple and without flourish. This popular discourse, hath no truth in it, it tendeth onely to moue the people, & is forcible to rauish incon∣siderate ••ares, it admitteth no moderation, but suffereth it selfe to be carried a∣way. But how can it gouerne, which cannot be gouerned? Finally, what should a man thinke of that discouse, which serueth to heale the infirmities of the spi∣rit, except it should search and descend into vs? Medicines cure not except they be digested: moreouer, it hath much slightnesse and vanity in it, and hath more report then reckoning in it. The things that terrifie me must be lenified, which prouoke me must be pacified, that deceiue me must be shaken off: lecherie must be restrained, couetousnesse reproued; what one of these things can be done suddenly? What Phisitian cur••th his Patients by only passing by them? What profiteth this noyce of headlong and vnchosen wordes, which yeeld not a sha∣dow of any pleasure? But euen as it is sufficient to know diuers things, which thou wouldest not beleeue they could be done, so is it sufficient to heare them once, that haue exercised themselues in this manner of discourse. For what can a man learne, or what will he imitate, or what can he iudge of their minds whose speech is confused and hudled, and cannot be restrayned? Euen as they that runne from a steepe hill, stay not themselues in that place where their intention was, but are borne downe swiftly by the waight of their bodies, and transported further then they would; so this viuacitie and celerite of speech, cannot com∣mand it selfe, neyther is it sufficiently beseeming Philosophie, which ought to employ wordes, and not to cast them away, but by little and little to aduance it selfe. What then? Shall it not sometimes swell also? Why not, prouided that the honestie of maners be not interessed; which is not depriued by maine force and minicke impetuositie of words? Let her haue great force but moderate. The water must haue a continuall course, but not rauishing. I scarcely will per∣mit an Orator to haue such swifnesse in discourse so irreuocable, and boundles: for how can a Iudge follow the list of his discourse, especially if it be impertinent and rude, if hee suffer himselfe at that time to be borne away by ostentation, or such a passion as he cannot master? Let him in such sort make hast, and infer that his auditories attention may be able to conceiue. Thou shalt therefore do well, if thou visite them not who seeke how much, and not what they speake. And if it happen that thou art to make an Oration, then make thy choyce to speak after the maner of Publius Vinicius, of whom it being on a time demanded, how he discoursed? As••llius answered continually: for Geminius Varius had said, I know not how you call this man an eloquent man, hee cannot couple three words together. Why haddest thou not rather say so as Venicius did? Let some foole come hither, and when he shall see him dreame out his wordes one after another, as if he dictated and not discoursed, bid him Speake or neuer speake. My opinion is, that the forme of hastie speech, which in that time the famous Ora∣tor Harterius vsed, ought to be reiected by men of vnderstanding: hee neuer doubted, he neuer intermitted, he began and ended after the same manner: yet thinke I, that some things ar•• more or lesse conuenient for people of different nations. Amongst the Greekes this licence were to be borne withall, and we al∣so when we write, are wont to point euery word. And now Cicero also from whom Roman eloquence gathered excellency, was temperate in his discou••ses.

The Romane tongue ouer-look••th all, and will be both respected and courted. Fabianus a worthy man both in life and science (and that is least of these) in elo∣quence also, disputed more quickly then veh••mently, so as it might be said, that it was a facilitie, and not a celeriti••. This admit I in a wise-man: I exact not that his speech be deliuered without impediment; rather had I it should be pro∣nounced then lauished. And the more doe I deterre thee from this sicken••sse, because this thing cannot otherwise befall thee, then by ceasing to haue mode∣stie. Thou mayest rubbe thy brow, and not heare thy selfe•• for this vnaduised course will draw on many things, which thou wouldest not let slip without re∣prehension. These things I tell thee cannot happen vnto thee without preiu∣dice of thy modestie: Besides, thou haddest neede of daily exercise, and thy studie is to be transferred from matters to words: and these also, although they flowe with thee, and may runne fluent without any labor of thine, yet are they to be tempered: for euen as a modest gate becommeth a wise-man, so doth a setled and not extrauagant discourse. The totall summe then of this account shall be this, I enioyne thee to be slowe in speech.

EPIST. XLI.

Oh excellent and deep Epistle! That God dwelleth in vs, and that a good man is nothing without him. Let vs honour him, and the minde that descendeth from him. In him are our peculiar and proper goods, all other are forraine. But the thing that is good is perfect reason.

THou doest a worthie thing, and profitable to thy selfe, if, as thou writest, thou perseuerest to obtaine a good minde. How fond is it to wish the same, when as it dependeth on thine owne will? Thy hands are not to be lifted vp to heauen, neyther is the Pre∣late to be intreated, to admit thee to the eares of an Image, that thou mightest bee the better heard: God is neere vnto thee, hee is with thee, hee is within thee. Thus tell I thee, Lucilius: A sacred spirit is resident in vs, an obseruer and guardian both of our good and euils: he in like manner as we intreate him, so handleth he vs. There is no good man but hath a God within him. May any man insult ouer fortune, except he be assisted by him? he it is that giueth the noblest and most vpright counsailes. In euery good man (but what God it is vncertaine) God inhabiteth. If happily thou light into a thicke groue, full of auncient trees, and such as exceede the common height, sh••dowing the sight of heauen from thee, through the thickenesse of boughes cou••••ing one another; that height of the wood, and secrecie of the place, and the admiration of the shadow, so thicke and continuate in the open skie, will perswade thee there is some diuine presence. And if a Caue ouer-hangeth a Mountaine, eaten out of the Rocke, not made by handes, but hollowed by na∣tur••ll causes into such a concauity, it will strike thy mind with a certaine conceit of Religion. We adore the head-springs of great riuers. A suddaine eruption of a vast riuer out of the depth hath alters. The fountaines of warme waters are honoured, and the shadow or huge depth of some standing poole hath sacred it. If thou behold a man that is dreadles of perrils, vntouched with desires, hap∣pie in his afflictions, pacified in midst of tempests, beholding men from a high place, the gods from an equall; wilt thou not grow into a certaine veneration

of him? Wilt thou not say this is a greater and more high thing, then that it might be trusted to so little a bodie as it inhabiteth? The diuine power descen∣deth hither. This excellent and moderate minde, ouerpassing all things as if abiect, laughing at whatsoeuer we eyther feare or hope is inkindled by a celesti∣all power. So great a thing cannot consist without the helpe of a God. There∣fore as touching the greatest part of him, he is there from whence he descended. Euen as the Sunne beames doe in a manner touch the earth, but remaine there from whence they are sent; so a great and sacred minde, and to this end hum∣bled, that he may more neerely apprehend diuine things is conuersant in vs, but cleaueth to his originall. Thereon it dependeth, thereat it aymeth, and thereto it endeuoureth, to vs it appertaineth, as the better part. What a one therefore is this? a minde that dependeth on no other good but his owne. For what is more foolish then to praise that in a man which is forraine to him? And what more mad then that man, that admireth those things, which may immediately be transferred vnto another man? The golden raynes make not the horse the better. In one sort doth the golden crested Lion subiect himselfe whilst hee is handled, and is compelled (being ouer-wearied) patiently to receiue his orna∣ments; in another sort such a one as is generous and vntamed. This being sharp in his assault, such as nature would haue him to be, faire in his dreadfulnesse, whose comlines is in this, not to be beheld without feare, is preferd before that faint and trapped one: no man ought to glorie but in that which is his owne. We praise the Vine if she loade her branches with fruit, if she beareth down her vnder-props vnto the ground, by reason of the waight of those branches shee beareth. Will any man preferre that Vine before this, that hath golden grapes and golden leaues hanging from it? The proper vertue in the Vine is fertilitie: in a man also that is to be praised which is his own. He hath a faire train, a good∣ly house, he soweth much, he makes much by vsurie; none of these things is in him but about him. Praise that in him, which neyther may be taken away, nor giuen, which is properly a mans. Askest thou what it is? The minde, and per∣fect reason in the minde. For man is a reasonable creature; his good therefore is consummate, if he hath fulfilled that to which he was borne. But what is that which this reason exacteth at his handes? An easie matter; to liue according to his nature: but common madnesse maketh this thing difficult. We thrust one another into vices, but how may they be recalled vnto health, whom no man restraineth, and the people thrusteth on.

EPIST. XLII.

That we are not suddenly to giue credite or iudgement of a good man, because it is a mat∣ter of much moment. That some make shew, others dissemble; not vnlikely to prooue euill, if occasion be offered. He teacheth this by a certaine mans example. Then, that we are not to labour in externall things, which haue incommodities, or false commo∣dities in them.

THis man hath alreadie perswaded thee, that he is a good man, and yet a good man may not so soone eyther be made or vnderstood: Knowest thou now whom I terme a good man? Him who is ordi∣narily so reputed: for that other happily like another Phoenix is borne once in fiue hundreth yeares: neyther is it to be wondred at, that great and rare things are in long continuance and space of time begot∣ten.

Fortune often times produceth meane things, such are borne in troupes; but such things as are excellent she commendeth in their raritie. But this man as yet is very farre from that which he professeth; and if he knew what a good man were, he would not as yet beleeue himselfe to be one, and happily also hee would despaire that he might be one. But he thinketh ill of the euill, and this doe the euill also: neyther is there any greater punishment of wickednesse, then that it displeaseth both himselfe and his. But hee hateth those that impo∣tently vse a sudden and great power: the same will hee doe when he can the same. Diuers mens vices lie hidden because they are weake, addressed notwith∣standing to attempt, and dare as much as they whom felicitie hath discouered, as soone as they may haue any assurance of their forces. They want the instru∣ments to expresse their malice. So may a venemous serpent likewise be safely handled whilst he is stiffe with cold, not that he wanteth his venom, but because they are benummed. The crueltie, ambition, and intemperance of diuers men would attempt as bad offices as the basest men, if fortune fayled them not, giue them onely the power as much as they list, thou shalt easily perceiue their will. Doest thou not remember, that when thou toldest me, that thou haddest such a man in thy power, that I answered thee, that he was vnconstant and variable, and that thou heldest him not by the foote but by the feather? Tolde I thee a lie? He was held by a feather, which he shaked off and fled. Thou knowest ve∣rie well what Tragedies he afterwards excited, and how many things he at∣tempted, which in all likelyhood at last were to fall on his owne head: he per∣ceiued not how by other mens perils hee came headlong into his owne, hee thought not how burthensom the things were which he asked, although they were not superfluous. This therefore in those things which we affect, and for which we trauell; for with great labour we ought to obserue and looke into, ey∣ther that there is no commoditie in them, or else more incommoditie. Some things are superfluous, some are not of so much esteeme; but these things wee foresee not, and those things that cost vs most dearely, seeme vnto vs to be gi∣uen for nothing. Herein although our stupiditie be most apparant, that we on∣ly thinke those things to be bought, for which we pay our money, and those things we call gratuitall, for which we sell and giue our selues; which we would not buy if it should cost vs one of our houses, if wee should redeeme the same with som fruitful and pleasant possession: to these are we most ready to attaine with much care, with perill, with hazard of our modesties, libertie, and time, so is there nothing more abiect and contemptible to euerie man then himselfe. Let vs therefore in all our counsailes and affaires doe that which we are wont to doe: as often as we goe to the Merchant of any ware to buy, let vs see and examine that which we desire, and know the price thereof. That often-times is highest prized for which no price is giuen. I can shew thee many things, which being gotten and possessed, haue extorted our liberty from vs: we should be our owne if these were not ours. Think•• therefore very carefully vpon these things, not onely where there shall be question of gaine, but also of losse: is this perishable? for it was casuall; thou shalt as easily liue without this as thou li∣uedst before. If thou hast had it long, thou lose•••• it after thou art glutted there∣with: if but a little while, thou losest it before thou haddest the true taste and vse therefore. If thou haue lesse money, thy trouble shall be the lesse; if lesse fauour, thou shalt haue lesse enuie also. Looke into all these things which ••n∣rage vs, and which we lose with many teares•• and thou shalt know that the opi∣nion of the damage, and not the damage it selfe is troublesome vnto vs, no man

feeleth but apprehendeth that these are lost. He that hath himselfe hath lost nothing; but how many haue had the hap to possesse themselues?

EPIST. XLIII.

That he doth, lies not hidden, but that rumour publisheth all things. Therefore so liue (saith he) as if thou liuedst in publique. What if thou be hid also? Thy minde know∣eth and seeth.

THou desirest to know how these newes came to mine eares, who it was that tolde me that thy thought was thus, whereas thou haddest disclosed it to no man liuing: he that knoweth the most, rumor. What then (sayest thou) am I so great that I can excite a rumor? Thou art not to measure thy selfe in regard of this place where I bide, but respect thou that wherein thou liuest: whatsoeuer is e∣minent amiddest the places neere vnto thee, is great in that place where it is e∣minent. For greatnes hath no certaine measure; comparison eyther extinguish∣eth or depresseth it. The Ship which is great in the Riuer, is little in the Sea: the helme that to one ship is great, to another is little. Now in that Prouince where thou liuest thou art great, although thou contemnethy selfe. It is both inquired of and knowne, both how thou suppest and how thou sleepest. So much the more oughtest thou to be more circumspect in thy carriage. Then iudge thy selfe happie when thou canst liue publiquely, when as thy roofe and walles may couer and not hide thee; which for the most part wee iudge to be builded about vs, not to the intent we may liue more safely, but to the end we may sinne more secretly. I will tell thee a thing by which thou mayest estimate our maners, thou shalt scarcely find any man that can liue with an open doore. Our conscience, and not our arrogance hath set a guard at our gates: so liue we that we esteeme a sudden espiall to be an actuall surprisall. But what pro••iteth it a man to hide himselfe, and to haue both the eyes and eares of men? A good conscience challengeth the whole world, an euill is alwayes doubtfull and care∣full, yea euen in the desert. If thine actions be honest, let all men know them: if dishonest, what skilleth it if no man know them, so thou know them thy selfe? O wretch that thou art, if thou contemnest this witnesse.

EPIST. XLIIII.

An excellent Epistle. Let no man contemne himselfe for his basenesse of birth, if hee commeth vnto wisedome, that is, to vertue. This onely enobleth.

ONce againe thou playest the coward with me, and sayest that na∣ture first; and after her, fortune haue beene contrarie and vnkind toward thee, whereas thou mayest exempt thy selfe from the common sort, and obtaine the most high felicitie that may be∣fall men. If ought else be good in Philosophie, this is it, that it regardeth not Nobilitie or discent. If all men be reuoked to their first originall they are of the gods. Thou art a Romane Knight, and to this order thine indu∣strie hath aduanced thee: but vndoubtedly there are diuers to whom the four∣teene

degrees are closed. The Court admitteth not all men. The Campe like∣wise cannot without trouble, make choyse of those whom they entertaine for labour and trauell. A good spirit and intention is open to all men, to this we are all noble, neyther dooth Philosophie reiect or elect any man, but shi∣neth vnto all. Socrates was no Patritian: Cleanthes drew water and imployed his handes in watering his Garden. Philosophie intertained Plato, not so thorowly noble as she made him. And what cause hast thou to despaire, but that thou mayest be like vnto these? All these were thine auncestors, if thou behauest thy selfe worthy of them•• and so shalt thou behaue and carrie thy selfe, if thou incontinently perswade thy selfe that no man can out-strip thee in Nobilitie. There are before vs as many as we are, and the originall of all very farre surpas∣seth our memorie. Plato saith that there is not any King that is not descended of a slaue, & that there is not any slaue which is not descended from Kings. All these things hath long varietie mingled together, and fortune hath turned top∣sie-turuie: Who is therefore a Gentleman? He that is well composed by na∣ture vnto vertue. This onely is to be expected, otherwise if thou recallest mee to antiquitie, no man is not but from thence, before which nothing is. From the first beginning of this world vnto this day, the line of alteration hath deri∣ued vs from noble to villeinies. It maketh not a Noble-man to haue his Court full of smoakie Images: no man liued for our glorie, neyther is that which was before vs, ours. The minde maketh the Noble-man, which from how base condition soeuer, enobleth vs to rise aboue fortune. Thinke thy selfe there∣fore that thou art no Roman Knight, but a libertine. Thou mayest attaine this, that thou alone mayest be free amongst libertines. But how sayest thou, if thou distinguish not good and euill by the peoples iudgements? We must regard, not whence they come, but whether they goe. For if there be any thing may make the life happie, it is absolutely good, because it may not be depraued or turned into euill: what is it then wherein we erre? In this, that all who affect a happy life, take the instruments thereof for the thing it selfe; and whilst they seeke the same, flie the same: for whereas solid securitie is the scope of a blessed life, and the vnshaken confidence thereof, they gather the causes of solicitude, and by a dangerous iourney they not only beare, but draw the burthens of life. Thus alwayes recoyle they farre from the effect of that they seek, and the more labour they imploy, the more are they intangled, and carried backward, which happeneth to those that haste them in a labyrinth, their very speed intangleth them.

EPIST. XLV.

That not many, but good bookes are necessarie to obtaine wisedome. That the ancient vainly wrote some things superfluous, some subtilly. Then against Cauillers and mi∣staking of words. The matter, and the difference thereof is to be sought for. Who is blessed, and what is truely good?

THou complainest thee of the want of bookes in those parts where thou bidest. It skilleth not how many, but how good thou hast, a certain reading profiteth, & that which is full of varietie deligh∣teth. He that will attaine to his predestinated scope, let him fol∣low one way, and not wander in many, for this is not to go, but to erre. I had rather, sayest thou, that thou gauest me bookes, then counsell, and

for mine owne part, I am readie to send thee wholly, if I haue, and to voide my whole store, and I would transport my selfe vnto those parts, if it were possible, and had I not a hope, that very shortly I should accomplish and set an end to thy endeuour, I had vndertaken the iorney in these mine old yeares, neither might Charibdis, Scylla, and this fabulous sea affright me. I had not onely sailed, but swomne ouer these seas, so as I might embrace thee, and being present with thee, estimated, how much thou wert encreased in thy courage. And whereas thou desirest, that my bookes should bee sent vnto thee, I esteeme my selfe no more eloquent, for that then I would account my selfe faire, if so be thou shoul∣dest require my picture of me. I know that this proceedeth from thy goodwill towards mee, and not from thy iudgement, and that affection hath entangled and deceiued thee, and not thy iudgement. But whatsoeuer they be, see thou reade them in such sort, as if as yet thou sought the truth, but knew it not, but peremptorily sought it. For I haue not seuerely tied my selfe to any, I beare the name of no man, I ascribe much to the iudgement of great men, and chal∣lenge something to my selfe. For they also le••t vs not things onely found by them, but also those which remaine to be found, and peraduenture they had found out things necessarie, had they not sought after the superfluous. The cauillation of words, and captious disputations, which exercise a vaine braine, stole much time from them. We weaue knots, and tie ambiguous signification to words, and then dissolue them. Haue we so much leasure? Know wee now how to liue, and how to die? Thither with all our mindes are we to addresse our selues, where prouision may be taken, that the things themselues may de∣ceiue vs, and not the words. Why distinguishest thou vnto me the similitudes of words, wherewith no man is euer caught, but when he disputeth, the things themselues deceiue vs, discerne them: we embrace euill things in stead of good, we wish contrarie to that we haue wished, our vowes impugne our vowes, our counsels our counsels. How much doth flattery resemble friendship? It doth not onely imitate the same, but it ouercommeth and outstrippeth it: it is receiued with open and fauourable eares, and descendeth into the inward heart, gratious in that wherein it hurteth. Teach me how I may know this similitude. There comes vnto me, in stead of a friend, a flattering enemie. Vices creepe vpon vs vnder pretext of vertues; temeritie lies hidden vnder the name of fortitude: moderation is called sloth, a warie man is accounted fearefull. In those things we erre with great danger; imprint certaine notes on these to make them knowne. But he that is demanded whether he hath hornes, is not so foolish to rub his brow; neither againe so foolish and beetle-headed, that he is ignorant that he hath none of those hornes, which thou wouldest perswade him to haue by a subtill collection of arguments. But these deceiue without damage; in such manner as the boxes and lots of the Iuglers, in which the very deceit is a delight. Bring to passe that I may vnderstand how it is done, I haue lost the vse. The same say I of these cauellings, for by what more fit name can I call Sophismes? Neither hurt they the ignorant, neither helpe they the vnderstan∣ding: verily if thou wilt take away all ambiguitie of words, teach vs this, that he is not blessed whom the common people tearmeth so, into whose bands great summes of money are gathered; but he, whose minde is all his goodnesse, who is erect, vpright, high minded, and a contemner of those things which other men wonder at, who seeth no man with whom he would exchange himselfe, which estimateth a man onely in that part wherein he is a man, who vseth Na∣ture as his mistresse, and is composed according to her lawes, and so liueth as

she prescribeth. From whom no force can rauish his good, who turneth euill into goodnesse, assured in his iudgement, vnshaken, vndaunted: whom some power moueth, but none perturbeth; whom Fortune, when with her greatest force, she hath darted the most dangerous dart she hath against him, pricketh, but woundeth not, and that very seldome. For all other weapons of hers, wher∣with she warreth against mankind, are as the haile which falleth on the house∣eues, it striketh on them, without any incommoditie to the inhabitants of the same, and maketh a noice, and is dissolued. Why detainest thou me in this, that thou callest thy selfe Pseudomenon, (that is to say, a lyer) of whom so many bookes haue beene written. Behold, all my life is but lying, reproue thou it, re∣duce this to truth, if thou art so subtill. She iudgeth those things necessarie, the greater part whereof is superfluous, that likewise which is not superfluous, hath no moment in it selfe, in this that it may make a man fortunate or blessed. For if any thing be necessarie, it is not presently good. And wee prostitute good∣nesse and abuse it, if wee attribute that name to bread and cakes, and such like things, without which life cannot be maintained. That which is truely good is necessarie, but that which is necessarie is not presently good, for some things are necessarie which are most abiect. There is no man that is so ignorant of the dignitie of goodnesse, which comparingly will abuse it with those things that haue their lasting but for a day. What then? Wilt thou not imploy thy study and care to make manifest vnto euery man, and let them see, that with great losse of time a man searcheth for superfluous and vnprofitable things; and that di∣uers haue ouerpassed their life, in onely imploying themselues in seeking out the instruments of life. Looke into euery particular, and consider the whole, there is no mans life, but is aimed at to morrow. Thou askest me what euill there is herein? Infinite, for they liue not, but are to liue, they deferre all things. Although we were circumspect, yet life would outstrip vs, and now when wee are stayed, she commeth and ouergoeth vs, and is ended in the last day, and eue∣ry day perisheth. But lest I should exceed the measure of an Epistle, which should not fill a mans left hand in reading. I will deferre this debate with the ouer-subtill Logitians till another time, who onely haue care of this, and not of that.

EPIST. XLVI.

He iudgeth of LVCILIVS his Booke, and praiseth it.

I Haue receiued the booke which thou promisedst me, and as if I should reade it ouer at leasure; I opened it, and had onely a will to taste it. But afterwards it so flattered and toled me on, that I thought fit to passe further, which how eloquent it is, thou mayst cōiecture by this, it seemed short vnto me, for that neither of thy time nor of mine, but at first sight it seemed to be either Titus Liuius, or Epicurus: but with so much sweetnesse it detained and allured me, that without all delay I ouer-read it. The Sunne inuited me, hunger admonished mee, the shower threatened me, yet did I reade it ouer, not so much delighted as glad∣ded. And I would say vnto thee, what a wit hath this man? What a minde? What abilitie? If he had pawsed, if he had risen by degrees. Now hath it not beene vehemencie, but a continuate forme, and a composition masculine and

holy, notwithstanding there was a mixture of sweetnesse and grace. Thou art great and vpright, this course I aduise thee to; so proceed thou. The matter also did somewhat, therefore is it to be chosen fruitfull, that may rauish a mans minde and excite him. I will write more of thy booke when I haue reexamined it; but as yet my iudgement is not setled. I seeme but as one that hath heard it, and not ouer-read it. Suffer me likewise to make inquisition. Thou needest not feare, thou shalt heare the truth. O happie man that thou art, that hast no∣thing for which a man should lie vnto thee from so farre off: but that (euen where the cause is taken away) we lye for customes sake.

EPIST. XLVII.

That we ought to behaue our selues, and liue with our seruants familiarly. That the error of his age was, in their pride and contempt: yet that according to each mans dispo∣sition and vertue, that the one and the other are either more freely or seuerely to bee handled.

I Haue willingly vnderstood by those that come from thee, that thou liuest familiarly with thy slaues: this becommeth thy pru∣dence, this is answerable to thy wisdome. Are they thy slaues? nay rather thy companions. Are they thy slaues? nay rather thine humble friends. Are they thy slaues? nay rather thy fel∣low seruants. If thou knowest that Fortune hath as much power ouer the one, as ouer the other. I therefore laugh at those that thinke it an abiect and base thing to sup with their seruants: and why? But for that their ouerweening cu∣stome hath enuironed the supping Lord with a troope of attending seruants. Farre more eateth he, then he digesteth, and with an excessiue greedines loadeth ••ee his distended belly, that with greater labour hee may vomit vp all those things, when with surfet he hath ingested them; but his vnhappy seruants haue scarce leaue to moue their lips, no not to this end, to speake. Each murmure is stilled by the rod, and scarce casuall things escape the whip, a cough, a sneese, a hicket; a great penaltie is threatned, if by any speech a renewed silence be inter∣rupted: the liuelong night stand they fasting, and waite they mute. So com∣meth it to passe, that these speake of their Lord, who in his presence haue no li∣bertie to discourse. But they who had not onely libertie to speake before their Masters, but to conferre with them, whose mouth was not sewed vp, were readie to hazard their heads for their Masters, and turne their imminent perill on their owne neckes. At the banquets they spake, but in their torments they were silent. Furthermore, a prouerb of no lesse arrogancie is published, That as many seruants we haue, so many enemies. We haue them not our enemies, but we make them. In the meane space, I let passe many both cruell and inhu∣mane things: that we abuse them not, as men only, but as beasts. That where∣as we are set at supper, one wipeth away our spittings, and other crouching vn∣der the table, gathereth the reliques of the drunkards: another cutteth vp the deerest fowle, and conueying his cunning ••and thorow their breasts and hinder parts, in certaine conceits of caruing, cut them in peeces: vnhappy he that liueth to this one thing, to cut vp wilde fowle decently. But that he is more misera∣ble, that for voluptuousnesse sake teacheth this, then he that learneth it for ne∣cessitie. Another skinking the wine, attired after woman-like fashion, striueth

with age: he cannot ••lie child-hood, yet is hee drawne backe, and now sweete faced, his haires either shauen or pulled vp by the rootes, in his martiall habite attendeth and watcheth hee all night, which hee diuideth betwixt his Lords drunkennesse and lust, and in the chamber is a man, and at the banquet a boy. Another to whom the censure of the ghuests is permitted, attendeth vnhappie as he is, and expecteth those, whom flattery or the intemperance either of their mouthes or tongues reuoaketh the next day. Ad to these, the Caterers, who haue a certaine and subtill knowledge of their Lords best liking; who know the sauour of that meate, they hold best pleasing to their appetite, what most affe∣cteth their eye, what meate will quicken their loathing stomackes, when hee loatheth in his fulnesse, what he longeth for that very day. With these he can∣not abide to sup, and thinketh it a diminution of his maiestie, to sit down•• at the same table with his seruant. God forbid that of those they should find their ma∣sters. I saw Callistus master attend at his doore, and him excluded amongst many that entered, who had set him a seruile schedule on his brest to be sold, and had brought him forth to saile amongst his most ridiculous and abiect slaues. That very slaue of his did him fauour, who was by him set to saile amongst the most abiect first rancke, fruitlessely prostituted by the Crier, basely made vendible by the master, yea he himselfe thought him vnworthy of his house. The Lord sold Callistus: but how many things did Callistus sell to his master? Wilt thou thinke, that he whom thou termest thy slaue, was borne of the same seed, en∣ioyeth the same aire, equally breatheth, liueth and dieth as thou shalt? Thou mayest see him as noble, as he thee seruile. How many men did Fortune de∣presse in the Marian slaughter, of noble birth, and such as after being thrice Tri∣bunes were in election to be Senators? One of those she made a shepheard, the other the keeper of a Cottage. Contemne not the man of that fortune; into which thou mayest be transferred, whilest thou contemnest. I will not intrude my selfe into a large field of discourse, and dispute of the vse of seruants, in re∣spect of whom wee are most cruell, proud, and contumelious: yet is this the summe of my precept. So liue with thine inferiour, as thou wouldest thy supe∣riour should liue with thee. As o••ten as thou bethinkest thy selfe what power thou hast ouer thy seruant, b••thinke thy s••lfe that so much power thy mast••r hath ouer thee. But I, sayest thou, haue no master, the better thy fortune, hap∣pily thou shalt haue. Knowest thou not in what yeares Hecuba began to serue, in what time Cr••sus, in what time Darius mother, in what time Plat••, in what time Diogenes? Liue with thy seruant kindly and court••ously, vouchsafe him conference, admit him to counsaile, and conuersation with thee. In this place the whole troope of these nice companions will crie out at me: There is no∣thing more base, nothing more abiect then this is. These very same men will I finde kissing the hand of other mens slaues. See you not, that likewise how by this meanes our ancestors withdrew all enuie from the masters, all con••umely from the seruants? They called the master the father of the houshold, the ser∣uants (which as yet continueth amongst the Mimicks) his familiars. They in∣stituted a holy day, wherein not onely the masters feasted with their seruants, but wherein beside that, they permitted them to bear•• honor in their house, and to giue sentence and iudgement, their house to be a little common-weale. What then? Shall I set all my seruants at my table? No more then all my chil∣dren. Thou errest, if thou thinkest that I will reiect some of them•• as destinated to a more seruile office, as that Muliter, and that Cow keeper, I will not mea∣sure them by their offices, but by their manners. Each one giueth himselfe

manners, casualtie assigneth him ministeries. Let some of them sup with thee, because they are worthy, some that they may be worthy. For if any thing bee seruile in them by reason of their sordid cōuersation, their liuing & conuersing with those that are better nurtured will shake it off. Thou art not, my Lucilius, onely to seeke thy friend in the Market-place, and in the Court, if thou diligent∣ly attend, thou shalt finde him in thy house also. Oftentimes a good matter cea∣seth without the work-man; trie and make experiment. Euen as he is a foole, who hauing a horse to buy, looketh not on him, but on his furniture and bit; so is he most fond, that esteemeth a man, either by his garment, or by his con∣dition, which is wrapped about vs after the manner of a garment. Is hee a ser∣uant? But happily a free man in minde. Is he a seruant? Shall this hurt him? Shew one that is not. One serueth his lust, another his auarice, another ambi∣tion, another feare. I will shew you a man that hath beene Consul, seruing an old woman. I will let yov see a rich man seruing a poore maid: I will shew you the noblest yong men, the very bond-slaues of Players. There is no seruitude more foule, then that which is voluntarie. For which cause, thou hast no rea∣son that these disdainfull fellowes should deterre thee from shewing thy selfe affable to thy seruants, and not proudly superiour. Let them rather honour thee, then feare thee. Will any man say that I call seruants to libertie, and cast downe masters from their dignitie, in that I say they should rather honor their master then feare him? Is it so, saith he, shall they wholly honor thee as clients and sauiours? He that saith thus, forgetteth that that is very small to masters, which is enough for God, who is worshipped and loued. Loue cannot be ming∣led with feare. I therefore thinke, that thou doest most vprightly; if thou wilt not be feared by thy ••eruants, that thou vsest the chastisement of words. Such as are dumbe are admonished by stripes: euery thing that offendeth vs, hurteth vs not. But daintinesse compelleth vs to outrage, so that whatsoeuer is not an∣swerable to our will, prouoketh vs to wrath. Wee put vpon vs the mindes of Kings, for they also forgetfull of their own strength, and other mens imbecilitie are so incensed, so wrathfull, as if they had receiued an iniurie, from the perill of which thing, the greatnesse of their fortune secureth them most; neither are they ignorant hereof, but they take occasion of hurting by seeking it; they re∣ceiued an iniurie, that they might doe wrong. I will not detaine thee longer, for thou hast no need of exhortation. Good manners haue this amongst other things, they ple••se themselues and remaine. Malice is light, and is often chan∣ged, not to the better, but to another thing.

EPIST. XLVIII.

That the same things are expedient for friends, and that the one is profitable to the other. Then against captious cauils and difficult follies. What doe you? What play you? The question is of life. Assist and forme it. Of fortune. Against her giue defence.

TO that Epistle of thine, which thou sendest to me in my iourney, so long as the very iourney it selfe was, I will make answer. I must recreat my selfe, and looke about me what I counsaile. For thou also who counsellest me, diddest bethinke thee long, whether thou shouldest counsaile; how much more ought I to doe the like, wheras a longer respite is requisit to dissolue and answer thee, to propound

the question: verily one course is expedient for thee, another for me: once more speake I like Epicurus. But to me the same is expedient that to thee, else am I not thy friend, except whatsoeuer is done that concerneth thee, be mine. Friendship maketh a mutuall interchange of all things betweene vs, neyther hath any one of vs in particular a felicitie or aduersitie, but they are communi∣cable to both. Neyther can any man liue happily who onely respecteth him∣selfe, that conuerteth all things to his own pro••its: thou must liue vnto another, if thou wilt liue vnto thy selfe. This societie both diligently and holily is to be obserued•• which mixeth all of vs together, and iudgeth that there is some one common right of humane race. It auayleth very much also to perfite that inte∣rior societie of friendship, of which I spake. For he shall haue all things in com∣mon with his friend, that hath many things common with man. This would I haue taught me, O Lucilius, the best of men, by those subtill Sophisters, what I ought to performe vnto my friend, what vnto a man: then after how many manners a friend may be called, and how many this word man signifieth. Be∣hold wisedome, and folly are separated diuersly, to which doe I incline? to which part willest thou me to goe? To this Stoicke a man is a friend, to that Epicure a friend is not for a man: he getteth a friend for himselfe, this other himselfe for a friend. Thou wrestest my wordes, and distinguishest syllables. Verily except I compose idle Interrogations, and by a false conclusion deriued from truth, I vnite a lie, I cannot distinguish those things that are to be desired from such as are to be eschued. I am ashamed. In so serious a thing as this is, though olde, yet we trifle. Mouse is a syllable•• but Mouse gnaweth the Cheese, Ergo, a syllable gnaweth the Cheese. Thinke now that I cannot resolue this doubt, what damage should this ignorance of mine doe me? What discommo∣ditie? Doubtlesse it is to be feared, lest at sometimes I should catch the syllables in my Mous-trap, or that happily if I should becom negligent, my Book should eate the Cheese: vnlesse happily that collection is more acute; Mouse is a syl∣lable, but the syllable gnaweth not the Cheese; the Mouse therefore gnaweth not the Cheese. O childish triflings. For this cause haue wee humbled our browes? For this cause haue we lengthened our beards? Is it this wee teach both sad and pale? Wilt thou know what Philosophie promiseth to humane kinde? It is counsaile. One man death calleth, another pouertie burneth, ano∣ther man eyther his owne or other mens riches torment; this man is affraide and terrified at euill fortune, that man would withdraw himselfe, and escape his felicitie, this man disliketh men, that man the goddes: Why propo∣sest thou vnto me these toyes? There is no place of jesting; the miserable cra••e thy assistance. Thou hast promised that thou wilt help such as are ship-wrackt, captiue, poore, such as subiect their heads to axe and block: whether art thou diuerted? what doest thou? The very man with whom thou jestest is affraide. Yeeld succours, whatsoeuer thou art more indued with eloquence, to the paines of such as perish. All of them, on euery side lift vp their handes vnto thee, and implore som help in their perished and decaying life, in thee is the hope, in thee the meanes. They beseech thee to draw them out of so great turmoyle, that thou wouldest shew them that are scattered and wandring the cl••ere light of truth. Shew what nature hath made necessarie, what superfluous, what easie lawes she hath established: how pleasant and expedite the life of those men is that follow them, how bitter and implicite theirs is, that haue beleeued opinion more then truth. What extinguisheth these mens desires? What temperateth them? Would to God they did but onely not profit. They hurt. This will I

make manifest vnto thee when thou wilt, that a generous spirit is broken and weakned, being puzled with these subtilties. I am ashamed to tel, what weapons it lendeth to those, that are to warre against fortune, and how they suborne them. This is the way to the chiefest good, by this Philosophicall exceptions are blacke, filthy, and infamous, yea euen to those that are young Students: for what else doe you, when as wittingly you entangle him whom you aske, then that he might seeme to be non-suited: but euen as the Pretor wholly restoreth the one, so doth Philosophie these. Why faile you in your great promises? and hauing promised mount••ines, that you will bring to passe that the shining and brightnesse of gold shall no more dazle mine eyes, then that of the sword: that with great constancie I should contemne and spurn at, both that which all men wish, and that which all men feare, descend you to the elements of the Gram∣marian? What say you, is this the way to eternitie? For this is it that Philo∣sophie promiseth me, to make me like to God. To this I am inuited, to this end I came, performe thy promise. As much as thou mayest therefore my Lucilius, reduce thy selfe from these exceptions and prescriptions of the Philosophers. Open and simple things become honestie and goodnesse. Although a better part of life were yet to be spent, yet must it now be sparingly dispensed, that it may suffice for necessaries; now what madnesse is it to learne such vnnecessa∣rie things in so great scantling of time?

EPIST. XLIX.

That by the sight of a house called POMPEY the memorie of his LVCILIVS was re∣newed in him. Of the shortnesse and swiftnesse of time, that nothing is long or olde in it. By the way against the Logicians, and that all that sort are onely to be looked on.

HEe truly my Lucilius, is idle and negligent, who admonished from any Region is reduced to the memorie of his friend; yet some∣times familiar places summon and call forth the reposed desire in our minde, neyther suffer they the memorie to be extinguished, but prouoke the same when it is pacified, euen as the griefe of those that mourne, although for a time it be mitigated, eyther the familier ad∣mission of a seruant, or a garment, or the house reneweth the same. Behold how Campania, and in especial Naples, in the beholding of thy Pompeis it is incre∣dible how liuing a memorie of thee it bred in me. Thou art wholly before mine eyes, euen then when I am most separated from thee. I see thee supping vp thy tears, and insufficiently resisting thy affections, breaking forth in their restraint. And now seem I to haue lost thee; for what is not present, if thou remembrest? Not long since I conuersed being a child, with Sotion the Philosopher; anon after I began to pleade causes; not long after I desisted from being willing to wrangle in them: now giue I ouer to haue power to follow them. Infinite is the swiftnesse of time, which appeareth most to those that looke backe: for to those that intend the present, it deceiueth them, so light is the passage of her h••adlong flight. Doest thou demaund the cause hereof? Whatsoeuer time is past is in the same place, it is beheld at once, and at once is extinguished, and all things from thence fall into the depth, & otherwise there cannot be long spaces in that thing which is wholly shor••. It is but a point that we liue, and as yet lesse then a point; yet nature hath diuided this least vnder a certaine kinde of

longer space. Of this point he made one part infancie, another childe-hood, an other youth, another a certaine inclination from youth to age, another age it selfe. In how small a straight hath he placed so many degrees? Euen presently doe•• I prosecute thee, and yet this present is a good portion of our age; whose shortnesse let vs thinke on, will at last shew it selfe. The time was not wont to seeme so swift vnto me: now doth the course thereof appeare incredible, eyther because I perceiue the end at hand, eyther because I haue begunne to conceiue and summe vp my losse. And the more am I vexed, because I see some lauish the greater part of this time in vanities, which scarcely can suffice for necessaries, although it were kept very diligently. Cicero denieth that if his age were doub∣led, he should haue time enough to reade the Liriques; and in like sort the Lo∣gicians. They are bitterly foolish. These play the professed wantons: they thinke that they doe somewhat. Neyther denie I but these may be looked into, but that they are onely to be looked into, and slightly ouer-past, to this only in∣tent, lest we should be deceiued, & that we should iudge that there is som great and secret good in th••m. Why doest thou torment and macerate thy selfe about that question, which is more policie to contemne then satisfie? It is the worke of a secure man, and such a one as erreth from his profite to make search after trifles. When the enemie is hard at our heels, and the souldier is commanded to martch, necessity shaketh off all that which idle peace had recollected. I haue no leisure to affect these equiuocating words, and make tryall of my craft in them.

Behold what armies martch, what walls, What warre with clo••sed gates.

This noyse of warre sounding on euery side, is to be heard by me with a migh∣tie courage. I should worthily be accounted mad in all mens eyes•• of when as both olde men and women gathered and brought stones to fortifie the Ram∣pire, when as the young men being armed within the gates, expected or requi∣red a s••mmons to sally, when the enemies armes were at the ports, and the very ground did shake with mines, if I should sit idle and employ my time in such like questions. That which thou hast not lost thou hast; thou hast not lost thy hornes, Ergo, thou hast hornes, and such like, fashioned according to the tenor of this acute madnesse. And no lesse foolish should I seeme vnto thee, if I should imploy my studies in these, wheras euen now I am beleagred•• yet then a forrain perill should threaten me being besieged, the wall should seuer me from mine enemie. Now death and danger is with me. Now haue I time for these toyes. There is a waightie businesse in hand. What shall I doe? Death followeth me, life flieth. Teach me somewhat against these, bring to passe that I may not flie death and that life may not fli•• me. Teach me equanimitie against disasters, and distresse against ineuitable harmes, giue libertie to the straightnesse of my time. Teach me that the good of life consist••th not in the space thereof, but in the vse; and that it may be, yea, that it often falleth out, that he who hath liued lon∣gest hath liued a little or nothing. Tell me when I lie downe to rest•• it may be thou shalt not wake. Tell me when I am awake, it may be thou shalt not sleepe any more. Tell me when I goe forth of doores it may be thou canst not return: Tell me when I returne, it may b•• thou canst not goe out againe. Tho•• art de∣ceiued, if thou thinkest that in sayling only, that there is but the least difference and separation twixt life and death•• in euery place there is as little distance. Eue∣ry where death shews not himselfe so nigh, yet euery wher•• is he as nigh. Shake

off these cloudes, and thou shalt more easily discouer those things, to which I am prepared. Nature bred vs docible, and gaue vs imperfect reason, yet such as may be perfected. Dispute with me of Iustice & pietie, of frugalitie, of both sorts of modestie, and of that that can abstaine from anothers bodie, and this that hath care of his owne: if thou wilt not leade me the indirect way, I shall more easily attaine to that I affect. For as that tragicke Poet saith, The speech of truth is simple: and therfore we must not implicate the same: for nothing is lesse con∣uenient then is this subtil craft, to those minds that labour after great mattters.

EPIST. L.

That we are blinde in vices, or that we seeke a cloake for them. Yet that they are to be acknowledged, and that the remedies are to be sought for; whence otherwise is the health of the minde deriued, which may likewise happen, euen to the most inueterate vices, because he is easie to be bent, and Nature flieth vnto goodnesse.

I Receiued the Epistle which thou sentest me after many months. I thought it therefore an idle thing to enquire of him that brought the same, what thou diddest. For it is a signe of a good memorie, if he remembreth, and yet hope I that for the present thou liuest so, that wheresoeuer thou art, I know what thou diddest. For what other thing shouldest thou doe, then that daily thou shouldest better thy selfe, that thou shouldest lay aside some one of thine errors, that thou mayest vnder∣stand that they are thine owne follies, that thou thinkest to be forraine. Some things ascribe we to places and times, but they, whither soeuer wee transport our selues, will follow vs. Thou knowest, Harpaste, my wiues foole, thou knowest that she remained in my house as an hereditarie burthen. For I am much distasted and disgusted with those prodigi••s, if at any time I wil take plea∣sure in a foole. I neede not seeke farre off, I finde sufficient matter of laugh∣ter in my selfe. This foole suddenly lost her eye-sight. I tell thee an incredible matter, but yet true: she knoweth not that she is blinde; oftentimes she pray∣eth her gouernour to giue her leaue to walke abroad, shee saith the house is darke. This that seemeth ridiculous vnto vs in her, take thou notice, that it happeneth vnto vs all: no man vnderstandeth that he is couetous, no man that he is auaritious; yet doe the blinde seeke a guide, but wee erre without a guide, and say: I am not ambitious, but no man can otherwise liue in Rome. I am not sumptuous, but the Citie it selfe requireth great expence. It is not my fault that I am wrathfull, that as yet I haue not setled my selfe in a certaine course of life; it is youth that causeth this: Why deceiue we our s••lues? our euill is not extrinsecall, it is within vs, and is setled in our intrailes. And therefore doe we hardly recouer health, because we know not that we are sicke; if wee haue but begunne our cure, when shall we shake off so many plagues and sicknesses? But now scarce seeke we for the Physitian, who should spend lesse time and labour, if he were counselled vpon the beginning of the disease. Tender and rude minds would follow him, directing them aright. No man is hardly reduced vn∣to Nature, but he that hath reuolted from her. Wee are ashamed to learne a good mind, yet vndoubtedly it is a shameful thing to seeke a master in this mat∣ter. That is to be dispaired, that so much good may casually befall vs: we must take paines, and (to speake vprightly) the labour is not great: if, as I said, we be∣gin to conforme and recorrect our mindes, before they be confirmed in wicked∣nesse.

Yet despaire I not of those that are indurate. There is nothing that in∣dustrious labour and intent, and diligent care cannot compasse and impugne. Thou mayest straighten the stiffest oakes, although crooked; heate straightneth crooked beames, and such as are otherwise fashioned by Nature, are applied to that which our vse exacteth. How farre more easily ••oth the minde receiue a forme, being flexible and pliant to any humour. For what other thing is the mind, then after a certaine manner a spirit. But you see that a spirit is by so much more facile then any other matter, by how much he is more thinne and deli∣cate. That, my Lucilius, hath no reason to hinder thee from hoping well of vs, because malice already hath hold of vs, that of long time it hath harboured with vs. To no man comes a good minde before an euill. We are all preoccupated in learning vertues, and forgetting vices: but therefore the more ardently must we endeuour our amendment, because the possession of a good once imparted to vs, is perpetuall; vertue is not forgotten. For the contrarie euils haue a for∣raine dependance, and therefore may be expelled and excluded, they are surely setled that succeed in their place. Vertue is according to Nature, vices are our e∣nemies and infectors. But euen as receiued vertues cannot easily be dispossessed, and their conseruation is easie: so is the beginning to obtaine and aime at them very difficult, because this especially is the signe of a weake and sicke mind, to feare things vnattempted. Therefore is the minde to be enforced, that it may begin: moreouer the medicine is not bitter, for it quickely delighteth, while it healeth. Of other remedies, there is a certaine pleasure after health: Philoso∣phie is both wholesome and pleasing.

EPIST. LI.

Somewhat of Etna, and more of Baiae. And vpon this occasion hee inueyeth against such as are effeminated, and giuen ouer to their pleasure. That this is to be driuen from vs, and that we are to warfare: against whom? against Pleasure, Paine, and others. That he who doth so, doth good in serious and holy places, auoideth lasciui∣ous things, or such as are too delightfull.

EVen as euery one can, my Lucilius, thou hast there Etna that noble Mountaine of Sicily, the which Messala called the only Moun∣taine, or Valgius (for in both of them haue I read thereof) why I finde not, when as many places vomit out fire, not only such as are high, which oftentimes happeneth, because that fire moun∣teth vpwards, but also such as are low. We, howsoeuer we may, are content with Baye, which the very next day after I had visited, I forsooke; a place for this cause to be auoided, although that hath certaine naturall endowments, because superfluitie hath made choice thereof her selfe, to celebrate the same. What then? Is there any place to be hated? No, but euen as some garment is more decent and comely for a wise and good man, then another; neither hateth hee any colour, but thinketh one more fit for him that professeth frugalitie: so is there a region, which a wise man, or one that tendeth to wisdome, declineth, as if estranged from good manners. Thinking therefore of his retirement, hee will neuer make choice of Canopus, although Canopus hinder no man from being fru∣gall. Neither Baias likewise; they are begun to be the hostrie of vices. There Luxurie permitteth her selfe very much, there as if a certaine libertie were due

vnto the place that hath loosenesse. It behoueth vs to chuse a place, not onely healthfull for our bodies, but for our manners. Euen as I would not dwell a∣mongst hangmen and torturers, so would I not liue amongst victualing-houses. What needeth it to see drunkards reeling vp and downe the shore, and the ban∣quets of such as saile, and the Lakes reeccoing the Consent of songs, and other things, which lasciuiousnesse (as if freed from all restraint) not onely sinneth in, but publisheth? That ought we to doe, that we flie farre from the prouocati∣ons of vices. The mind is to be confirmed, and abstracted farre from the allure∣ment of pleasures. One onely Winter weakened Hannibal, and the delicacies of Campania weakned that man, whom neither Snowes nor Alpes could other∣wise vanquish: he conquered in armes, he was conquered by vices. Wee must likewise play the souldiers, and in such a kind of seruice as neuer affordeth vs rest, or euer giueth vs leasure. Vices in especiall are to be conquered, which (as you see) haue drawne the sternest and cruellest wits vnto them. If a man pro¦pose vnto him selfe, what a taske he hath vndergone, he shall know that nothing is to be done delicately or effeminately. What haue I to doe with those hot pooles, with those stoues in which a drie vapour is included to waste our bo∣dies? Let all swet breake forth by labour: if wee should doe as Hannibal did, that interrupting the course of affaires, and neglecting warre, wee should em∣ploy our selues in nourishing our bodies, there is no man but might iustly repre∣hend our vnseasonable sloth, not onely dangerous for the conquerour, but for the conquered also? Lesse is permitted vs, then those that followed the Cartha∣ginian warres, more danger impendeth ouer our heads, if we giue way, worse also if wee perseuere. Fortune wageth warre with mee, I will not obey her, I receiue not her yoake, nay more, (which with greater courage I ought to ac∣complish) I shake it off. The minde is not to be mollified. If I giue place to plea∣sure, I must be subiect to griefe, slaue to labour, seruant to pouertie; both am∣bition and wrath will haue the same priuiledge ouer me: amongst so many vi∣ces I shall be distracted, or rather dismembred. Libertie is proposed: for this reward doe we labour. Thou askest me what libertie is? To serue nothing, no necessitie, no fortunes; to keepe Fortune at staffes-end. That day I vnderstand my selfe, that I can more then she may; she can nothing. Shall I suffer her when as death is at hand? To him that intendeth these thoughts, retirement both se∣rious and sanctified, ought to be sought for and chosen. Too much pleasantnes effeminateth the minde, and vndoubtedly the contrary may doe somewhat to corrupt the vigor. Those cattell easily trauell in any way, whose hoofes are hardned on the craggie wayes: such as breed in the rotten and soggie pastures, are quickly wearied. The souldier exercised on the mountaines, returneth more hardie, the citizen and home-bred is recreant. Those hands refuse no la∣bour that are transferred from the plough to the pike. The anointed and nice souldier endureth not the first shock. The seuerer discipline of the place fir∣meth the courage, and maketh it more apt to attempts. Scipio was more ho∣nestly a banished man at Liternum then at Bayas. His ruine is not to be planted in so effeminate a place. And they also to whom at first, and in especiall the for∣tune of the Roman people translated the publike Riches, Caius Marius, Cneius Pompey, and Caesar builded certaine Manor-houses in the region of Bayas, but they planted them on the tops of the highest mountaines. This seemed more warlike, from an eminent place to behold the low countrie farre and neere. Be∣hold what situation they chose, in what places, and what they builded; & thou shalt know that they were in camping places, and not in houses of pleasure.

Thinkest thou Cato would euer dwell in Vtica, to the end he might number the adulterers that saild by him, and to behold so many kinds of boats painted with diuers colours, and the roses s]floating ouer the whole lake, that he might heare the night-brawles of such as sing? Had he not rather beene within his Trench, which in one nights space he had digged, & caused to be inclosed, why should it not better please him? Whosoeuer is a man had rather be awakened from sleep by the Trumpet, then a melodie or consent of voyces. But long enough haue we contended about Baias, but neuer enough with vices, which I beseech thee my Lucilius, persecute beyond measure, and without end; for neyther haue they end or measure. Cast from thee whatsoeuer tormenteth thy heart, which if they could not be drawn out otherwise, thy heart were to be pulled out with them. Especially driue from thee pleasures, and hold them in greatest hatred, af∣ter the manner of those theeues whom the Egyptians call Philetae; to this end they kisse vs, that they may kill vs.

EPIST. LII.

That we are vncertaine in the truth, and haue neede of helpe and direction. But that some are more easily guided and formed; then other some according to their nature. But to the intent that thou mayest be formed, make thy choyce out of the ancient, and the present. Yet flie pratlers, ambitious, and such as affect applause.

WHat is this Lucilius, that, when we intend one way, draweth vs an∣other, and forceth vs thither, from whence we desire to flie? What is that which wrastleth with our minde, and permitteth vs not to will any thing once? We wauer twixt diuers counsailes, we will nothing freely, nothing absolutely, nothing alwayes. It is a folly (sayest thou) he that is constant in nothing, is not long pleased with any thing. But how, or when shall we withdraw our selues from these? No man is able to accomplish it of him selfe; some man must lend a helping hand, some one must bring vs out. Some, saith Epicurus, contend vnto truth without any mans helpe, of these, that he made himselfe his owne way. These prayseth hee most: that had power of themselues, that aduanced themselues: that some want forraigne ••elpe, and are not like to goe, except some one conduct them, yet are willing to follow. Of this sort he accounteth Me••rodorus. And this also is an excellent, but a wit of the second rancke. We are not of the first number, it sufficeth vs if we be receiued into this secone rancke: neyther contemne thou that man that may be saued by another mans meanes; for it is a very great matter to haue a will to be saued. Besides these, as yet thou shalt finde another sort of men, and they not to be contemned, namely, they that may bee enforced and compelled to the right, who haue not onely neede of a guide but a helper, or to speake more pro∣perly, a compeller. This is the third kinde. If thou seeke an example here∣of; Epicurus saith that Hermachus was such a one, therefore gratulateth hee more the one, and admireth the other. For although both of them ob∣tayned one and the same end, yet the praise is greater, to haue perfor∣med the same in a more difficult matter. Suppose that a man hath builded two houses, both equall, a like high and magnificent, the one of them planted on a firme foundation, whereon the worke is suddenly raised, the other on an vncer∣taine and fals ground, where we ought to digge deep, and imploy infinite pains

before wee light on firme land. In the one all appeareth in sight, that hath beene builded: in the other the better and more dificult part is hidden. Some wits are facile and expedite, some are (as they say) to be fashioned by the hand, and to be exercised and occupied in making their owne foundation: therefore account I him more happie, that hath had no businesse with himselfe, and him likewise to haue deserued best of himselfe, that hath ouercome the malignitie of his nature, and hath not ledde him selfe, but forcibly drawn himselfe to wise∣dome. Thou must know that this hard and troublesome trauell is forced on vs. We trauell a way full of dangers: let vs therefore combate & call for assistance. Whom sayest thou shall I call vpon, that or this man? For thine owne part, I counsaile thee to returne vnto the first, that haue now no more to doe: for not onely they of this time, but those that haue beene our predecessors may assist vs. And amongst those that liue, let vs chuse, not them that diuide and precipi∣tate many wordes with great volubilitie, and turne ouer common places, and that in priuate are most courted: but those whose liues are our instructions, who when they haue told vs what is to be done, approue the same by their a∣ctions who teach that which is to be eschued, and are neuer surprised or found guiltie in doing that, which they haue forbidden to be done. Choose him for thine assistant, whom thou admirest more when thou seest him, then when thou hearest him: neyther therefore forbid I thee to heare them likewise, whose cu∣stom it is to admit the people, and to dispute, if so be they expose themselues to community to this intent, that they may amend themselues & make others the better, prouided they exercise not this for ambition sake. For what is more base then Philosophie, that searcheth the fauours and acclamations of the people? Doth the sicke man praise the Phisitian that launceth him? Be silent, fauour and offer your selues to the cure. Although you yeeld me acclamations of honor, I will not otherwise heare you, except you sigh at the touch of your sinnes. Wil you haue it testified, that you are attentiue, and are moued with the greatnesse of things? You haue free libertie; why should I not permit you to iudge, and giue your voyce to that which you thinke best? Vnder Pythagoras, his schollars remained fiue yeares without speaking: thinkest thou that it was lawfull for them incontinently to speake and praise? But how great is his folly, whom the applauses of the ignorant dismisse with ioyf••lnesse out of the auditorie? Why art thou glad, because thou art praised by those men, whom thou thy selfe canst not praise? Fabianus declaymed before the people, but he was heard with mo∣destie. Sometime a great acclamation was raised of those that praised him; but such as the greatnesse of the things prouoked, and not the sound of a discourse smoothed & fluent. There is som difference betwixt the applause of a Theatre, and of the Schooles. There is some libertie also in praysing. There are alwayes some markes and signes of those things that are discouered. And a man may likewise gather an argument of anothers manners, euen in the slightest things. The gate, the carriage of the hand, and sometimes one onely answer, or the fin∣ger dallying with the head, or the bent of the eye discouereth the impudencie of a man. A man knoweth a wicked man by his laughter, and a mad man by his countenance and habite. For th••se things are outwardly shewed by certaine signes. Thou shalt know what euery one is•• if thou consider how he is praised. On euery side the auditor applaudeth the Philosopher with his clapping, and all this troupe that admireth him, sitteth aboue his head; now is not this man praised, if thou vnderstandest it, but whooted at. Let these applauses be reserued to those artes that haue a purpose to please the people, let Philosophie be ado∣red.

A man may giue sometimes leaue to young men to vse this heate of spirit, but they will doe this out of violence, when they cannot command themselues silence. This manner of praise serueth sometimes for some exhortation to the auditors, and animateth the mindes of young men. But better were it they should be moued with matter, then with painted wordes. Otherwise eloquence would but endanger them, if it should rather procure a desire of it selfe then of matter. I will speake no more for the present: for it desireth a proper and long discourse and execution, to know how a matter is to be handled before the people, what is permitted him by them, what them by him. It is not to be doubted, but that Philosophie hath lost much after it is prostituted, but she may be shewed in her most retired abode, if one day she finde not a Merchant banckier, but some honest Prelate.

EPIST. LIII.

He describeth his Nauigation and tossing on the Seas, by occasion that we are tossed in our liues, but that very few know and confesse their owne ••aults. Philosophie will teach and excite. Let vs giue our selues vnto it, she will make vs equall with God.

WHat cannot I be perswaded vnto, who haue beene perswaded to saile? I set saile in a calme Sea, yet vndoubtedly the skie was o∣uer-charged with darke cloudes, which for the most part eyther are resolued into water, or into winde. But I thought that so few miles betwixt thy Parthenope to Puteoli might easily and quickly be cut ouer, although the skie were doubtfull and dangerous. To the end ther∣fore that I might more swiftly finish my iourny, I put out forthwith to sea, and shaped my course for Nesida, without bearing by the creeks: when I had passed so farre already, that I cared not whether I went forward or returned; first, that equalitie of heauen that perswaded me to saile, was ouer-blowne; as yet it was no tempest, yet begun the Sea to rise, and the surges to swell and beate one ano∣ther. Then began I to require the Master to set me on some shoare. But he told me, that the shoars of the sea were dangerous, and vnfit to land at, and that he feared nothing more in a tempest then to beare vp for land, yet was I so tor∣mented that I remembred not my selfe of any danger: for a certaine languish∣ing desire to vomit, that prouoked but preuailed me nothing in emptying my stomacke: it pained me infinitely, which stirred but voyded not choller. I there∣fore importuned the Master so, that will he nill he, I compelled him to beare for the shoare; whereto when we somewhat neered, I expect not to do any thing that Virgil commandeth, that the Prow of the Ship should be turned towards the Sea, or that the Anchor should be let slip into the Sea; but remembring my selfe of that I was accustomed to doe, I cast my selfe into the water, couered in a Veluet mantle, as they are wont who wash themselues in colde water. What thinkst thou I suffered, whilst I striue to escape these perrils, whilst I seek, whilst I make a way thorow these dangers? I know well, not without cause, that Mar∣riners feared the land. They are incredible things that I suffered, considering that I could not support my selfe. Learne this of me, that the Sea was not so incensed at the birth of Vlysses, that it should cause ship-wracke in all places. He vomited easily. For mine owne part I had rather remaine twenty yeare•• vpon my way, then passe by Sea to any place. As soone as I had recouered my sto∣macke

(for thou knowest well that in leauing the Sea a man loseth not his de∣sire to vomit) and for my recreation had annoynted my bodi••, I began to be∣thinke my selfe, how great forgetfulnesse of our sinnes followed vs, not onely of vices, which because they are more great, keepe themselues hidden, but also of the vices of the bodie, which at all times draw vs into remembrance of them. A light alteration may well deceiue some one man; but when it is augmented and groweth to be a burning feuer, it causeth the most strong and endurate per∣force to confesse the same. Our feet greeue vs, the ioynts feele some little shoo∣tings; we dissemble as yet, and say that it is some straine, or that we haue freed our selues too much in doing some exercise. We are much troubled what to call our infirmitie, which is not as yet knowne, but when it beginneth to swell vp our anckles, we are enforced to say it is the goute. It falleth out farre other∣wise in regard of those sickenesses which seize our soules. For the more that a∣nie, one is sick, the lesse sensible is he of the same. Thou must not wonder deere Lucilius hereat: for he that slumbreth slightly, and dreameth in some sort du∣ring his repose: sometimes in his sleeping thinketh that he sleepeth; but a pro∣found sleepe extingu••sheth dreames also, and drowneth the mind more deeply, then that it permitteth the same to make vse of any her intellectiue faculties. Why doth no man confesse his faults? Because he is as yet plunged in the same. It is the part of one that is a wake to shew his dreame, and it is a signe of amends for a man to confesse his faults. Let vs awake therefore, to the end wee may blame and correct our errours. But onely Philosophie must quicken vs, she only must shake o••f our heauie sleepe. To her onely dedicat•• thy selfe, thou art wor∣thy of her & she worthy of thee, embrace and lusten on another, denie thy selfe constantly and openly to all other things. Thou canst not Philosophie without taking some paynes: if thou wert sicke thou wouldest giue ouer the care of thy whole family, and neglect thy forraine businesse; there is no friend so deere vn∣to thee, whose cause thou wouldest desire to pleade. All thy care and cost should be to recouer thy health speedily. What then, wilt thou not now doe the like? Lay aside all impedim••nts, and thinke on nothing, but how to make thy soule more perfect, no man commeth vnto her that is occupied or distracted. Philosophie vseth soueraigne power as a King, she giueth time, and taketh it not: she is no secondarie care, but will be serued seriously; she is a Mistresse; she is present and commandeth. Alexander to whom a Citie promised to giue a part of their lands, and the halfe of all their goods: I am come, saith he, into A∣sia with this resolution, not to take that which you will giue me, but that you should enioy nothing else, but what I leaue you. Philosophie vseth the like au∣thoritie in all things. I will not, saith shee, accept that time that you haue to come, or haue reserued contrariwise: you shall haue none, but which I will giue you. Addresse thy whole minde vnto her, be alwayes neere vnto her, giue her all the honour thou canst; there will be a great difference betwixt thee and o∣thers. Thou shalt farre exceed all mortall men, and the gods shall but very lit∣tle surpasse thee. Wilt thou know what difference there is betwixt them and thee? They shall continue more long. But truely it is the honour of a good worke-man to finish his taske speedily. A wise-man is as content with the space of his life,* 1.4 as God is of all the time of his eternitie. Some thing there is wherein a wise-man exceedeth God; God is not wise but by the goodnesse of his na∣ture, and the wise-man is by his owne. It is a maruellous thing to haue the frail∣tie of a man and the securitie of a God. Incredible is the force of Philosophie, to repell all the forces of fortune. There are some sorts of armes that can con∣quer

her. She is couered with thicke and massiue armour, shee wearieth some things that combat her, and like light darts, receiueth them with her open brest, some she shaketh off, and darteth them backe on him that cast the same.

EPIST. LIIII.

That he was troubled with often sighing, and thereupon thought on death. That it is not to be feared, because that we shall be the same after death, that we were before. Let vs be prepared.

MY sicknesse, that had giuen me a long truce and intermission, sud∣denly inuaded me. After what manner, saiest thou? Truely thou hast reason to aske mee, for there is not any one sort, but that I haue beene sensible of it: yet am I, as it were, destituted to one sicknesse, which why I call by the Greeke name I know not, for it may aptly enough be called a sicknesse. It continueth a very little time in his violence; which is like vnto a gust, and passeth away almost in an houre. For who is he that continueth long time a dying? All the dangers and sicknesses that may trauell a bodie, haue passed by mee, no one of them seemeth more troublesome vnto me: and why? For in all other euils whatsoeuer, a man is but sicke, but this is death it selfe. And therefore the Physitians call it the medita∣tion of death. The shortnesse of breath will at length effect that, which it hath often endeuoured to doe. Thinkest thou that I write this vnto thee with great ioy, because I haue escaped? If to this end that I tooke delight to be in health, I doe as ridiculously as ••e, that thinketh himselfe dismissed of the suite, when he hath deferred his putting in baile to the actiō: yet in the very suffocation inter∣mitted, I cease not to comfort my selfe with some pleasing & confident cogita∣tions: What is this (say I?) Doth death come so often to assaile mee? Let him doe it hardly. For mine owne part, it is a long time I haue proued it. When was it (sayest thou?) Before I was borne, it is a death not to be that it was be∣before. I know alreadie what thing it is, that shall be after my death, which was before my birth: if a man feele any torment therein, it must needs follow, that we had some sense thereof before we came into this world; but then felt I no vexation. I pray you, should he not be a great fool, that should think that a can∣dle were more vnhappy after it were extinguished, thē before that it was light? So faireth it with vs, we are lightned, & extinguished; betwixt both these times we suffer some things. But before and after is a certaine and profound assurance of our euils. For in this, my Lucilius, we erre, except I be deceiued, in that we iudge death to follow; wheres it goeth before, and is like to follow. Whatsoe∣uer was before vs, is death? For what difference is there whether thou begin∣nest not, or whether thou endest; the effect of both these is not to bee. With these and such like silent exhortations (for speake I might not) I ceased not to talke vnto my selfe, at length by little and little, this sighing which began alrea∣die to returne to be a breathing, took more long pauses, and hauing more liber∣tie, kept his accustomed tune and proportion. Neither as yet, although the fit be c••ased, hath my breath his naturall course. I feele a certaine touch and hang∣ing on thereof. Let him doe what he will, prouided that I sigh not in my soule; assure thy selfe thus much of mee, that when I shall find my selfe at the last gaspe, I will not be astonished. I am alreadie resolued, I care not when the day

commeth. Praise and imitate him that is not aggrieued to die, when as he hath the greatest occasion to reape the pleasures of life. For what vertue is it to issue out, then, when thou art cast out? yet is there a vertue herein. True it is, that I am driuen out, but so it is as if I issued voluntarily. And therefore a wise man is neuer driuen out; for to be driuen out, is to to be cast out of a place in spight of a mans teeth: but a wise man doth neuer any thing perforce, he flieth necessity, because he willeth that which she may constraine.

EPIST. LV.

Of the Manor-house of VATIA, and of VATIA himselfe. Then of good and euill Leasure. Likewise that friends may and ought to be present in minde.

WHen I returne hence from my cariage and exercise in my chaire, I am for the most part no lesse wearie, then if I had walked so long time, as I was sitting: for it is a labour to be long time carried, and I know not whether in that it be more great, because it is a∣gainst Nature, which gaue vs fe••te, that we might walke by our selues, eyes, that we might see by our selues. Daintinesse hath caused this infirmitie in vs, and that which we would not, long time we haue desisted to be able to do: yet had I need to trauell my bodie, and to doe exercise, to the end, that if I had either choller stayed in my throat, I might discusse the same, or if my breath by any cause were growne short, I might extenuate the same by this agitation, which I haue knowne to haue done me much good: and therefore caused I my selfe to bee carried more long time, for the pleasure that I tooke vpon the shoare, which shooteth out a certaine abutment or bowing land, betwixt the towne of Cumae and Seruitius Vatia his Lordship, enclosed as a strait passage betweene the sea, which is on the one side, and the lake which is on the other, because at that time it was more hard and more thicke, by reason of the tempest which had raigned a little before. And as thou knowest when the billowes of the raging ••louds couer the same very often, the sands become more full and vnite, but a long calmie time causeth them to relent, and diuideth the sand which was har∣dened by the water, after the humour hath beene wholly dried: yet according to my custome I began to looke about me, if I could find any thing in that place that might breed me any profit, and I addressed my sight vpon a country house which had in times past pertained to Vatia. There it was, where that rich man, who in times past had beene Pretor•• and had neuer beene knowne by any other meanes, but for retiring him selfe thither, spent his later yeares, and was for this cause reputed happie. For as often as Asinius Gallus friendship, as often as Sei∣anus hatred or fauour had drowned some men, (for it was as dangerous to haue offended him, as to haue loued him) all men cried out, O Vatia, thou art the on∣ly man that knowest how to liue; & yet he knew but how to hide himselfe, but not to liue. Truely there is a great difference, whether thy life be idle or sloth∣full. I neuer passed by this house of Vatia, but that I said Vatia is enterred heere. But Philosophie, my Lucilius, is a thing so sacred and venerable, that if there be any thing that resembleth it, it pleaseth in the delusion. For the common sort suppose, that a man that is retired from the Citie, to liue in repose, is full of assu∣rance and contentment: and that he liueth but to him selfe, all things, both the one and the other, cannot but befortune, and attend a wise man. True it is that

the wise man careth not for any thing, and that he knoweth how to liue vnto himselfe. For (that which is the principall good) he knoweth how to liue. For he that ••lieth both from men and affaires; he whom the miserie of his ambitions hath banished out of the Citie, that cannot see any more happie then himselfe, that like a fearefull and slothfull creature, hath been hid for feares, he liueth not to himself, but that which is more loathsome & disliking, he liueth to his belly, his sleepe and his lust. He liueth not to himselfe, that liueth to no man; yet con∣stancie and perseuerance in our first designes, is a thing so valued, that obstinate idlenesse retaineth and hath some authoritie also. Touching the building it selfe, I can speake or write thee nothing certaine, for I onely know it outward∣ly, and by the show it maketh to all passengers. There are are two caues of mar∣uellous workmanship, alike with spacious entrance, and builded by hand, the one whereof neuer admitteth the Sunne, and the other is filled with his refle∣ctions vntill he set. There is a place planted with Plane-trees, in the middest whereof there runneth a brooke, that falleth afterwards into the sea, and into the lake of Acherusium, and it diuided is as an Euripus, sufficient to nourish much fish, although a man take them daily: but it is spared when the sea affordeth good fishing time, and when as a tempest restraineth the fisher-men: each one may catch and fish them easily. But the greatest commoditie that is in this house, is that it hath behind the wals thereof, the Bayas, and that being exempt from all the incommodities thereof, it pertaketh all the pleasures and delights of the same. I my selfe on my knowledge can giue it this commendation, that I beleeue it to be a place fit to be inhabited all the yeare long. For it is opposite against the West-winde, and intercepteth it so conueniently, that it hindereth it from blowing vpon Bayas: not inconsiderately, as it seemeth, did Vatia make choice of this place, in which he might bestow his idle time, and old age; yet very little or nothing doth place profit to the tranquillitie of the spirit, it is the minde which commendeth all things, I haue seene some liue pensiue and me∣lancholie in their houses of pleasure: I haue seene othersome liue in solitarie places, as if they had much businesse. Wherefore thou art not to thinke, that therfore thou art little at thine ease, because thou art not in Campania: but why art thou not? send thy thought hither: Thou mayest conferre with thine ab∣sent friends, yea as often, and as long as thou wilt, then most of all enuie we this pleasure (which is the greatest) when wee are absent. For presence maketh vs wantons, and because that we conferre together, that we walke together, and that at sometimes we sit together; so soone as we are departed one from another we remember them no more, whose presence we haue lost of late. And for this cause ought we not to bee grieued with the absence of our friends, for there is not one, that is not farre absent from them, euen in their very presence: if thou wilt first of all recount the nights, wherein thou art separated from them: the diuers occupations that both one and the other haue; the secret studies, the goings and commings out of the Citie; and thou shalt see that the time, which long voyages make vs loose, is not ouer-great. A friend is to be possessed in minde: she seeth alwaies him whom she will see. And therefore I pray thee studie with me, sup with me, and walke with me: we should liue in a miserable restraint, if any thing were hidden from our thoughts. I see thee, my Lucilius then with most content, when I heare thee. I am so truely with thee, that I am' in doubt whether I should begin to write, not Epistles, but bookes vnto thee.

EPIST. LVI.

That a setled minde enioyeth it selfe, and intendeth his studies, yea euen amiddest the presse of men. This teacheth me by his example. That inward silence and peace is more to be wished for. Furthermore, that sloth is euill, and the mother of desires.

LEt me die, if silence be as necessarie, as it seemeth to him that is re∣tired to his studie. Behold what different cries sound about me on euery side, I am lodged euen ouer the bathes. Represent vnto thy selfe now all sorts of voyces, that may draw the eares into hatred of them: when the stronger so••t doe their exercises, when they spread their hands loaden with leade, when either they trauell, or imitate him that laboureth, I heare their groan••s. As soone as they haue giuen libertie to ••heir retain••d breath, I heare their wheesings and waightie breathings. When a man ••alleth into the hands of an vnmannerly sot, that taketh vpon him to an∣noint men, and is content to serue them, as he would doe any one of the inferi∣our people, I heare the stroake of his hand that striketh them on the shoulders; which according as hee layeth it on, either flat or hollow, changeth his sound. But if perchance he that casteth the balles, annointed with pitch to nourish the fire vnder the baynes, commeth in, and that he beginneth to reckon them, all is lost. Count him likewise that cleanseth the ordures, and the theefe taken in the a••t, and he also that taketh pleasure to heare his voice ring in the bath. And like∣wise to this number those that with a full leape, and with a great shout, cast themselues into the bayne. Moreouer, put them in this rancke, who at the least, if they doe no other thing, haue their voices and words ful-mouthed; as him that draweth the haire from the arme-pit, that incessantly breatheth forth a small and trembling voice, to the end hee may be the better noted amongst the rest, that neuer holdeth his peace, but at such time when he riddeth the arme-pits of haire, to some one whom he constraineth to crie for him. A man h••areth afterward an infinite crie of Cake-sellers, of Saudsige-mongers, and crackling Merchants, and all the Cookes skullions, who sell their meate, euerie one of them with their proper tune, to the end they may be the better marked. O how iron a braines is thine (sayest thou) O how deafe art thou, if thy spirit be not troubled, amidst such dimme, and diuersitie of cries, since our Chrysippus fell downe almost dead, to heare the good-morrowes which men gaue him in saluting him. For mine owne part, I honestly sweare vnto thee, that I care as little for all these cries, as for the flouds or fall of a riuer; although that I haue heard say, that a people was constrained, for this only cause, to go and rebuild their citie in another country, because they could not endure the fall which the noise of Nilus made. In my opinion, words distract a man more then noyses. For words distract the minde, and noise doth no other thing but fill and beate the eare. Amongst those that make a noise, but distract not my spirit, I place those coach-men and smithes that hire my shop, the lock-maker my neigh∣bour, and he that dwelleth neere to the Temple of peace, when hee trieth his Trumpets and Hant-boyes, and who not only singeth, but exclaimeth. The noice likewise more troubleth me that is intermitted, then that which is con∣tinued. But I am now in such sort hardened to all this, that I can now heare a Captaine of a Gally, when he teacheth his Gally-slaues with a sterne voice, how to manage their oares. For I compell my mind to be intentiue to it selfe, and

not to be distracted by exterior things. Let whatsoeuer voice be made exteri∣orly, prouided there be no debate in my soule, prouided that desire and ••eare in me are not at oddes, prouided that auarice and prodigality haue not any quarrell together, and that the one maketh not warre against the other. For what auaileth it vs to haue silence round about vs; if the passions of the minde storme and be distempered.

Night couered all compos'd to quiet rest.

This is false, there is no peaceable sleepe, but when as reason engendreth it. It is the night that representeth vnto vs all our troubles, in stead of drawing them from vs, and doth nothing but change our cares. For the dreames of those that sleepe are as troublesome vnto them, as is the day. That is true tranquillitie, on which a good and holy soule may repose. Marke me him that seeketh for his sleepe in a large and spacious house, and how to prouide that no noise offend his eares: all the troope of his seruants keepe silence and are still, and how they that would approach his bed, lift vp their feete, and set them softly on the ground. Truely he doth nought else but turne and tosse this way and that way, he taketh but a slight rest, intermixed with discontents of the minde, hee com∣plaineth that he heareth that which he heareth not. What thinkest thou is the cause hereof? It is a tumult that is engendred in his soule, that it is, which hee should appease, it is the sedition of the minde that should bee extinguished, which thou must neuer suppose to haue quiet rest, although thy bones be laid to rest. Repose sometimes as without repose. It shall be therefore requisite for vs to awake our selues by the managing of some affaires, and to occupie our selues, in the search of good arts and sciences, when we perceiue that the sourge of idlenesse (which cannot endure it selfe) doth ouerwhelme vs. The greatest Generals of armies, at such time as they perceiue that their souldiers doe grow disobedient, they make them martch, to keepe them in obedience, and cause them to vndertake some sudden onslaught. They that haue businesse, haue no leasure to waxe wanton. It is a thing most certaine, that there is nothing that more confoundeth those vices, which are engendred by idlenesse, then trauell and occupation doth. We seeme very often to haue retired our selues out of the Citie, by reason of our distaste for the euer managing of publike affaires, and for that we repent our selues, that we haue so long time remained in a place, where we receiue nothing but miseries and displeasures. And yet notwithstan∣ding, in that verie caue, into which our feare and wearinesse hath cast vs, our am∣bition reuiueth and flourisheth. For it is not wholly lost, it is only wearied, it is onely repulsed, seeing the affaires grew not answerable to his expectation. As much say I of prodigalitie and lauish expence, which seemeth sometimes to be retired, and commeth afterwards to sollicite those anew, who haue resolued with themselues to liue soberly and wisely, and in the middest of their thrift she reassumeth those pleasures (which she had not wholly condemned, but onely left for a time) with a force as much more violent, as she is couertly hid∣den. For those vices which appeare outwardly are much lesse dangerous, and infirmities themselues begin to take remedie, when they appeare in sight, and manifest their venome. Make account ther••fore, that auarice, ambition, and those other euill passions which trauaile our soules, are more pernicious, when we faine our selues to be healed, and to haue lost them. We seeme to be idle, and we are not. For if it were true that we are, if we had sounded retreate to retire

our selues from vices, if wee haue contemned that which seemeth to bee faire in outward appearance, as I haue said a little before, there is nothing that can recall vs, there is neither song of birds nor musicke of men that may crosse our holy thoughts, when they shall alreadie be firmed and assured. That wit is slight, and as yet scarce well retired into it selfe, that admireth at the bruite of euery small accident. He hath some care hidden in his soule, and some feare that maketh him pensiue; and as our Virgil saith,

And me whom erst no darted weapons mou'd, Nor Grecian troopes for courage once improu'd, Now euery win••e that breathes or beats mine eare, Awakes my sleepes, and breedes my sudden feare, Starting I wake, and feare doth me surprise, For him I beare, and for my charge likewise.

The first of these is wise, and is not daunted with the darts that are shot against him, neither with the threatning armes of a great squadron of the enemie, nor with the out-cries of a Citie disturbed with sedition. But the other is an igno∣rant ••ot, he is afraid to lose his goods, he is affrighted at the first noise he hea∣reth, he thinketh that a little voice is a great rumour, and the least motion aba∣teth his courage. The burthen of his riches maketh him thus fearefull: make choice of whom thou wilt, amongst all these rich men, that gather much, and beare great wealth with them, thou shalt see that he is alwaies in feare, both for those that he beareth with him, as for those that follow him. Know therefore that then thou art well composed, when no feare can moue thee, when no voice can make thee depart out of thy selfe, not at that time when it flattereth thee, nor then when it threatneth thee, neither then when with a vaine ru∣mour it shall make a noise in thine eare. What then? Is it not more commo∣dious not to heare their slanders? I confesse it. Therefore is it that I would re∣tire my selfe from this place, but my intent was to make triall of, and to exer∣cise my patience. What needeth it a man to suffer himselfe to be tormented a long time, if Vlisses haue found so easie a remedie for his companions, against the Sirens themselues?

EPIST. LVII.

O•• the Neapolitan Vault and the horror there. Then that our first motions are not in our power. Somewhat of the tenuitie and celeritie of the minde.

WHen I would depart from Baias to returne to Naples, I easily be∣leeued that we should haue a tempest, because I would no more trauaile by sea: but there were so many slowes all the way long, that a man might iustly imagine that I had iourneyed by water. I was enforced that day to suffer all the fatallitie of the wrestlers. For after we had beene well wet, we were tormented all the day long with dust in the Vault of Naples. There is nothing more long then that prison, nothing more obscure then the entrance of that caue, which was the cause that we saw not through the darknesse, but darkenesse themselues; neuerthelesse, although the place had light in it, yet the dust which is likewise as troublesome and

displeasant in open aire, would obscure the same. What thinkest thou then that it should be in this Vault, where after it is raised like a tempest, enclosed in one place where no aire breatheth, it falleth downe on those that haue raised it. We haue suffered two great and contrary commodities, in the same way, and the same day, we haue beene tormented with dirt and with dust. Yet this obscu∣ritie gaue me some fit matter to thinke vpon. I felt, as it were a great shake and fearelesse change in my minde, which the noueltie of a thing so vnaccustomed, and the loathsomenesse of that place had caused. I speake not now with thee of my selfe, who am farre short of a man entirely perfect, but yet of a tollerable taught man. I speake of him, ouer whom Fortune hath no power, for that other would change both colour and courage. For there are certaine passions which a man cannot auoid, by any vertue. Nature admonisheth him that he is mor∣tall. And therfore he will, frown at the first cause of sorrow; he will tremble for feare at a sudden accident, his sight will bee troubled, if being carried to the height of a huge mountaie, he behold the huge and vaste depth. This is not feare, it is a naturall passion, which reason cannot conquer. Therefore is it, that some valiant men, and most readie to shead their owne blood, that cannot endure to see another mans. Some that cannot behold a fresh wound, and o∣thersome that swound, with onely touching an old and mattery sore; and o∣thers that are afraid to see a naked sword drawne in iest, and yet feare not to be killed. I felt then, as I tould thee, not an astonishment, but a change. Againe, as soone as we came vnto the light, a sudden ioy surprised me, without thinking of that. Then began I to say in my selfe; how without cause wee feare some∣things more, somethings lesse, although the end of all of them be alike. For what difference makest thou, whether the ruine of a tower, or of a mountaine, fall vpon a sentinel? Thou shalt find none: notwithstanding there are some that will feare more the fall of the tower, although both of them be powerfull e∣nough to make them die: because feare apprehendeth more the effects, then the cause that engendreth them. Thou thinkest (it may be) that I will speake of the Stoicks, who are of opinion, that the soule of a man, which is stifled and crushed vnder a great ruine, cannot issue, but that shee disperseth her selfe in∣continently, because she might not escape freely. But I do not; and they that say so are very much deceiued, in my opinion. Euen as a flame cannot be choaked, because it flieth and retireth it selfe, with that which driueth it: as the aire can∣not be hurt with a stroake, nor be diuided, or harmed by a whip, but spreadeth it selfe round about the bodie, to which it maketh place: So the soule, which is the subtillest and purest thing of the world, cannot be either retained or tor∣mented within the bodie, but by the meanes of her subtiltie, shee glideth tho∣row all that which presseth her. And euen as the lightning, after it hath beaten and hugely blasted an house, departeth thorow a very little hole: So that soule which is farre more subtill then fire, passeth and penitrateth thorow all sorts of bodies. Therefore may we enquire thereof, whether it may be immortall. But hold this for a thing assured, that if it suruiue the bodie, that consequently it cannot perish by any meanes whatsoeuer, because it may not perish. For there is not any immortalitie, that is subiect to exception or condition: and there is nothing also which may hurt that which is eternall.

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

EPIST. LVIII.

That certaine late wordes are now out of vse. He passeth to the Phisiques, and sheweth how manifolde Ens or Being is out of PLATO. He fitteth it to the Ethnick, and that nothing here is the same, or perpetuall. Then what vse can subtilties haue, and that this it to be taken in euery thing. He addeth of olde age and death, and that neyther is to be wished or refused.

NEuer had I better knowledge of the pouertie, or, to speake truely, the indigence which we haue of wordes, then I haue at this day. A thousand things happened when as casually we spake of Pla∣to, which wanted or had not their names, and some which had, and some that through our delicacie had lost that name which they had by antiquitie. But who can allow of that disgust in so great pouertie? That Ox-flie which the Grecians call Oestrum that stingeth and chafeth beasts, and scattereth them in the Forrests, our Latines called Asilus. Thou mayest well beleeue Virgil:

And those Ox-flies that in great troupes do flie Neere Alburne Mountaine, or to Siler wood; The which in Roome Asilus signifie, And by the Greekes for Oestrum vnderstood, Stinging and buzzing, which make cattell stray Amidst the Forrests scattered with dismay.

I thinke that he vnderstood that this word was wholly lost. And to the end that I delay thee no longer, there were some simple words in vse, as when they said amongst themselues Cernere ferro inter se, that is to say, to determine their quarrels betwixt themselues by armes. The same Virgil shall proue this,

And King LATINVS too amazed stands To see two men both borne in forraine landes, In seuerall Angles of this mighty frame, Could thus assembled meete, and ioyne their bands, To trie their right by sword, and winne the same.

Which now we call decernere, which is as much to say as Decide. The vse of this simple word is lost. Our ancestors said Si iusso, that is to say, Si iusser••, which signifieth, If I command. I will not that thou beleeue me. Heerein Virgil is a faithfull witnesse;

Let all the other troupes Which I command come after to the fight.

I labour not now by this diligence, that I may shew how much time I haue lost after the Grammarians, but that thou mayest vnderstand this, how many wordes a man readeth in Ennius and Attius, which at this day are rustie and out-worne, since those of Virgil himselfe, who is daily ouer-looked and handled by vs, are in some sort lost vnto vs. What meaneth this preparation, sayst thou?

Whereto tendeth it? I will not conceale it from thee. My desire is (without offensing thine eare) to say Essensed; if not, I will neuerthelesse say it, although I should displease thee. I haue Marcus Tullius Cicero, the Father of all Romane eloquence, and whom it is no shame to imitate, author and approuer of this word; whose example and authoritie I thinke is sufficient. If thou art de∣sirous to haue one of our late Writers, that hath vsed this word, I haue Fabianus, one of our owne profession, a man of great learning and eloquence, of a stile full of sharpenesse and elegancie, and of an extraordinarie puritie and neatenesse of tongue, which although it be excellent in his kinde, yet sometimes dis∣gusteth with too much affectation. What should I doe my Lucilius? How should I call this Greeke word 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, that is to say, Essence, or Existence, or Being, or Substance? A thing so necessarie, contayning in the vnderstanding thereof, all the whole frame of that, which by all Philosophers both auncient and mo∣derne is called Nature, and which is the foundation of all things? I pray thee giue me leaue to vse this word. Yet wil I make vse of the libertie thou hast giuen me to vse this word, most sparingly; & will not vse it but vpon necessitie, when no other word will so perfitly explicate the sense: and it may be that I will not vse it all, but content my selfe with the priuiledge onely. But where∣to shall this facilitie of thine serue me, considering that I cannot in any sort ex∣presse this word in Latine, which is the cause that I haue so much exclaimed a∣gainst our language? yet more wilt thou condemne the Romane penuri•• and pouertie, when thou shalt finde there is a syllable which I cannot translate. Ask∣est thou me what it is, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which is as much to say as That which is. Thou mayest suppose me to be grosse witted, and imagine it a very easie matter to be done, and that a man may translate that after this maner, and say, Quod est, That which is. But there is a great difference betweene them. For I am constray∣ned to vse a Verbe for a Noune; and if I must needs giue one, I will say Quod est, That which is. A friend of mine, and a man of great knowledge tolde me this present day, that Plato gaue sixe significations to this word: I will expound all of them vnto thee, so soone as I haue explicated vnto thee, that there is a certain Genus and certaine Species also: for first of all we ought to seeke out this Gen∣der, on which all the other Species and kindes doe depend, from whom all the difference and diuisions proceede, and vnder whom all is comprised. But this shall we finde out if we begin to reade all things backward: for by this meane we shall ascend and attaine vnto the ••irst. A man as Aristotle saith, is a kinde, a horse is a kinde, a dogge is a kinde. A common bond is therefore to be found out, which knitteth together all these things, and comprehendeth them all in himselfe; and what shall this be? A liuing creature. A liuing creature then hath begun to be the Gender to all those I named of late; of a man, of a horse, & of a dog. But there are certain things which haue a soule, which are not liuing creatures: for it is a thing most certaine that seedes and trees haue soules; and therefore we say that they liue and die. Liuing creatures then shall holde the highest place, because that all things which haue life and sense are vnder this forme, yea, seedes also. Some things want a soule, as stones. Some things there∣fore shall be more high and greater then such as are liuing creatures, that is to say a bodie. This will I diuide after this manner, that I may say that all bodies are animated or inaminated: and notwithstanding all this, there is something more high then a bodie. For we say that there are somethings corporeate, and other incorporeate: what then shall that be from whence these are deduced? That it is too much, we haue heretofore assigned a name improper enough. 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

That which is: for so will it be diuided into Species, if we say, That which is, hath eyther a bodie or is incorporate. So here then is the first Gender & the highest, and if I should say so, the generall; the rest, to speake truth are Genders, but they are Speciats, as a man is a Genus. For he contayneth vnder him the kindes of Nations, Greekes, Romanes, and Parthians; and of colours, as white, blacke, and redde. There are also some particulars, as Plato, Cicero, Lucrece. For this cause when he containeth diuers things vnder him, he taketh th•• name of a Gender, and when he is contained vnder any other he is called a Species. But that Gender which is generall hath nothing aboue it selfe: it is the beginning of all things. All whatsoeuer is, is vnder the same. The Stoicks would place another Gender aboue this as more principall, whereof I will speake anon, so soone as first of all I haue made manifest this, that the Gender whereof I haue spoken, ought in right to be placed in the first ranke, since in it selfe it comprehendeth all things. I di∣uide That which is, into these kindes; that is to say, into corporeall and incor∣poreall: for there is no third. But how shall I make diuision of the bodie? I must say, that eyther they are animated, or inanimate. Againe, how diuide I things animated? I will say that some haue vnderstanding, other some haue but a soule: or rather thus; some haue motion, walke or passe, some others are tyed to the earth, and are nourished and increase by their roots. Againe, into what kindes should I distinguish liuing creatures? Eyther they are mortall, or immor∣tall. Some Stoicks suppose the primum Genus to be Quid; but why they so think I will hereafter set downe: In nature, say they, there are some things which are and are not, and that nature comprehendeth those things which are not, and present themselues to our vnderstanding, as are Centaures, Giants, and all other such things; which being formed by a false imagination, begins to haue some Image, although they haue no substance. Now returne I to that which I promi∣sed thee, that is to say, how Plato hath diuided al things that are in six sorts. That first, Which is, a man cannot comprehend eyther by light or touch, or by any o∣ther sence. That which is generall is but in imagination. As a man in generall is not seene by the eye, but a particular man is, as Cicero and Cato. A liuing creature is not seene, but is onely comprehended in the vnderstanding; yet are the kindes thereof s••ene, as a horse and a dogge. Of things which are, Plato putteth for the second Gender, that which is called eminent, and surpasseth all other. He saith that this is in way of excellencie. As a Poet is a common name, for all they that make Verses are so called. But now amongst the Greekes this word signifieth but one, and when thou shalt heare them say Poet, thou must vnderstand that it is Homer. What is it then that thou wouldest say? It is God who is the greatest and the most powerfull of all other things. The third kinde is of those things which are proper, and these are innumerable, but they are also placed out of our sight. Askest thou me what they are? They are Platoes, proper implements, and moueables, he calleth them Ideas, of which all things which we behold are made, and to which all things are formed. These are immortall, immutable, and inuiolable. Heare I pray you what Idea is, and what Plato thinketh of it. It is a patterne, and eternall moulde of all things, which are made by nature: yet will I adde an interpretation to this definition, to the end the matter may more plain∣ly appeare vnto thee, I haue a will to make thy picture. Thou art the patterne of my picture, of which my mind gathereth some habit, which he will delineate in his worke. So that face which teacheth and instructeth me, and from which I deriue my imitation, is Idea. Nature then, the mother of all things, hath an in∣finitie of these patternes, as of men, of fishes, of trees, on which is drawne and

exprest all that which she ought to doe. The fourth place is giuen to an Image. But it behooueth thee to be very carefull in vnderstanding what this Image is, and that thou lay the blame on Plato and not on me, as touching the difficultie of things. Yet is there nothing that is subtill, which is not accompanied with difficultie. Not long since I vsed the comparison of the Image which a Painter made. He when in colours he would paint Virgil to the life, beheld him. Virgils face was the Idea, and the patterne of his intended worke; but that which the Painter hath drawne from that visage, and that which he hath painted on his ta∣ble is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, that is to say, an Image. Askest thou me what difference there is? The one is the patterne, the other the figure, drawne from the patterne, and put vpon the worke: th•• one is that which the Painter imitat••th, and the other is that which he maketh. A statue that representeth a man, hath some face that is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which is as much to say, as an Image. The patterne it selfe also hath some face, on which the worke-man in beholding it, hath formed his. Image, and that is the Idea. Askest thou as yet another distinction? 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, that is to say, an Image is the worke which is made, and the Idea is out of the worke, and is not only out of the worke, but it is before that the worke was. The fift Gender is of those that are commonly, and they begin to appertaine vnto vs. There it is where all things are both men, and beasts, and all other things. The sixth Gender is of those things that seeme to be, as voyde and time, Plato numbreth not amongst these that which we see and touch, because they feete, and passe, and haue no being, but in a continuall diminution and adiection. There is no one of vs that in his olde age is that which he was when he was yong. No one man is the same in the morning which he was in the euening, before our bodies are rauished and rouled after the manner of Riuers. All that which thou ••eest runneth with the course of time, nothing is permanent whatsoeuer we see. I my selfe, whilst I say that these things are changed, am changed my selfe. This it is that Heraclitus saith, we neuer descend two times into the same riuer: the same name of the Ri∣uer remayneth, but the water is stolne by. This is more manifest in a riuer then in a man; yet doth a no lesse current carrie vs away. And therefore maruell I so much at our follie, that we can so heartily loue the bodie, which is a thing so subiect vnto flight, and that we haue feare to die some day, since euery moment is a death of the first estate, wherein we were. Wilt thou feare that, that shall be once done, which is daily don? I haue spoken of a man, which is a matter fraile, perrishable, and subiect to all accidents of fortune. But the world also, although it be eternall and inuincible, yet is it subiect to changes, and remaineth not in the same estate. For although as yet it hath all that which it euer had, yet hath it the same otherwise then it had it, and changeth his order. What sayest thou, shall this subtilty profite me? If thou aske, I will answer thee nothing. But euen as the Grauer, after he hath held his eyes so long time fixed on his worke, that they are wearied, fauoreth and recreateth them, or, as we are wont to say, repo∣seth them: so likewise ought we sometimes to recreate our spirit, and refect the same with some delights prouided that these recreations be workes. Amiddest which, if thou take good heede, thou shalt finde something that may be whol∣some. This my Lucilius, am I wont to do. In all things wherin I imploy my selfe, although they be far estranged frō Philosophie, I endeuour to draw some pro∣fit wherof I may make vse. But what profit can I take from this Discourse that I haue now intertained, so estranged from reformation of manners? How can these Ideas of Plato make me better? What shall I draw from these that may re∣straine my desires? At leastwise I shall learne that Plato denieth, that nothing

of that which serueth our sensualitie, that heateth and prouoketh vs, is of the number of those things that are really. These things then are imaginarie, and beare some appearance for a time: there is nothing in them that is firme and as∣sured; and notwithstanding we desire them as if they should be alwayes durra∣ble, and continually permanent with vs. We are wearied and feeble, and linger for a time in the way. Let vs fixe our mindes on those things that are eternall: let vs admire the formes of all things that flie on high, and how God conuersing amongst them, and prouiding for all conserueth that against death which he could not make immortall because the matter hindered him, and how by rea∣son he might surmount the vices of the bodie. For all things remaine, not be∣cause they are eternall, but because they are defended by the care of him that gouerneth them. Immortall things neede no conseruer or tutor, the work-man that made them, maintayneth them, surmounting by his vertue the frailtie of the matter. Let vs contemn al these things which are not so pretious, that it is to be doubted whether they be at all. Let vs thinke also by the same means, that if the diuine prouidence freeth and keepeth this world (which is no lesse mortall then we are) from all perils and dangers, that we likewise may by our proui∣dence lengthen out a litle time, and prolong life in this little bodie of ours, if we can bridle and moderate our pleasures, by meanes whereof the greater part of men are lost. Plato himselfe by a discreet gouernement, of himselfe hath attay∣ned to olde age. He had a strong and able bodie, and men gaue him that name by reason of the broadnes of his breast; but his voyages by Sea, and those dangers he had passed, had very much diminished his forces: yet his sobrietie and the moderation of those things which call on, and prouoke voracitie, and the dili∣gent gouernment of himselfe; the manie others causes hindered him, continu∣ed to his olde age. For thou knowest this as I thinke, that this befell Plato by reason of the benefite of his diligence, that he departed on his birth-day, and fi∣nished the race of foure-score and one y••••res without any deduction. And ther∣fore it was that certaine Magi, who by f••rtune were in the Cittie of Athens at that time, sacri••iced vnto him after his death, supposing that his nature was more excellent then that of other mens, because that he had iustly attained the most perfect number of life, which nine times accomplish. I doubt not but that he was readie to remit some few daies of this summe, and sacrifice. Frugali∣tie may lengthen olde age, which in my opinion, as it is not to be desired, so is it not to be refused. It is a matter of great contentment for a man to be with him∣selfe as long as he may, and especially when he hath made himselfe worthie to enioy the same. Neerely approcheth he the nature of a coward, that slothful∣ly expecteth the last houre of his life: as he is beyond all measure addicted to wine, who after he hath drunke all the wine out of the tunne, would swallow downe the lees likewise. Yet will we notwithstanding dispute further whether the last part of our age be the lees of our life, or whether it be the most purest and liquidest part of our age, prouident that the soule be not any wayes enfee∣bled, and that the senses be as yet entire for the seruice of the same, and that the bodie be not destitute of his forces, and halfe dead before his time. For it auay∣leth much whether a man prolong his life, or linger his death. But if the bodie be in such sort vnprofitable, that it cannot any longer performe his functions; why should not a man draw his soule out of prison, that doth but languish? Per∣aduenture it were the best to doe it the soonest that a man might, lest when it should be done thou canst not doe it. And whereas there is a greater danger of liuing badly, then of dying quickly: he is a foole the which the price of the losse

of a little time will not redeeme the hazard of a great inconuenience. Few men hath long age brought to death without iniurie. And diuers men haue ouer∣passed their life time idlely, without doing any thing. But why shouldest thou esteeme him more cruell to lose some part of life, which must likewise take an end? Be not displeased to vnderstand that which I say, as if this sentence should be pronounced against thee; but iudge thou of that which I say. I wil not aban∣don mine olde age, if she reserue me wholly vnto my selfe. I say wholly in re∣spect of that part which is the best. But if she haue begun to trouble mine vn∣derstanding, or to ruinate some part, or that she hath not left me my life, but my soule: I will depart out of this ruinous and rott••n house: I will not flie a sicke∣nesse by the remedie of death, prouided that it may be healed, and that it breed no damage to my soule: I will not kill my selfe to make an end of my paine; for it is as much as to be vanquished, to die after this manner: yet if I knew that I should endure the same, all the rest of my life, I would depart from it, not by reason of the griefe, but for that it would hinder me from doing all things for which a man desireth to liue. A man is a recreant, and of little courage, that dy∣eth to escape from paine. He is a foole likewise that liueth to feele nothing but paine. But I am ouer-long, there is matter besides which cannot be expressed in a day. But how might he make an end of his life, that cannot make an end of his letter? Farewell then: for thou wilt reade these later words more willing∣ly, then the other discourses which intreate of nothing but death.

EPIST. LIX.

The difference betwixt voluptuousnesse and ioy, and that this is an honest word. Then praiseth he LVCILIVS his stile, and that a Philosopher likewise is not to neglect words: and that parables and similitudes are to be loued, yet that we are seriously, and not slightly to studie Philosophie, neyther must we please our selues quickly, since flat∣terie confoundeth vs.

I Haue read thy Letter with great pleasure, permit me, I pray the••, to vse these common words; neyther reuoke them to the Sto••cks signification. We beleeue that pleasure is a vice. Put case it be•• yet are we wont to vse this word to expresse an affection of ioy in our soules•• I know well, I tell thee, that pleasure (if we will that our wordes be ay∣med to our own purpose) is an infamous thing, and that ioy cannot happen but to a wise-man. For ioy is a certaine lifting vp of the minde, that trusteth to his proper goods and forces. Yet commonly we speake thus, and say that we haue conceiued a great ioy of such a mans Consulate, or of some marriages, or of our wiues bringing to bed, which are not so certaine ioyes, but that oft-times they are the beginnings of future sadnesse. But true ioy hath this benefite to accom∣panie it, that it neuer hath end, neyther is turned to his contrarie. Therefore when our Virgil saith, And the euill ioyes of the minde, he speaketh elegantly, but yet not properly. For there is not any euill that bringeth ioy. He hath giuen this name vnto pleasures, and hath very well expressed that which he would say; for he meant and expressed those men that reioyce in their euill and mis∣fortune: yet haue not I without cause said that I took great pleasure in thy Epi∣stle. For although an ignorant man reioyce vpon a good occasion, yet so it is, that I call that affection which he cannot moderate, and that presently will cas••

it selfe vpon other diuers subiects. I call it, I say pleasure, conceiued by opinion of a fained good, conducted without measure and discretion. But to returne to my purpose, heare what delighted me in thy Epistle: Thou hast wordes at will, thy discourse transporteth thee not, & draweth thee not further then thou hast destinated. There are some that are drawne by the beautie of some word that best likes them, to write more then they had purposed, but the same befal∣leth not thee. All is well ordered and well applyed. Thou speakest as much as thou wilt, & signifiest more then thou speakest. This is a sign of som greater mat∣ter. Moreouer, it appeareth that it hath no superfluitie in it, & nothing proude: yet finde I somtimes Metaphors, which as they are not ouer-hardie, so are they not vnprouided of beautie, and that haue alreadie made proofe of their good grace. I finde certaine comparisons, whereof if there be any one that will inter∣dict vs the vse, and permitteth them onely to Poets, he seemeth to me that hee hath not read any of the auncient authors: amongst whom as yet a plausible speech was not affected or expected. They that speake simply, and to make vs onely vnderstand that they would speake, were full of Metaphors & similitudes, which in my opinion were necessarie, not for the same cause the Poets had to vse them, but to assist the feeblenes of our spirit, and to represent most liuely to the Disciple, and to the auditor that which they said. As behold when I reade amongst other, Sextius a vehement and subtill man, Philosophying in Greeke wordes and Romane manners, I tooke great pleasure to see the similitude and comparison which he vsed, that an armie which feareth to be assailed by an ene∣mie, martcheth in a square battell, to be more readie for the fight: The wise-man, saith he, should doe the like; he ought to stretch out his vertues on all sides, to the end that if there be any danger that threatneth him, his supply may be in a readinesse, and that without any disorder they may obey their gouernour; which we see to fall out in armies, which great Captains know how to arrange, where all the troopes are so orderly disposed, that both the one and the other vnderstand at the same time the commandement of their Generall, and the watchword is as soone heard amongst the battell of footmen, as the troopes of horsemen. But Sextius saith, that this is more necessarie for vs, then for men of warre. For they haue oftentimes had feare of the enemie without cause, and the high-way they feared to be most dangerous to them, was most assured. Fol∣ly hath nothing which is exempt from feare. She feareth as much from aboue, as from beneath; she is afraid both of the one quarter and of the other. There are dangers that come before her, and that follow after her. She is afraid of all things; she is neuer assured, but feareth her owne succours and assistants. But a wise-man is armed, and aduised against all fortunes and violences, although po∣uertie, miserie, ignominie and paine assault and charge him, he will neuer retire•• he wil march, without any feare against his mischiefs, and in the midst of them•• diuers things hold vs bond, and restraine vs, diuers other take from vs our for∣ces, wee haue so long time lien soyled in these vices, that wee can hardly bee cleansed from them. For wee are not onely soiled, but also wholly poysoned. And to the end, that from one comparison we passe not to another. I will aske thee (which I haue oftentimes considered in my selfe) why it is that folly doth so opimatiuely tie vs vnto her? First, because we repulse her not valiantly, and that we will not doe our vttermost endeuour to seeke helpe. Next, because we giue not sufficient credit to those things which are found out by wise men; nei∣ther receiue them with an open breast, and passe ouer, and that ouer-lightly, a thing of great importance. But how can any man sufficiently learne what suffi∣ceth

against vices, who learneth but then, when he hath leasure to giue ouer the libertie of his vices. There is none of vs that diueth to the bottome, we haue onely gathered the top. It is ouer-much to haue beene employed, and to haue giuen a very little time to Philosophie. But that which most hindereth vs, is that we ouer-much please our selues, with our s••lues: If we finde any man that will call vs good men, wise and holy men, we bel••eue them. We are not satis∣fied with a moderat praise, whatsoeuer immoderat flatterie hath heaped on vs, we receiue as due vnto vs, we consent vnto those that say we are very wise and very good, although we know well that they are accustomed to lie. And so farre flatter we our selues, that we will be praised for things wholly contrarie to that we doe. Such a one there is that heareth, that euen they whom hee sendeth to execution, call him sweete and mercifull, liberall in his thefts and robberies, so∣ber and temperate in his drunkennesse and lecherie. Whence it commeth to passe, that wee will not make any change in our selues, because wee iudge our selues to be honest men. Alexander, at such time as he ouer-ranne all India, and pillaged the same by warre, as far as those nations that were scantly knowne to their neighbors, riding about the wals of a Citie, which he beheld besieged, to know on what side it was most easie to bee assaulted, and finding himselfe wounded by the shot of an arrow, he remained a long time on horsebacke, and continued his enterprise. But after the blood was stanched, and that the paine of the wound which was alreadie dried, began to encrease, and that his legge which hung on his horse pommell, began to be astonied, he was constrained to retire himselfe, and to say, All the world sweareth that I am IVPITERS sonne, but this wound of mine crieth out that I am a man: The like let vs do, when as by force of flattery, euery one of vs are made fooles. Let vs say, You report that I am wise, but I see how many vnprofitable things I desire, and how many hurtfull I wish for. Neither vnderstand I this which sacietie teacheth brute-beasts, what measure should be allotted for meat, what for drinke, as yet I know now how much I should take. Now will I teach thee how thou mayest vnderstand, that as yet thou art not wise. Hee may be termed, and is wise, who is replenished with ioy, glad and moderate, and that feeleth no passion, liueth equall with the gods. Now counsell thou thy selfe, if thou art neuer sad, if no hope sollicite thy minde, in expectation of that which is to come, if day and night, thy spirit enioy an ••quall and assured repose, if it be contented in it selfe, thou hast attai∣ned to the fulnesse of that felicitie a man may desire. But if as yet thou huntest after all sorts of pleasures, both heere and there, make account that thou art as farre estranged from wisdome, as thou shalt be from ioy and content. Thou hast a will to attaine thereunto, but thou deceiuest thy selfe, if thou thinkest that thou mayest atchieue the same by the meanes of riches. Searchest thou thy ioy amiddest honors, that is to say, amongst cares? These things which thou thus desirest, and thinkest to be any tables to breed thee pleasure and content, are but occasions of sorrowes. All thes••, I say, thinke to finde ioy and pleasure, but they know not the meanes to gaine a great and perdurable contentment. One ta∣keth that in his banquets and his foolish expences: another in his ambition and great troope of vassals, that follow and flocke about him on euery side, and others by the fauours of his friends, another by vaine ostentation of the studie of liberall Arts and Sciences, and letters which heale nothing. All these are besotted with a flattering pleasure, which continueth not long as drunkennesse, which yeeldeth some foolish ioy for an honor, and seeth it selfe afterwards fol∣lowed with a tedious repentance. Or as the honor of an applause, and fauoura∣ble

acclamation of the people, which hath beene gotten and ended with much paine. Thou must then thinke this, that the effect of wisdome is the equalitie of ioy. The minde of a wise man is such, as is the state of the world aboue the Moone, there is the aire alwaies peaceable and faire. See here wherefore thou oughtest desire to be wise, for the wise man i•• neuer without ioy. This content∣ment groweth not, but from the conscience of vertues. No man can reioyce, but he that is constant, iust, and temperate. What then (sayest thou) do fooles and wicked men neuer reioyce? No, no more then Lions doe, that haue found their prey. When they are wearied and glutted with wine, and all other plea∣sures, when as the night which they wholly ouer-passe in drinking is as yet but very short vnto them, when in a little bodie a man hath included greater plea∣sures then it may containe, & that he beginneth to giue ouer, & cast them out, then wretches as they are, begin they to exclame and cry out this verse of Virgil.

For how we lewdly spent this later night In fained pleasures thou well vnderstandest.

They which are addicted to foolish expence and superfluitie, passe all the night long in foolish pleasures, as if it should be their last. But that pleasure and ioy that followeth the gods, and those that liue as they doe, is neuer intermixed or brought to end: it should cease, if it proceeded and were borrowed from an other. But because it commeth not by the meanes of another, it dependeth not also on the power and authoritie of another. Fortune cannot take that away which she hath not giuen.

EPIST. LX.

That the vowes of the common sort are to be despised, and Nature is to be heard.

I Complaine, I wrangle, and am wrathfull. As yet deniest thou that which thy Nurse, thy Tutor, or mother haue wished thee. Thou knowest not as yet how many euils they haue wished thee. O how harmefull are the wishes of our friends vnto vs! Yea euen then most hurtfull, when they fall out most happily. I do not now mar∣uell if all the mischiefes of the world befall vs, from our first infancie. We are growne amiddest the execrations of our parents. Let the gods at any time heare our vowes, without asking them any thing. How long shall it be, that we will alwayes craue some good at the hands of the gods, as if we had not wherewith to nourish our selues? how long shall we fill the fields with corne, that might suffice to satisfie great Cities: how long time shall it be that a whole Prouince or Nation shall be employed in reaping our corne? How long time shall it be, that a great number of ships shall be employed, to carrie from diuers seas the corne that should serue but one mans table? The Bull is fatned in the pasture of a few acres. One only Forrest sufficeth many Elephants. A man feedeth both of the land and sea. What then? Hath Nature giuen vs so vnsatiable a belly, in re∣gard of that little bodie she hath giuen vs, that it should surpasse the voracitie and hunger of the hugest and most rauenous beasts in this world? Noe truely. For how little is it that wee owe vnto Nature? A man may content himselfe with a little. It is not the hunger of our bellies that costeth vs so deere, it is our

glorie and ambition. And for this cause (as Salust saith) they which follow the pleasures of their belly, ought to be reckoned and ranked amiddest the number of beasts, and not of men; and some of them beside, not amongst the number of beasts, but of the dead. H•• liueth that vseth him selfe, but they that lie hid in sluggishnesse, so liue in their houses as in a sepulchre. Although in their por∣ches thou register their names in marble: yet they are buried before they are dead.

EPIST. LXI.

Let vs studie to be amended and changed. Let vs thinke on death, as if alwaies immi∣nent, and addressed to lay hold on vs.

LEt vs desist to will that which we would, for mine own•• part, as old as I am, I endeuour my selfe not to will that which I would, when I was a child. In this one thing employ I all my dayes and nights, this is my onely labour, this my care, to be able to bring mine old euils to an end. I endeauour that one day may bee to me as much as my whole life. And to speake truth, I take it not us yet as if it were the last, but I regard it, as if it might bee last of all my dayes that I am to liue. I write vnto thee this letter with such an apprehension, as if death should call mee, whilest I am writing of it. I am addressed and ready to depart; and therefore by securitie enioy I life, because I am not much troubled how long it shall last. Before••age I tooke care that I might liue in mine old yeares, that I might die well; and to die well•• is to die willingly. Labour with thy selfe that thou doe nothing vnwillingly, whatsoeuer is necessarie will come to passe, necessitie is but to him that refuseth, and not to him that willeth. There is no necessitie for him that hath a will. I auerre it, that he who willingly submitteth himselfe to another mans command, hath fled the most vnseasonable and cru∣ellest part of seruitude, that is to say, to doe that which he would not doe. Not he that vpon any command doth any thing, is a miserable man, but he that doth it against his will. In such sort therefore let vs compose our mindes, that we will that which necessitie requireth to be done: and aboue all things let vs thinke vp∣on our end, without any shew of heauinesse. We must sooner prepare our selues to death, then to life. Life hath but ouer-much to entertaine the same, but we are they that long after these instruments, that entertaine the same. Wee thinke, and so shall wee alwayes suppose, that wee want somewhat; neither yeares nor daies shall bring to passe that wee haue liued sufficiently, but the minde. I haue liued, my dearest Lucilius, as much as sufficeth, I expect death, as one glutted with life.

EPIST. LXII.

That neither men or affaires are hinderances to a good minde. The praise of DEME∣TRIVS.

THey that would make men belieue, that the multitude of affaires is a hinderance vnto them, in the pursuite and search of liberall studies, doe nought else but lie. They pretend and faine occu∣pations, they augment them, and busie themselues. I am dis∣charged of affaires, my Lucilius, I am discharged, and whereso∣••uer I am, I am wholly to my selfe. For I subiect not, but accommodate my sel••e to affaires. I runne not after the occasions which might make me lose time, and in what place soeuer I bide, there is it that I entertaine my thoughts, and rumi∣nate some profitable matter in my minde. If I giue my selfe vnto my friends, for all that, forsake I not myselfe. I stay not also long time with them, whose company I haue entertained for a time, and for some cause that in duetie com∣manded me. But I am with vertuous men. I send my thoughts and minde vnto them, in what places, and what times soeuer they haue beene. I leade alwayes with me, my Demetrius, the best of men, and leauing a part these purpurated fellowes. I talke with this man halfe naked, and admire him. But how should I chuse but admire him? He wanteth nothing. A man may contemn•• all things, and no man can haue all things. The shortest way to riches is by contempt of riches. But our Demetrius liueth in such sort, that hee seemeth not to haue contemned all things, but onely to haue permitted that others should enioy them.

EPIST. LXIII.

A consolatorie Epistle vpon the death of a friend, both wise and excellent.

THou art very impatient, because thy ••riend Flaccus is deceased, yet will I not that thou subiect thy selfe to disordinate sorrow. I dare not exact this at thy hands, that thou shouldest not grieue, yet know I this, that it is the better. But to whom is it, that so firme a constancie of minde may happen, but to him alone, who hath troden fortune vnder his feete. Yet him also would this thing trouble and pricke, yet would it but onely pricke. For our selues we may be pardoned, if we will, in teares, prouided that they be not ouer-lauish, and that we our selues haue repressed them. In the losse of a friend, neither let our eyes be drie, nor o∣uerflowing; we must shead teares, but not weepe out-right. Supposest thou that I subiect thee to a rigorous law? When as the greatest Poet amongst the Greekes gaue leaue and limit to teares for one day only, when he said that Niobe also bethought her of her meate. Wilt thou know from whence these plaints and immeasurable teares proceed? By teares wee seeke the testimonie that wee bewaile them, and wee follow not griefe, but wee shew it. No man is sad to himselfe. O vnhappy folly, there is also some ambition of griefe. What then, sayest thou, shall I forget my friend? Vndoubtedly thou promisest him a verie short remembrance, if it must continue no longer then thy griefe. The least

occasion of fortune, will suddenly change the wrinckles of thy brow into smiles. I grant thee not a more long time, the length whereof notwithstanding might calme and allay the greatest sorrowes of this world, and make an end of the most bitter griefes. As soone as thou shalt cease to flatter and nourish thy griefe, this opinion of sadnesse will forsake thee; now keepest thou, and enter∣tainest thy sorrow, but how charily soeuer thou keepe it, it will escape from thee, and the sooner, the more sharper it is. Aboue all things, let vs labour that the remembrance of our friends which we loose, be agreeable and pleasing vnto vs. No man taketh pleasure to remember such a subiect, whereon hee cannot thinke without torment, notwithstanding if it cannot otherwise be, that the name of our friends, whom we haue lost, may be reduced to our memorie, with∣out some touch and attaint of sorrow, that very touch it selfe hath some plea∣sure in it. For as our Attalus was wont to say; The memorie of our deceased friends is pleasing vnto vs, no otherwise then the sowrenesse of old wine, or as apples eager-sweet are tastefull vnto vs. But after a little time is ouer-past, all that which tormented vs is extinguished, and then a pure and true pleasure is conceiued in our mindes, if wee will giue credit vnto him, to thinke th••t our friends are in health, is to eate hony and cakes. But the memorie of those that are deceased can yeeld no ioy, but that which is intermixed with some little bit∣ternesse. But who is he that would deny that these sharpe things, and such as haue in them some acrimonie, are not hurtfull and displeasing to the stomacke? Yet am not I for all this, of that opinion. The remembrance of my friends that are deceased, is agreeable and pleasing vnto me. For I had them, as if I were to lose them, and I haue lost them, as if I had them. Doe therefore, my Lucilius, that which thy deiscretion requireth. Forbeare to giue an euill interpr••tation of the benefits of Fortune, she took away, but she had giuen. Let vs then enioy our friends with a greedie desire, because we know not whether they shall con∣tinue with vs a long time or noe. Let vs thinke that we haue oftentimes left them, when as we had made some long voyages, and how oftentimes abiding with them in the same place, we haue not seene them; and we shall find that we haue lost more time when they were aliue. But may a man endure those that make no reckoning and account of their friends when they haue them, but be∣waile them afterwards most miserably, and neuer loue any, but euen then when they haue lost him? And therefore do they then more abundantly weepe, be∣cause they are afraid, left it should grow in doubt whether they loued them or no. Thus seeke they to take testimonies of their amitie. If wee haue other friends, we doe them iniurie, and conceiue an euill opinion of them, to thinke that they cannot comfort vs as much, as one onely whom we haue lost. And if we haue not any, we our selues doe our selues greater wrong, then we haue re∣ceiued at Fortunes hands. She hath onely taken one from vs, and we haue not made any. Againe, he scarcely loued any one, which could not loue more then one. If a man that were robbed, and had lost the onely one coate that he had, had rather bewaile his misfortune, then bethinke him by what meanes hee might escape the cold, and finde something to couer his shoulders, wouldest thou not esteene him for a great foole? Thou hast buried him thou louedst, seeke now another whom thou mayest loue. It is better to get a new friend, then to bewaile an olde. I know well that the thing which I pretended now to speake is verie vulgar, and knowne vnto euery man: yet will I not pre∣termit it, though all the world hath vsed it. Hee that by reason and counsaile, could not finde an end of his sorrow, met with it in time, but it is most con∣temptible

for a wise-man to finde no remedie for his sorrow, but by wearying himselfe with the same. I had rather thou shouldest relinquish thy sorrow, then that thou shouldest be left by it. Desist from doing that as soone as thou canst; which although thou wouldst thou canst not long do. Our auncestors limitted the tearme of a yeare for women to mourne in, not that they should mourne so long; but that they might not mourn longer. To men they prefixed no distinct time, because no time is honest; yet which of these women wilt thou name me, which could scarcely be drawn from the pile where their husband was burned, or dragged from his dead carcasse, whose moans continued for a whole month? Nothing groweth more soone into hatred then griefe; which being new, find∣eth a comforter, and draweth some vnto him to solace him, but being inueterate is derided; and not without cause, for eyther it is fained, or it is foolish; yet doe I write this vnto thee, euen I, who haue immeasurably bewayled Annaeus Se∣renus my deere friend, that (which I write with hearts-griefe) I might be num∣bred amongst the examples of those, whom sorrow hath ouercome. But at this present time I condemne mine owne action, and thorowly perceiue that the greatest cause of my so mourning, was, because I neuer thought that I might haue died before him. I thought onely that he was younger, and farre more young then I, as if the destinies called vs by order of our birth. Let vs therfore continually meditate, as well on our owne mortalitie, as theirs whom we loue. Then should I haue said: my Serenus is yonger, what is this to the purpose? he must die after me, but he might also before me: and hauing not thought here∣vpon, fortune surprising me on the sudden, strooke me thus. Now know I that all things are mortall, and that they are mortall, vnder an vncertaine lawe. That may be done to day, what euer may be done. Let vs thinke therefore deere Lucilius, that we shall quickly come thither where he is lodged, whom we so la∣ment for. And happily (if the opinion of wise-men sauor of truth, and any place receiue vs, he whom we suppose to haue perished is but sent before vs.

EPIST. LXIIII.

The praise of QVINTVS SEXTIVS, and then of wisedome it selfe. That the true au∣thors thereof are venerable, and that notwithstanding we may adde thereunto.

THou wert yesterday with vs. It may be demanded whether yester∣day onely, and therefore I added, with vs•• for thou art alwayes with me. Certaine friends came suddenly to me, vpon whose ar∣riuall the Chimney smoaked more then it was accustomed; not that this smoake was of that kind, as that which was wont to fume from the Kitchins of those that intertaine feasts, or to terrifie those that watch by night; but a little smoake that signified that some guests were come to me. We had diuers and different discourses, as it happeneth to those that sit at ban∣quet, reducing nothing to a resolution; but passing from one thing to another. Afterwards the booke of Quintus Sextius the father (a man of much knowledge if thou wilt beleeue, and a Stoicke, although some would denie it) was read vn∣to vs. O good God, how is this man replenished with constancy and courage: Thou shalt not find the like amongst all the Philosophers. Some mens writings haue only a goodly title, the rest of them are without life, they make institutiōs, they dispute, and cauill, they adde no courage, because they haue none. When

thou hast read Sextius, thou wilt say he liueth, he is full of vigour, he is free, he is more then a man. He leaueth me alwayes replenished with great assurance. Howsoeuer my minde be disposed•• if I read him (I will confesse vnto thee) I am addressed to prouoke all casualties, and freely to exclaime. Why ceasest thou Fortune? Come and encounter me, thou shalt and doest see me in a readinesse. I cloath my selfe in his courage which serueth for a subiect, against which he may approue, and where he may expres••e his vertue.

He wisheth freely that he might behold A foaming Boare amidst his idle folde, Or some sterne Lion from the hils descend, With golden crest his cattell to offend.

I desi••e to haue somewhat that I may ouercome. I will suffer to exercise my pa∣tience•• for Sextius likewise hath this admirable qualitie in him, that he will sh••w thee the excellency of a happy life, and wil not put thee out of hope to ob∣••••ine the same. Thou shalt know that she is lodged in a place very high, not∣withstanding a man that hath will, may mount thereunto. Amongst all o••her things, only vertue may giue thee the same, that thou maist admire therat, with∣out losing thy hope to attaine the same. Truely the onely contemplation of wisedome, very oftentimes robbeth me of very much time. I beholde the same with no lesse astonishment, then I doe the heauens and the world, on which I oftentimes cast mine eyes, as if I had neuer seene the same: therefore is it that I reuerence and honor the intentions of wisedome, and the inuerters also: It de∣lighteth me to goe and take possession thereof, as of an heritage common vnto many. These things are gotten, these things are laboured for me. But let vs pl••y the part of a good ••ather of a family: let vs increase that inheritage which was left vs, ••nd let this possession descend to my posteritie, in more ample manner then I receiued it from mine auncestors. Much there is that as yet remaineth to be done, and much more shall remaine: for after the reuolution of a thousand ages, the occasion shall neuer be left to them that are borne hereafter, to adde somewhat. And although antiquitie hath inuented all things, yet the vse, the science, and disposition thereof, which hath beene inuented, shall alwayes re∣maine new. Put case we had some medicines left vnto vs for the healing of eies, I need not seeke for other; yet are these to be fitted both to the diseases, and to the times: by one of them the heate of the eyes is extinguished, by another the thicknesse of the eye-lids is attenuated; by one a sudden flux of humour and rhum•• is diuerted, by another the sight is quickned. It behoueth thee to grinde these remedies, and allay them well, to make choice of the time, and that thou obserue a measure in euerie one of them. The remedies of the minde were inuented by our auncients, but it behooueth vs to seeke, how and when they should be applied. They that liued before vs haue done much, but they haue not finished the same. Yet must we honour them, and reuerence them as Gods. But why should I not haue the Images of these vertuous and great men in my house, to kindle & quicken vp my spirit? And why should I not celebrate their birth-dayes? Why should I not name them alwayes for honours sake? That veneration that I owe to my Masters, the same owe I to these Masters of man∣kind•• from whom the beginnings of so manie benefites are flowen. If I see ey∣ther a Consull or a Pretor, I will doe all that which is vsually done in yeelding them honor & reuerence, I wil light off my horse, I wil put off my hat, and giue

him the way: why then can I remember both the Catoes, wise Laelius, Socrates, Plato, Zeno and Cleanthes, without some great acknowledgement of honour? Truely I reuerence them, and hearing the greatnesse of these names, I alwayes arise to yeelde them honour.

EPIST. LXV.

He intreateth of the search of naturall things, Of cause and matter, and teacheth how much they are profitable, if they be moderately handled, and to a good end, that is of life: by these lifteth he vp his minde to God and honesty.

I Diuided yesterday into two parts; the one was for my selfe, the other for my sicknes, which vsurped all the fore-noone to it selfe, and left the after-noone for me: for which cause I first of all assayed the forces of my spirit in reading some booke. But I saw that hee tooke pleasure herein•• I grew bolde to command him farre more, yea, I permitted him. I wrote therefore something with a greater care then I was accustomed, whilst I contend with a difficult matter, and will not be ouer∣come, vntill such time as some of my friends came in vnto me, who withdrew me perforce, and reprehended me for a man intemperate in the time of my sick∣nesse. In stead of writing•• some discourse was set abroach, whereof I will relate vnto thee that part which is in question, wherin thou art made Vmpeire. Thou hast more businesse in hand then thou thoughtest of. Certaine it is, that there are three causes, & the Stoicks, as thou knowest, say, that there are two things in nature, whereof all other things are made, The Cause and the Matter: the matter remaineth idle; yet prepared to all things, which will not stirre, except it be moued. But the Cause, ••hat is to say the reason, formeth the matter, and turneth it which way soeuer he list, and produceth out of it diuers works. There must be then some thing, wherof a thing may be made, and after that a meanes by which it is made. This is the Cause, that the Matter. All artes are the imita∣tion of Nature; and therefore all that which I haue said of the world, may be transferred to these, which are to be made by man. A statue had a matter that should receiue the workmanship, and an artizan that should giue form vnto th•• matter. Therefore in the statue the matter was brasse, and the cause the work∣man: all other things are of the same and alike condition. They take their Es∣sence from that whereof they are made, and of him which maketh them. The Stoicks say that there is but onely one cause, namely that which maketh. But Aristotle saith, that the cause may be said after three manners. The first cause, saith he, is the matter it selfe, without which nothing may be made: the second is the workeman: the third is the forme, that is annexed to any worke whatsoe∣euer as vpon a statue: for Aristotle calleth it 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, that is to say, an Image. There is yet another (saith he) which is annexed for the fourth, which is the designe and intention of the whole worke•• I will tell thee more plainly what it is: The Brasse is the first cause of the statue; for it had neuer beene made, if that where∣of it was founded and drawne had not beene. The second cause is the worke∣man: for this Brasse could not haue fashioned it selfe into the forme of a statue, if some skilfull artist had not beene imployed therein. The third cause is the forme; for neither should this statue be called Doriphoras or Diadumenus, ex∣cept this forme had beene expressed in the same. The other fourth cause is, the

purpose and intention wherefore it was made; for without it•• it had not beene made. And what is this intention? It is the same that inuited the work-master, that it is which he followed: it is then either siluer, if he made i•• to sell•• or glory, if he made it for reputation; or his deuotion and pi••tie, if he would giue it for a present to a Temple. This fourth cause then is that for which it is made. Thinkest thou that amongst the causes of a wo••k which hath beene made, that we ought not to count that without which it could not be made? To these doth Plato annex a ••i••t, which he calleth Idea•• for this is the example or pattern, on which the workman casting his eyes, doth that which he had destinated and determined to doe; and it skilleth not whether he haue his patte••ne abroad whereunto he referreth his eye, or within, in his fancie which he hath conceiued and placed in himselfe. God hath the patternes and examples of all things in himselfe. He hath conceiued in his vnderstanding the members and fashions of all that which should be made by him: he is full of all those formes and fi∣gures, which Plato calleth Ideas•• which are immortall, immutable, and indefati∣gable. So that although men die, yet humaniti•• vpon which man is made, re∣maineth: and although men become sicke, and doe die, yet that suffereth no∣thing. There are then fiue causes according to Plato; That whereof, that by which, that whereby, that whereto, and that wherefore. In the last place•• in the worke which is made of these things, as in a statue (because of it w•• haue begun to speake) that whereof is the brasse, that by which is the workman, that where∣by is the forme that is giuen vnto it, that whereto is th•• patterne which the workeman imitateth, that wherefore is the designe and intention of him that made it, and that which is composed of all these is the statue. All these things the world hath also, as Plato sayth. The workeman is God, that which is made is the matter, and the forme is the fashion, and the order which we see in this world•• the pattern and example is that whereon God hath formed the greatnes of this faire worke; the intention is the designe for which he made it. Askest thou me what Gods intention was? His goodnesse. Truely Plato saith so. What cause had God to make the world? He is good•• he hath made good things. He that is good enuieth not any thing which is good: and therefore he hath m••de the best that he could. Giue now thy iudgement hereupon, and pronounce who he is, that in thy opinion hath most neerely aimed at the truth, not who hath said the truth, for that is far beyond our apprehension, as the truth it self. But this great multitude of causes, set downe by Aristotle and Plato, eyther com∣prehend ouer much or too little. For if they thinke that the cause to make a thing, be al that without which nothing may be made, they haue set down too few causes; they should nominate time, for nothing can be done without time; they should set downe place, for if there be not a place where a thing should be done, it cannot be made. They should put downe motion•• without which no∣thing is made, nothing perisheth: moreouer, there is not any art or change without motion. But here seeke we the first and generall cause. This should be wholly simple, because the matter is simple. We aske what this cause is? It is the reason that maketh, that is to say God. And by this reason that I tolde you, there are not diuers and particular causes; but they depend wholly vpon one, that is on that which maketh. Thou sayest that forme likewise is one of the causes, and that it is it which the workeman putteth vpon his worke: it is a part but not a cause. The patterne also or example is not a cause, it is a necessarie in∣strument of the cause, so is the patterne necessarie to the workeman, as the po∣lishing iron, or the fyle, for without them art can profit nothing: yet are they

not parties, or causers of the art. The intention of the work-man (saith he) for which he vndertaketh to make anie thing is a cause; yet though it were a cause it should not be efficient but accessarie. Now these causes are innumerable, but we dispute of a generall cause: vndoubtedly they haue not spoken with their accustomed subt••lty, when they haue said that this whole world and this worke so well finished, was the cause: for there is a great difference betwixt the worke and the cause of the worke. Pronounce then thy sentence, or say (as it is more ••asie in matters that are doubtfull) that this question is not yet in state to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 iudged, and so dismisse vs. Thou wilt say vnto me, what pleasure doest thou conceiue in lo••ing thy time after these things, which cannot disburthen thee of any passion, not master any couetousnesse? For mine owne part, first of all I discourse of that which may settle my minde in repose, and I rather enquire a••∣ter my selfe then the world or this Vniuerse Doing this I loose not my time as thou thinkest. For all these discourses, if they be not cut off, if they be not drawn to vnprofitable subtilties, do an••mate and raise the minde, which feeling it selfe pressed with a heauie burthen, desireth nought else but to deliuer her selfe, and to returne to those places where she hath beene. For this bodie is but a bur∣then and prison of the soule. She is wearied with the burthen, she is in bon∣dage, if Philosophie come not to succour her. But she hath commanded her to breathe in the contemplation of nature, and hath permitted her to forsake the earth, and annex her selfe to diuine things. This is the libertie she hath, this is her refectorie; meane while she issueth out of prison where she is d••tained, and goes to recreate her selfe in heauen. Euen as worke••men, who haue long time held their eyes fixed vpon any subtill worke, and wearied them thereupon, e∣specially if they labour in some obscure place, and with little light, goe out into the open aire, and seeke out some publique place, where the people are accusto∣med to disport themselues, & recreate their sight in the cleere light of the day•• so the mind, imprisoned in this darke and obscure receptacle, as often as it may, seekes libertie, & reposeth it selfe in the contemplation of the works of nature. A wise-man, & he that followeth wisdom, is in some sort tyed to his bodie, but is absent from the same in his best part, and addresseth his best thoughts to high and sublime matters, and as if he had taken the oath of a souldier, he maketh ac∣count, that the time that his life lasteth is his pay or wages: and in such sort is he reformed and resolued, that hee beareth neyther loue nor hatred to his life, and patiently suffereth all transitorie things, although hee know that a greater good remaineth hereafter. Wouldest thou interdict me the contempla∣tion of all things in nature, and retiring me wholly, restraine me to one onely thing? Shall I not search what the beginnings of all things are? Who it is that formed them? Who it was that distinguished all that which was confuse, and mixed in a masse in a matter idle and immoueable? Shall I not seeke who it was that made this world? By what wisedome this incredible greatnesse of the V∣niuerse hath receiued his lawes and his order? Who it is that hath gathered to∣gether so many things that were scattered? Who hath seperated those that were confused? Who hath diuided the beautie amongst those things which were hidden vnder an abiect deformity? Whence commeth this so great light? Is it fire, or any thing more resplendent then fire? Should I not enquire after these things? Shal I not know whence I descended? or whether I shall see them but once or diuers times? Shall I not know whither I must returne, and what place attendeth my soule, after it shal be deliuered from this humane seruitude? Wilt thou hinder me from mounting to heauen, that is to say, Wilt thou com∣mand

me to liue abiectly? I am more great, and borne for greater things, then to be a slaue to my bodie, ouer which I neuer fixe mine eyes, but as on the chaines that hold me prisoner, and restraine me from my liberty. It is my bodie which I expose to Fortune, to withstand her assaults: I permit not any wound to passe thereon, that may afflict my soule. All that which may subiect it selfe, or suffer iniurie in me, is but this prison of mine, abiect and slauish; the soule that remaineth therein is free. Neuer can this flesh of mine make me per∣take any feare, nor vse any cowardize, vnderualuing a good man, nor to lie to doe honor to this miserable bodie. When it pleaseth me, I will breake the company I haue with him. And now although we are vnited together, we wil not be companions vpon equall tearmes. The soule will say that all appertai∣neth to her. The contempt of her bodie is her true libertie. But to returne to my purpose. Truely the contemplation of that we spake of late, may serue very much to this libertie. That is to say, that all things are composed of mat∣ter and of God. God gouerneth all these things, which being spread round a∣bout him, follow their Gouernour and their Chiefe. And God, who is he that maketh, is more powerfull then the matter which suffereth the forme that God will giue vnto it. The same place that God obtaineth in the world, the same hath the soule in the bodie. That which the matter is to God, the same is the bodie to vs. The Inferiour therefore ought to enioy the Superiour. Let vs be firme and constant against Fortune, and let vs not feare or tremble at iniuries, wounds, imprisonment or pouertie. What is death? Either it is the end, or a passage: neither feare I to cease to be, for it is the same, as if I had neuer beene, nor to passe, because in no place shall I bee lodged more straitly.

EPIST. LXVI.

That CLARANVS is old, but liuely, and that in bodie he was deformed, but in minde honest. He careth not for the house wherein he dwelleth. The diffence of goods a∣mong the Stoicks, and that all things are equall. What then? Are ioy and patience the same? They are so in regard of vertue, not of matter. And that externall things also giue not any augmentation of good. These things handleth he copiously, distinct∣ly and excellently. O let vs reade it, and apply the same.

I Haue seene Claranus my companion in studie, whom of long time before I had not seene. Thou expectest not, in my opinion, that I should tell thee he is old, but at least as yet hath he his spi∣rits liuely and vigorous, and such as striue with his little body. To speake the truth, Nature hath done amiss••, to lodge so faire a minde in so foule an hostrie. Or else, it may be, she had an intent to teach vs, that the strongest and blessedest minde might hide it selfe vnder any skin, what∣soeuer•• Yet hath he ouercome all impediments, and through the contempt of himselfe hath he attained ••o farre, as to contemne all other things. In my opi∣nion, he deceiued himselfe, that said,

Vertue is farre more gracious, getting place Vnder the conuert of a comely face.

For she hath no need of any forren ornament, she deriueth her dignitie from her selfe, and maketh the bodie which she possesseth, holy and sacred. Truely I began to behold my friend Claranus very neerely, and in my iudgement hee seemeth very faire, and as well learned in bodie, as confirmed in minde. A great man may issue from a sheepe-coate, and a vertuous and faire soule may be clo∣sed in a deformed and base bodie. And Nature, in my opinion, expressely cau∣seth some to be borne after this manner, to make vs see, that vertue may be lod∣ged in all places, if possibly shee could haue brought foorth naked soules, shee would haue done it. But now doth shee farre more disproportioned in na∣ture, notwithstanding ouercome these impediments. Claranus, as I suppose, was made to serue for a patterne, and to let vs see, that the soule cannot be defi∣led by the deformitie of the bodie, and that the bodie may receiue ornam••nt by the beautie of the soule. But although we haue remained very few day••s to∣gether, yet notwithstanding diuers discourses passed betweene vs, which I will orderly digest, and afterwards send vnto thee. The first day the question was, how goods should be equall, since there was a three-fold condition of them. Some of these goods, as our Philosophers say, are placed in the first ranke, name∣ly, ioy, peace, and felicitie of the Country. The other are in the second, which neuer make themselues knowne, but in a miserable subiect, as patience in the middest of torments, and temperance in a great sicknesse. We desire that the first should befall vs euery day, and the second when need requireth. There is also a third sort, as to walke modestly and grauely, to carrie a modest counte∣nance, and vse the gestures and behauiours of a wise man. How is it then, that these goods may be equall among themselues, since we are to desire the one, and depart from the other? If we will distinguish, let vs returne to the first, and consider what it is. A soule that fixeth his eyes vpon the truth, that knoweth that which she ought to eschew or desire, that priseth all things, not by opinion, but by the lawes of Nature, that intermixeth it selfe a middest this great vniuers, and ••ixeth her contemplation vpon the effects thereof, that is, incessantly occu∣pied in thinking and doing, that is, as great as she is vehement, that suffereth not her selfe to be ouercome, neither by aduerse, or pleasing things, that submitteth not, neither to the one nor to the other fortune, that is, eminent aboue all things that may happen or befall her, that is, faire with a good grace, that hath her strength accompanied with health and sobrietie, that is, neuer affrighted nor astonished, whom no violence can shake, whom Fortune cannot raise or de∣presse. Such is the vertue of the soule, such is her face, if she might expresse her selfe at once, and might wholly and at once discouer her selfe to our sight: yet many differences hath she in her selfe, which discouer themselues in the diuer∣sitie of life, and his actions; and yet becommeth she neither more great nor more small then she is. For the soueraigne good may not decrease, neither hath ver∣tue power to goe back-ward, yet changeth she in diuers qualities, and confor∣meth her selfe according to the habit of those things she will do. She changeth and trans••igureth into her likenesse all that which she toucheth; she maketh the actions, amities, and sometime whole houses where she entereth, and which she hath vnder her gouernment, honorable: all that which she manageth, she maketh amiable, admirable, and resplendent; & therfore her force and greatnes cannot be raised higher, because that which is greatest cannot receiue encrease. Thou shalt finde nothing more iust, then that which is iust, nothing more true, then that which is true; nothing more temperate, then that which is tempe∣rate. Constancie findeth nothing that may aduance it, no more then Confi∣dence,

veritie, or Faith. What thing is that, which may be added to a perfect thing? Nothing nor if any thing might be annexed, it is not perfect: therefore not to Vertue also, for if any thing might be annexed, it were deficient. Hone∣stie also cannot receiue any augmentation. For honestie is in the same ranke with other things, which I haue spoken of But what shall we say of that which is decent, of that which is iust, and of that which is lawfull? Thinkest thou not that they are of the same forme, and comprehended vnder certaine limits. To haue power to encrease, is a signe of an imperfect thing. All sorts of good are subiect to the same lawes, the priuate and publike pro••it are ioyned toge∣ther, and truely inseparable in such sort, that one may not separate that which is praise-worthie, from that which is to be desired. Vertues therefore are equall and alike betweene themselues, as also their effects are, and all men to whom they befall. But the vertues of vegitables and liuing creatures, because they are mortall, fraile; fluxible, and vncertaine, arise and fall, and therefore are they not esteemed in the same reckoning. But humane vertues haue but one onely measure. For there is but one right and simple reason. Nothing is more diuine then that which is diuined, nor more celestiall then that which is celestiall. As touching mortall things, we see that they are sometimes high, sometimes low, that sometimes they are abased and encreased, exhausted and replenished. And therefore in so vncertaine a condition they are vnequall; but things that are di∣uine, are of the same nature. But reason is no other thing but a part of the di¦uine spirit, infused and plunged in our humane bodies: if therefore reason be di∣uine, and that there is not any good without reason, all goods of what kinde so∣euer are diuine; but there is no difference betwixt diuine things, therefore not betweene goods. Ioy therefore, and a stout and obstinat sufferance in torments are equall, for in both there is the same greatnes of minde, but in the one more remisse and relenting, in the other more withstanding and intent. What? thin∣kest thou not his vertue is great, that s••outly entereth his enemies citie, as his that patiently sustaineth the siege? Scipioes courage is great, which holdeth Num••ntia, so closely besieged and beleagred, that constrained that inuincible na∣tion, to make away themselues by their owne hands: and great is the minde of of those besieged, that know that nothing is shut vp from him to whom death is open, and that expireth in the embracing of his libertie. The like equall are the rest also among themselues, tranquillity, simpliciticy, liberality constan∣cie, equanimity, sufferance: for in all these, there is but one vertue that maketh the minde vpright and immutable. What then? is there no difference betwixt ioy and the inflexible patience of paines: none at all in regard of the vertues themselues, much in respect of those things, in which both the vertues are ex∣emplified. For in the one there appearth a recreation and repose of spirit, in the other a griefe contrarie to nature. These subiects then are the meanes, which receiue betweene them a great difference. But the vertue is equall both in the one, and in the other. The matter changeth not the vertue. That which is distastefull and difficult cannot make it worse, neither that which is ioyfull and agreeable better. It followeth then, that both the one and the other of these goods are equall. For this man cannot beare himselfe more vertuously in his ioy, nor the other in his torments, and truely two things in which nothing may be bettered, are equall. For if those things which are placed out of vertue, ei∣ther can diminish or encrease the same, that ceaseth to be one good which is ho∣nest. If thou grant this, all honestie perisheth. Why? I will tell thee: Because there is nothing honest, that is, done either by an vnwilling man, or by him

that is enforced: all honestie is voluntarie; if thou mixe with it slothfulnesse, complaints, refusals, and feare, he hath lost all that is good in it selfe, to please himselfe. It cannot be honest, which is not free, for that which feareth is in bondage. But that which is honest is equally assured, and full of peace and re∣pose. If he refuseth any thing, if he weepeth, if he iudgeth that it is euill, hee entereth into some perturbation, and feeleth a great discord in his soule. For on the one side, the appearance of good calleth him, & on the other the feare of euill retireth him. Thus he that will do any thing with honor, ought to iudge, that nothing of that which opposeth it selfe against his wil, is euil, although it be incommodious. All that which is honest, ought to be effected, without another mans command or constraint. It is pure and sincere, and no waies intermedled with any other euill. I know well what a man may answere me heere. Thou endeuourest to perswade vs this, that there is no difference whether any man be in ioy, or lie in torture, and wearie his executioner. I might answere that which Epicurus saith, That a wise man would crie out with a loude voice, al∣though he were ••o asted in Phalaris bull: O how sweet is this torment, and how little appertaineth it to me? Why wonderest thou, if I say, that the good of him that is seated in the middest of a banquet, and of that other, which remaineth and standeth firme and constant amiddest the torments, are equall, whereas (which is farre more incredible) Epicurus saith) that it is a sweet thing to be tor∣tured. But I answere thereunto, that there is a great difference betwixt ioy and dolour. For if I should be put to my choice, I would demand the one, and flie the other: the one is amicable to Nature, the other is contrarie. As long as they are esteemed after this rate, they are very different betweene themselues: but when we come vnto vertue, both the one and the other are equall, as well that which maketh his way by ioy, as the other that maketh it by sorrow. Vexati∣on, griefe, and whatsoeuer other incommoditie are of no moment, for they are surmounted by Vertue. Euen as the clearenes of the Sunne extinguisheth the lesser lights: euen so paines, afflictions and iniuries, are dissipated and abated by vertue; which, in what place soeuer shee shineth, extinguisheth all that which appeareth not to be enlightned by her. And those paines and incom∣modities that fall vpon vertue, haue no more power ouer her, then a little raine ouer the sea. But to the end thou mayest beleeue that this is true, a good man will runne without any cunctation to euery faire thing, although the hang∣man be there, the torture be prepared, the fire be enkindled, hee perseuereth, he will not bethinke him of that he must suffer, but on that which he ought to doe. He will cast himselfe vpon an honest thing, as betwixt the armes of a good man, he will make account that it is profitable, assured, and full of good happe. An honest thing therefore shall haue the same place and credit with him, al∣though it be heauie and troublesome, as a good man should haue, although he were poore, banished and sicke. Well then, set me on one side a good man full of riches, and on the other side, one that hath nothing at all, and yet notwith∣standing, hath all things in himselfe; the one shall bee as good a man as the o∣ther, although their fortunes be different. The same reckoning ought a man to make in all things, as he doth of men: Vertue is as laudable in a healthfull and free bodie, as in a sicke and imprisoned. Thy vertue then shall be no lesse praise∣worthie, if Fortune hath conserued thy bodie in health, & without harme, then if it were maimed in some member. Otherwise it were to praise the Master by his mens liueries. For al these things on which Fortune exerciseth her power are base and seruile, as are riches, the bodie & honors, they are weak, fraile, mortall,

and possessed with vncertaintie. Contrariwise, the workes of vertue are free and inuincible, the which are not to be wished for more, when they are sauou∣red by any flattering fortune, nor lesse also when they are followed with some disaster. That which we call friendship towards men, is a desire and couetous∣nesse towards good things. I suppose thou wouldst not rather prise a good rich man for his wealth; then thou wouldest do a poore man, nor a strong and migh••tie man, then a feeble and weake man. By the same reason, thou wouldest not rather wish a faire and peaceable thing, then that thing which is painfull and la∣borious. And if it be so of the two that should be equally good, thou haddest rather like of him that should be neate and perfumed, then him that should be slouenly and vncombed: In fine, thou wouldest come thus farre, that thou wouldest more loue a man that were complete in all his members, that had ne∣uer beene hurt, then a weake and spur-blinde fellow. Briefly, by little and little thy disdaine would increase so farre, that of the two that should be equally sage and iust, thou haddest rather haue him that were faire locked and frisled, then him that is disguised and balde. When the vertue both of the one and the o∣ther is equall, the inequalitie of other things appeareth not. Because all these o∣ther things are not partes, they are but accessaries. For who is hee that would make so iniust an esteem amongst his children, that he would make better reck∣ning of him that were whole, then of him that were sick: of him that were great and high of stature, more then of him that were low and little? Wilde beas••s di∣stinguish not their yong ones, they couch themselues on the ground to nourish them altogether: birds doe equally distribute their meat to their young Vlysses maketh as great hast to see his rockes of Ithaca, as Agamemnon his noble walles of Mecaenae. For no man loueth his countrey because it is great, but because it is his owne. But whereto tend these things? To the end that thou mayest know, that vertue carrieth an equall eye and regard on all her workes, as on her pro∣per children, that she loueth all of them alike, and those farre more tha feele a∣nie paine, because the loue of fathers extendeth more towards those, on whom they haue most compassion. In like manner vertue beareth not lesse affection to those her workes, which she seeth suffer more affliction and torment, but fol∣lowing the custome of good parents, she embraceth and cherisheth them the more. But why is it that one good cannot be greater then another? Because there is nothing more apt then that which is apt, nor nothing more full then that which is full. Thou canst not say that this is more like vnto a thing then that, consequently there is nothing more honest then that which is honest. So then, if the nature of vertue be all alike, all the three sorts of goods are equall. And therfore I say that it is all one to be moderate in ioy, and moderate in pain. Ioy surmounteth not the constancie of the soule, that deuoureth his complaints vnder the crueltie of a hang-man. The one of these goods are to be desired, the other to be admired; yet both of them are equall: for all that which is ill is co∣uered vnder the cloake of a more greate good. He that should be of an opini∣on that these two things were not equall, he should shew that he would neuer cast his eyes vpon vertue, and that hee onely regarded exterior things. True goods haue the same waight and greatnesse, both the one and the other. But the false are vaine and deceiueable. Therefore it is that those goods that seeme so faire and so great to the exterior eye, deceiue vs when they are brought to their touch and waight. This is true, my Lucilius, all that which reason and vertue praiseth and priseth, it is firme, it is eternall, it maketh the soule assured, and lifteth it vp to heauen, to remaine there euerlastingly. But the goods which

we commend without reason, and that haue their onely being in vulgar iudge∣ment, doe but fill them with winde, that reuiue in them. Contrariwise, that which a man feareth as euill, doth but affright our minds, and terrifie the same no otherwise then apprehension of some danger troubleth beasts. All these things then doe recomfort the soule, or torment it without reason: for neyther is the one worthie of any ioy, nor the other of any feare. There is nought but onely reason, which is immutable and constant in her iudgement; for shee o∣beyeth not, but commandeth the senses. Reason is equall with reason, as right to that which is right. Vertue then is the like; for she is nought else but right reason. All vertues are rightfull reasons, if they be rightfull they are equall. Such as the reason is, such are the actions. Therefore all are equall: for since they are like vnto reason, they are also like betweene themselues. And those a∣ctions terme I equall betweene themselues, which are vpright and honest. But yet they shall be much different, by reason of the varying of the matter, which is now more ample, now more sparing, now more worthie, now more ignoble, now pertayning to many, now vnto few. And notwithstanding in all those things, that which is the best is equall. Euen as amongst good men, all are equall as they are good men, yet haue they some differences in age, the one is elder, the other younger; they haue difference in bodie, the one is faire, the other defor∣med; they differ in fortune, this is rich, that is poore: he is gratious, powerfull, knowne to Cities and Nations, this vnknowne to many and obscure. But in that they are good, they are equall. The sense iudgeth not of good and euill: it knoweth what is profitable, and is ignorant of that which is vnprofitable: hee cannot giue his aduice, but of that which is represented before his eyes: he can∣not foresee those things that are to come to passe, neither haue remembrance of that which is forepassed; lesse knoweth he that which may ensue: notwithstan∣ding, thereupon dependeth the order and successe of things, and all the constan∣cie of life, which should be right and perfect. Reason then is it that iudgeth of good and euill, that maketh no account of forraine matters, which come exter∣nally, and that thinketh that those things which are neither good nor euill, to be some small and light increasing•• all good to him is in the mind. Moreouer, there are certaine things which she placeth in the first ranke, to which she pur∣posely commeth, as to a victorie, to wise children and well borne, and the health of his countrey. There are other goods of the second degree, which are not knowne but in aduersities, as to suffer a sicknesse or banishment patiently. And certaine other indifferent, which neuerthelesse are more friendly then contrary to nature: as to walke modestly, and to keepe a graue countenance when a man sitteth. For it is a thing as naturall to sit as to stand, or to walke. But the two first are much different the one from the other; for the first are according to nature, that is to say, to reioyce at the pietie of his children, and the felicitie of his coun∣trey. The second are against nature; to sustaine torments with a great constan∣cie and endure thirst, when as the infirmitie burneth the entrailes. What shall it then be? Is there any thing contrarie to nature that may be called good? No truely. But this good is often found in a thing which is enemie to nature: for to be hurt, to be dried and consumed in the fire, to be afflicted with a sicke∣nesse is against nature, but to conserue a mans soule in such harmonie, that she is not wearied to suffer torments, this is friendly to nature. What is reason then? It is an imitation of nature. What is mans chiefest good? It is to doe all things according to natures will. It is vndoubted (saith he) that a peace which hath neuer beene interrupted, is better then that which hath beene gotten with effu∣sion

of bloud. There is no doubt (saith he) but that health which neuer hath beene shaken, is better and more happie, then that we haue recouered perforce, and by a long patience of a sickenesse that threatned vs with death: In like man∣ner it is not to be doubted, but that ioy is a greater good, then a soule subiect to suffer torments, wounds, and fire, yet are these things nothing. For those things that happen casually receiue a great difference, because they are esteemed by the pro••ite of those that receiue them. The intention and end of good men is to consent vnto nature. She is equall in all. When as the whole Senate followeth the opinion of one man: a man cannot say, This man is better aduised then the other; for all of them haue followed that opinion. I say the same by ver∣tues; all of them consent vnto nature: I say the same by good men; all o•• them consent vnto nature. One is dead young, another olde: some one moreouer is dead in infancie, that hath enioyed no other good then to haue the onely sight of life: all these were equally subiect to die, although death hath suffered some of them to liue more long, and that to others she hath cut off the threed of life, euen in the flower of their age, and hath interrupted the beginnings and birth of some other. One dieth in the middest of his supper, to another his sleepe and death hath beene but one, and some also haue been strangled amiddest the em∣braces of their minions. Adde also to these, those that are dead by the sword, or haue beene slaughtered by the sting of Serpents, or that haue beene crushed to death vnder some ruine, or that are dead through a long conuulsion of their sinewes, that by little and little hath tortured them. A man may say that the end of some is better, and of others is worse. But the death of them all is equall. The meanes whereby they come thereunto are diuers; but the point where they ended is but one. There is not any death more great, the one then the o∣ther: for she hath one and the same measure in all persons, that is to put an end to life. I say the like of goods; one of these goods nourisheth it selfe, betwixt pleasures and delights, and the other sealeth nothing but aduersities and disa∣sters. Some one hath gouerned at his pleasure the sweetnes of a good fortune, and another hath euer borne the force of a tyrannie: yet both the one and the other goods are wholly equall, although the one hath not martched but by plaine and easie pathes, and the other by places both tedious and dangerous. In briefe, the end of all is wholly a like. They are goods, they are praise-worthy, they follow vertue and reason: vertue maketh all things equall amongst them∣selues, which she acknowledgeth. It behooueth thee not, amongst those opi∣nions which I hold, to wonder hereat. In Epicurus opinion there are two sorts of goods, wherof this happie and soueraigne good is composed, which are, that the bodie be without paine, and the soule without passion and perturbation. Th••se goods increase not when they are compleate: for which way may that increase which is full? The bodie is without griefe; what may be added to this indolencie? The soule is peaceable, and in assured repose; what may be added to this tranquillitie? Euen as the cleere skie and the heauen appearing in his brightnesse cannot r••ceiue any more accomplished beautie: so the estate of a man that hath care of his bodie and of his soule, and will compound his good by the meanes, both of the one and the other, is wholly perfect; it hath attained the fulnesse of his desire, if he feeleth no tempest in his soule, nor trouble in his bodie. If anie other forraine contentments befall vs, they augment not any wayes this soueraigne good, but in a sort season the same, and make it pleasing. For this intirely perfect good of humane nature, contenteth it selfe with the placabilitie of bodie & soule: I will alleadge you from Epicurus himselfe, a diui∣sion

of goods wholly like vnto ours. For there are some with him that he had rather should happen vnto him, that is to say the repose of the bodie, free from all paine, and the contentment of the soule that may reioyce in the contempla∣tion of her goods. There are others which he praiseth and approueth, although he could not wish, they should befall him, as that patience which I spake of late in a great sicknesse, and extreame dolours, which Epicurus supposed his last and fortunatest day of his life. For he said that he suffered torments in his bladder and in his vlcerated bellie, which could not receiue a more greate increase of dolour. And yet he esteemed that day the most happie. But nothing can make a man happie, but him that enioyeth the soueraigne good. There is then amidst Epicurus goods, such as thou wouldest not feele: but since fortune willeth that it must be so, we must embrace, prise, and praise the same as the greatest goods. A man cannot say but that the good which hath giuen a period to a happie life; and for which Epicurus in his last wordes, hath giuen thankes, is not euen and e∣quall with the greatest goods. Permit me yet further, my Lucilius, to speake more boldly to thee: if any goods may be greater then others, I had rather fol∣low those that were displeasant, then those that are gratious and delicate. For it is more honour to ouercome such things as are difficult, then to moderate those that are ioyfull. I know well by the same reason that it may be effected, that some one may entertaine his felicitie modestly, and his calamitie constant∣ly. As valiant ought he to be esteemed that hath all night stood Sentinell in the Trenches, although the enemie hath not sallied to force the Campe, as hee that after his legges haue beene cut off, hath entertained the combate on his knees, and hath neuer forsaken his weapons. We say to those that ordinarily returne from the field, conquered with bloud, God increase your vertue. Therefore it is that I would alwayes praise those goods farre more continually, which are become constant by a continuall exercise, and that haue combated against for∣tune. Should I make doubt rather to praise that roasted and maimed hand of Mutius, then the most healthsomest hand of the most valiant man that is he stood vpright, contemning his enemies and the flames, he beheld his hand that consumed and dropped thorow his enemies Torch, vntill at last Porsena enuied the glorie of him, at whose griefe in the beginning he took pleasure, and caused to his great disgust, the sire to be taken from him. Why should I not account this good amiddest the first and principall? Why should I not esteeme it farre more then those, which some enioy in so much securitie, without feare of for∣tune, since it is a thing more rare to haue ouercome an enemie with a dried and wasted hand, then with a whole and well armed? But why, wilt thou say, woul∣dest thou desire this good? Wherefore not? for there is not any one can do the like•• but he that can wish the same. Should I wish rather to yeeld my feete to be softly rubbed by one of mine olde varlets, or to some woman, or to some one that from a man should become a woman, to stretch the ioynts of my little toes? Why should I not thinke Mutius more happie for managing the fire, in such sort as if he had stretched out his hand to any man•• to rubbe him softly? He salued all the offence he had done, hee made an end of the warre disarmed and lame, and with that maimed hand he ouercame two Kings.

EPIST. LXVII.

After his small Preface, a question whether euery good is to be wished for. He saith that it is, yea euen that whose matter is in euills. As to be constantly burned, sicke, and whipped. Neither is the burning it selfe, a sicknesse, nor the whipping, but that, saith he; is to be wished for, to suffer the same stoutly and constantly. Againe, that Ver••ues are vnited together, and as one, so all. These also are worthy and befitting a stout and reall Stoick.

TO the end that I make the beginning of my letter, with those things that are common: the spring began to open it selfe, but as if it approched alreadie towards Summer, and at such time as it should be hot, it waxed warme. Neither as yet is it to be trusted, for oftentimes it returneth to Winter. Wilt thou know how vn∣assured it is? As yet I dare not aduenture to bath my selfe in cold water, as yet doe I temper the cold thereof. This is, sayest thou, not to suffer either heat or cold. So it is, my Lucilius, mine age is contented enough with his coldnes, that scarcely may be thawed in the middest of summer. And therefore for the most part of the time, I lie couched on my mattresse. I thanke mine age that hath tied me to my couch. And why should I not giue it thankes for this? All that which I should not will, I cannot act. My greatest discourse is with my books: if at any time thy Epistles come betweene, me thinkes I am with thee, and so am I affected in minde, as if I did not write backe vnto thee, but answered thee face to face. And therefore will I entreate of that which thou demandest of me, as if I spake with thee. We will both of vs examine what this question is. Thou wilt haue me t••ll thee whether euery good be to be destred. If it bee good, sayest thou to endure torments couragiously and to suffer the fire with a great constancie, and to endure a sicknesse peaceably: it followeth that all that is to be desired, and yet see I nothing in it, that is worthy to be wished. True∣ly, as yet know I not any man, that hath payed any vow he hath made for be∣ing beaten with whips, or made lame by the gout, or made longer by the racke. Thou must, my Lucilius, make a distinction of these things, and then shalt thou finde t••at there is some point which may be wished for. I could well wish that torments should be alwaies estranged from me: but when of force I must needs feele the same, then would I wish that I might endure them vertuously, coura∣giously, and honorably. Why should I not rather wish, that the war••e should neuer happen? But if it be proclaimed and begun, then would I wish, that with a generous courage I might suffer wounds, famine, and all that which the neces∣sitie of warre bringeth with it. I am not so foolish, as that I would desire to bee sicke, but if it must so fall out, I would desire also that I might not do any thing intemper••tely, or effeminately. So the euils and incommodities are not to be desired, but the vertue whereby incommodities are suffered. Some of our Stoicks thinke, that the constancie and patience in torments and euils, neither ought to be desired nor detested. For when a man wisheth, he ought to desire a thing wholly peaceable, pure, and exempt from sorrowes•• But I am not of their opinion. Wherefore? Because it cannot be that a thing should be good, and should not be desired. Furthermore, if vertue is to be desired, and if there be not any good without vertue, it followeth that all good is to be desired. A∣gaine, if a constant patience in torments should not be desired. I aske thee a∣gaine,

is not Fortitude to be wished for? But she contemneth and prouoketh all perils. The fairest and most admirable part that is in it, is not to flie from a∣ny flames, and to present himselfe to wounds, and sometimes not to auoide them, but to open his breast to receiue them. If then fortitude is to be desired, and patience in suffering torments is to be wished for, (for this is a part of forti∣tude) but separate these things, as I said, there shall be nothing that shall de∣ceiue thee. For to suffer torments, is not to bee wished for, but to suffer them couragiously. That courage wish I for, which is a vertue. Yet who euer wish∣ed this to himselfe? Some vowes are open and professed, when they are parti∣cularly made: some are obscured, when as many things are comprehended in one vow. As when I desire an honest life, but an honest life consisteth of diuers actions. In this is Regulus tombe, Catoes wound rent open by his owne hands. R••tilius banishment, the inuenomed cup that translated Socrates out of prison into heauen. So when I wished my selfe an honest life, I wished these things also, without which sometimes it cannot be honest.

O thrice and foure-times happy men were they, That vnder Troy-towne walles dismembred lay, Before their parents eyes.—

What difference makest thou, either that thou wishest it vnto any one, or that thou conf••ssest that it is to be desired? Decius made a vow to die for the Com∣mon-weale, and seeking nought but death, galloped his horse into the swarmes of his enemies. Another after him, that emulated his fathers vertue, after hee had pronounced the solemne words, which were alreadie familiar vnto him, thrust himselfe mainely into the throng of his enemies, hauing no other care, but to bes••••ch the gods to effect the intention of his vow, supposing that a good death was a thing to be desired. Doubtest thou then, that it is not a great good to die, to the end, to leaue a happie memorie of a man, and of some his vertu∣ous enterprise? When any one endureth torments, constantly he employeth all vertues, although it may be he had but patience onely, which might appeare and shew it selfe. But there is Fortitude, whose patience, sufferance and tolle∣rance are the branches. There is Prudence, without which no counsell is con∣ceiued, which perswadeth to endure that valiantly, which thou canst not flie. There is Constancie, which cannot be deiected from her place, and giueth not ouer her resolution by no feare of torture. There is that inseparable societie of all the vertues. All that which is done honorably, one only vertue doth it, but it is by aduice of counsell. But that which is allowed by all vertues•• although it seeme to be done by one, is to be desired. Why? Supposest thou that those things are only to be wished for, which come by pleasure and idlenesse? And that which we receiue from painted, tapissed, and adorned gates? There are some sad pleasures, and some vowes that are celebrated, not with reioyce, but with adoration and veneration of the the whole assembly. Thinkest thou not that in this kinde Regulus wished not to returne into the hands of the Cartha∣ginians? Put vpon thee the minde of a generous and vertuous man, and separate thy self a little from the opinions of the common sort. Assume as faire and mag∣ni••icent a forme of vertue as thou oughtest: which is to bee honored by vs, not with gauds and garlands, but with sweate and blood. Behold Marcus Cato, thru∣s••ing his most pure hands into that his sacred brest, to enlarge his wound, which as yet was not sufficiently deepe, whether at length wouldest thou say vnto

him, I would that which thou wouldest, and I am much grieued at that which thou doest. Happy be it vnto thee which thou doest. In this place our friend Demetrius commeth to my minde, who termed a secure life, and such a one as was not subiect to Fortunes incursions, the dead sea. For to haue nothing to awaken thee, nothing to moue thee, nothing by whose aduertisement and as∣sault, thou mayest make triall of the firmitie of thy minde, but to liue alwaies in a repose which hath neuer been troubled, this is not a tranquillitie, but a calme, and relent of the sea. Attalus the Stoick was wont to say, I had rather that Fortune should nourish me in the campe, then in her delights. I suffer torments, but it is with constancie: this is well. I am massacred, but endure it constantly; this doth well. Heare moreouer what Epicurus saith: And sweete it is: I will neuer giue a delicate name to a thing so honest and seuere; I am burned, yet re∣maine I inuincible: why should it not be desired•• not that the fire burne me, but that it ouercome me not? There is nothing more worthie then Vertue. All that whatsoeuer; which is done by her direction and command, is good and desirable.

EPIST. LXVIII.

He perswadeth repose, but so as it ••e ioyned with Philosophie. That we are not to boast thereof. And in it we are to entreate of our selues, with our selues, that is, to enquire of our vices, and to amend them. To conclude, that this repose is aboue all other af∣faires, because it serueth the great Common-weale.

I Will be of thy minde; go to then, and retire and hide thy selfe in repose, or rather hide thou thy repose. If thou canst not learne this by the Stoicks precepts, at least thou shalt learne it by their example. But by their preceps also thou shalt learne it, which I will approue vnto thee when thou wilt. We send not ouer to e∣uery Common-weale, neither alwayes, neither without any end. Moreouer, when we haue giuen a wise-man a Common-weale worthy of himselfe, that is to say, the world; he is not out of his Common-weale, although he be retired. But it may bee rather that forsaking a little corner, hee goeth into places more great and spacious, and lodging himselfe in heauen, he then vnderstandeth, that when he was mounted in his chaire, and in his throne, he was rather descended into a more base place. I will shut this secret in thy bosome. That a wise-man neuer profiteth so much, then when both humane and diuine things become the obiects of his eyes. I returne now vnto that which I began to perswade thee vnto, that is, that no man may know that thou wilt liue in repose. It be∣houeth thee not to couer this resolution vnder the cloake of retirement, where∣by thou mayest intend Philosophie. It were better thou shouldest obscure thine intent vnder some other title. Thou must call it sicknesse, feeblenes, idle∣nesse. It is a foolish ambition to glorie in doing nothing. There are certaine beasts, which because they will not be tracted, confound their steps euen about that place where they lurke in. The like must thou doe; otherwise thou shalt not want them that will follow the quest of thee. There are many that passe before the gates of those that are opened, without entring into them, and peepe into the cranies of those those that are closed. The coffer that is closed, whet∣teth on the theefe to breake it open, no man maketh reckoning of that which is

vnlocked, and these lock-pickers assault not the doore that is open. These are the manners of the common people, and thus doth the most ignorant. They desire to enter forcibly into others mens secrets. It is therefore most expedient for a man not to boast of his retirement, and it is a kinde of boasting, to ••e hid∣den too much, and to sequester a mans selfe from the sight of the people. This man is locked vp in Tarentum, that man is retired in Naples, and that other man ••or many yeares hath not ouerstrid his threshold. Vndoubtedly he•• summo∣neth the world to come and see him, that will suffer a report to passe of him through the citie, that he is retired. After thou hast retired thy selfe, thou must doe nothing that men may talke of thee; speake thou only with thy selfe. But what shalt thou talke with thy selfe? That which some men do willingly en∣tert••ine of others. Haue alwayes an ill opinion of thy selfe. Accustome thy selfe•• to speake the truth, and to heare it also. Aboue all things, speake thou of∣ten of those imperfections which thou feelest in thy selfe. There is no man but knoweth his owne infirmities. Therefore it is that some man disburdeneth his stomacke by vomit, another stuffes it with continuall eating, another emptieth and weakeneth his bodie by the meanes of fast. Those that are often tortured with the paines of the gout, abstaine either from bathing themselues, or drin∣king of wine. And without obseruance of any other manner of diet, they or∣dinarily ouercome the sickenesse wherewith they are tormented. So likewise there are certaine parts in our soule, which are the causes of our infirmities, which how we ought to recouer, we diligently must bethinke our selues. What doe I in that repose I take? I cure mine vlcer. If I should shew thee my foote swolne, my hand wholly mortified, or the dried sinewes of my contracted leg, thou wouldest giue me leaue to lie in one place, and to take pitie and regard my griefe. But that euill which I cannot see is farre greater. It is an inflamation and aposteme which I haue in my brest. I will not that thou praise me, neither will I that thou say, O great man! Hee hath despised all things, and after hee hath condemned all the furies of humane life, hee is fled. Alas I haue condemned nothing but mine owne proper actions. Thou must not desire to come vnto me, to the end to profit thy selfe. Thou art deceiued, if hence thou expectest any succours. Heere dwels not the Physitian, but the patient. I had rather when thou art gone, thou shouldest say. I thought this man to be a happy and learned man, I gaue eare vnto him, I am deceiued, I heard nothing, I saw no∣thing that I might desire, or that might allure me to returne againe vnto him. If this be thy opinion, if this be thy speech, I know thou hast profited somewhat; I had rather thou shouldest pardon my repose, then enuie it. What then Seneca, commendest thou repose of spirit vnto me? Thou growest an Epicure in thy opinon at length. I recommend vnto thee repose, to the end, that by the means thereof, thou mightest doe things more great and more excellent, th••n those which thou hast left behinde thee. To knocke at great mens gates, to keepe rec∣koning of old men that haue no children: to haue great reputation in Court, is but a momenta••y power, and full of enuie•• and if thou wilt speake truth, an abiect. This man farre surpasseth me in reputation amongst the Lawyers. He in his allowances and paies for seruice, and his dignities gotten thereby, he in the multitude of his clients, I cannot be so well followed as the one, nor reco∣uer so great reputation as the other. But I ought not to make so great account to be ouercome by men, prouide alwaies that I may ouercome Fortune. Would to God that had beene thy minde heretofore, to haue followed this purpose. Would to God wee held not this discourse of happie life, vpon that instant,

wherein death presenteth her selfe to our sight, yet let vs not delay for all this. For now beleeue we many things by experience, which we should haue belee∣ued by the discourse of reason, to be both super••luous and harmefull. Let vs do like those that set forward on their iourney late, and that by diligence would re∣couer the time which they haue lost, let vs pricke forward on the spurre. This age is as yet very proper to this studie: it is alreadie clensed from his skum: it hath alreadie left those vices which she could not conquer in the heate of her youth. There wanteth little, but that she hath wholly extinguished them. And when, saiest thou, shall this pro••it thee which thou learnest euen in the period of thy yeares, or to what intent? To this, that I may die the better: yet oughtest thou not to thinke that there is any age more proper vnto wisedome, then that which by long experience, and by a continuall and frequent sufferance of casual∣ties hath mortified and ouercom her selfe; and which after it hath triumphed ouer her affections, hath attained to the knowledge of that which profiteth and concerneth her selfe. This is the true time of that good which remaineth but a little while•• what man soeuer, and how olde soeuer hee be that hath attained wisedome, it is by his yeares that he hath compassed it.

EPIST. LXXIX.

That places are not to be changed, but that we ought to be more reposed in bodie, to the end the minde may be more pacified. That we are to fixe the same on a wholsome studie, and to auoyde those things which distract vs.

I Will not that thou change countries, or transport thy selfe from one place to another, first, because so often change is a token of an instable and vnsetled minde. Thou canst neuer make profite of thy retirement, vnlesse thou giue ouer trauell, and wandring from countrey to countrey. If thou wilt settle thy minde, limit thy bodie in some place; then will thy continued remedies profite thee much. Thou must not breake the repose or forgetfulnes of thy former life: suffer thine eyes to forget; suffer thine eares to accustome themselues to wholsome coun∣sailes. As oft-times as thou shalt walke in the streets, thou shalt ••inde in passing by, something that may renue thy affections. Euen as he that would despoile himselfe of loue, ought to flie the remembrance of that beautie, which he hath loued: so he also that will discharge himselfe of the affection of all things, of that desire wherewith he burned in times past, he must retire both his eyes and eares from that he hath forsaken. Affection reuolteth suddenly: on which side soe∣euer she turne her selfe, she shall finde a readie recompence of her employment. There is no euill without reward. Auarice promiseth vs money, lust manie and diuers pleasures, ambition the purple and applause, and thereby power and authoritie, and whatsoeuer authoritie may doe. Vices sollicite thee with re∣wards, but here must thou liue without taking any thing. Scarce can it be effe∣cted in a whole age, that those vices which haue had their increase by so long libertie, should be subdued & brought in subiection•• much lesse may it be done, if we diuide the time which is so short, into little parcels. Hardly can continuall watch and labour bring one onely thing to perfection. Truely, if thou wilt li∣sten to me meditate hereupon, exercise thy selfe to receiue death, and to seeke her out when any occasion shall counsaile thee thereunto. It skils not whether

she come to vs, or we to her, perswade thy selfe that the foolish mens prouerbe and vsuall speech is false; It is a faire thing to die a good death. Thou mayst beside this thinke thus with thy selfe: No man dieth but on his prefixed time: thou loosest none of thy time; for that which thou leauest behinde thee is another mans.

EPIST. LXX.

That by the sight of the POMPEIES, and the admonishment of time past, he thought vpon the swiftnesse and slight thereof. That death is at hand, which is the hauen of troubles. That she is neyther to be ••eared nor desired, or intertained but sometimes, and when? When reason not violent passion perswadeth. Many and most excellent things to this purpose.

AFter a long space of time I haue seene thy Pompeies, and in seeing them me thought that I had recouered againe my former youth: all whatsoeuer I had done there whilst I was a young man, me thought I could as yet doe it, and that but a little while since I did it. Wee saile by our life, my Lucilius, and as in the Sea, as our Virgil saith;

The shores and Citties flie.

So likewise in this so swift course of time, we lose the sight, first of our childe∣hood, and after of our youth, and then whatsoeuer intercurreth betwixt youth and old age, which is con••ined both to the one and to the other, anon after also the better yeares of our olde age. In the last place the common end of all hu∣mane race beginneth to discouer it selfe. Are we so foolish to thinke that it is a rocke? It is the Port which we ought one day to desire, and neuer to refuse; into which, if any man hath beene cast and carried in his young yeares, he ought not to complain, no more then he would, that with a short cut hath ended his Na∣uigation. For as thou knowest there are some whom s••acker winds mocke and detaine, and wearie with gentle tediousnesse of a peaceable calme, some are swiftly borne away by a sudden gust. Thinke that the same befalleth vs. Life hath brought and rauished some very swiftly thither, whether although they would haue delayed, they must needs come. Othersome hath she pined and burned, which as thou knowest are not alwaies to be retained; for it is not good to liue, but to liue well. And therefore a wise-man liueth as much as he ought, not as much as he can. He will alwayes see in what place he ought to liue, with what persons, in what manner, and what he ought to doe. If diuers troubles and sorrowes suddenly surprise him, to the intent to intercept his peace, he ope∣neth the prison himselfe•• neither doth he this onely in a desperate extreamity, but as soone as he hath the least suspicion of fortune, he taketh a diligent heede whether that day should be his last or no. He makes no great reckoning, whe∣ther by his own hand•• or another mans hatred he receiue his death, or whether it be sooner or later. He feareth not as if he were endangered to lose much; no man can haue great losse of water by a dropping Ewer. It skils not whether a man die sooner or later: to die eyther well or ill, that importeth much; and to die well is to flie the perrill of an euill life. Therefore thinke I that Rhodians speech most e••feminate, who by a Tyrant being cast into a caue, and nourished

thereof after the manner of a wilde beast, being perswaded by some to abstaine from his meate, answered, A man ought to hope for all things whilst he liueth. But suppose this were true, yet ought we not buy life an euery rate. There are cer∣taine things, which although they are good, although they are certaine, yet would I not attaine them by a confession of feeblenesse and faintnesse of heart. Shal I beleeue that fortune hath power in all things ouer him that liueth, rather then suppose, that fortune can do nothing ouer him that knoweth how to die? Yet sometimes, although assured death be dependent, and that a man know that a punishment is de••tinated for him, yet must ••e not set ha••d and further his punishment. It is a follie to die through the feare of death: Comes he that should kill thee? Expect him. Why puttest thou thy selfe forward? Why vn∣dertakest thou the charge of another mans crueltie? Dost thou enuie thy hang∣man, the officer to execute thee, or wilt thou spare his labour? Socrates could haue ended his daies by his absence, & might haue rather died for hunger then of venome; yet remained he full thirtie dayes in prison, attending his death, not with this minde, that all things might be pacified, or that so long a time might intertaine so many hopes, but that hee might yeelde himselfe vnto the lawes, and suffer his friends to enioy Socrates, euen vntill his last. But what more great follie could haue beene seene, then to despise death and to feare prison? Scribonia a woman of great authoritie, was aunt on the fathers side to Drusus Libo, a young man, who had as weake braine as his descent was noble, and that hoped for farre more greate fortunes, then any other might hope for in that time, or himselfe in any other time after; when as he was borne away from the Senate in his Litter, not with frequent obseruances (for all his neerest friends had forsaken him shamefully, not as a guiltie, but a conuicted person and execu∣ted) he began to aske counsaile whether he should hasten his death by his own hands, or expect the same. To whom Scribonia: What pleasure hast thou, said she, to finish that which another ought to execute? But she could no wayes per∣swade him. He murthered himselfe with his owne handes, and not without cause: for being assured that within three or foure dayes after, if he had beene found aliue, he should die that death whatsoeuer was best liking to his enemie, he finished that which another man should haue executed. Thou canst not then make a generall iudgement, when as the violence of a forraine tyrant de∣nounceth thee death; whether thou oughtest to further or expect the same. For there are diuers reasons, which draw vs both to the one and the other opi∣nion. If the one death should be accompanied with torments, and the other should be simple and facile: why should I not allow of that? Euen as I would chuse a ship to saile in•• and a house to dwell in; in like manner would I chuse the better death to depart out of this life. Furthermore, euen as the longest life is not the best, so the longest death is the worst. There is nothing wherein wee should giue more contentment to our soules, then in the maner of death which they best like of. Let the soule depart by that issue, her selfe inforceth, whether it be she desire the dagger or the halter, or a poisoned cup that may suddenly seize all the veines, let her proceed and breake the bonds of her seruitude. Euerie on•• ought to endeuour to approue his life vnto others, and his death vnto himselfe. That which pleaseth vs most is the best. This is but a follie to think thus. Some will say that I did it not couragiously enough, some that too much rashly, some that there was a kinde of death more generous. Thinkest thou that it lieth in thy power to make choice of a counsaile, which shall not be subiect to common report and censure? Thinke onely to dispatch thy selfe speedily out of the po∣wer

and handes of fortune; otherwise there will not want some who will con∣ceiue an euill opinion of thine action: thou shalt finde some, yea euen those who haue made profession of Philosophie, that will denie that any man ought to violate or shorten his life, and that maintaine it for a foule offence, for a man to murther himselfe, and that it were better to exspect the end which Nature hath determined. But he that speaketh thus, seeth not that he cutteth off the way of libertie. The eternall law hath done nothing better, then to giue vs one onely entrance into life, and diuers issues. Shall I expulse the crueltie of a sicke∣nesse, or the tyrannie of a man, when as I may escape euen through the middest of torments, and driue all aduersities farre from me? This is one thing, wherein we cannot complaine of life, she retaineth no man. It is a great good for hu∣mane affaires, that there is not one that is miserable, but by his owne default. Takest thou pleasure in life? Liue. Art thou displeased therwith? Thou may∣est returne to the place from whence thou camest. To heale thy head-ach thou hast oft-times let bloud, to extenuate thy bodie thou hast opened thy veine: Thou needest not to open thy breast with a deepe and vast wound; a lancet will giue way to that great libertie, and in a pricke consisteth securitie. What is it then that maketh vs fearefull and slacke to dislodge? There is not one of vs that thinketh that he must depart one day out of this house: so doth the cu∣stome and indulgence of the place detaine the auncient inhabitants, although to their owne vndoing. Wilt thou alwayes keepe this libertie against this bo∣die? Inhabite it as if thou shouldst leaue it, and make account that one day thou must lose his company. Thou shalt afterwards be more constant and resolute, when anie necessitie shall constraine thee to depart. But how can they thinke vpon their ends, who couet all things without end? There is nothing in this world, the remembrance and meditation whereof is more necessarie. For hap∣pily it is in vaine, where a man thinketh on other things. Haue wee prepared our mindes against pouertie? The riches remaine with vs. Are we alreadie armed against contempt of paine? The felicitie of a whole and healthfull bo∣die hath had no need, that we should make proofe of our vertues. Haue we got∣ten this authoritie ouer our selues, that we can suffer death and the losse of our friends constantly? Yet fortune hath conserued and made all them suruiue vnto vs, whom we most loue. But the day that shall haue neede of the vse and pra∣ctique of this onely thing, ought vndoubtedly to come. Thou must not thinke that great personages onely, haue had that courage and force to breake the bonds of their humane seruitude. Thou must not thinke that Cato onely could rent out his soule with his hand, which he could not pricke out with his poy∣nard. Since some men of as bad condition as may be, with great heate of cou∣rage haue attained that place of assurance, and being vnable suddenly to finde wherewith to make themselues away to their liking, or chuse any instrument which was proper for them thereunto, haue laide hand on the first thing they could encounter, and haue made vse of that for weapons, which of their nature were no wayes hurtfull. Not long since an Alman, one of those that should combate with the beasts, in the sports & shows in the morning, retired himself, fayning that he would withdraw himselfe to discharge his natural necessities; for they were not suffred to go into any other secret place without guard, there stopped he the sticke or staffe (to which a spong was fastned•• to cleanse and cleere the priuie parts) wholly into his throat, & forcibly closing vp the passage of his breath, stifled himselfe: this was to braue death and contemne it. It was vn∣doubtedly, although scarce cleanly and honourably. What follie is there grea∣ter,

then to die effeminately, when we must die assuredly. O strong, O worthy man, deseruing the election of that death that best liked him! How couragious∣ly had he vsed his sword, had he found it? with what resolution of minde had he cast himselfe into the depth of the Sea, or the cauitie of a clouen Rocke? Being dispoyled of all commodities, he found the meanes how he might be be∣holding vnto himselfe onely, both for the meanes and weapons for his death. To the end that thou mayest know that there is nothing that hindereth vs from dying but want of will. Let each man iudge as he list of this violent mans actions, prouided that it be resolued vpon as a thing assured, that we ought to preferre a base and villeynous death, before the most cleanliest seruitude in the world. But because I haue begun to vse abiect examples, I will contiue them: for euerie one will inforce himselfe to doe his best, if he shall perceiue that death is contemptible to persons that are most abiect and base. We think that these Catoes and Scipioes, and those other whose memories we entertaine with admi∣ration, are inimitable. But I will proue you presently that this vertue is accom∣panied with as many examples, amiddest the men most miserable, destinated to the sports and spectacles of beasts, as amiddest the Chiefe-tains of ciuill warres. When as not long since, with sure guard, the souldiers carried forth a wretch, sent out for the morning spectacles, stouping downe his head as if he were pres∣sed with sleepe, he suffered it to hang so lowe, that he put it betweene the Cart∣wheels, and held it so long in that place, that the wheele in turning it selfe brake his necke. He auoyded the punishment in the same Chariot, on which he was carried forth to be punished. There is nothing that may hinder a man that hath a will to die, and to be deliuered. Nature keepeth vs in an open place. He to whom his last necessitie is so fauourable, as to aduise on the issue and end which he shall esteeme most conuenient•• he that hath diuers meanes in his power to set himselfe at libertie may chuse; he shall do well to thinke how he may most easily be deliuered. But he that hath so hard hap, as not to finde any occasion, let him take hold on the first that shall present it selfe, as if it were the best, al∣though it be strange and vnheard of: he that wanteth no courage, wanteth no inuention how to die. Thou seest how those sla••es which are most miserable, when as their miserie toucheth them to the quicke, awaken themselues, and how they deceiue their keepers, though neuer so diligent: he is a man of the greatest courage that hath not onely commanded, but also found out the means of his death. I haue promised thee diuers examples of men of this condition I haue spoken of. In the second combate which was made vpon the water, one of the Barbarians thrust all that Iauelin into his throate, which was giuen him to combate his enemies. Why haue I not long since, said he, fled all these tor∣ments and all these shames? Why should I attend death, hauing the armes in my hands? This spectacle was so much the more magni••icent, as much as it is more honest for men to learne to die well, as to kill. What then? That which the most abiect and contemptible spirits may haue; why should not they per∣take, whom long studie and reason (the Ladie Mistresse of all things) hath in∣structed? It is the same reason that warneth vs, that there are diuers manners of death, but that there is but one and the same end, and that it auaileth nothing to know whence that beginneth, that must one day come. The same reason warneth thee, if it lie in thy power to die without griefe: but if it cannot be, doe the best that thou canst, and lay hold on all that which presenteth it selfe to lay violence on thy life. It is an iniurious thing to liue by rapine, but it is a most worthy thing to die violently.

EPIST. LXXI.

That the chiefest good should be continually in our eyes, and that to it all our counsels and actions should be referred. What therefore is that? Onely honest. They adulterate the fame that mixe internall things, because it is onely freed in the minde. Againe, that goods are equall, and that contempt differeth not from honour, if both proceed from honestie. He giueth CATO for example, and dilateth the same very worthi∣ly. Likewise that an honest death differeth not from such a life. Against the Acade∣mikes, which make degrees of happinesse. That neither it•• nor honestie are inten∣ded. And therefore the most blessed may be in torment. Is it so? Will he not wax pale, tremble, or grieue? Yes, (for these are naturall) but all these shall be ouercome by the strength of his minde, yet not presently all. There are differences betweene wise men and studious. Reade diligently, marke and admire.

THou askest my counsell in all thy affaires, from time to time, not remembring thy selfe that we are separated by a large sea. But since the greater part of counsaile dependeth on the opportuni∣tie of time, it must fall out of necessitie, that sometimes in cer∣taine things my counsaile is then brought vnto thee, when as at that time the contrarie were more allowable. For counsailes are fitted to af∣faires, and our affaires passe away swiftly, or to speake truth, roule away impe∣tuously. Counsell therefore ought to be giuen daily, yet is it sometime ouer old by a day; it must be bred swiftly, as they say, and vnder hand. But how it is found I will shew thee. As oft as thou wilt know what either is to be fled, or what ought to be affected, haue regard vnto the chiefest good and scope of thy whole life. For thereto must all that consent whatsoeuer we doe. He shall not dispose euery thing, except he purpose to himselfe alreadie a certaine straine of his whole life. No man, although his colours be ground to his hand, can re∣present the similitude of any thing, except alreadie he be resolued, what he in∣tendeth to paint. Therefore erre wee, because wee all of vs deliberate on the parts of our life, and no man debateth of the whole. Hee must know whereat he aimeth, that will shoote his arrow; and then must he aime and guide his ar∣row by his hand. Our Counsailes therefore erre, because they haue not where∣unto they should be directed. He that knoweth not what harbor he shall make for, hath no winde fitting for him. It must need fall out that casualtie must ef∣fect much in our life, because all of vs liue casually. And to some it happeneth, that they wot not that they know certaine things, euen as oftentimes we seeke for those, with whom we are conuersant and present. So for the most part we know not the end of the soueraigne good, though it be before our eyes, neither by many words nor long circumstance, shalt thou gather what the chiefest good is. You must show it, as the prouerb saith, by the finger, without exten∣ding it to so many things. For to what purpose is it to diuide the same into parts, when as thou mayest say, That is the chiefest good which is honest; and that which thou shouldest most wonder at, There is but onely one good, which is honest; the rest are false & adulterated goods. If thou perswade thy selfe this, & perfect∣ly louest vertue (for to loue it, is but a small matter) whatsoeuer she shal touch, that to thee (howsoeuer it seeme to others) shall be both happie and successe∣full, both to be tormented, if thou lie more secure then he that tortureth thee; and to be sicke, if so be thou curse not Fortune, and giue not way to thy sicke∣nesse.

To conclude all those things, which to other men seeme euill, both shall be sweete vnto thee, and returne thee profit, if so be thou canst ouercome them. Resolue on this, that nothing is good, but that which is honest, and that all in∣commodities may iustly be called goods, which are once made honest by ver∣tue. To many we seeme to promise greater things then humane nature is ca∣pable of, and not without reason. For they respect the bodie, let them returne to the minde, and then shall they measure man with God. Take courage, my Lucilius, the best of men, and dismisse this studie of letters, which the Philoso∣phers affect, who reduce the most magnificent thing of the world to syllables, that teach but base and trifling matters, and diminish and waste the vnderstan∣ding. Thou shalt become like vnto those that haue inuented these things; not they that teach them, and endeuour thus much, that Philosophie might rather seeme difficult then great. Follow them, if I haue any authoritie ouer thee. So∣crates, who reduced all Philosophie vnto manners, and said that the chiefest wis∣dome was to distinguish good from euill: To the end that thou mayest be happie (saith he) permit thy selfe sometimes to be esteemed a foole. Let whosoeuer will out∣rage thee in words, and offend thee in deeds, yet shalt thou ••uffer nothing, if so be vertue be with thee. If thou wilt, saith he, be blessed: if thou wilt be an en∣tire honest man, suffer thy selfe to be contemned. This will no man performe, but he that hath equalled and proportioned all goods, because that neither is good without honestie, and honestie is equall in all. What then? Is there no difference betwixt Catoes Pretorship, and his repulse? It skilleth not whether Cato be ouercome in the Pharsalian field, or whether he ouercome. This good of his, wherein he cannot be ouercome, though his confederates were conque∣red: was it equall with that good, wherewith he returned a conquerour vnto his countrie, and composed the peace? Why should it not be equall? For by the selfe-same vertue euill fortune is ouercome, and the good is confirmed; yet vertue cannot be made greater or lesser. She is alwaies in the same measure. Yea but Cneius Pompey shall lose his armie: but this faire lustre and pretext of the Common-weale, the principall citizens, and the chiefest bands of Pompeyes con∣federa••es, which being composed of the Senate that bare armes, shall be defa∣ced in one only battell, and the wreckes and ruines of so great an Empire, shall be noised and scattered through the whole world: one part thereof shall fall in Egypt, another in Africa, and some in Spaine. And that which is worse, this miserable Common-weale cannot haue this good to be ruinated all at once. Let all happen whatsoeuer may. Although Iuba can be no further succoured in his owne Kingdome by the knowledge of the passages, and the constant vertues of his people. Although the fidelitie of the inhabitants of Vtica being broken with so many mishaps, be deficient, and the fortune of Scipioes name abando∣neth him in Africa it selfe. It hath long since beene prouided, that Cato shall nei∣ther feele losse nor detriment; yet was hee conquered. Account thou this a∣mongst Catoes repulses, he wil suffer with as equall constancie, as well that which hath beene contrarie to his vertue, as to his estate of Pretor. The day that he refused the same, he sported; and that night he would kill himselfe, he read. He cared as little to lose his life, as his Pretorship, he had perswaded himselfe, and resolued to endure all that might happen. But why should not he with a stout and confident minde endure the changes of the Common-weale? For what may a man see that is exempt from change? The earth, the heauens, and the structure of all this great world, although it bee gouerned by God, is subiect thereunto. It shall not alwayes retaine that faire order it now obserueth. Some

day shall come, that shall cast it out of this accustomed course. All things alter by certaine stations, they must be borne, encrease, and be extinguished, whatso∣euer thou seest wheele and winde about vs, and al that wheron we are sustained and stayed, as a thing most firme and solide, shall come to nothing, and bee defectiue. There is nothing but hath his age and declination. Nature causeth all those things to descend into one place, by spaces of vnequall time. All that which is, shall be no more, yet shall it not perish but be dissolued. To vs disso∣lution is to die: for we respect nothing but that which is before our eyes. The dull minde, and such as hath addicted it selfe to the body, foreseeth no further, for otherwise shee would more constantly and couragiously suffer, both her owne and her friends dissolutions and deathes, if she hoped that all those things should goe by turnes from death to life, and that those things which are com∣pounded, shall be dissolued, and such as are dissolued shall be reassembled, and that God, which gouerneth the whole world, employeth his eternall Arte on this worke. Therefore, when as Cato hath represented before his minde, all the eternitie of time, he will say: All mankind whatsoeuer is or shall be, is condem∣ned to die. All the Cities, in what place soeuer they be, that haue had domi∣nion ouer their neighbours, and haue beene greatned and honoured by forren Empires, the time shall come when it shall he enquired where they were buil∣ded, and by sundrie sorts of dissolution shall they be extinguished. Warre shall destroy some: Idlenesse, and a long peace conuerted into slothfulnesse, and foo∣lish expences, a fatall adiunct of great riches shall consume the others. A sudden inundation of the sea, shall hide all these fertile fields, or an earthquake shall swallow them vp in his bottomlesse bosome. What cause haue I therefore to grudge at, or grieue for, if in a small moment I outstrip publike fate. A constant soule must obey God, and whatsoeuer the law of the great Vniuers comman∣deth, let him suffer without cunctation or delay. For either she shall be transla∣ted into a better life, to remaine with more brightnes and tranquillitie amongst diuine things, or certainly she shall remix her selfe with her nature, and returne into her whole, neuermore to suffer any incommoditie or paine. The soueraigne good then of Marcus Cato, shall not consist any more in an honest life, but in an honest death; for vertue is not intended. Socrates said, that veritie and vertue were the same. For as she encreaseth not, no more doth vertue also, shee hath her perfection, she is full. Thou must not wonder then to heare that goods are equal, as well they which we are to take by a certaine resolution, as those which a sudden current of Fortune bringeth to vs. For if thou admittest any ine∣qualitie, that thou wilt reckon it amongst the lesser goods, to be constant in tor∣ments, thou shalt reckon it also amongst the euils. Thou shalt terme Socrates vnhappie in his prison, and Cato infortunate, renting open his wounds more couragiously then he inflicted them. Thou shalt iudge Regulus the vnhappiest man in the world, for paying the penaltie of his obserued faith vnto his mortall enemies•• and yet there is not one, how delicate soeuer, and effeminate he bee, that hath dared to say thus, for they deny him to be blessed, and yet they deny him to be miserable. The ancient Academickes confesse, that amiddest these torments and paines he was happie, but not perfectly and fully, which can in no manner be allowed of. For if he be happie, he hath attained the soueraigne good, and the soueraigne good cannot haue any degree aboue the same, if so be it be accompanied with any vertue, prouided that aduersities ouercome it not, prouided that it remaine entire and safe, although the bodie be crushed in sun∣der; but certaine it is that she remaineth entire. For I speake of a vertue most

excellent and couragious, which is animated and incited against all that which offendeth it. That minde which oftentimes yong men of generous hope and dispositions put vpon them, whom the beautie of some honest thing hath pro∣uoked, so that they contemne all casualties, vndoubtedly wisdome will infuse and teach, and perswade vs that the onely good is that which is honest. And that this can neither be remitted or intended, no more then a rule by which a man measureth that which he would make straight, which if thou beare what∣soeuer thou changest from it, it is the iniurie of the right. The same therfore wil we say by Vertue, that she also is straight, and admitteth no crookednesse, it can be no more intended. She it is that iudgeth of all things, and nothing iudgeth of her, if shee cannot bee made straighter, no more are those things which are done by her straighter, the one then the other, for they must needs be answe∣rable to the same; so are they equall. What then sayest thou? Are these things alike to sit at a table banquetting, and to be tortured? Doth this seeme strange vnto thee? Thou hast more occasion to wonder at this. It is an euill thing to sit at a banquet; it is a good thing to be tortured: if that be done lewdly, this ho∣nestly. The matter is not the cause that this is either good or euill; it is the ver∣tue. This wheresoeuer it appeareth, all things are of the same measure and price. He that iudgeth another mans vnderstanding by his owne, presently lif∣teth vp his nailes to scratch out mine eyes, when I say that his good that suffe∣reth aduersities constantly, and his that maketh an honest iudgement of pro∣speritie are equall: when I say that the goods of him that triumpheth, and of him that with an inuincible courage is led before the triumphant Chariot are a∣like. For they thinke that nothing is done which they cannot do, and by their owne infirmitie, they censure vertue. Why wonderest thou, why some re∣ioyce when they see themselues burned, wounded, harmed, slaine and fettered? Sometimes they suffer it for their pleasure. Sobrietie sufficeth for a penaltie, to a prodigall and dissolute man. Trauell is no lesse then torture to an idle man. The effeminate taketh pitie of him that is industrious, and studie is a hell to him that is slothfull. In like sort, those things (for which our forces seeme ouer fee∣ble) are in our opinion hard and intollerable, whereas in our forgetfulnesse, we finde many that thinke it a torment to want wine, and trouble to rise earely. These by nature are not difficult, but we are recreants, we are effeminate. We ought to iudge of great things with a great courage; otherwise it will seeme to be their error, which is ours. So certaine things that are most straight, when as they are let downe into the water, seeme crooked and bowed to them, that be∣hold them. It skilleth not what thou seest, but how. Our minde is dimmed in beholding those things, and examining them which are true. Giue me a yong man well borne and of good spirit: he will say that he supposeth him more for∣tunate, that hath borne all the burthens of aduerse fortune, with a constant minde, on his shoulders, then him that hath wholly trodden Fortune vnder foote. It is no wonder to be temperate in tranquillitie, admire him that is high minded, where all men are deiected, that standeth there where all men are sup∣pressed. What euill is there in torments, or what in those things which we call aduerse? The euill is, as I thinke, when the soule is astonished, when it is wea∣kened, when it is smothered vnder the burthen. But none of these may befall a wise man. He remaineth alwayes vpright, how ouer-charged soeuer hee bee. There is nothing that lesseneth his courage, nothing that is tedious vnto him, which he must suffer. For he neuer complaineth that such a fortune hath bafal∣len him, which in any sort may befall any man whatsoeuer, shee knoweth her

owne forces, and her abilitie in suffering so great a burthen. I will not put a wise man out of the rancke of men, I will not exempt him from dolours, no more then I would doe a rocke which hath no sense. I remember my selfe that he is compounded of two parts: The one is irrationall, and that it is which may feele bitings, burnings, and paines. The other is reasonable, that is it which is neuer shaken in opinion, that is exempt from all feare, and that is inuincible. In this part it is that a mans chiefest good lodgeth; before the accomplishment whereof, the minde wandereth as vncertaine and doubtfull, but after she hath attained to her perfection, it is in assurance and in immutable firmitie. So he that hath but begun, and that neuerthelesse will ascend vnto the highest, and follow vertue, although he approcheth the good which is wholly perfect, yet vnable as yet to accomplish the same: he will sometimes stay himselfe in the way, and temperate, in some sort, the vehemencie and strength of his mind, for as yet hath he not ouerpassed those things which are incertaine, and remaineth as yet in danger of disaster. But he that is blessed, and in whom vertues are ac∣complished, then loueth himselfe most, when he hath made proofe of his con∣stancie, and if there be any thing which other men feare, prouided that hee may receiue some honest reward of his deuoyre and seruice, hee endureth not onely, but he embraceth the same, and had rather heare it spoken, hee is more honest; then to heare it said, he is more happie. I haue now retired my selfe thither, whither thy expectation draweth me: lest thou shouldest suppose, that the vertue whereof I speake, should seeme to extend it selfe aboue all naturall things. A wise-man shall tremble, he shall feele paines, he shall be pale, for all these senses appertaine vnto the bodie. Where is then the originall of his cala∣mities? Where then appeareth his euill most approued? Then it is when his passions astonish his soule. Then it is, when they make her confesse that shee is a slaue, and that they engender some repentance in her. The wise-man vndoub∣tedly surmounteth Fortune by his vertue. But there are diuers men who haue made profession of wisdome, and notwithstanding haue beene terrified by very light threatnings. In this place it is our error, who exact that from a proficient, which is spoken of a wise-man. I striue as much as in me lieth, to beleeue all this which I praise, yet perswade I not them as yet, and although I had perswa∣ded my selfe I should not haue them so ready at hand, or so exercised, that they should be addressed against all casualtie. Euen as wooll taketh some staine of colours at the first, and drinketh not vp othersome, without often maceration and boyling: so some wits, when as they haue conceited certaine disciplines, forthwith make vse of them. But this Science, except it be deepely imprinted in the soule, and hath taken deepe roote and long residence therein, hath not deepe died, but superficially coloured the soule, and performeth nothing of that she hath promised. This may be quickly learned, and in few words; namely, that there is but one onely good, which is vertue, and that vndoubtedly there is not any without vertue. And that vertue is lodged in our better part, which is that, which is reasonable. What shall this vertue be? A true and immoue∣able iudgement from whence shall proceed the heat of the soule, whereby the appearance of things which may moue this heate, shall become cleare and cer∣taine. It behoueth that this iudgement esteeme all those things good and equall in themselues, which shall be atchieued by the counsaile of vertue. In re∣gard of corporall goods, they are goods for the bodie, yet are they not entirely perfect goods. Well may they be esteemed at some rate, but it shall be without any supereminencie. There is a great difference betwixt them: the one shall be

greater, the other lesser. In like sort ought men to confesse that there is a great difference between those that follow Philosophie. Some one hath so farre pro∣fited therein, that he dare lift vp his ••ies against fortune: yet not perseuerantly; for they are oftentimes obscured by the beames of her too cleere light. Some other hath profited so much, that h•• dare encounter her face to face, if he haue attained to perfection, and be full of assurance. But it must needes so fall out that things which are imperfect grow to ruine, and now frustrate themselues, and anon after come to decay or dissolution, and they shall come vnto decay if they perseuer not to grow forward, and inforce themselues, and if they remit a∣nie thing of their studie, and faithfull intention, they shall grow backward. No man findeth aduancement and profit there where he left it: let vs therefore be diligent and perseuer; there remaineth yet more then we haue ouercome: but the greatest part of profit, is to desire to profite. Herein my conscience shall beare me witnesse: I will, and with my whole minde I will: I see well also that thou hast this inspiration, and that thou prosecutest with great feruencie those things that are more faire. Let vs then make hast, and so doing, our life shall be the cause of our great good, otherwise it is but a delay, and truely a very loath∣some one, if we conuerse in base matters: let vs endeuour, so that all the time may be ours, but it will not be, except we begin to be our owne. When shall it come to passe that we will contemne both fortunes? When shall it come to passe, that suppressing all our affections, and bringing them vnder our obedience we may say thus: I haue ouercome. Askest thou me whom I haue ouercome? Not the Persians, not the farre distant Medes, or that warlike nation of the Da∣cae; but auarice, but ambition, but feare of death, which haue vanquished the Conquerours and Vanquishers of the whole world.

EPIST. LXXII.

He delayeth to answer LVCILIVS petition, and that vpon iust occasion. He sheweth that the studie of goodnesse is deferred by vs, but badly. That we ought to intend to this onely, pretermitting all other things. That nothing happeneth that may hinder him, especially that is wise, and proficient in some sort. The difference betwixt them both. That externall things neyther adde nor detract from a wise-man, that is al∣wayes contented with himselfe.

I Know well what thou demaundest at my hands, if I had recolle∣cted and meditated thereupon, but it is long time since I made tryall of my memory. And therefore it is that it followeth me not so easily. I know well, and feele it in my selfe, that the like hath befalne me which happeneth in bookes that are mouldie, and whose leaues cleaue together. I must dilate my mind, & whatsoeuer things haue beene heard therein, they ought to be refreshed and brought in vse, that they may alwayes be in a readinesse as often as we haue neede to vse them. But let vs deferre this for the present; for it requireth much labour and much dili∣gence. Assoone as I may make more longer residence in a place, I will take this taske in hand; for there are some things which thou mayest compose in thy Coach, and some other that deserue the bed, the repose, and solitarie places. Yet those very dayes wherein a man is occupied, we must doe somwhat, yea, all the whole dayes: for now occasions and occupations will be neuer scantie; we see

this our selues, and from one springs mani••; and that which is worst, wee giue our selues delayes. But as soone as I haue made an end of this (say wee) I will wholly dedicate my selfe, and if I can end this troublesom matter, I will addict my selfe vnto studie. Thou must not expect till thou haue leasure to follow Philosophie. Thou must contemne all other things, to be alwayes with her. A man cannot finde time that may be sufficiently long for her, although it conti∣nue with vs from the yeares of our infancie, vntill the most longest life of man. It skilleth not much whether thou omittest Philosophie, or intermittest it. For it remaineth not there where it was interrupted; but euen as those things that are bent, as soone as they are let slip doe forcibly retire themselues, so that which departeth from his continuation, retireth it selfe, and returneth wholly vnto his beginnings. We must reiect all affaires and occupations, we must not studie how to dispose them, we must wholly dispossesse and driue them from vs. There is no time vnfitting for a wholsome studie. But there are many that studie not those things which they ought to studie. Shall there be any occasion that may let them? Truely not him whose minde in all affaires is watchfull and ioyfull. To these persons onely t••ue ioy is interrupted, which haue not as yet attained perfection. But in regard of the wise, their ioy is continuall, it keepeth the same tract, there is not any fortune or occasion that can countermand the same. It is alwayes peaceable and reposed; for it hath no dependance of ano∣ther: she expecteth no fauour at fortunes hands, nor mens applause: it is a feli∣citie that is bred in her owne house: she would leaue the soule if she entred: she is engendred therein. There might some occasion fall out to make him remem∣ber that he is mortall, but it very slight, and surpassed not the vpper skin. Hee feeleth, I say, some incommoditie, but that good which is the greatest he hath, is neuer shaken: well wot I that outwardly there are some incommodities, euen as vpon a strong and able bodie there appeareth som itch, and pimples, & vlcers, but inwardly there is no euill. The difference, I say, that is betweene a man that hath alreadie acquired a perfect wisedome, and him that is as yet to attaine the same, is such as there is betwixt a man that is healthfull, and him that begin∣neth to recouer himselfe from a long and tedious sickenesse, who thinketh him∣selfe to be then in good health, when the fit of his feuer is the shortest. This man, except he be very carefull of his health, he feeleth by times certaine sha∣kings, and easily falleth relapse into his former infirmitie. But a wise-man can∣not fall againe, nay more, he neuer more can be attainted therewith: for as tou∣ching the body, it hath health but for a time, and that Physitian that hath recu∣red him, cannot promise him perpetuitie: hee is oftentimes recalled by him, whom almost before time he had resusitated: But the soule is healed for euer at one time. I will teach thee how to know when a man is in health, if he be con∣tent with himselfe, if he may trust himselfe, if he knoweth that all mortal mens vowes, that all the benefites which are giuen and demaunded haue no moment in a blessed life. For that thing whereunto a man may annex somewhat, is not perfect. But that from whence nothing may be taken continueth eternally. He whose ioy is perpetuall may reioyce of that which is his owne. But all these goods whereunto the common sort aspire inconstantly flowe hither and thi∣ther: fortune giueth nothing with warrantize; and yet the benefits of fortune are pleasing vnto vs when they are tempered by reason, and she directeth them. She it is that maketh vs allow of exterior things. The vse whereof displeaseth if they be desired ouer-ardently. Attalus was wont to vse this comparison: Hast thou seene a dogge snatching at a peece of bread with open throat, or a

morsell of ••lesh which his master casteth him? He deuoureth incontinently all that which is giuen him, and still openeth his mouth, in hope that some one will cast him more. So falleth it out with vs, whatsoeuer fortune casteth vpon vs during our expectation, that swallow we without any pleasure•• still expecting and affecting some second pray. So fareth not a wise-man; he is full, and if any thing befall him, he securely receiueth and layeth it vp; his ioy is great, conti∣nuall, and his owne. Is there any one that hath a good will, and that profiteth somewhat, but hath not as yet attained to perfection? Such a one shall be som∣times deiected, sometimes incouraged, sometime is he raised as high as heauen, otherwise rauished as lowe as earth. The ignorant, and such as haue little ex∣perience, neuer make an end of their precipitation, but fall into confusion, and into Epicurus his Chaos, voyde and infinite. There is another third kind of those that wanton it about wisedome, which as yet they cannot attaine, yet are they in sight thereof; and if I might say so, they may clap her on the hand. These are neyther shaken, neyther doe they fall, they are not as yet on the con∣tinent, but they are alreadie in the harbor•• Since then there is so great a distance betwixt those that are on high, & those that are most low, since that they which are in the middest, feele as yet some storme, and that they are followed with more danger to returne vnto a more wicked life, we must not addict our selues to any occupations, we must reiect them. If they were once entred, they would set some other in their places. Let vs hinder their beginnings, and the lesse la∣bour will there be to keepe them from beginning, then to see them take end.

EPIST. LXXIII.

That Philosophers are not disobedient but more obedient, and faithfull to Princes, then these ambitions and Palatines: for these ••ffect enuie, and are alwayes vnquiet, often displeased, but they loue them, because they li••e quietly vnder them, and are such that is full of good merchandize. They impute this benefit•• also, although it happen vnto manie. At length he counselleth him to aspire vnto vertue, that is, to God; for that (such is the Stoicks pride) they make a wise-man equall with him.

THey deceiue themselues, in my iudgment, that suppose that they who haue wholly addicted themselues to Philosophie, are diso∣bedient and rebellous to their Magistrates and Kings, or that they contemne those by whose authoritie publique affaires are administred: for contrariwise there is not any one that reueren∣ceth and respecteth them more then they. And not without cause; for that Kings cannot do•• greater good vnto any man in this world, then to those that may enioy a peaceable repose. It must then necessarily ••all out, that they to whom publique assurance openeth the way to the intention they haue to liue well•• should reuerence the author of thesame good as their Lord and Father. And truely farre more then those light witted and irresolute men, who being infinitely bound vnto their Princes, will notwithstanding haue men thinke that they owe them mor••, on whom a man cannot imploy any liberalitie how grea•• soeuer it be, that may satisfie their ••mbitious desires, which increase alwayes the more, the more they are glutted. But he that thinketh to receiue new be∣nefits, hath alreadie forgotten the olde, and cou••tousnesse hath not any vice more great then ingratitude. Adde hereunto now, that there are none of those

that are imployed, and conuersant in publique affaires, that respecteth those at any time, whom he hath ouer-stripped, but lookes into those that out-strip him, and it is not so pleasant a matter vnto them, to see many men come after them: as it is grieuous vnto them, that any one should ouer-passe them in dignitie. All sort of ambition hath this vice, that it neuer respecteth that which is past. And ambition is not onely inconstant and wandring, but all couetousnesse likewise; because it beginneth alwayes from the end. But that sincere and poore man, who hath forsaken the Court and the Palace, and all preheminencie in com∣mon-weale to retire himselfe for more noble intents and ends, loueth those by whose authoritie it is lawfull for him to doe these things with securitie; he a∣lone payeth them with gratuitall testimonie of acknowledgement, and confes∣seth himselfe to be indebted vnto them for a great good, although they knowe not his good will. Euen as he honoureth and reuerenceth his Masters, by whose instructions he is despoyled of those vices, in like sort respecteth he those, vnder whose protection and gouernement he may exercise honest disciplines. But the King protecteth others also by his power. Who denieth it? But euen as a∣mongst others that haue trauelled by Sea, and haue beene partakers of one and the same calme, hee thinketh himselfe more bound vnto Neptune, that hath brought home more great quantitie of precious merchandize; and as the Mer∣chant payeth his vow with greater courage then a Passenger doth: And as he also amongst the Merchants that bringeth perfunes, purples, and other pretious things which are solde for their waight in gold, reknowledgeth this fauor more liberally, then doth he that hath but laide downe poore Merchandize, and o∣ther things which should serue but to ballist and loade the ship: So the bene∣fite of thi•• peace, appertayning to all, doth more deepely content them that vse the same well: For there are many of these Magistrates and mightie men, to whom peace is more troublesome then warre. Art thou of that opinion, that they which make no other vse of peace, but to imploy it in drunkennesse, in ry∣ot and other sorts of vices; for the extermination of which, it were necessarie to enterprise a warre, shall be so much obliged for the same? Except happily thou wert of that opinion, that a wise-man were so iniust, that hee thought that hee were no wayes obliged to his gouernour, for publique and common benefits. I owe much vnto the Sunne and Moone, and yet they shine not for me alone. I am particularly bound vnto the yeare, and to God that tempereth and gouer∣neth the same, although they haue not been ordained for my particular honor. It is the foolish auarice of mortall men, that maketh a diuision of these goods, and assigneth the propertie vnto them, and that beleeueth nothing to be his that is for publique profit. But this wise-man iudgeth nothing to be more apt∣ly his, then that which is common betweene him and all other men. For goods cannot be common, if the portions of them appertained not to particulars. A man is made partaker how little part soeuer he enioy in a common thing. Adde hereunto also this other reason, that the greatest and truest goods are not so di∣uided, that a little should light vpon euerie priuate man. They come wholly into euerie mans possession. Of those presents which Princes make vnto the people, the particulars take as much by powle, as hath beene promised to euery one. At a common banquet, and at the common dole of flesh, and in all that which is receiued by hand, the almes is distributed in prises. But these indiui∣sible goods, such as peace and libertie are, these also are intire to all, as they are particular vnto euery one: and therefore a wise-man considereth what he is, by whose means the publique necessitie constraineth him no more to beare armes,

nor to intend the Watch, nor to stand Sentinell on the walls, and not to pay an infinitie of taxes any more which warre bringeth with it, and giueth thanks vn∣to his Prince. This doth Philosophie teach vs•• especially to be dutifully thank∣full for benefites, and faithfully to requite them; and the onely acknowledge∣ment sometimes serueth for payment. He will therefore confesse that he is very much bound vnto him, by whose wise gouernement and prouidence this great and happie repose is befalne him, to be able to passe the terme of his life in such tranquilitie and quiet, which is not interrupted by any publique occupations.

'T is God O MELIBE that gaue this peace, Him as my God Ile honour without cease.

If then these calmes and contentments are so principally to be ascribed to him that hath procured them for vs, the greatest good whereof is

He (as thou seest) my yoaked teame permits To plow the earth, by him in pleasant fits, Mine Oaten pipe I tune as best befits.

How much ought we to esteeme that repose which we partake with the gods, that maketh vs become gods. Thus say I Lucilius, thus call I thee to heauen by a short way. Sextius was wont to say, That IVPITER could not doe more then a good man. IVPITER hath more meanes to be liberall towards men. But among two good men, he is not the better that is the richer, no more then betweene two that haue equall knowledge in gouerning a ship, thou wilt not call him bet∣ter that gouerneth a Carricke or great vessell, and full of rich lading. What ad∣uantage hath Iupiter ouer a good man? It is but onely this, that he is more long time good. A wise-man reckoneth himselfe nothing the lesse, because his ver∣tues are determined in a shorter time. Euen as of two wise-men, he which is dead in fulness•• of his age, is not more happie then he, whose vertue hath taken end in lesser years. So God likewise surmounteth not a wiseman in felicity, although he exceed him in age. That vertue is not greater which is longer. Iupiter hath all th••se things, but he hath giuen the vse and possession thereof vnto others•• This onely vse appertaineth vnto him, that he is the cause that others may vse the same. The wise-man likewise is glad to see the possession of all goods in an other mans hands, and maketh as small account also of that as Iupiter doth, and further supposeth himselfe to haue this aduantage aboue him, that Iupiter can∣not haue vse of them, and a wise-man will not. Let vs therefore beleeue Sextius, who sheweth vs a faire way, and crieth out, This is the way to heauen, by sobri∣etie, by temperance, and by patience in aduersitie. The Gods disdaine no man, enuie no man, they entertain and stretch forth their hand to those that ascend. Wonderest thou to heare that men goe vnto the Gods? God commeth vnto men, nay (which is more neere) he commeth into men. There is not any soule that is good without God. There are certaine diuine seeds dispersed in the bo∣dies of men, which growe answerable to their originall, and growe alike vnto that graine from whence they tooke their beginning, if they be entertained in the bosome of a good husbandman. But if he be euill, he choaketh them as a barren and faggie ground; and finally, in stead of corne beareth chaffe & straw.

EPIST. LXXIIII.

O faire, O honest Epistle, and of honestie it selfe, and that indeed it is the onely good, the rest but in opinion. He that will safely and securely liue, let him so thinke. What likenesse? Let him haue a readie buckler against all casualties, which is to follow God. At length he answereth certaine obiections. Lastly he sheweth that a blessed life is as a circle, perfect both in small and great. That nothing is added, nothing taken therefrom by externall things. It must be reiterated. O faire, O honest, enioy thou this, who hast such a minde.

THy letter hath delighted me, and awakened me when I was wea∣ried, and quickened my memorie also, which is now slow and heauie. Why shouldest thou not, my Lucilius, thinke this per∣swasion to be the greatest instrument of blessed life, that there is onely one good, that is to say, that which is honest? Hee that hath circumscribed all sorts of good vnder honestie, is happie in himselfe. For he that iudgeth that other things are goods, subiecteth himself to the power of Fortune, and dependeth on another mans will. This man is sorrowfull for the losse of his children, another carefull of them that are sicke, and that other, if they be dishonest and noted of infamie. Thou shalt see one man tormented with the loue of another mans wife, and another transported with the loue hee beareth his owne. There wanteth not some one likewise, that is distracted with the repulse he receiueth in his affected dignitie, and another that is disgusted with the honor which he possesseth. But the greatest number of all those men which are thus miserable, is of them whom the assault and touch of impendent death, which they feare on euery side, presseth and tormenteth incessantly, for there is nothing from whence they thinke not, that she should not assaile them. Therefore as if they liued in an enemies country, they ought to looke about them on euery side, and on euery voice they heare, to turne their neckes thither∣ward: for except this feare be driuen out of their breasts, they liue in continuall heart-breake and suspition. Some will be found out that haue beene sent into exile, and depriued of their goods, and some also will occur (which kinde of pouertie is the most irkesome) poore in their riches. Thou shalt meete with some that are shipwracked, or such as haue suffered some such like thing vnto shipwracke, whom either the wrath or enuy of the common sort (which is a dangerous weapon to wound the better sort) hath ouerthrowne vnawares, and when they were most secure, after the manner of a gust, which is wont to breake forth in the most seeming s••curite of a calme, or a sudden lightning, at whose cracke the neighbouring countries haue trembled. For euen as he that is nee∣rest to this ••ire, remaineth as much amazed, as if he had beene striken: in like sort, in these accidents that come by violence, the calamitie oppresseth one, but feareth the rest, & maketh the abilitie to suffer equal with the heauines of those that doe suffer. Other mens misfortunes, which surprise them at vnawares, astonish the mindes of all those that see them. And euen as the onely noise of a sling•• although it be not charged, frighteth the birds. In like manner, wee not onely tremble at the stroake, but at the least cracke we heare. No man therefore can be blessed, that hath credited himselfe to this opinion. For nothing is bles∣sed, but that which is without feare: the life is miserable that is incombe••ed with suspition. Whosoeuer hath addicted himselfe very much vnto casualties,

hath made himselfe a great and inexplicable matter of perturbation. There is but one way for him to tract, that will search out a life full of assurance, which is to contemne the goods of Fortune, and to content himselfe with that which is honest. For if any man thinketh that there is any other thing better then ver∣tue, or that there is any other good besides the same: he openeth his bosome to that which Fortune spreadeth, and with extreame care expecteth those goods whereof she maketh larges. Suppose, and imagine in thy minde, that For∣tune maketh publike plaies, and that she casteth amiddest this great assembly of men, honors, riches, and fauours, whereof the one part is broken and torne in peeces, betweene the hands of those that rauish them; another part is vnequal∣ly diuided by a disloyall societie; and another hath wrought their inestimable damage, that haue engrossed them; and finally also some others, haue fallen into the hands of some they thought not any wise of, and others haue beene lost by running after the same ouer-greedily, and they haue bin torne out of our hands by reason of the ouer-greedy desire which we had to attain them. To conclude, there is not any, how happie soeuer his rauishment be, whose ioy, in respect of that he hath rauished, can endure long time. For which cause, the wiser sort, as soone as they see the pr••sents brought in, flie out of the theater, as knowing well, that a little thing would cost them deare. No man fighteth with him that retireth, no man striketh him that flieth, it is vpon the prey the contention groweth. The same succ••s••e is there in those things that Fortune casteth down from on high. We burne in miserable desire after these goods, we are in great trauell, we desire to haue many hands; now regard we this man, presently that man, we thinke that they are too slowly sent vnto vs which stir vp our desires, and that it can fall but into few mens hands, although it be expected and desi∣red by all men. We desire to encounter those that fall•• we laugh if we may sur∣prise any thing, and some other enuie, whom vaine hope hath deceiued. Wee redeeme a lamentable damage with a little prey, or thereby were deceaued. Let vs therefore depart from these playes, and let vs giue place to these rauishers. Let these men fixe their intention as much as they will on those goods which hang in the aire, and let themselues likewise be more in suspence. Whosoeuer is resolued to be blessed, let him resolue there is but one good, which is honestly. For if he supposeth that there is any other good; first of all he iudgeth euill of Gods prouidence, because many mishaps befall good men: and because all that which she hath giuen vs, is but of a very small continuance, if thou compare it with the age of the whole world. From this complaint it groweth, that we are vngratefull interpreters of diuine things. We complaine, because goods befall vs not euery day, that they are little, that they are incertaine, and that they must suddenly depart from vs. Hence commeth it to passe•• that wee will not liue, neither haue desire to die; we hate life, and we feare death. All our counsailes are vncertaine, and ther•• is no felicitie that can satisfie vs. The cause hereof is nothing else, but that we haue not as yet attained that soueraigne good, which cannot be surmounted by any other thing, and on which we ought to stay our desires, for aboue the place that is most highest, there is no other place. Askest thou me why vertue hath need of nothing? Because she is pleased with things present, and desireth not the absent. There is nothing but seemeth great vnto her, because that euery thing sufficeth her. And if thou shouldest separate thy selfe from this opinion, neither pietie nor faith should haue any place. He that would follow both the one and the other, shall bee constrained to suffer verie much of that which we call euill, and to spend much of that which we esteeme

and reckon of for good. Furthermore, constancie that must make triall of her selfe is lost, magnanimitie is lost also, because she cannot approue her selfe, ex∣cept she contemne al things as ouer base, which the common sort desireth as the most greatest. In briefe, the grace and requitall of all good turnes is lost, it is but paine and trauell, if we thinke that there is any other thing more precious then faith, and if wee fixe not our eyes on that which is the best. But to let these things passe, either those that are called goods, or none at all; or a man is happier then God. For God maketh no vse of those goods which are pre∣pared for vs, disordinate pleasures, foolish expences in banquets, riches, nor any of that which may allure a man, or draw him to loathsome pleasures, ap∣pertaine not to him. We must then say (that which is incredible) either that God hath want of these goods: or wee must conclude vpon this argument, that whatsoeuer God wanteth is not good. Furthermore, there are many things that would be thought to bee goods, which are more amplie employed on beasts then on men. They eate with more greater appetite, they are not so soone wearied in the act of generation, their forces are more great and lasting, whereby it followeth that they are more happy then man: for they liue with∣out wickednesse or deceit, they enioy their pleasures, which they enioy more fully, and more easily, without any feare of shame or repentance. Consider thou therefore, whether that is to be called good, wherein God is ouercome by man. Let vs lodge the soueraigne good in our mindes•• He loseth all his grace and dignitie, if from the better part, which is in vs, it should be translated to the worse, and should be transferred to the senses, which are more actiue in brute beasts. Our chiefest felicitie is not to be planted in the flesh. Those are true goods which reason giueth, they are solide and euerlasting; which cannot fall, neither be decreased nor diminished. The rest are goods in opinion, they haue onely a common name with the true, but they haue no propertie or ef∣fects of vertue in them. Let them then be called commodities, or according to our phrase, profits and reuenues. But let vs know that they are but as our slaues, and not any part of vs, let them be in such sort with vs; that we remem∣ber our selues that they are without vs, and if they be with vs, wee must put them in the number of those things which are most base and abiect, and for which no man ought to waxe proud. For what is more foolish, then for a man to please himselfe, in that which himselfe hath not done? Let all these things approach vs, but not cleaue vnto vs, and if they must bee drawne from vs, let them be so seuered, that we be not distracted and torne therby. Let vs vse them, and not glory in them, and let vs vse them sparingly, as such things as are lent vs, and are not to remaine with vs. Whosoeuer vseth them contrary to reason, he hath not long time enioyed them. For felicitie it selfe hu••teth vs, excep•• it be well tempered and gouerned: is ouer-pressed, if she trust her selfe to transi∣torie goods, she is quickly forsaken, and le••t she should be forsaken, she tormen∣teth her selfe infinitly. There are few men who ••aue had the fortune to lay by their felicitie contentedly. The rest of men, with those goods that made them esteemed aboue others, are deiected, and that which for a time exalted them, ••inally humbleth them. Much wisdome therefore must be made vse of, which may dispose them with measure and parsimony. For a disordinate libertie o∣uer beareth and destroyeth his proper riches in such sort, that immeasurable expence hath neuer continued long, if reason by her moderation had not re∣strained the same. The miserable end of diuers cities will make thee know this, whose luxurious empires in their first flower and pride haue decayed, and will

teach thee, that all that which hath bin gotten by vertue, is ruinated by super∣fluitie and lauish expence. Against these casualties are we to arme our selues. There is not any wall that can r••sis•• the batteries of ••ortune: and it is within vs, that we ought to arme our selues. If that noble fortresse be assured, a man may be assailed, but he cannot be surprised. Wilt thou know what fortificati∣on it is? That he trouble not himselfe with any thing that may happen, that he beleeue that whatsoeuer, yea euen that which seemeth to offend him, depen∣deth on the conseruation of the whole world, and that it is a part of that which finisheth the course and office of the heauens. A man ought to take pleasure in all that which God taketh pleasure in, hee ought to admire himselfe, and all that which is in him, for this onely consideration, that he cannot be vanquish∣ed, that he holdeth his euill vnder his feete, and that with reason, then which nothing is more powerfull, he surmounteth Fortune, griefe and iniurie. Loue reason then, for the loue thereof will arme thee against all the greatest misfor∣tunes that may be. The loue of their yong ones causeth wilde beastes, to fall into snares, who otherwise by their fiercenesse and violence were vntameable. Sometimes the desire of glorie hath drawne some yong and generous mindes into contemp••, both of sword and fire•• the opinion and shadow of vertue hath egged some on to seeke out a voluntarie death. But the stronger and constan∣ter reason is against all this, the more vehement and violent becommeth shee a∣gainst all feare and danger. You doe nothing, will some man say, because you deny that there is any other good but honestie. This defence of yours shall not make you strong and impregnable against Fortune. For you say that amongst these goods, a man ought to include obedient children, cities well gouerned, and parents that are honest. And yet if these be in any danger, you cannot see it without astonishment. For a siege of thy citie, the death of thy children, and the bondage of thy parents will trouble thee. But I will set thee downe what it is, that is accustomably answered for vs in this case•• and then againe will I adde what besides that may be answered in my iudgement. There is another con∣dition in those things which being taken from vs, substitute some other incom∣moditie in their place, as health being impaired, changeth it selfe into sicknes, the sight of the eye extinguished, affecteth vs with blindnesse, and when the ••ammes are cutte, not onely sinewes perish, but debilitie followeth in stead thereof. And yet danger is not in those things, which wee haue spoken of a little before: Why? Because that if I haue lost a good friend, I must not therefore be perfidious for him, neither if I haue buried good children; there is no reason that impietie should supply their place, to endanger and hurt me. Moreouer, by this death, friends and children are not lost, it is but the bodie. But good cannot be lost, but by one only mean, that is, if it should change it selfe into euill, which Nature permitteth not, for all v••rtu••s and all their actions re∣maine incorruptible. Againe, although that friends, although that well appro∣ued children, and haue in nothing contradicted their fathers commands, bee dead, yet notwithstanding, ••here is something that may supply their place. As∣kest thou me what it may be? It is that vertue that hath made them good men. She suffereth not at any tim••, that there should be any place voide. She entire∣ly taketh seisure of our soules, she exterminat••th the sorrow of all things, and contenteth her ••elfe to be alone. For th•• power & original of all goods is in her. What skilleth it if the water that floweth bee stolne, or ••••ee••e away, if the foun∣taine from whence it issueth be liuing and replenished. Thou wilt not say, that a man is more iust, because his children are yet aliue, or for that they ar•• dead••

no more moderate, more honest, more wise, more better, consequently a great number of friends make not a man more wise, neither the diminution, or want of them, maketh him not more foolish, and consequently also, neither more happy, nor more miserable. As long as thy vertue shall remaine entire, thou shalt neuer feele any losse that thou hast made. What then? Is not he who is enuironed with a goodly troupe of friends and children more happie? Why should he not be? Because the soueraigne good cannot be•• diminished or aug∣mented. He alwayes remaineth after the same fashion. Howsoeuer Fortune car∣rie her selfe, although the yeares be old, or that he die before he be aged, it is one and the same measure of the soueraigne good, although it be different in age. Whether thou make a circle greater or lesser; it is but in respect of the space, but not of the figure: and although the one hath remained a long time painted, and that thou hast incontinently defaced the other, and couered it with dust in the place where thou hast cast it; yet both the one and the other were the same figure. That which is right and iust is not esteemed by the greatnes, nor by the number, nor by the time; it can neither be lengthened nor strengthened. Take as much as thou wilt, an honest life that endured an hundred yeares, and reduce and determine it in one only day, the one is as honest as the other. Vertue ex∣tendeth it selfe more at large: shee gouerneth Kingdomes, Cities, and whole Prouinces, she maketh lawes, she priseth and honoreth friendships, she distribu∣teth offices and duties betweene the neerest parents and their children; and pre∣sently she circumscribeth her self in a straiter scope of pouertie, banishmēt, and losse of children. Yet is she not lessened, although that from a great and high estate she is fallen, into a priuate and particular, and from a royall throne, to an abiect and base place. And if from a publike and ample power, she restraine her selfe in a homely cottage, or in some corner she is alwayes as great, if after shee hath beene driuen from all places, she solely retire her selfe into her selfe. For this notwithstanding, she hath a courage great and inuincible, a prudence tha•• is perfect, a iustice immutable, and consequently she is alwayes happy. For this blessednes and this good is lodged in one only place, that is to say, in the minde. It is euerlasting, & full of tranquillitie, which cannot be without the knowledge of diuine and humane things. It followeth now, that which I said I would an∣swere. A wise-man tormenteth not himselfe for the losse of his children, nor his friends, for he endureth their death with as equall constancie and courage, as he expecteth his owne. He feareth the one as little as he grieueth for the other, because vertue consisteth in conueniencie, all her workes are agreeable with he•• selfe, and answer one another. This concord would be last, if the minde which should be assured and constant, should suffer it selfe to be ouercom with sorrow and sadnesse. All sorts of astonishment, all feare, all idlenesse and slackenesse in any act whatsoeuer, is dishonest. For all that which is honest is full of assurance; and diligence; it is neuer astonished, but alwayes prepared. What then, shall he not feele some passion like vnto trouble? Shall he not change his colour? Shall not his countenance discouer some perturbation, shall not his members wax chill? and all other things which a man doth not by the command of the minde, but by a sudden and inconsiderate heate of nature? I confesse he shall. But he shall alwayes be thus perswaded, that none of all this is euill, nor wor∣thy that a good vnderstanding should be astonished at. All that which he ought to doe, he will doe boldly and readily: for who is he that will not say that it is the proper nature of follie, to performe that cowardly and against his heart which he doth, and to driue the bodie into one place, and the minde into ano∣ther;

and to suffer himselfe to be drawne by so many contrarie motions. That euery thing for which she esteemeth her selfe so much, and for which she en∣tereth into admiration of her selfe, maketh her contemptible•• and besides, that which is worse, she performeth not that with a good will, from whence she ta∣keth her glorie. But if she feareth that any euill should befall her, she perplex∣eth her selfe in exspectation thereof: she tormenteth her selfe as if the euill had alreadie attainted her; and all that which she feareth she may suffer hereafter, she presently suffereth by the meanes of her feare. Euen as there are certaine signes that appeare in the bodie before the feuer commeth (for a man feelet•• a dulnesse in the sinewes, a lassitude, a gaping or yawning, and a horrour which passeth thorow all the members) In like sort a sicke minde feeleth some shakings and assaults, which enfeeble him before the euill touch him: he enters into sorrows, and loseth his heart before the time. But what more greater follie may a man see, then for a man to dismay his mind for such things as are yet to com? and not to be able to reserue himselfe to suffer the torment when it shall come, but to summon miseries a farre off, and to approach them, before they presse him; which he were better to delay if he might not auoyde. Wilt thou know that no man ought to be tormented for that which is to come? Whosoeuer shall heare it said, that some fiftie yeares hence he must be led to execution, he will not torment himselfe, because he hath past the halfe of this time, and that he is not plunged in this disquiet of mind, which should not com but in an age after. The like befalleth those spirits that are voluntarily sicke, and do nothing but seeke occasion of sorrow, who are sad for things long since forepassed and forgotten. All that which is past and which is to come, is absent. We neyther perceiue the one nor the other. But there is no griefe but of that which thou feelest.

EPIST. LXXV.

That Philosophie affecteth not wordes, and yet neyther renounceth wit nor good dis∣course. The chiefest, matter is, that the life be correspondent to the wordes. Further∣more let vs endeuour to proceede, because we are to ascend by degrees, and they are three. The degrees of those that are proficient.

THou complainest that the Letters which I send thee, are not writ∣ten ouer-curiously•• but who is he that writeth in so an affected stile, but he that would write to insinuate? Such as my speech should be if we were sitting together, or if men walked out toge∣ther, easie and without Art: such will I that my Epistles be, that they neyther be extrauagant nor affected. If it were possible that a man might vnderstand that which I thinke, I had rather expressed it by signes, then by words. And if I should dispute likewise, I would not stampe vpon the ground, nor cast my hands abroad, nor lift vp my voyce: I would leaue that to Orators, and content my selfe to haue made thee vnderstand my conceit, without inrich∣ing my speech, or neglecting it also. I would plainely perswade thee this one point, that I firmely beleeue that which I say, and that I not onely beleeue the same, but loue it also. Men kisse their Mistresse in one sort, and their children in another; & notwithstanding in this embracement, so holy and so chaste affecti∣on sufficiently discouereth it selfe. Truly I would not that my discourses which

men holde of so great matters, should be dull and drie: for Philosophie renoun∣ceth not a happie and gentle spirit, yet will she not likewise that we employ o∣uer-much affectation in our discourse. In briefe, see here what is the summe of our intention. Let vs speake what we thinke, and think what we speake; let our speech be answerable to our life: he hath fulfilled his promise who is the same when thou seest him, and when thou hearest him: we shall see what he is, and how great he is; but he must alwayes be one. It is not necessarie that our words be pleasing, but that they profit. But if eloquence may befall any man, with∣out much labour and affectation, if it be alreadie acquired, or hath cost him lit∣tle, let him bouldly make vse thereof, and employ it in worthie subiects. Let it be such that it rather expresse the matter, then it selfe. All other Arts appertain only to the wit, but nothing is intreated of here but the affairs of the mind. The sicke-man seeketh not out an eloquent Phisitian, but such a one as knoweth how to cure well: yet if so be it so fall out, that he who knoweth how to heale well, discourseth eloquently of that which he ought to performe, he ought not to be displeased thereat. Neyther also ought he to reioyce, because he is falne into the handes of a Physitian that can speake well: for it is as much as if a skil∣full Master of a Ship w••re a goodly man also. Why scratchest thou mine eares? Why delightest thou me? Thou must; there is another thing now in hand, thou must minister me an actuall ca••ter••e, I must be lanced, I must haue a Dyet prescribed me: for this cause art thou called. Thy duety is to heale an old sick∣nesse that is dangerous and publique. Thou hast as much to doe as the Physi∣tian in the plague time. Wilt thou spend the time about wordes? If thou finish the cure then mayest thou reioyce. When shall it be that thou wilt lodge that which thou hast learned so inwardly in thy selfe, that it may neuer more depart from thee? When wilt thou make triall thereof? for it sufficeth not to commit them to memorie, as thou doest other sciences: Thou must assay to put them in execution. He that knoweth all this is not happie, but he that doth it. What then, are there no degrees vnder him? May a man vpon the sudden attaine vn∣to wisedome? I cannot beleeue it: for he that profiteth is counted amongst the number of fools, yet is he estranged from them by a great distance, and amongst those that are proficient also there are great differences: they are diuided, as some say, into three rankes; The first are they that haue not as yet attained wisedome, but are alreadie setled neere vnto it, although that which is neere is as yet without. Thou wilt aske me who these are? They are those who haue alreadie laide aside all their affections and vices, & that haue learned that which they ought to embrace, but their assurance is not as yet experimented. They haue not as yet the vse of their good; yet can they not fall againe any more on that which they haue alreadie fled. They are so farre forward that they can∣not r••tire backe, but they know it not as yet. And as I remember I haue writ∣ten in a certaine Epistle, they know not that they doe know it. They can al∣readie make vse of their good but their confidence is yet vnassured. Som there are that speake thus of this sort of men, who profite and whom I speake hereto∣fore and say that they haue alreadie escaped the sicknesses of the minde, but not the passions; and that they are as yet affraide to fall, because no man is out of the danger of vice, but he that hath wholly driuen it from him; but no one dri∣ueth it away but he that hath assumed wisedome in his place. I haue oftentimes tolde what differences there are betwixt the sicknesses of the soule, and the pas∣sions of the minde. Yet will I refresh the memorie therof vnto thee. The sick∣nesses are inueterate and obdurate vices, such as are auarice, and ouer great am∣bition,

at such time as they haue intangled the minde, and haue begun to be a perpetuall sickenesse. And to be short, the sickenesse is an obstinate iudgement in wicked things, as if a man should greatly desire that which he ought not to desire but slightly; or if thou like it better, we may define it thus. To desire that ouer-vehemently which we ought to wish for slightly, or which a man should not any wayes wish or desire; or else to prise that ouer-much which a man should prise verie little or nothing at all. Affections are improbable, sud∣den and violent motions of the minde, which being frequent an•• neglected, haue caused a sickenesse, as a descent and distillation of rhume doth; which be∣ing as yet vnformed, engendreth a cough: but if it continue and waxeth olde, it becommeth Phthisis. Euen so they who haue alreadie profited much, are out of sickenesse, yet feele they as yet some passions, yet are they neere vnto perfecti∣on. The second sort is of those who haue escaped the greatest passions and sickenesses of the soule, but it is in such a sort that they are not certaine in the possession of their securitie; for they may fall againe into their infirmities. This other third sort is exempt from a number of the greater vices, but not out o•• all: he hath fled from auarice, but is as yet sensible of wrath: he is no more subiect to pleasures and voluptuousnesse, but he is full of ambition: he is not couetous, but he is as yet fearefull and timorous; but in this fear•• he is sufficiently assured in some things, and sheweth himselfe remisse in some other things: he contem∣neth death, but he feareth dolour. Let vs thinke a little vpon this third place: it will be well with vs, if we be admitted vnto this third number. It is with a great felicitie of nature, and with a studie accompanied with a great and indu∣strious diligence, that a man entreth into the second ranke: yet must we not de∣spise those of the third order. Thinke with thy selfe how many euils thou see∣est about thee; beholde how there is not any offence how detestable soeuer it be, of which we cannot shew some examples. See how wickednesse encreaseth daily, and what faults are committed both in publique and priuate; and thou shalt vnderstand that we haue profited enough, if we be not ranked amongst the worst. But I hope, sayest thou, that I may be made one of the honourable or∣der. I should rather wish vs this good fortune, then promise it. We are alreadie seased and arrested: we runne after vertue, but we are intangled and sna••ed in vices. I am ashamed to speake it; we follow not honest things, but then when we can doe nothing else. But how great a reward attendeth vs, if wee would wholly breake off our occupations, and shake off those euils which holde vs captiue. Neither desire, neither feare should compell vs, but being freed from all terrors, intire and incorrupted against all pleasures, we should no more be af∣fraide of death, or of the Gods: We should vnderstand that neyther death is e∣uill, and that the Gods are good: as infirme and feeble is that which may hurt, as that to whom it hurteth. The best things, and such as neuer hurt, doe expect vs when we shall depart one day out of this order, to mount those high and su∣blime places with a placabilitie of minde, and after the errours shall be driuen away, with an intire and perfect libertie. Askest thou what it is? Not to feare men or Gods, neither to will that which is dishonest nor desire ouer-much, and to haue the greatest power ouer himselfe. It is an inestimable good for a man to be able to become his owne.

EPIST. LXXVI.

That he heareth Philosophie, and goeth to the Schooles. Hee complaineth of the negli∣gence and sloath of men, which learne other things, and neglect Philosophie. Doe not thou so, my LVCILIVS, make hast and learne goodnesse. What good? That which is onely honest. And againe he approueth by arguments that it is so, and that other things are not. A laudable and wise Epistle.

THou threatnest me that thou wilt be mine enemie, if so be I con∣ceale ought from thee of those things which I daily doe. Beholde how freely and simply I liue with thee: for this also will I impart vnto thee, I hear a Philosopher, and for these fiue daies past alrea∣die haue I haunted the schoole, and haue heard him dispute from eight of the clocke. I am olde enough, wilt thou say, to goe thither: and why should not this age be good? What greater follie may there be, then because of long time thou hast not learned, not to learne at all? What then, shall I doe nothing else but that which those yongfull and refreshed wantons do, I should thinke my selfe happie, if there were nothing ill beseeming mine age but that. This Schoole admitteth men of all ages. Let vs waxe olde in this Schoole, we must follow it, as if as yet we were young. Shall I goe vnto the Theater as olde as I am? shall I cause my selfe to be carried to the sports and publique specta∣cles? shall not one couple of combatants be singled out to fight, except I be a looker on? and shall I be ashamed to goe and see a Philosopher? So long art thou to learne as long as thou art ignorant; and if wee giue credite to the Pro∣uerbe, so long as thou liuest: neither can this more fitly be applied to any thing then to this, so long art thou to learne in what manner thou shouldest liue, as long as thou liuest. Yet teach I also something in this Schoole. Askest thou me what I teach? Forsooth this, that how olde soeuer a man be, he ought al∣waye•• to learne. Vndoubtedly I am ashamed to see how men liue. As often as I enter into the Schoole, I must of necessitie, as thou well knowest, passe by the Neapolitane Theatre: it is their way that goe to Metronactes house. This Theatre before I come is replenished with people, although the greatest studie that they vse, is but to iudge who it is that playeth best vpon the Flute. A great number of men flocke thither to heare the Fifes and the Grecians Trumpets sound; but in that place where a man learneth to be a good man, few men stay there. And these also in diuers mens iudgement seeme to haue no good busi∣nesse in hand, they call them men of little spirit and loyterers. I should be glad to see my selfe mocked in this kinde. A man ought to endure patiently the in∣iuries of the ignorant. It becommeth him that followeth honest things to con∣temne this contempt. Courage, my Lucilius, goe forward, and make hast, lest that befall thee which is falne vpon me, that is to learne in thine olde age: but haste thy selfe, since for the present thou hast vndertaken that which thou canst hardly compleately learne, although thou shouldest attaine the fulnesse of thine age: how much, sayest thou, shall I profite? As much as thou wouldest assay. What expectest thou then? No man hath euer beene wise by casu••ltie. Riches will come of it selfe, honor shall be offered, grace and dignitie happily shall be thrust vpon thee: but vertue will not befall thee, when thou little thinkest of it, neither also with slight trauell, and little paine. He must not be wearie of the trauell which he taketh, who should at one time gaine all the

goods of this world. For there is but one only good, that is to say, that which is honest. In those things that are plausible to fame, thou shalt finde nothing true, nothing certaine. I will tell thee why that is onely good which is hone••t, because thou supposest, that in my former Epistle I haue not sufficiently expres∣sed vnto thee the reason, and for that thou thinkest then, I haue better praised, then proued this proposition, and I will succinctly, and in few words, signifie and abridge all that which I haue spoken. All things haue their proper good. The Vine is commended for his fruitfulnes, the wine for his taste, and the Hart for his swift footing. Why askest thou, wherefore horses haue strong backes? because he onely serueth to beare burthens. The first thing that is required in a dog, that is, to be employed in searching out ••nd hunting wilde beasts, is his quicke sent; if to ouertake them, is his swiftnesse•• if to bite and inuade them, his fiercenesse. In all things that whereunto a man is borne, and for which hee is prized and esteemed, is alwayes the best. What is the best thing in a man? It is his reason. By it he surpasseth beasts, and followeth the gods very neere. So then perfect reason is a mans proper good, all other things are such, as brute beasts pertake them in common as well as he. If he be mightie, so are Lions; if he be faire, so is the Peacocke; if he be swift, so is the horse: I will not say that hee is ouercome and surpassed in all these things. I d••spute not what that is, which is most excellent in him, but what it is that is most proper vnto him. He hath a bodie, so haue the trees; hee hath vehemencie and voluntary motion, both beasts and wormes haue no lesse. He hath a voice; but how farre more clear••r haue dogges? More shriller haue E••gles, more strong haue Bulls, more sweete and delicate haue Nightingales? What then is it which is proper and best in a man? Reason. This it is that being compleat and perfect, accomplisheth a mans felicitie. If therefore euery thing that hath perfected his owne good is praise∣worthie, and hath attained the end of his nature•• and mans particular good is reason; if he hath perfected the same, he is worthy of praise, and hath attained the end whereunto his nature directed him. This perfect reason is called Ver∣tue, and is no other thing then that which is honest. That therefore is the onely good in a man, which is the onely marke of a man. For now we enquire not what God is, but what mans good is; but man hath no other good but reason: this therefore is his onely good, which is the most precious and priseable of all others. If any man be a wicked man, he in my opinion will be misliked of. If a good man, he will as I suppose, be allowed of. That therefore is proper and par∣ticularly a mans, whereby he is praised or improued. Thou doubtest not whe∣ther this be good, but whether it be his onely good. If any man should enioy all other things; health, riches, many images of his predecessors, adorning his fore-court, a multitude of attendants at his Pallace-doore, and yet in all the worlds iudgement hee were wicked, thou wouldest disallow him. If likewise there were a man that hath none of all these things, which I haue related, nei∣ther money, nor attendants of courtiers, neither nobilitie, nor any images of his grand-fathers, and great grand-fathers are arranged by order: but that were an honest man, in all mens opinion, thou wouldest praise him. There is then one only good in a man, whereof if any man findeth himselfe possessed, although he be destitue of all others, yet is he to be praised; and if he hath it not, although he haue all other things in abundance, yet is he despised and reiected. Such as the condition of all things is, such is the condition of men. That ship is called good, not that which is painted with p••ecious colours, or that hath a siluer or golden beake, nor whose tutelar signe is enriched with Iuorie, or that is laden with

goods and royall riches, but that which is strong and firme, that is so well tim∣bered and calked on euery side, that it admitteth no leake, that can sustaine the breaking of the sea, that is light of steerage, and is good of saile, howsoeuer the winde driue it. Thou wilt say, a sword is good, not for that it hath a golden belt, or a sheath couered with precious stones, but that which hath an excellent edge, and a strong point, able to pierce an armo••r of steele. Wee enquire not how faire the rule be, but how straight. Euery thing ought to be praised, when it is sorted and purueyed of that which is proper vnto it. Therefore in a man also it is nothing to the purpose, how many acres of land hee plow vp, how much money he lend to vse, by how many he be saluted; how rich and preci∣ous the bed bee whereon hee resteth, how goodly a cup hee drinke in, but how good a man he is, and a good man is he, if his reason be perfect and vpright, and accommodated to the will of Nature. This is called Vertue, this is honest, and the onely good of a man. For since that only reason maketh a man perfect, on∣ly perfect reason maketh him likewise happy. But that only good of a man, is that which may only make him happy. Wee say likewise, that those things which proceed and are engendered by vertue, that is to say, all her actions, are goods; but vertue is the sole and onely good, because there is not any good without her. If all good remaine in the soule, all that which maketh the same ••irme and constant, all that which raiseth and enobleth it is good. But it is ver∣tue that maketh the soule more strong, more excellent, and more couragious. for all other passions that animate and incite our pleasures, doe deiect and rui∣nate the soule likewise, and when they seeme to raise the same, they doe but pu••fe her vp with pride, and deceiue her with their vanities. There is then but one only good, whereby the minde is bettered. All the actions of the whole life are measured, either in that they are honest, or in that they are villanous•• Thereby it is that reason is gouerned, either to doe, or not to doe any thing•• I will tell thee what this meaneth. A good man will doe that which in his thought may be honestly done, although it be accompanied with much tra∣uell, and attended with losse and danger. Contrariwise he will do nothing th•••• is dishonest, although thereby he reaped riches, pleasures, and authorities. No∣thing shall withdraw him from doing a good thing, nothing shall inuite him to doe that which is villanous. Vndoubtedly then, if he must follow that which is vertuous, he will likewise flie all that which is villanous; and in all the actions of his life he will regard these two things, that there is no other good, but that which is honest, nor any other euill, but that which is villanous. Now if there be but one onely vertue that remaineth vncorrupted, if shee onely remaine al∣wayes in her entire vertue, it is the only good, to which nothing may happen that may hinder her from being good. For wisdome is out of the danger of all change, wisedome cannot bee rauished, shee cannot fall into folly. I haue ••old thee, if happily thou remember the same, that diuers haue contemned and tro∣d••n vnder feete that which is vulgar, by an inconsiderate heate, either desired of feared. Some haue there beene, that haue thrust their hands into the flame, whose smiles the tormentour could not interrupt, that in the buriall of their children haue not shed one teare, and that haue presented themselues to death without any feare. Loue, wrath, couetousnesse, hath oftentimes made them seeke out perrills. If therefore a short resolution of the soule pricked forward by some pregnant occasion, may doe this, with what more greater resolution shall vertue doe it, that gathereth her forces, not from rashnesse or any sudden motion, but a constancie and perpetuall power? It followeth then, that those

things which are often contemned by the inconsiderate, and by wise men al∣wayes, that they are neither good nor euill. Vertue then is the onely good, that marcheth proudly betweene both the one and the other Fortune, and despi∣seth them both•• And if thou enter into this opinion, that there is any other good, but that which is honest, all vertues shall be in trouble. For no man might attaine any of them, if she desired any thing that were out of her selfe; and if this were, it should be contrarie to reason, from whence vertues proceed; and to truth, which is alwayes accompanied with reason. But all opinion which is con∣trary to truth, is false. Thou must needes confesse, that a good man carrieth great pietie and reuerence towards the gods, and for this cause he will patiently endure all that which may befall him. For he well knoweth that all this is be∣falne him by the will of the gods, by which all things are conducted. And if it be thus, he will thinke that to be the onely good, which is honest. For in ho∣nestie consisteth the obedience to the gods, the patient sufferance of those acci∣dents, which may follow the constant entertainment of fortunes, and the wil∣ling acceptance of that the gods will, and the performance of their commande∣ments. If there were any other good, but that which is honest, we should bee attended with an insatiable desire of life, and an affection to all that which en∣tertaineth life: a thing intollerable, infinite, and that which extendeth it selfe ouer farre. The onely good then is that which is honest, that hath a certaine measure. We haue said that the life of man should be more happy then that of the gods, if that whereof the gods make no vse were goods, of which kinde are riches & estates. Furthermore, if the soules suruiue the bodies after they are de∣parted from them, a more happie estate attendeth them, then that which they then possessed, when they were imprisoned in the body. And yet if those things which we vse by the meanes of the bodie were goods, they should be more vn∣fortunate after they were departed from the same, but no man can any wayes beleeue, that being inclosed and imprisoned, they should be more happie, then when they are released and set at libertie through the whole world. I haue moreouer said this, that if it be a good that equally befalleth both man and brute beasts, that beasts likewise should enioy a happy life, which cannot bee true in any manner. Wee must suffer all things for honestie sake, which wee should not doe, if there were any other good but that which is honest. All this, although I haue more amply debated vpon in my former Epistle, I haue thought good to abbreuiate in these few words. Yet neuer will this opinion seeme true vnto thee, except thou rowse thy minde, and question with thy selfe, whether, if need required, thou wouldest die for thy country, and to saue the life of all other thy fellow citizens, thou wouldest lose thine owne, and yeeld thy necke, not only with patience, but with a free will? If thou canst doe this, there is no other good. Thou leauest all things, that thou mayest haue this. See how great the force of honestie is. And although thou shouldest not doe it pre∣sently, yet should it be at least, as soone as thou oughtest to doe it. Sometimes in a very short space of time a man receiueth a great ioy of a very faire thing. And although some fruite of a worke alreadie performed, can doe little profit to the dead, when he shall be out of this world, yet the only thought of that which he would doe, reioyceth and comforteth him; and a iust and constant man, when he setteth before his eyes the price of his death, which is the liberty of his country, and the life of all those, for whom he employeth his life, he fee∣leth a great pleasure, and alreadie pertaketh the fruit of his perill. But he also who is depriued of this pleasure, which the exe••ution of this work would yeeld

him, as the greatest and last pleasure of his life, without any more delay will en∣counter his death, and content himselfe that he hath done iustly and piously. Contrariwise, set thou now before his eyes diuers reasons that may disswade him. Tell him, that this worthy act which thou hast done, shall be suddenly forgotten, the Citizens will not be so thankfull as thou deseruest; he will an∣swere thee. All this is out of the action I haue done, I contemplate and consider it in it selfe, I know it is honest. Therefore it is that, into what place soeuer I am led, into what place soeuer I am called, I am there. It is then the only good which a perfect soule, not only feeleth, but a generous man, and such a one as is of a good nature. All other things are of little esteeme, and subiect to change. And therefore it is that a man cannot possesse them without much care and trouble of minde, although the fauour of Fortune had assembled them all toge∣ther into one mans possession, yet are they for no other vse, but a burthen to their master; they pr••sse him alwayes, and sometimes ouerwhelme him. There is not any one of those, whom thou hast clothed in purple, that is happie, no more then are they that beare a royall Scepter in their hands, and a Mantle on their backes vpon a stage in acting a play. For after they haue marched in their proud array and buskins before the people, as soone as they depart from them they are disapparelled, and returne to their former estate. There is not one of those, whom riches and honors haue raised to the highest places, that is great. Why then seemeth he to be great? Thou measurest him by his show. A dwarfe will be alwayes little, although hee be set vpon a mountaine; and huge statue will retaine his greatnesse, though it stand in a ditch. We are blinded with this error, and thus are we deceiued, because we esteeme no man by that which is in him, but we adde vnto him his ornaments. But when thou wilt haue a true estimate of a man, and know what a one he is, behold him naked: let him lay aside his patrimony, his honours, and those other flattering and false goods of Fortune. Let him dispossesse himselfe of his bodie, behold his minde, what and how great it is, whether of his owne good, or by anothers: if he dare looke on a drawne sword with a manly eie, if he know that there is no great matter whi∣ther his soule depart, by his mouth, or by his throat; call him happy. That at such time when he shal heare that he must endure bodily tormēts, or such euils as happen by casualtie, or by the plot of great men, that if he must suffer bonds and exile, and the vaine feares of humane mindes, securely heareth them, and saith.

Not any new suspition of mishap, O Virgin, shall my setled minde intrap: All these haue I forethought long time agoe, My dangers are sorecast in weale and woe.

Thou tellest mee all this to day, I haue alwayes denounced it to my selfe. I haue disposed man vnto all humane things. The stroake of mischiefe which a man foreseeth, is lesse troublesome and more light. But to fooles, and such as credit Fortune, the face and appearance of things seemeth new and vnexpected, and noueltie for the most part is the greatest cause of euil to the ignorant. That thou mayest know this, they suffer patiently those things that they thought dif∣ficult, when they are accustomed thereunto. Therefore it is, that a wise-man inureth himselfe to euils that may befall him, and that which others by a long patience make light and easie, the wise-man doth it after hee hath long time

thought: we heare oft-times the discourses of these ignorants, which say, I had not thought that this would as yet befall me; but the wise-man knoweth that all things are incident to him, and confesseth, that hee knoweth very well all that which may happen.

EPIST. LXXVII.

And this by the way, is to be numbred amongst those that are good and profitable. He intreateth by the way of the Alexandrian Fleete, how whilst other ranne out to see them, he neglected them. For what auayle these? or how long? I am olde, I am going hence, and at length I must willingly depart as MARCELLINVS did. Then against the feare of death, and that the reasons thereof are to be contemned.

THis day vpon the sudden that Alexandrian Ships appeared vnto vs, which are vsually sent before the Fleete, to giue tidings of the fortunate approach of the Nauie, which men call Friggats or Ships of message. The view of these was gratefull and welcome to all Campania. All the people of Pozzolo climed vp vpon the Piles to behold them, and by the manner of their sayles knew them from the rest, notwithstanding that they were intermingled with a great bulke of other shipping: for they onely haue libertie to spread their top-saile, which in their top all ships haue. For there is nothing that helpeth their course so much as that vpper part of the saile: for by it the Ships course is most of all furthered; and therefore as often as the winde encreaseth, and is more violent then it ought to be, the top-yard is striken for the winde, hath lesse force ouer the bodie of the ship. But when they haue entered Capreas and the Promontorie, from whence,

PALLAS from high of stormie Mountaine spies.

All other ships are commanded to content themselues with their maine sayle; the top-sayle is the marke to know the Alexandrian ships. Amidst the course of all these people that ran thus hastily to the Sea shoare, I felt a very great plea∣sure in my sloath, because that thinking to receiue Letters from mine agents, I made no hast to know in what estate my affaires stood, or what they had brought me. For long agoe nothing hath beene gotten or lost by me. This o∣pinion should I maintaine, although I were not olde: but now the rather, be∣cause how little soeuer I had, I haue more to make vse of them, I haue time to liue, especially since we are entred into that way, which we neede not to accom∣plish. The iourney will be imperfect, if thou stay either in the mid-way or stand on this side the prefixed place: the life is not imperfect, if it be honest. Where∣soeuer thou endest, if the end be good it is intire: we ought likewise often and couragiously to end, and not for great causes, for these are not the mightiest that holde vs. Tullius Marcellinus (whom thou knowest very familiarly) who was temperate in his youth, and quickly an olde man, being surprised by a sicknesse which was not incurable yet long and tedious, and such as commanded him to suffer much, began to deliberate and conclude vpon his death. To this intent he called together diuers of his friends. Euery one of these being naturally ti∣merous, gaue him that counsaile they would haue entertained themselues, or if there were a slatterer, or any one that studied to please him, he gaue him that

aduice, that he thought would be best pleasing to him that demanded the questi∣on. Our friend Asticho, a worthy man, & that I may dignifie him with those titles, wherein he worthily deserueth praise, a man couragious and valiant, counsailed him in my opinion very nobly: for he began thus; Torment not thy selfe, friend MARCELLINE, as if thou deliberatedst on any important affaire. It is no great mat∣ter to liue all thy slaues liue, and all other beasts also. It is a great matter to die honestly, prudently and valiantly. Bethinke thy selfe ••or how long time together thou hast done the same thing. Meate, sleepe, lust, by this circle all the world commeth. Not onely a va∣liant man, a strong man, a miserable man can haue a will to die, but he also that disdaineth life. He needed no man to counsaile him hereunto, but some assistant; for his slaues would not obey him. First of all he tooke from them all feare, and taught them that slaues were in great danger, when as it was incertaine whether the death of the Lord were voluntarie or no. For otherwise it should be as dange∣rous an example to hinder a Master to die, as to kill him. Afterwards he admo∣nished Marcellinus himselfe, that euen as when supper is ended, the remainder is deuided on those that attend; so when life is ended, somewhat is bequeathed to those who had beene attendants during the whole life time. Marcellinus was a man of a gentle and facile disposition, and liberall euen in those things which were his proper goods: he therefore distributed some small summes amongst his weeping seruants, and comforted them himselfe: he needed not eyther sword or shedding of bloud, for three daies he abstained, and in his very cham∣ber he caused his Pauillion to be raised; afterwards his bath was brought thi∣ther, in which he lay long time, and caused water to be oftentimes cast vpon him, so by little and little fainted and failed he, not without a certaine pleasure, as he said (which a slight fainting is wont to bring) not vnapproued vnto vs, who are sometimes subiect to soundings. I haue made relation of this storie vnto thee, which I know will not be distastefull to thee, because thereby thou shalt vnderstand the manner of thy friends death, which was neyther difficult nor miserable: for although he procured his owne death, yet departed he and escaped most sweetly out of life. Neyther will this storie be vnprofitable to thee; for necessitie oftentimes exacteth such examples. Wee oft-times must die, yet we will not: we die, and yet we will not. There is no man so ignorant, but that he knoweth that one day he must die, but when the time approacheth neere he playes the coward, trembleth & weepeth. Wouldest thou not esteeme him the foolishest of all men, that should weepe because hee liued not a thou∣sand years agoe? As foolish is he that weepeth because he shall not liue a thou∣sand yeare after. Those are equall thou shalt not be, neither wast thou: both these two times are not our owne. Thou art cast vpon this point, which al∣though thou mightest prolong, how long wouldest thou prolong it? Why weepest thou? What wishest thou? Thou losest thy labour;

Cease thou to hope that prayers so powerfull be, That they can change the des••inies decree.

They are firme and fixed•• they are led by an eternall and powerfull necessitie. Thou shalt goe thither whither all things goe. Why thinkest thou this a new matter? Thou art borne vnder this condition, thy father hath had the like hap, this hath thy mother met withall, this haue thy predecessors knowne, this shall befall all men after thee. It is an inuincible successe and order that no force can change, and that tyeth and traineth all things with it. O how great number of

people shall follow thee when thou ar•• dead? How many are that shall accom∣panie thee? Thou wouldest in my opinion be more constant, if diuers thousands of m••n should die with thee. And yet many thousands of men and beasts shall los•• their liues by diuers sorts of death, at that verie in••tant when thou makest it a difficultie to die. But diddest thou not thinke that one day thou shouldest at∣taine thither whither thy iourney was alwaies intended? There is no iourney without end. Thinkest thou that I will recount vnto thee at this present ex∣amples of diuers great personages? No, I will but tell thee some of young lads: The memorie of that young Lacedemonian will neuer be lost, who hauing scarcely a haire vpon his chin, and being taken prisoner, cried out in that his Do∣rique tongue, I will not serue, and confirmed his wordes by effect; for as soone as he was commanded to doe some seruile and base office (for some comman∣ded him to emptie the close stoole) he did beate out his brains against the wall. Our libertie being so neere, is there any man will serue? Had d••st thou not ra∣ther thy sonne should die thus, then waxe olde in idlenes? What is there there∣fore why thou shouldest be perplexed, if to die couragiously be but a fchildes play? Thinkest thou that thou wilt not follow, thou shalt be enforced. Make that to be in thy power which is in another mans. Wilt thou not take vpon thee this young mans courage, and say, I will not serue? O miserable wretch! thou art slaue vnto men, thou art slaue vnto things, thou art slaue to thy life: for life if it want the courage to die, is a true seruitude. Hast thou any thing for which thou shouldest expect? Thou hast spent those pleasures that atten∣ded and retained thee. There is not any that is new vnto thee, not any but is now odious vnto thee, because thou hast surfeited therewith. Thou knowest what the taste of wine is, and what is the taste of Methegling: it skils not whe∣ther a hundreth or a thousand vessels of wine passe by thy bladder: thou art a sacke: thou hast often learned what the Oyster is, what the Mullet fauoreth thou knowest well, thy foolish expence hath reserued nothing for time to com, which thou hast not alreadie deuoured. Now these are they from which thou art drawne so vnwillingly. What other thing besides this is there which should yeeld thee discontent, if it were taken from thee? Are they thy friends and thy country? Hast thou so much euer honored the sunne, that for her thou wouldst haue deferred thy supper? Thou wouldest sooner choake vp the brightnesse of the sunne if thou couldest. For what hath beene euer done by thee that is wor∣thie the light? Confesse, I pray thee, that there is not any amitie that thou bea∣rest to the Senate or Palace, or to the nature of things which withdraweth thee from dying. It is in spite of thy teeth that thou leauest the shambles, in which thou hast left nothing. Thou fearest death: but how wouldest thou con∣temne it in the middest of thy pleasures? Thou desirest but to liue; for thou knowest well what it is, and hast feare of death: but what is this life, is it not death? Caligula passing thorow the Latine way, when as one of those that were ledde prisoners, that had a long beard and hoarie haires, besought him to giue him leaue to die. What said he, liuest thou yet? The same answer must be made vnto those to whom death might bring any comfort. Hast thou feare to die, and why liuest thou yet? But I, saith he, will liue; for I employ my selfe in ma∣nie honest affaires. I leaue those offices and functions of life vnwillingly, which I discharge both faithfully and industriously. What, knowest thou not that it is one of the offices of life to die? Thou leauest no office, for the number of the dueties which thou art to accomplish being vncertaine, it is determined. There is no life is not short: for if thou hast respect to the nature of things. Both Ne∣stors

and Statilias life is short, who ordeined that this should be ingrauen on her tombe, that she had liued ninetie nine yeares. Seest thou how this poore wo∣man vaunteth her selfe of her long life? but who could haue supported her glo∣rie, if it had beene her fortune to haue liued out full one hundred yeares? It fa∣reth with our life as with a Stage-play, it skilleth not how long, but how well it hath beene acted. It importeth nothing in what place thou makest an end of life: die where thou wilt, thinke onely to make a good conclusion.

EPIST. LXXVIII.

Of his sickenesses, yea, euen in his young yeares, and what reliefe he found for them. Ho∣nest studies (saith he) and friends also, but the remedy of remedies contempt of death. Thither calleth he LVCILIVS, and disputed many things deepe, manly, and true a∣gainst griefe.

THe more impatiently suffered I to see thee vexed often with rhumes and feuers, which follow long defluxions, and such as are alreadie brought into custome, because I my selfe haue had expe∣rience of this sickenesse, wherof at the beginning I made little rec∣koning. My youth could as yet support this violence, and defend it selfe confidently against infirmities, but at length I sunke vnder the burthen, and was brought to that estate, that I my selfe fell into a mortall distillation. Af∣terwards I became by little and little so extenuate and leane, that a sudden de∣sire surprised me to procure mine owne death; yet my fathers olde years which I deerely tendered, restrained me therein. For I imagined not how constantly I might die, but how patiently he might endure my losse; for which cause I com∣manded my selfe to liue as yet: for sometimes to liue is a manly designe. I will tel thee what recomforted me most at that time, but so as thou be before hand aduertised, that those things wherein I tooke most repose, serued me for a medi∣cine. Honest pleasures are to vs in stead of remedie, and all that which may re∣ioyce the spirit, profiteth the bodie in like sort. My studies gaue me my health. I must confesse that I am indebted to Philosophie for my recouerie and health, to her I owe my life, and lesse then that I cannot owe her. I haue beene furthe∣red in recouerie of my health by the meanes of my friends, by their exhortati∣ons and watchings, and by those discourses they entertained me with, I was ve∣rie much comforted. There is nothing (my Lucilius the best of men) that more recrea••eth and comforteth a sicke man, then the a••fection of his friends. There is nothing that so much stealeth away the thought & feare of death: I thought not on death when I saw them suruiue me: me thought, I say, that I should liue yet, not with them but by their meanes: me seemed that I lost not my spirit, but that I rendred it into their handes. All these encouraged me to assist my selfe, and to suffer all sorts of torments: otherwise it is a miserable matter, when as thou hast lost thy desire to die, not to haue an affection to liue. Retire thy selfe therefore vnto these remedies. The Physitian will shew thee how long thou shouldest walk, and how much thou shouldest exercise: he will teach thee not to follow a repose whereunto an idle health is addicted, to reade aloude, to exercise and strengthen thy breath, when the passages of the same, and the pas∣sages of the lungs are stopped, to saile, and make thy stomacke to desist by gentle motion and exercise, what meats thou shouldest vse when thou shalt call for

wine to strengthen and comfort thee, and when thou shouldest intermit the same, l••st it should prouoke and exasperate thy cough. But I teach thee that which is not only a remedy for this infirmity, but of the whole life: Contemne death. There is nothing distast••full when we flie the feare hereof. These three things in euery sicknes are very tedious; the feare of death, the paine of the bo∣die, and the intermission of pleasures. Of death there is enough spoken, I will only say this, that this feare proceedeth not from infirmities, but from nature. Sicknesses haue delayed the death of many men, and to them it hath proued se∣curitie to seeme to perish. Thou shal•• die, not because thou ar•• sicke, but be∣cause thou liuest. This death will attend thee when thou art recouered: wh••n thou art freed from sicknes thou shalt escape, not thy death, but thy infirmitie. Le•• vs now returne to that incommodity that is proper to sicknes: it is accom∣panied with great and intollerable torments, but the intermissions make them tollerable; for when the griefe is most intended, it suddenly groweth to an end. No man can suffer an excessiue paine a long time; for Nature that loueth vs as much as is possible, hath so prouidently prouided, that shee maketh our paines either tollerable or very short. The greatest paines are felt most in those parts that are most lea••e; the nerues, the ioynts, and all other parts that are thinnest are cruelly tormented, when as corrupted humors are enclosed in th••se narrow passages, but these parts are quickly nummed, & lose the sense of paine, by reason of the pain it self, either because the spirits being hindred, to performe their naturall course, and changed to the worst, lose the force which maketh them vigorous, and inciteth vs; or because the corrupt humor, when it wanteth force to flow thither, whither it should passe, choaketh them, and depriueth those parts of sense which are ouer much choaked. So the gout in feete and hands, and the paines that are felt in our ioynts, and nerues, are appeased when they haue stopped and stupified the parts they haue tormented. It is the first assault, sharpnes and pricking that tormenteth, but this violence is extinguished in time, and the end of the paine is to bee wholly stupified. The paine of the teeth, eyes, and eares, is the most violent, because it is bred in the narrowest and straitest parts of the bodie, and no lesse, vndoubtedly, is that of the head. But the more violent that is, the sooner is it changed into madnesse or stupiditie. This therefore is the comfort in intended griefe, that thou must of necessitie cease to feele the same, if thou feele it ouer much. But that which most of all afflicteth ignorant men, during the torment which they feele in their bodies, proce••deth hence, because they are not accustomed to content themselues with the goods of the minde, and for that they entertaine too much friendship with their bodies. And therefore a great and prudent man retireth his minde from his bodie, and is for the most part conuersant with the better and diuiner part, and but onely for necessitie sake with the other, which is fraile and still plaining. But thou wilt say it is a tedious thing for a man to want his accusto∣med pleasures, to abstaine from meates, to suffer thirst and hunger. I confesse that vpon the first abstinence it is a tedious thing, but by little and little this de∣sire is diminished, when as the things which wee desire are gouerned, and re∣straine themselues of themselues. Thence commeth it to passe, that the sto∣mack is more tempered, and they that fed with most rauenous appetite growne in hatred thereof. Desires and appetites die of themselues. It is no grieuous thing to want that, that thou hast desisted to long after. Moreouer, there is not any griefe, but hath some intermission and remission. Furthermore, a man can warrantize himselfe from euills that are to come, and preuent those by reme∣dies,

which threaten and menace him. For there is not any sicknesse, but hath some precedent signe, yea euen that which returneth by custome. Thou mayest beare an infirmitie patiently, if thou contemnest the extremitie wherewith it threatneth thee. Make not thine euils greater then they be, and charge not thy selfe with complaints, the paine is light, if opinion aggrauateth it not; contra∣wise, if thou begin to exhort thy selfe, and to say, It is nothing, or in effect verie little, let vs endure the same, and it will suddenly haue an end. Thou shalt make it light whilest thou thinkest it so. All things depend vpon opinion; not only am∣bition, but expence and auarice are measured by it; our paine is but opinion. A man is no more miserable, thē he supposeth himself to be. I think that the com∣plaints of forepassed pains ought to be forgotten, and such words as these: There was neuer any man more miserable. What torments, what euils haue I suffered? No man thought that I should euer rise again. How often haue my friends bewailed me? How often haue I beene giuen ouer by my Physitians? Such as haue beene tortured on the racke, are not so much stretched. Although all this be true, yet is it alreadie passed. What pleasure takest thou in the remembrance of fore-passed paines, and to refresh thy miserie that is already past: considering likewise, that there is not any one that will adde to his euill, and that lieth not to himselfe? Againe, it is a thing very agreeable to recount the euill that is past. It is also a thing naturall to re∣ioyce vpon the end of his miserie. We must therefore driue out of vs two things, the one is the feare of future euill, and the other the remembrance of that which is past: this for the present appertaineth not vnto mee, that not as yet, when he shall finde himselfe in these difficulties, he may say,

And these perhaps heareafter call'd to minde Will moue vs to reioyce.—

Let him sight against the same with all his forces, if he yeeld, he shall be ouer∣come, if he enforce himselfe against his griefe, hee shall ouercome. There are many in these dayes that doe this, they draw vpon themselues the ruine which they should resist. If thou retirest thy helfe from vnder that which presseth and oppresseth thee, that hangeth ouer thy head and menaceth thee, it followeth thee, and falleth vpon thee with a great waight; but if thou makest head against it, if thou wilt resist it, thou shalt repulse it. How many stroaks and wounds do the wrestlers receiue vpon their faces, and their whole bodies? yet suffer they all these torments for the ambition of glory; and endure the same, not only be∣cause they fight, but to the end they may know how to fight well; the exercise it selfe is a very torment. Let vs then likewise endeuour to surmount all trauels, the price and reward whereof, is not a simple crowne, a palme, or a trumpet, which commandeth silence, to the end that the praise of our name might bee published, but the vertue and constancie of the minde, and a tranquillity of the spirit which wee obtaine for euer, if in any comba••e wee could surmount For∣tune. I feele a cruell paine, but how shouldest thou otherwise doe but feele it, if thou endure it in no other sort, then women doe. Euen as the enemie chargeth those most strongly, who flie most speedily: in like sort, all the euils that For∣tune sendeth vs, charge him most violently that loseth his courage and playeth the coward. But this griefe is euer violent. And why? Are wee not constant but to suffer light things? Whether haddest thou rather, either that thy sick∣nes should be long, or that it should be violent and short? If it be long, it hath in∣termissions, and giueth place to refection, it giueth much time, it must in the end

forsake thee and depart. A short and violent sicknesse will either doe the one or the other, it will either suddenly end, or suddenly mend thee. But what skil∣leth it, whether it be not, or I be not? Since both in the one and the other, the paine hath an end? It may also profit thee much, to diuert thy thoughts to some other thing, and not to dreame at all of thy paine. Set before thine eyes that which thou hast•• sometimes vertuously and honorably done: discourse with thy self on the noblest stratagems: cast thy remembrance vpon that which thou hast greatly admired, and what at that time the most constant, and they that haue ouercome griefe, present themselues vnto thy thought, how he that stretched out his legge to suffer his Varices to be cut, perseuered in reading his booke. He likewise that neuer ceased to laugh, whilest his wrathfull torturers wondering thereat, wrought vpon him with all the tooles and instruments of crueltie. Shall not that paine be ouercome by reason, which hath beene ouer∣come by laughter? Tell me now whatsoeuer thou wilt, both of the discent of Rhumes, and of the vertue of a continuall cough, that maketh a man yeeld vp a part of his bowels, and of a feuor that scorcheth the intrailes, and of thirst, and of the ioynts of feete and hands, which griefe and paine hath contracted, and dislocated. The flame, the racke, the burning and glowing places, and that which is laid vpon the swollen wounds, to renue their paine, and to make it pierce more deepe, is yet more cruell. And yet there haue beene some, that haue suffered all this without complaining. It is a small matter. And hath not once besought them to giue ouer. It is a toy. And that hath neuer answered. It is a trifle. That hath laughed out-right with all his heart. After all this, wilt thou laugh at paine? But sicknes, thou wilt say, suffereth me to doe nothing. It hinders mee in all my functions. Sicknesse attainteth the bodie, but not the minde. Therefore it is that she stayeth the feete of him that runneth, and tieth the shoomakers hands, and hindereth the smithes hammer. But thou hast well learned to make vse of thy soule, thou shalt admonish, thou shalt teach, thou shalt heare, thou shalt learne, thou shalt demaund, thou shalt remember thy selfe. What then? beleeuest thou that thou doest nothing, if thou be tempe∣rate in thy sicknesse? Thou shalt shew that the sicknesse may be ouercome, at leastwise that it may be endured. Trust me, vertue findeth place euen in the bed it selfe. Armes, and following the warre, doe not onely testifie a valiant heart, and such a one as may not be daunted with feare. A man may approue his valour and courage euen in his couerlets and sleeping cloathes. Thou hast enough to employ thy selfe in. Fight valiantly against thy sickenesse, if it con∣straine thee to doe nothing; if it get no mastery ouer thee, thou shalt serue for a worthie example. O how great were the matter of our glory, if a man should come and see vs when we were sicke? But cast thou thine eyes vpon thy selfe, and praise thy selfe. Beside, there are two sorts of pleasures, sicknes hindereth the corporall, yet taketh them not away wholly; but rather if thou wilt iudge according to the truth, it inciteth them. There is more pleasure in drinking when a man hath thirst, and the meate is most tastefull to him that is most an hungered. All that which a man findeth after a long abstinence, he eateth with a greater appetite. But as touching those other pleasures of the minde, which are both greater and more assured: there is not any Physitian forbiddeth them his patients; those whosoeuer followeth and vnderstandeth them well, contem∣neth all the blandishments of the senses. O vnfortunate sicke man. And why? Because hee mixeth not his wine with snow, because he renueth not the cold that he drinketh mixed in a great cup, by these mo••sels of ice which hee brea∣keth

there into, because those Oysters which are fished in the lake Lucern, are not opened for him at his table, because he heareth not round about his hall the rumor of his Cookes, that bring and serue in his meate, together with the fire to keepe them warme. For prodigality and foolish expence hath already ••ound out this inuention, to the intent that no meat should be cooled, and that lest the pallet of the mouth, already hardened, should finde nothing that were not very hot; the Cooke attendeth the supper. O vnhappie sicke man? he shall eat but what he can disgest: hee shall not haue a whole boare messed into his ser∣uice, to be sent away as course commons. He shal not be serued with the pulpes of sowles (for men now adayes disdaine to see them intire) assembled in dishes apart. What wrong hast thou receiued hereby? Thou shalt sup like a sick man; yea hereafter like a whole man. But all those things shall we easily suffer, both brothes, warme water, and other things whatsoeuer seemeth intollerable to delicate and voluptuous men, and such as are more sicke in minde then in body. Let vs onely forget the horror and feare of death. But that shall we not forget, if we cannot distinguish the ends of euill and good. And by this meanes final∣ly we shall not feele any disgust of our life, nor any feare of death: for a man can neuer be wearie, or disliking of life, when it is occupied after things so diuers, so high, and so diuine. There is nothing but idle and lasie repose that causeth vs to hate the same. Truth will neuer be tedious vnto him that trauelleth in the secrets of Nature; there is nothing but falshood that glutteth vs. Againe, if death come and call vs, although it be before our time, although it abridge vs of the moitie of our liues, yet long before that time the fruit hath beene gathe∣red. All nature for the most part is knowne vnto him, hee knoweth that ho∣nest things encrease not by their durance or continuance. They of necessitie must suppose their liues short, who measure the same by vaine, and therefore infinite pleasures. Recreate thy selfe with these thoughts, and in the interim casting thine eyes vpon our Epistles, a time will come that shall reunite vs, and reassemble vs, how little soeuer it be, the knowledge how to vse it wel, wil make it long enough. For, as Possidoniu•• saith, One day amongst learned men dureth lon∣ger, then the longest age of an ignorant and vnlearned man. In the meane time hold this opinion constantly, that thou must not suffer thy selfe to be ouercome by aduersities; nor trust too much in prosperitie, to haue the power of Fortune alwayes before our eyes, as if she should do all whatsoeuer she can doe. What∣soeuer is long looked for, is lesse tedious when it happeneth.

EPIST. LXXIX.

Somewhat of Charibdis, Scilla, and AEtna. Then that wise-men are equall amongst themselues: and he exhorteth vnto wisdome, although glory accompany it not. But it will accompany the same, though after death. Good.

I Expect thy letters, by which thou shouldest certifie me what no∣ueltie hath encountered thee in all that voyage thou hast made about Sicely, and what thou hast learned of certaintie, as touch∣ing Charibdis. For I know that Scilla is a rocke which is not dread∣full to those that saile by it. But I haue a great desire to vnder∣stand, if all those fables which haue beene reported by Charibdis be true, and if happily thou hast obserued any thing, for it is a thing worthy to be marked.

Resolue me whether it be one winde that causeth so manie Whirle-pooles, or whether euery tempest alike doth exasperate that Sea, and whether it be true likewise, that all that which is deuoured in this tempest and storme of Sea by the waues, is carried away secretly vnder the waues of the Sea for many miles, and afterwards cast on shore on the bankes of the gulfe of Tauromenitan. When thou hast wholly satisfied me herein, then dare I command thee also to doe me that honor, to ascend the mount AEtna, which some men suppose and conclude to be consumed and decayed by little and little, because in times past men were wont to shewe it more farther off to Passengers. This may happen, not for that the height of the mountaine is diminished, but because the fire is weakened, and blaseth out with lesse vehemencie and abundantly; and by the same reason that the smoake by day time is more little. But neither the one or the other is incredible: neither that the mountaine which the fire deuoureth continually, is not diminished; neither that the fire continueth alwaies in one and the same greatnesse. For it is not of it selfe, but ingendred in some gulfe vnder earth: it is stirred, and is kindled and nourished by a forraigne meanes, hauing but one only passage & issue by this mountain, and not his nourishment thereby. There is in Licia a Territorie of land, very well known vnto all men, the inhabitants therea∣bouts call it Ephestion, or the land which is pierced in diuers places. This coun∣trey is inuironed with a fire, that no waies hurteth whatsoeuer plant it is that groweth thereupon: the Region therefore is fruitfull and full of grasse, which the flames doe neuer burne, but make shine with a faint and forcelesse brightnesse. But let vs reserue these to question vpon, then when thou hast writ∣ten me how farre distance the snowes are from the mouth of the mountaine, which the summer thaweth not, so secure are they from the fire. Thou must not say that I am the cause to make thee vndertake this labour: for thou woul∣dest satisfie this Poeticall fancie of thine, though no man vrged thee thereunto, vntill thou describest AEtna in thy verse, and described this place, so renowned by all the Poets: for although Virgil had fully described it, yet was not Ouid de∣terred from handling the same subiect, and that which these two had plentiful∣ly written did not deterre Cornelius Seuerus. Besides, this place hath proued to all, and they which wrote before, seeme not in my iudgement to haue pre∣uented those things which might be spoken, but to haue explained them. But there is a great difference, whether thou addresse thy selfe to a matter through∣ly wrought vpon, or such a one as is well prepared. This groweth daily, and those things that are already found and inuented, cannot hurt those that should inuent hereafter. Moreouer, the condition of the last commer is the best: hee findeth wordes alreadie prepared, which addressed after another manner, haue a new appearance; neither layeth he hold on them, although appertayning to others, for they are publique. The lawyers denie that any thing which is pub∣lique may be held by prescription: either I know thee not, or thy teeth water at AEtna. Thou hast a minde to write vpon som great subiect, like to those of the auncients; for more thy modestie permitteth thee not to hope, which is so great in thee, that I suppose thou wouldest restraine the forces of thy spirit, if there were any likelihood thou shouldest conquer: so greatly reuerencest thou antiquitie. Amongst the rest wisedome hath this goodnesse in it, no man can be ouercome by another, if it be not in mounting when they shall come to the height, all is equall, there is no place for increase, she is setled. Doth the Sunne adde any thing to his greatnesse, doth the Moone become more great then shee was wont? The Seas increase not, the world obserueth the same habite and

manner. Those things which haue attained to their iust greatnesse, cannot aug∣ment themselues more: whosoeuer shall be wise, they shall be euen and equall. But each of them shall be endowed with his proper vertue, the one shall be more milde and affable, the other more readie; the one more prompt in de∣clayming, the other more eloquent; that whereof we speake, which maketh a man blessed shall be equall to all. I know not whether thine AEtna may sinke and be ruinated in it selfe, whether the continuall force of fire impaire and con∣sume this high and conspicuous topped hill, which is seene so farre at Sea. Nei∣ther fire nor raine can bring vertue vnder. This maiestie only cannot be depres∣sed, it cannot be extended further, nor withdrawne backward, her greatnesse is setled as that of the celestiall bodies. Let vs endeuour to present our selues vn∣to her, alreadie haue we performed much, and yet not very much if I should speake the truth: for it is not goodnesse to be better then the baddest. Who would glorifie himselfe, or boast that he had eyes that could beholde the day, when as the Sunne shineth on them thorow mistie cloudes, although he be con∣tented in the meane space to haue fled the darkenesse, yet as yet he enioyeth not the good of the light? Then shall our minde haue wherewithall to gratu∣late him selfe, when as discharged of this darkenesse in which he is plunged, he shall see those cleere things, not with a feeble sight, but after he hath seene the light of the cleere day, and restored to his heauen, he recouer againe the place which he enioyed by the condition of his birth. His first originall summoneth him vpward. And in that place shall he be, yea, euen before he be deliuered out of this prison, where he hath shaken of his vices, and become pure and light he shall be raised into contemplation of diuine things. This must we doe, my deere Lucilius, hither must we bend all our forces, although few men know it, al∣though no man see it. Glorie is the shadow of vertue, and will accompanie vs against our wils: but euen as the shadow sometime goes before, and sometimes followeth; so glorie is sometimes before vs, and offereth her selfe to be seene, sometimes she is behinde vs, and becommeth more great, because she commeth somewhat later, when as enuie is wholly retired. How long time seemed De∣mocritus to be mad? Socrates had scarcely any reputation? How long was it ere Rome knew what Cato was? How long contemned she him, and neuer thorowly knew him, till she had wholly lost him? Rutillius innocencie and vertue had lien hid, except he had receiued iniurie, whilst he is wronged his worthinesse appea∣red. Did he not thanke his fortune, and embrace his exile? I speake of those whom fortune made glorious, when she grieued them; how manie mens de∣serts and worth grew to light after them? How many hath fame neglected in life, and eternized in the graue? Thou seest how much Epicurus is not onely ad∣mired amongst the learned, but also among the ignorant; and this man was vn∣knowne to the Athenians themselues, where he liued alwayes obscured. Out∣liuing therefore Metrodorus by manie yeares, when in a certaine Epistle of his with gratefull commemoration he had notified the friendship betwixt Metro∣dorus and him, in the conclusion he added this; That amidst so many goods which METRODORVS and he had partaken in their life, it little harmed them, that so re∣nowned Greece was not onely ignorant of them, but scarcely had heard of them. Was he not therefore found when as he ceased to be? Did not his opinion grow fa∣mous? The like also doth Metrodorus confesse in a certaine Epistle, That he and EPICVRVS were not in sufficient reputation, but that afterwards both he and EPI∣CVRVS should haue a great and addressed fame at their handes who would follow the way that they had held. No vertue is obscured, neither is it anie indignitie or da∣mage

to it, to haue beene hidden: the day will come which will bring it to light, though hidden and restrained through the worlds wickednesse. Hee is borne for the profite of few men, that thinketh onely on the people of his age. Manie thousands of yeares and nations shall succeede vs; looke thou on them, although enuie hath enioyned silence to all those that liue with thee, ••here shall others succeede, who shall iudge without hatred or fauour: and if vertue ought to receiue any recompence by glorie, she shall not lose it. We shall not vnder∣stand what wordes posteritie speaketh of vs; yet shall they honour vs, and fre∣quent vs, though we perceiue it not. There is not any whom vertue hath not dignified both in life and after death: if so be he hath followed his wholly, and with a good faith, if he haue not decked and disguised himselfe, if he continued on, whether it seemed vpon warning, or vnprepared and suddenly. Dissembling profiteth nothing; a fained countenance, and slightly forged externally, decei∣ueth but very few; vertue which way soeuer you turne her is all one. Things deceiueable are of no stabilitie. A lie is thin, thou shalt easily see thorow it, if thou diligently looke vpon it.

EPIST. LXXX.

That the common sort went to the ••howes and games, he to his studie and contemplation. That the minde is to be beautified and not the bodie, and how easie a thing it is if you desire good things. That we are to search out libertie, which is performed by despising and spurning at desires. That true felicitie is therein, and not in externall splendor. Good.

THis day I am wholly mine owne, not onely by mine owne means, but for that the foote-ball play hath withdrawne all those that were troublesome vnto me, and came to importunate me. There is not one that thrusteth in vpon me, no man distracteth my thoughts, my doore creaked not so often as it was accustomed, my hanging was not lifted vp, I haue freedome to be solitarie, which is most neces∣sarie for him that walketh alone, and followeth his owne way. Doe I not ther∣fore follow the auncient? I do. Yet suffer I my selfe to inuent somewhat, and to leaue. I seruilely tye me not to their opinions, but assent vnto them; yet haue I spoken a great word, who promised my selfe silence and secrecie if I were not interrupted. Beholde a huge crie is raised in the Theatre, where men ex∣ercise their running, which cannot draw my selfe from my selfe, but rather trans∣porteth me to contemplate on the combats that are in hand. I thinke with my selfe, how many exercise th••ir bodies, how few their mindes; how many men throng to a vaine and trifling spectacle, and what desolation there is about good arts, how weakely minded they are, whose armes and shoulders we wonder at? But aboue all I meditate vpon this. If a man may by exercise bring his bodie to this patience, whereby he may sustaine not only the stroakes and spurns of ma∣nie men, whereby soiled with his owne bloud, hee may endure the scorching Sunne, and hottest sand all the day long: how much more easily may the mind be strengthned, inuincibly to entertaine the shocke of fortune, to the end that being cast to ground, and trode vnder foote, he may yet raise himselfe? For the bodie hath neede of manie things to strengthen the same, but the minde increa∣seth by it selfe, is nourished by it selfe, exerciseth it selfe. The bodi•• hath neede

of much meat, of much drinke, and much oyle, and much exercise; but vertue will come vnto thee without any furnishing, without any expence. Whatsoe∣uer may make thee good is with thee; what needest thou to make thee good? thy will. But what better mayest thou will, then to deliuer thy selfe out of this seruitude, which tyrannizeth ouer the world, and from which the slaues them∣selues, of how seruile condition whatsoeuer, & borne euen in the ordures there∣of, striue by all meanes to cast off? That stocke of cattell they haue bought by pinching their owne bellies, they pay for their liberty; wilt not thou endeuour at what charge soeuer, to obtain this libertie, who thinkest thy selfe a free borne man? Why castest thou thine eye vpon thy coffers? I cannot be bought. It is a vaine thing therfore to cast the name of libertie into the Tables of Manumis∣sion, which neyther they that bought, nor those that sell the same may haue. It is thou that must giue thy selfe this good, thou must demand it of thy selfe: first of all discharge thy selfe of the feare of death; for that is it which first of all bringeth vs in subiection, and afterwards from the f••are of pouertie. If thou wilt know how little euill there is therein, make a comparison betwixt the looks of such as are poore, & those that are rich: the poore man laugheth more often, and more heartily: no pensiuenes deeply groundeth it selfe in his breast, although some trifling affliction befall him, it passeth away like a light cloude. The ioy of those who are called rich is fained, or their sorrow is grieuous and rotten; and so much the more grieuous, because they dare not discouer their miseries, but amidst the sorrowes that gnaw their very hearts, they are enforced to set a face of felicitie vpon their discontent. I must oftentimes make vse of this example, for by no other may this minick of mans life (which assigneth vs these parts which we act very aukwardly) be expressed. He that in the Scene stal∣keth proudely vp and downe, and looking vpward, vttereth these words;

Beholde I gouerne Greece, PELOPS my sire Hath left me Kingdomes, and the lands which lie From Helispont vnto the Seas that tire Th'Ionian shores—

Is but a slaue, he gaineth fiue bushels of corne and fiue pence. That proude fellow, who full of ostentation and puffed vp with confidence of his owne strength sayeth,

Except proude MENELAVS thou be still, And shun debate, this right hand shall thee kill.

Hath but his daies allowances, and sleeps in a poore ordinarie chamber. Thou mayest say as much of all these wanton minions, who are hanged in the ayre, in a Litter, carried more high then the heads of men, and aboue the troop of com∣mon people. The felicitie of all these is but masked. Thou wilt contemne them if thou despoile them. When thou wouldest buy a horse, thou causest his saddle to be taken off of his backe. Thou causest the slaue thou wouldest buy, to be turned naked, for feare least any infirmities of his bodie should be hidden. Wilt thou estimate a man when he is wrapped vp? These Regrators shadow and couer by some slight that which might hinder the Merchandize of their slaues. And therefore it is that a faire garment and ornament maketh them oftentimes suspicious that intend to buy. If thou shouldest see an arme or a

knee bound vp, thou wouldest command to haue it vnswathed and laid open, and all the bodie to be discouered. Seest thou that King of Scithia or Sarmatia adorned with a rich attire vpon his head: if thou wilt estimate him, and know him wholly what he is, take from him his royall ornament; much mischiefe lies hidden thereunder. Why speake I of others? If thou wilt estimate thy ••elfe, lay apart thy money, thy house, and thy dignitie, and consider well with thy selfe what thou art inwardly. For now thou trustest other men to shew thee what thou art.

EPIST. LXXXI.

The beginning concerneth an vngratefull man: and then followeth a question, whe∣ther we ought to bee thankefull vnto him who formerly helped vs, and afterwards hurt vs. He disputeth this matter, both subtilly, and diffusedly, and distinguisheth diuersly.

THou complainest that thou art fallen into an vngratefull mans hands: if this be the first time, either thanke thy fortune, or thy diligence. Although diligence in this place can make thee nothing, except it make thee wicked. For if thou wouldest auoid this perill, thou shalt neuer doe any man a courtesie: thus left thy benefits should perish in another mans hands, they shall perish in thine owne. It were better they were neuer recompenced, then neuer giuen: yea euen after a bad haruest we returne to tillage. Oftentimes whatsoeuer hath beene lost by the vsuall sterilitie of a barren ground, hath beene redeemed by the plentie of one good yeare. It is so great a matter to finde one gratefull man, to make triall of many vngratefull: no man hath so certaine a hand in giuing benefits, but that he is oftentimes deceiued, let them faile som••times once to be assured. The seas are sailed on when the shipwracke is past. The Vsurer forbeareth not to lend because he hath met with a banckrupt. Our minde will quickly be benummed with fruitlesse idlenes, if it should incontinently forsake whatsoeuer is distaste∣full vnto it. But let this very thing make th••e more bountifull. For if thou wilt that a thing (whose euent is vncertaine) should haue a happie issue, it behoueth thee to assay it oftentimes. But hereof haue we sufficiently spoken in our Books which we haue written of Benefits. Better it were to dispute of another point, (which, in my iudgement, is not sufficiently expressed and decided) whether he that befriendeth vs, and afterwards hurt••th vs, hath equally his benefit, and whether we are acquit from him. Adde if thou wilt hereunto this also, that af∣terwards he had hurt vs more, then before time he profited vs. If thou expect a seuere sentence of a Iudge, that would follow the rigor of law, he will release them respectiuely, and will say. Although the iniury bee more great, yet let that which remaineth of the iniury bee giuen to the benefits. He hath hurt more. But first of all he hath profited, and therefore we must haue some regard of time. Now those things are more manifest, then that they need an admoni∣tion, that it is necessarie to know how willingly hee hath profited, how vnwil∣lingly harmed. Because both benefits and iniuries are measured by the minde. I would not giue a benefit, but I was ouercome with shame, or by the pertina∣cie of his instant suite, or by hope. Whatsoeuer is owing, is examined by the same minde wherewith it is giuen, neither is it weighed by the greatnes thereof,

but by the wil frō whence it proceedeth. Let all coniecture be now taken away. Both that was a benefit, & this that exceeded the measure of the former benefit, is an iniury. A good man will in such sort make his account, that he himselfe will deceiue himselfe. He will adde vnto the benefit, & take from the iniury. But an∣other that would iudge more gratiously, as I would doe, will forget the offence, and remember the fauour. Assuredly it is the act of iustice (saith he) to giue each man that which appertaineth thereunto, to the benefit acknowledge¦ment, to the iniury reuenge, or at least-wise an euill acceptance. This shall bee true, when as one doth an iniury, another giueth a benefit. For if it be the same, the force of the iniury is extinguished by the benefit. For to him whom wee ought to pardon, although no deserts of his were precedent, to him is more then pardon due, if he hurt vs after he hath done vs kindnesse; yet take I not them both alike, more prise I the benefit then the iniury. Euery one knoweth not how to owe a benefit gratefully. An imprudent, rude, and base conditio∣ned fellow may restore a benefit, and recompence the same anon after he hath receiued it, but he knoweth not how much he is obliged. The wise-man onely knoweth at what rate each thing is to be taxed. For that foole, of whom I spake of late, although he haue a good will, either restoreth lesse then he oweth, or doth it not in time and conuenient place, and lauisheth and casteth that away, which he should recompence and satisfie. There is a wonderfull proprietie of words in some things, and the custome of ancient language designeth some things vnto vs in effectuall meats, and duetie teaching lessons. Thus truely are we wont to say. This man hath referred or requited that mans fauour: to re∣quite, is willingly to returne that which thou owest. We say not, hee hath re∣turned thankes; for both they who are demanded, and are vnwilling, and that in euery place, and those that returne by another mans hand giue satisfaction. We say not, he hath remitted the benefit, or he hath paid it, for those words which are proper to acquit a man of money lent, are no wayes pleasing to me in this subiect. Referre, is as much to say, as to goe and acknowledge, that is, beare backe, vnto him whom thou hast receiued. This word signifieth volun∣tarie relation or reknowledgement. Hee that hath referred, that is to say, re∣knowledged, hath appealed and sommoned himselfe. The wise-man will exa∣mine all things with himselfe, how much he hath receiued, from whom, when, where, and how. Therefore is it, that we deny that any man knoweth how to reknowledge a benefit, but a wise-man, no more then any other man, knoweth how to giue a benefit, except he be a wise-man, and such a one, who is more glad to giue, then another to receiue. This some man numbreth amongst those things which wee seeme to name extrauagant and strange vnto all men, the Greekes call them Paradoxes, and saith: Is there no man therefore that know∣eth how to requite a good turne but a wise-man? Therefore no other man but he knoweth how to pay his creditor that which hee oweth him, nor when hee buyeth any thing, to pay the price thereof to him that selleth the same? But lest this blame should fall vpon me, know this, that Epicurus saith as much. Me∣trodorus assuredly saith, That the wise-man onely knoweth how to reknowledge a fa∣uour. Againe, the same man admireth, when we say, The wise-man only knoweth how to loue, the wise-man onely is a friend: but to requite a fauour, is both the part of loue and friendship; nay rather this is more vulgar and more casuall amongst many, then true friendship. Againe, the same man wondereth, because we say, that there is no faith, but in a wise-man, as if he himselfe had not said the same. Supposest thou this, that he hath any faith, that knoweth not how to acknow∣ledge

a benefit? Let them therefore cease to defame vs, as if we preferred or maintained vncredible things, & let them know that true honesty is lodged on∣ly in a wise-mans breast, and the only images and appearance of honest things with the common sort. No man knoweth how to requite a courtesie, but a wise-man. A foole in some sort also acknowledgeth as he conceiueth the meanes, and how he may, and let his knowledge rather faile him then his will. The will is not learned. A wise-man will compare all things to their worth: his worke although it be the same, is made eyther greater or lesser, by time, place, and cause. Oft-times riches powred into a house, could not do that that a thousand pence could, being giuen in season. For there is a great difference whether thou gauest, or succourest. Whether thy liberalitie hath saued him, or engreatned him. Oft-times that which is giuen is small, that which followeth thereby is great: but what difference is there, whether any man hath taken backe againe that which he had giuen, or receiued a benefit, to the end he might giue? But least we should returne into the examination of those things which he hath sufficiently debated of; in this comparison of benefite and iniurie, a good man will iudge that which is most rightfull, yet will he fauour the benefite, and be most addicted to that side. But the consideration of the person is of greatest mo∣ment in these affaires. Thou hast giuen me a benefite in the person of my slaue, but thou hast done me iniurie in my father. Thou hast saued me my sonne, but taken my father from me; consequently he will pursue and examine all the cir∣cumstances by which all comparison hath his proceeding: and if it be but a smal matter that causeth the difference, he will dissemble that. But if it be great, and that he hath the power to pardon it, without iniurying pietie or faith, he will re∣mit it, that is, if the whole iniurie appertaine vnto himselfe. The summe of the matter is this, he shall be facile and gratious in this compensation, he shall suffer himselfe to be more charged in the account, and will neuer pay a benefit with an iniurie, except it be by great constraint, he will incline alwayes to this side, he will maintaine this part in desiring to acknowledge a benefite, and affecting to requite it. For he is deceiued whatsoeuer he be, that more willingly receiueth a benefite then hee restoreth it. By how much the more ioyfull hee is that payeth then hee that borroweth, by so much ought he to be more content that dischargeth himselfe of a great debt by restoring the benefite which be hath receiued, then the other which obligeth himselfe by receiuing. For in this also vngratefull men are deceiued, in that they satisfie their creditor with an o∣uer-plus besides the principall, and suppose that the vse of benefits is gratuitall: yet these increase by delay, and so much more is to be satisfied, by how much it is slackly satisfied. Ingratefull is he that restoreth a benefite without vsurie; and therefore we ought to haue a respect to this length, when we compare the receits and layings out. We must labour as much as in vs lieth, to be most grate∣full; for this good is truely ours, euen as it is not iustice as it is common∣ly beleeued that appertaineth to others, the greatest part thereof returneth in∣to it selfe. There is no man that hath profited another, that hath not profited himselfe. I speake it not with the intent wherewith he that hath been succou∣red would succour, and he that hath beene defended would defend, because a good example returneth to him that giueth it, as also euill examples doe finally fall vpon their author; neyther finde they any pittie who suffer iniuries, and by acting the same haue taught others that they may be done, but because the reward of all vertue lieth in them: for they are not put in execution, vnder hope of reward. The reward of a good action is to haue acted the same. I am grate∣full,

not that another should more willingly lend me, being egged thereunto by the former example, but that I might performe a thing both most pleasing and agreeable. I am gratefull, not because that shall yeelde me profit, but because it contenteth my minde. And to the end thou mayest know that which I speake is so truely: if I haue not the meanes to expresse my gratuitie, except in shewing my selfe to be vngratefull, if I cannot yeeld satisfaction, except it be vnder a pre∣text of doing iniurie, I ought most willingly to follow this counsaile, although I be in danger to be noted of infamie. There is no man in my iudgement that ••stimates vertue more, no man more deuoted therunto then he that lost the re∣putation of a good man, because he would not make shipwrack of his cōscience. Therefore, as I said, thou art grat••full more for thine owne good then another mans: for to him there happeneth but an ordinarie and common thing to reco∣uer that which he had giuen, but to thee a great contentment, and such as pro∣ceedeth from the estate of a happie soule, to haue acknowledged a benefit. For if wickednesse maketh men miserable, and vertue maketh them bl••ssed, and to be gratefull is a vertue, thou hast restored but an vsuall thing, but attained an in∣••stimable matter, that is to say, the conscience to haue been gratefull, which sei∣zeth not on a minde but such as is diuine and fortunate. But the contrarie of this affection is vrged with great infelicitie. There is no man that is not misera∣ble if he be ingratefull. I dally not with him, he is presently miserable. Let vs therefore flie ingratitude; if for no other cause, yet for our owns. The least part of wickednesse, and that which is least to be feared, redoundeth vnto others; but that which is the worst, and (if I may so speake it) that which is the thickest remaineth with him, and tormenteth his possessor. As our Attalus was accu∣stomed to say, Malice and mischiefe drinketh the greatest part of his owne poyson. That venom which the Serp••nts cast out of them to destroy others, and keepe within themselues without their owne preiudice, is not like vnto this. For this poison is pernicious to those that nourish the same. The vngratefull man tor∣menteth himselfe, he becommeth leane, he hateth that which hath beene giuen him, because he must restore the same, and extenuateth it: contrariwise, he dila∣t••th the iniuries and augmenteth them. But what man is there that is more miserable, then he that forgetteth the benefits he hath receiued, and remem∣breth him of the iniuries? Contrariwise, wisdome speaketh honourably of all sorts of benefits, and commendeth them to her selfe, and delighteth her selfe with the continuall remembrance thereof. The euill sort haue but one plea∣sure, and that very short, and that is whilst they receiue benefites, whereof the wise-man feeleth a long & perdurable ioy: for he delighteth not in receyuing, but in this, that he hath receiued, whereof he feeleth a continuall and immor∣tall pleasure. He contemneth those thing whereby he is harmed, neyther for∣getteth he negligently but willingly. He turneth not all things to the worst, neyther seeketh he to whom he may impart the fault, and rather layeth the blame of mens errors on fortune then on themselues. He taketh exceptions neyther to mens words nor lookes; whatsoeuer falleth out he excuseth it with a gratious interpretation, and remembreth not an iniurie rather then a benefit: He setleth his remembrance on that which was both the first, and the best: he changeth not his minde towards those that haue well deserued, except their in∣iuries surpasse very much, & the difference be manifest, euen though he should shut his eyes, and then also in this onely, that he continueth the same man after the greatest iniurie, as he was before the benefite. For whereas the benefit is e∣qual with the iniurie, there remaineth some sparke of beneuolence in the mind.

Euen as a guiltie man is acquit when the opinions of the Iudges are equally di∣uided, and alwayes in whatsoeuer thing is doubtfull, humanitie inclineth to the better: so a wise-mans minde, whereas the merits equall the misdeedes, will forbeare to owe, but will not desist to be willing to be beholding, and doth this which they are wont to doe, who after a generall acquittance of all debts, will notwithstanding satisfie. But no man can be gratefull, except he contemne these things, that maddeth and besotteth the common sort. If thou wilt be thanke∣full for a benefite, thou must make account to suffer banishment, to shedde thy bloud, to fall into pouertie, and see thine owne innocence oft-times stained, and subiect to base and scandlous rumours. It costeth a man no small matter to ap∣proue himselfe gratefull. We esteeme nothing more deerer then a benefite as long as we aske it, nothing more basely when we haue receiued it. Askest thou me what is that maketh vs forget the courtesies receiued? It is the desire and couetousnesse of those things we would receiue hereafter. We thinke not of that which we haue alreadie obtained, but on that onely which we would ob∣taine hereafter. Riches, honour, power, and all such other things which in our opinion we repute of great esteeme, but base and abiect in their owne value, re∣tire vs from vertue. We know not how to estimate things, whereof we ought to make our election; not according to the common report, but by the counsaile of nature, the mother of all things. These haue no magnificence in them, wher∣by they should draw our mindes vnto them, except this, that we are accusto∣med to admire them. For therefore are they praised, not because they are to be coueted, but therefore are they to be coueted, for because they are praised; and when as euerie particular mans error hath made them publique, the publique shall make it to be the errour of euerie one. But euen as we haue beleeued those things, let vs also beleeue the common sort in this, that there is nothing more honest then a gratefull minde. All Citties, all Nations, yea, those of the barba∣rous and sauage Regions will subscribe hereunto, the good and euill will agree in this point. There will be some that will praise pleasures, there will be some that had rather labour. There will be som that will say that paine is the great∣est euill that may be, some that will scarcely call it euill: Some one shall repute riches for the chiefest good, another shall say that they were found out for the ruine and mishap of humane life, and that there is no one man more rich, then he to whom fortune hath not found out any thing to giue him. In this so great diuersitie of opinions, all the world will maintaine (as it is said) with one voyce that we ought to be thankfull vnto those who haue deserued well at our hands. All Nations, though different in manie other things, consent and agree herein, and yet notwithstanding, in the interim we repay benefites with iniuries: and the chiefest cause that euery one hath to become vngratefull, is this, because he could not be sufficiently gratefull. The furie is growne to that head, that it is a very dangerous thing to giue great benefits to any one: for in that he thinketh it a dishonest part not to requite, he desireth he should not liue, to whom he should make restitution. Reserue that to thy selfe which thou hast receiued, I re∣demand, I exact it not, it contenteth me that I haue pleasured thee. There is no hatred more pernicious then his, who is ashamed because he hath violated a benefite.

EPIST. LXXXII.

Against delicacie and effeminate life, and sluggish idlenesse also, and that we ought to dedicate the same to studie, and in especiall to Philosophie, which should defence vs a∣gainst feare and all externall euills, yea against death it selfe. That we are armed all in vaine, with subtilties and sophimes against the same, and by the way, against such as vse it, that death in it selfe is indifferent, but such or such honest or dishonest. Againe, against Cauillers. Good.

NOw haue I giuen ouer the care I haue had of thee. What one saiest thou of the gods, hast thou accepted for my suretie: truely euen him that deceueth no man, a minde that is a louer of right and honestie. The better part of thee is in safetie. Fortune may doe thee an iniurie, but that which is most pertinent to the matter, I feare not that thou shouldest iniurie thy selfe. Keepe on the course thou hast begun, and compose thy selfe in this habit of life temperately, not effeminate∣ly. I had rather thou shouldest liue ill, then effeminatly. Now so interpret thou ill as it is vsually spoken amongst the common sort, hardly, sharply, and labori∣ously. So are we wont to heare the liues of diuers men praised, who are enui∣ed. He liueth effeminately. This they say, he is euill. For by little and little the minde is made effeminate, and groweth remisse and negligent, and vndertaketh the similitude of that idlenesse and sloth wherein he is buried. What then? is it not more befitting a man to bee more sterne and rigid. Againe, such as are delicate feare death, whereunto they haue made their life alike. There is a great difference betwixt idlenesse and the graue. What therefore sayest thou, were it not better for a man to repose himselfe thus, then to tosse and tumble himselfe in these gulfes of affaires? Both these two things are mortall, the con∣vulsion of the nerues and debilitation of the minde. I thinke him as much dead that lieth buried in his perfumes, as him that is drawne with the hooke. Re∣tirement without studie is a death, and the sepulchre of a liuing man. Finally, what profiteth it vs to be retired, as if the causes of cares and troubles followed vs not beyond the seas? What hidden place is there, whereinto the feare of death entereth not? What so defenced and high raised repose of life, which sorrow terrifieth not? Wheresoeuer thou shalt hide thy selfe, humane miseries will make a noise about thee. There are diuers externall things, which wheele about vs, whereby they either may deceiue or vrge vs. Many things internall which incense and enflame vs also, euen in the middest of solitude. We must arme our selues with Philosophie, which will serue vs as an impregnable wall, which Fortune with all her engins cannot pierce. The minde that hath dis∣claimed externall things, is resident in an impregnable place, and defendeth himselfe in his fortresse, each weapon aimed at him, falleth vnder him. Fortune hath not long hands, as we imagine, she is Mistresse ouer none, but such a one as cleaueth vnto her. Let vs therefore, as much as in vs lieth, retire our selues from her, which the onely knowledge of her selfe and of Nature will effect. L••t him know whither he is to goe, whence he came, what is his good, what is his euill, what he should desire, and what he should eschew, what that reason is, which discerneth, what things are to be desired and esteemed, whereby the fu∣ry of desires is meekened, and the cruelties of feares abated. Some there are that thinke that they haue ouercome all this without the assistance of Philoso∣phie,

but when as any misfortune lighteth vpon any of these, that pretend secu∣ritie; too late are they enforced to confesse the truth. These great words are for∣gotten, when the hang-man commandeth them to giue him their hand, when death approacheth more nigh them. Thou mayest iustly say vnto him: Thou prouok••••t absent euils: now see heere griefe, which thou saidst was easie to sup∣port: see heere death, against which thou spakest so much, and so audaciously: the whips yerke, the sword shineth;

Now hast thou need, AENEAS, of a minde Arm'd with constancie.—

But that will continuall meditation make strong in thee, if thou exercise not thy words, but thy minde: if thou preparest thy selfe against death, against which he cannot exhort thee, nor encourage thee, who shall attempt by some cauils to perswade thee that death is not e••ill. For I will, my Lucilius, (the best of men) laugh at the follies of the Greekes, which as yet I haue not well examined, though I wonder at them. Our Zeno vseth this collection. There is no euill which is glorious, but de••th is glorious, Ergo, death is no euill. Thou hast pro∣fited mee much, thou hast put me out of feare, hereafter I will not doubt to stretch out and offer my head. Wilt thou not speake more seuerely, nor make a man laugh that is readie to die? Vndoubt••dly, I can hardly tell thee whether he were more foolish, who supposed by this question to extinguish the feare of death, or he that endeauoured to answere the same, as if it were a thing perti∣nent to the matter. For he himselfe opposed a contrary argument, taken from that, because we place death amongst things Indifferent, which the Grecians cal Adiaphora. Nothing, saith he, that is indifferent, is glorious; but death is glorious death therfore is not indifferent. Thou seest plainly wherto this argument ten∣deth. Death is not glorious; but to die cōstantly is glorious. And when, he saith, nothing Indifferent is glorious, I grant it thee; yet say I this, that there is no∣thing glorious, but in things Indifferent. These things terme I indifferent, which are neither good nor euill, as sicknesse, paine, pouertie, exile, death; none of these in it selfe is glorious, yet nothing without these. For pouertie is not prai∣sed. But he that is neither humbled, nor deiected by her. Banishment is not prai∣sed, but he that sorrowed not for it: griefe is not praised, but hee whom griefe hath enforced nothing. No man praiseth death, but him whom death sooner separated from life, then astonished. All these things are not honest nor glori∣ous in themselues, but if Vertue intermixeth her selfe amongst them, if shee manage them, shee maketh them honorable and full of glorie. For of them∣selues they are placed betweene both, and are indifferent, it only concerneth vs to know whether malice or vertue hath past the same thorow their hands. For that death which is glorious in Cato, is presently base & shamefull in Brutus, and to be blushed at. For this is that Brutus, who when he should be slaine, sought to delay death, who went aside to doe his easement, and being called vpon to die, and commanded to lay downe his necke; I will lay it downe, saith hee, so that I may liue. What madnesse is it to flie away, sith that thou art vnable to goe backe? I will lay it downe, so that I may liue: almost he added there••nto, euen vnder Antonius. O worthy man, to bee yeelded vnto life! But as I be∣gan to say•• Thou seest that death it selfe is neither a bad, nor a good thing, Cato most honestly vsed it; Brutus most dishonestly. Euery thing that hath not ho∣nor, vertue being added thereunto, it assumeth it. We say that a chamber is

full of light: yet this same is most darke by night. The day infuseth light into it, the night taketh it away. So to these things which be by vs called indifferent and middle things, namely, to riches, strength, beautie, honours, rule; and con∣trarily to death, banishment, bad health, sorrowes, and what other things wee haue feared, eyther lesse or more; eyther n••ughtinesse or vertue giueth the name of good or bad. Paste of it sel••e is neyther hote nor colde, but being put into the Ouen, it waxeth hote; againe, it being put into the water waxeth colde. Death is honest, through that which is an honest thing: that is vertue and a minde contemning outward things. There is also, O Lucilius, a great difference of these that we call honest things. For death is not so indifferent, as that whe∣ther thou doe weare thine haire euen or not. Death is amongst those things that be not bad indeed, but yet haue a shew of that which is bad. There is a loue of ownes selfe, and an engrafted wil of abiding & of preseruing ownes selfe, & a shunning of dissolution, becau••e it seemeth to take away many good things, and to leade vs out of the abundance of this, whereunto we haue accustomed our selues. That thing also alienateth vs from death, because we haue alreadie knowne these things: those things whereunto we are about to goe; we know not of what sort they may be, and we feare things that be vnknowne. Further∣more, there is a naturall feare of darkenes••e, into which it is supposed that death will conduct vs. Therefore, although death be an indifferent thing, yet for all that it is not amongst those things, which easily may be neglected. With great exercise the minde is to be hardned, that it may endure the sight and the com∣ming thereof. Death ought to be contemned, more then it is accustomed to be; for we beleeue many things concerning it. It hath beene the strife of manie wits to encrease the infamie of it. An infernall prison is described, and a regi∣on oppressed with continuall night, wherein is the great porter of hell.

Lying vpon bare bones hal••e eaten vp In bloudy den, where he doth dine and sup, ••ternally with barking doth affright Each pale and bloudlesse ghost and shade-like spright.

But also when thou shalt perswade thy selfe that these things be fables, neither that any other thing remaineth to the dead, which any one ought to feare, ano∣ther feare commeth in the place of it. For they are alike afraid of being in hell, as of being no where. These things contradicting which long perswasion hath infused vnto vs, the valiant enduring of death, what else may it be but a glorious thing, and amongst the greatest workes of a manly mind? which will neuer rise vp vnto vertue, if it beleeue de••th to be an euill thing; it will rise vp vnto it, if it suppose it to be a thing indifferent. The nature of things is vncapable of this, that one may come vnto that which he supposeth to be an indifferent thing, slowly and lingringly will he come. And that is not glorious, which is done by an vnwilling and backward man. Vertue doth nothing because it is needfull to be done. Adde now that nothing is honestly done, except the whole minde hath endeuoured and hath beene present therat, and with no part of it selfe hath resisted it. But when approach is made vnto that which is bad•• it eyther com∣meth to passe by feare of worser things; or by hope of those things that be good, to come vnto the which it is of so great worth, that the enduring of one euill is swallowed vp. The iudgements of the doer doe disagree. Hence it is, that he commandeth to accomplish things purposed: thence that he draweth

back and flyeth from a suspected and perillous thing. Therefore is he distracted into diuers parts. If this be, glorie perisheth. For vertue accomplisheth decrees with an agreeing minde: it feareth not that which it doeth.

See this, that thou to euils giue no place, But against them goe with a bolder face Though thy fortune will permit thee.

Thou shalt not the more boldly goe, if thou shalt suppose that they be euill things. This is to be taken out of the breast: otherwise suspicion being about to stay the force, will sticke hereat. It shall be thrust vpon that, which it was to set vpon. Some would haue the interrogation of our Zeno to be supposed to be true, but that other to be deceitfull and false, which is opposed vnto it. I re∣duce not these things to a Logicall lawe, and to those knots of most sluggish workemanship: I iudge that all that kinde is to be thrust away, wherby he who is asked, supposeth himselfe to be circumuented, and wherby he being brought to confesse, answereth one thing, but thinketh another. Wee must deale more plainely for the truth, and more strongly against feare. These things which are tossed vp and down by them, I had rather to loosen, and to ponder vpon, to the end that I may perswade, and not deceiue. He that will leade an armie into the field readie to die for their wiues and children, how will he exhort? I shew to thee the Fabij, translating the whole warre of the Common-wealth into one house. I demonstrate the Lacedaemonians placed in the very straites of Ther∣mopylae, hoping neyther for victorie, nor for returne. That place was to be a graue vnto them. How exhortest thou them to receiue the ruine of a whole na∣tion with offering their bodies vnto it? and rather to depart from their life, then from their place? Thou wilt say, that which is euill, is not glorious: death is glo∣rious, therfore death is not an euill thing. O effectuall speech! who after this doubteth to offer himselfe to the deadly weapons points, & standing for to die? But that Leonidas how valiantly did he speak vnto them? So dine O fellow souldiers saith he, as if ye should sup amongst the dead. The meate encreased not in their mouthes, it did not sticke in their chaps, it did not fall out of their handes. They went cherefully to dinner and to supper both. What that Romane Captaine, who spake thus vnto souldiers, which were sent to take a place, and were to goe through a great armie of the enemies: It is needfull, O fellow-souldiers, to goe thi∣ther, but it is not needfull to returne backe. Thou seest how plaine, and how imperi∣ous vertue is. What man can our beguilings make more valiant? Whom can they make more couragious? They breake the minde, which is neuer lesse to be contracted, and to be compelled with pettie and thornie things, then when some great matter is framed. The feare of death ought not to be taken from three hundred alone, but from all mortal men. How wilt thou teach them, that it is not an euill thing? How wilt thou ouercome the opinions of all ages, wher∣with presently infancy is seasoned? What helpe wilt thou finde? What wilt thou say to the weakenesse of man? What wilt thou say wherewith they being inflamed may rush into the middest of danger? With what speech wilt thou turne away this consent of fearing; with what speech wilt thou auert the ob∣noxious perswasion of mankinde, which is against thee? Thou compo••est cap∣tious words, and knittest pettie questions for me. Great monsters are stricken with great weapons. In vaine with arrovves and slings did they shoote at that great cruell Serpent in Affrica, and more terrible to the Legions of Rome then

warre it selfe. Not Python indeed was to be wounded, sith huge greatnesse ac∣cording to the solide vastnesse of his body, cast backe againe weapons, and what∣soeuer the hands of men had darted against him; at length was he broken with milstones; and against death dost thou dart so pettie things? With a bodkin en∣countrest thou a Lion? These things are sharpe which thou speakest of. No∣thing is more sharpe then the beard of the eare of Corne. Smalenesse it selfe maketh somethings vnprofitable and without effect.

EPIST. LXXXIII.

We mu••t liue as before God our beholder and Iudge. Then he adioyneth concerning his owne life, temperance and watchfulnesse. Againe (as in the former Epistle) a∣gainst base talkers, who abase wisdome with their meane speech and cauils. He teach∣eth against ZENO himselfe, discoursing against drunkennesse. But we must doe more valiantly and famously: and giuing an example thereof, hee condemneth that vice.

THou commandest my seuerall dayes, and all of them indeed to be shewed vnto thee. Well iudgest thou of me, if thou supposest nothing to be in them which I will hide. If certainly wee must liue, let vs liue as being in sight: so let vs thinke, as if one were a∣ble, and could looke into our innermost brest. For what pro••it∣teth it, that any thing should be secret from man? Nothing is closed from God. He is within our soules, and he commeth into the middest of our thoughts. So, I say, he commeth amongst them, as one to depart at length. Therefore I will doe that which thou commandest, and what I doe, and in what order, I will willingly write vnto thee. I will forthwith obserue my selfe: and that which is a most profitable thing, with my selfe will I recall the day to minde. This ma∣keth vs to be very bad, because no man looketh backe vpon his life. What things we are about to doe, we thinke vpon, and but seldome that: what wee haue done, we doe not thinke vpon. But from that which is past, commeth counsell for that which is to come. This day is solide. No man hath taken any of it from me: it is all of it diuided betwixt the booke and the bed. The least part is giuen vnto exercise of the bodie; and for this cause I giue thankes to old age. It costeth me not much. When I haue stirred, I am wearied. But this is the end of exercise, euen to those that are most strong. Seekest thou with whom I exercise my selfe? One sufficeth me, Earinus (as thou knowest) a loue∣ly boy: but he shall be changed. Now I seeke for one that is more tender. He indeed saith, that we haue the same estate of bodie•• because that the teeth of vs both ••all out: but now I scarce ouertake him when he doth runne, and within a very few dayes I shall be vnable to doe it. See what continuall exercise can pro••it. Speedily there is made a great distance betwixt two that goe in a con∣trary iourney: at the same time he ascendeth, I descend: and thou knowest, how much the one of these is the more speedily done. I lied: for now our age descendeth not, but falleth. Notwithstanding dost thou seeke how this dayes strife succeeded vnto vs? As seldome it falleth forth to runners: neither of vs both did ouercome. From this wearinesse, rather then exercise, I descended into cold water. This is called by me water scarce warme. I that so great wa∣••her in cold water, who in the Calends of Ianuarie leaped into a pond, who in

the new yeare, as I began to reade, to write, to speake somewhat, so began I to leape downe into cleare water, first translating my tent to Tyber, then to this bathing tub, which because I am most strong, and all things are done in good earnest, the Sunne moderateth for mee. Not much time after doe I tarrie at the Bath. Then I eate drie bread, and a dinner without a board: after which I am not to wash mine hands. I sleepe very little. Thou hast knowne my cu∣stome: and I vse a most short sleepe, and as it were by seuerall naps. It is suffici∣ent that I haue ceased to watch. Sometimes I know, sometimes I suspect that I haue slept. Behold the crie of the Circens••ans maketh a noise in mine eares: mine eares are stricken with some sudden and vniuersall voice. Neither do they put forth, neither indeed doe they interrupt my thought: most patiently I beare their clamorous noyses, many voices and confused in one, are to mee in stead of a waue, or of a winde beating vpon a wood, & of other things sounding without sense. O what therefore is it? I will tell thee, whereon now I haue set my minde. A thought abideth with me still since yesterday, namely, what most wise men haue meant, who haue made most light and perplexed proofes for greatest things, which although they be true, are notwithstanding like to a lie. Zeno would deter vs from drunkennes, an exceeding great man, the founder of this most valiāt & most holy sect. Heare now how he gathereth, that a good man will not be drunke. None committeth secret speech to a drunken man: but he committeth it to a good man; therfore a good man will not be drunk. Marke how he may be derided with the like opposite interrogatiō. It sufficeth of many to set downe one. No man committeth secret speech to one that is a sleepe, but he committeth it to a good man; therefore a good man doth not sleepe. By what one way he can, Posidonius pleadeth the cause of our Zeno: but so can it not be pleaded indeed, as I suppose. For he saith that a drunken man is so said to be two manner of wayes: the one, when one is loaden with wine, and not master of himselfe; the other, if he be accustomed to be made drunke, and be subiect vnto this vice. He is spoken of by Zeno, who is accustomed to be made drunke, not hee that may bee drunke. But no man will commit secrets to him, which through wine he may publish abroad; which is false. For that first interrogati∣on comprehendeth him that is drunke, not him who will so be. For thou wilt grant that there is great difference betwixt him that is drunke, and a drunkard. He that is drunke, may so then be at the first time, and not haue this vice: and he that is giuen to drinke, is oftentimes without drunkennesse. Therefore I vnderstand that, which is wont to be signified in this word: especially sith it is put by a man professing diligence, and examining words. Adde now, that if Zeno vnderstood, and would haue vs to vnderstand this, by doubtfulnesse of the word, he hath sought place for deceit: which thing is not to be done, when veritie is sought for. But certes although he hath thought thus: yet that which followeth is false; namely, that to him who is accustomed to be made drunke, a secret speech is not to be committed. For thinke to how many souldiers not alwayes sober, both the Emperour, and Tribune, and Centurion hath com∣mitted silent things. Concerning that slaughter of C. Caesar, of him do I speak, who hauing ouercome Pompeius, possessed the Common-wealth: it was as well committed to Tillius Cimber, as to C. Cassius. Cassius dranke water all his life long. Tillius Cimber was both too much giuen to wine, and was lauish of his tongue: he ie••ted at this thing himselfe. Can I beare any one, saith hee, who cannot beare wine? Let euery one now name those vnto himselfe, to whom he knoweth that wine is badly, and that speech is well committed. Notwith∣standing

I will relate one example that commeth to my minde; le••t it be forgot. For life is to bee instructed by famous examples. Let vs not alwayes flie to those that be old. Lucius Piso the warden of the Citie, after that he was once made drunke, spent the greater part of the night in the feast: and did for the most part sleepe almost vntill noone; this was his morning time. Notwithstan∣ding, most diligently he administred his office, wherein the safetie of the Citie was contained. To him both Augustus gaue secret commands, when he gaue him the gouernment of Thracia, which he did subdue; and Tiberius going in∣to Campania, when he left many things in the Citie both suspected and hate∣full, I thinke, because the drunkennesse of Piso had well fallen foorth vnto him, afterwards made Cossus gouernour of the Citie, a graue and moderate man, but drowned and floating in wine, so that sometimes being oppressed with a sound sleepe, he was carried out of the Senate, into which he had come from a feast. To him notwithstanding Tiberius wrote many things with his owne hand, which he iudged ought not to be committed to his owne seruants. No priuate nor publike secret escaped from Cossus. Therefore let vs remooue from amongst vs these declamations: The minde hath not power ouer it selfe, being bound about with drunkennesse. As barrels themselues are broken with new wine: and as all that is in the bottome, the force of heate casteth vp into the vpper part: so wine foming forth, whatsoeuer lieth hid in the bottome is brought ••orth and commeth abroad. As they who are loaded with wine, keepe not me••t through abundance of wine, so indeed do they keepe no secret thing; that which is their owne and other mens, alike do they spread abroad. But al∣though this is wont to fall forth, so also is that, that with these whom we know somewhat freely to drinke, we deliberate of necessarie things. Therefore this is false, which is put in the place of patronage, that a secret is not to be commit∣ted to him, who is accustomed to be made drunke. How much better were it openly to accuse drunkennesse, and to lay open the vices thereof? which euen a tollerable man hath auoided, much more a perfect and a wise man: to whom it is sufficient to quench thirst: who also if at any time mirth doth arise, and is continued somewhat long vpon some other cause, yet notwithstanding resisteth without being drunke. For we will see concerning that, whether the minde of a wise man may be troubled with too much wine, and may doe that which is ac∣customable to drunken men. In the meane space, if thou wilt conclude this, that a good man ought not to be drunke, why dealest thou with syllogismes? Say how dishonest a thing it is, to powre in more then one can containe, and not to know the measure of ones stomake: how many things drunken men doe, which sober men be ashamed of: that drunkennesse is nothing else, then a vo∣luntarie madnesse. Prolong that drunken habit into more dayes, doubtest thou but it will be madnesse? Now also it is not lesser, but shorter. Relate the exam∣ple of Alexander, the Macedonian, who in the middest of a banquet stabbed Clytus, one most deare and most faithfull vnto him, and vnderstanding that hei∣nous deed, he would haue died; certainly hee deserued to die. Drunkennesse augmenteth and discouereth euery vice; it remoueth modestie, which hinde∣reth from bad enterprises. For moe abstaine from forbidden things, through shame to offend, then through good will. When too much wine possesseth the minde, what euill soeuer did lie hid, commeth forth. Drunkennesse causeth not vices, but betrayeth them; then the leacherous person tarrieth not indeed for a chamber, but without delay permitteth to his desires, so much as they shall require: then the shamelesse man professeth and publisheth his disease:

then the wanton containeth not his tongue nor hand. Pride encreaseth to the haughty, rage to the cruell, malice to the enuious; euery vice is discouered, and commeth forth. Adde, that not knowing of himselfe, doubtful and scarce plaine wordes, wandring eyes, staggering gate, turning about in the head, the house it sel••e seeming to turne about: the torment of the stomacke, when the wine wax∣eth warme, and stretcheth out the bowels. Then notwithstanding, howsoeuer it is tollerable, whilst it is yet in his owne power. What when it is corrupted with sleepe, and that which was drunkennesse is made cruditie? Thinke what slaughters publique drunkennesse hath committed. This hath deliuered most fierce and warlike Nations to their enemies: this hath laide open walls defen∣ded against the resolute warre of many yeares: this hath enforced the most re∣solued, and the refusers of subiection, to the command of other men: this hath conquered those who haue beene vnconquered in warre. So many iournies, so manie battels, so many Winters, through which Alexander had passed, the difficultie of times and places beeing ouercome, so manie floods vnex∣pectedly falling forth, so many Seas dismissed him safe; but the distem∣per of drinking, and that Herculean and fatall cuppe buried him. What glorie is it to containe much? When the victorie shall bee atchieued by thee, when men lying scattered asleep, and casting shall refuse thy drunken car∣rowses, when thou alone shalt remaine of the whole banquet, when thou shalt ouercome all men in magnificall valour, and no man shall be so capable of wine as thy selfe, yet art thou ouercome by a Tunne: what other thing saue drun∣kennesse, and the loue of Cleopatra no lesse then wine destroyed M. Antonius, a great man and of a noble wit, and transferred him into externall fashions, and into vices which were not Roman-like? This thing made him an enemie to the Common-wealth, this made him vnequall to his enemies, this made him cruell, when the heads of the Princes of the Citie were set before him as he did suppe, when amongst most exquisite feasts & kingly ryot, he looked vpon to know the heads and hands of the proscribed, when being loaded with wine, he notwith∣standing thirsted for bloud. It was intollerable which hee did when he was drunke, although he did thus being sober: how much more intollerable was it, that he did these things in drunkennesse it selfe? For the more part crueltie followeth drunkennesse; for the health of the minde is violated and exaspera∣ted. Euen as long diseases cause tender eyes, yea at the least lighting vpon of a beame of the Sunne: so continuall drunkennesse enrageth the minde. For when oftentimes they are not their owne men, vices bred with wine, and obdu∣rated with custome of madnesse, be also of force without it. Tell therfore why a wise-man ought not to be made drunke. Shew the deformitie and the impor∣tunitie of the thing with deedes, not with wordes, which will be most easie to do. Proue these pleasures, as they are called, when they haue passed a meane to be punishments. For if thou shalt argue vpon that, that a wise-man can be drunk with much wine, and retaine a right tenor, although he be ouerturned: thou mayst as well conclude, that he may drinke poison and not die, that he may take juice of blacke Poppie and not sleepe, that he may take Ellebore, and not cast vpward or scoure downeward, whatsoeuer sticketh in the bowels. But if his feete be assaulted, if his tongue be not his owne, why thinkest thou him to be partly sober, and partly drunke?

EPIST. LXXXIIII.

Writing and reading are to be changed. Things read are to be turned into one nourish∣ing substance, and are to be made ours. Lastly, there is an exhortation to wisedome. Good and profitable admonitions.

I Iudge these iourneyes which shake off slouthfulnesse from me, to profite my studies and health. Thou seest why they helpe mine health: sith the loue of learning maketh me slowe and neg∣ligent of my bodie, I am exercised by others helpe. I will shewe thee why they profite my studies. I haue not departed from rea∣ding. But it is necessarie, as I suppose, first, that I may not be content with my selfe alone; then, that when I shall know things sought forth by other men, and then that I may iudge of things alreadie found out, and that I may thinke of those that be to be found out. Reading nourisheth the wit; and it being wea∣ried with studie, notwithstanding not without studie refresheth it. Neyther onely ought we to write, or onely to reade; the one of the things will make sad, and will consume the strength; I speake of writing: the other will dissolue and dissipate it. Interchangeablie this is to be exchanged with that, and the one is to be moderated with the other; so that whatsoeuer is gathered together by reading, the pen may reduce into a bodie. We ought, as they say, to imi∣tate Bees, which wander vp and downe, and picke fit flowers to make honie: then whatsoeuer they haue brought they dispose and place through their combes, and as our Virgil saith;

Moist honey to make thicke they much doe striue, Spreading the same with sweet dew through their Hiue.

Concerning them it is not apparent enough, whether they draw a moist sub∣stance from the flowers, which is presently honie; or whether that they change those things which they haue gathered with a certaine mixture and propriety of their breath, into this taste. For it pleaseth some, that not the knowledge of making honie, but of gathering it is vnto them. They say that amongst the In∣dians honie is found vpon the leaues of Reedes, which eyther the dew of that skie or the pleasant and more fat moisture of the very Reede may beget. Vp∣pon our hearbes also the same force, but lesse manifest and notable is found, which a creature born for this end may follow after, and gather together. Som think that those things which they haue picked from the tender of that which is greene & flourishing, are not without a certain leauen, as I may so cal it, wher∣by diuers things doe knit together into one. But that I be not lead a way to any other thing, then to that which is in hand, we also ought to imitate Bees, and to separate what things soeuer we haue heaped together from diuers reading; for distinct things are the better kept. Then vsing the abilitie and care of our wit, to mingle diuers liquors into one taste: that although it shall appeare whence it is taken, yet that it may appeare to be some other thing•• then that whence it was taken: which thing we see nature doth in our bodie, without any helpe of vs. Nourishment which we haue taken, so long as it abideth in quality, and swim∣meth solid in the stomacke is a burthen; but when it is changed from that which it was, then at length it passeth into strength and into bloud. The same

let vs doe in these things wherewith wits a••e nourished: that whatsoeuer wee haue gotten, we suffer not to be whole, nor to be other mens. Let vs concoct them, otherwise they will go into the memory, not into the wit. Let vs faithful∣ly agree vnto them, and make them ours, that one certaine may be made of ma∣ny things: as one number is made of seuerall ones, when one computation com∣prehendeth lesser and disagreeing summes. This let our minde do: all things whereby it is holpen, let it hide: only let it shew that which it hath done. Al∣though in thee the likenesse of some one shall appeare, whom admiration hath more deeply fastned in thee: I would that thou shouldest be like to him, not as an Image, but as a sonne. An Image is a thing that is dead. What therefore? is it not vnderstood whose speech thou do••st imitate? whose reasoning? whose sentences? I thinke at length it can not be vnderstood indeede, if they bee of a great man, for not in all things, which he hath drawne as examples from euery one, hath hee so imprinted his shape, that they may agree into that one thing alone. Seest thou not of the voyces of how many, a Quire doth consist? Not∣withstanding one sound is made of them all. Some one voyce is acute, some base, som in a mean. Womens voices are ioined with mens, recorders and flutes are added vnto them: there the voyces of euery one in seuerall li•• ••id, of all ap∣peare. I speake of the Quire which the olde louers of musicke did know of. In our feasts there are more Singers, then once were of spectators vpon the Thea∣ters. When the rowe of those that sing hath filled all wayes, and the Stage is compassed with Trumpeters, and all kinde of Pipes and Organs sound from a gallerie aboue, a consonance is made of discords. Such would I haue our minde to be, that there be many arts therein, many precepts, examples of many ages, but conspiring in one. How saist thou, may this be done? By continuall taking of heed; if we shall doe nothing but by the perswasion of reason: this if thou wilt heare, it will say vnto thee; Leaue these things euen alreadie now, where∣vnto men doe runne; leaue riches eyther the danger or burden of those that possesse them; leaue the pleasures of the bodie and of the minde, they molli∣fie and make weake; leaue suing for offices, it is a swelling, vaine, and windie thing, it hath no bound: as well carefull is it, not to see any body before it selfe, as not not to see it selfe after another man: it laboureth with enuie, and indeede with two sorts thereof. But thou seest how wretched he is, who is enuied at, if he himselfe enuie also. Beholdest thou those houses of mightie men, those tu∣multuous doores with the brawling of them that doe salute? Much reproach is there that thou maiest enter in, more when thou hast entred in. Passe by these staires of the rich, and entries hanged with heapes of auncient spoyles. Not on∣ly in a craggie, but also in a ••lipperie place shalt thou here stand. Hither rather vnto wisedom direct thy course, and seeke to attaine the most quiet, and there∣withall the most ample things. What things soeuer seeme to excell in humane affaires, although they be small, and stand aboue in comparison of the basest things, are notwithstanding by difficult and ••ard wayes gone vnto. Vnto the height of dignitie there is a broken way. But if thou wilt climbe vnto this top, whereunto fortune submitteth it selfe, thou shalt beholde indeed all things vn∣der thee, which are accounted exceeding high; but notwithstanding thou shalt come vnto highest things by that which is plaine.

EPIST. LXXXV.

He disalloweth Sophismes, and driueth them from serious studies. He giueth certaine examples, but leadeth to profitable things; against the Aristotelians, that a wise man ought to want affections. Then, that blessed life sufficeth of it selfe; it is one and e∣quall, whether it be long or short. Also it is not lessened by outward things, although euils an•• losses fall forth, yet a wise man vseth all well. A good and wise Epistle.

I Had spared thee, and had now passed by whatsoeuer had remai∣ned as yet, contented to giue, as it were, a taste vnto thee, of those things which are spoken by our men, that it may be proued, that vertue alone is sufficiently effectuall to fulfill a blessed life. Thou commandest me to comprehend all the questions, that be either of our owne, or de••ised for the teaching of vs: which thing, if I will doe, it shall not be a letter, but a booke. That thing so often doe I protest, that in this kind of argument there is no delight vnto me. It shameth me (being armed with a bodkin) to descend into a warre vndertaken by gods and men. He that is wise, is also a temperate man. He that is temperate is a constant man. He that is con∣stant, is a true tempered man. He that is without griefe, is a bles••ed man. There∣fore he that is prudent is a blessed man, and prudence is sufficient for a blessed life. To this collection, some of the Aristotelians answere after this sort, that thus they may interpret a man of true temper, and constant, and without griefe; that a man of true temper may be said to be, who rarely and smally is disturbed, not he who neuer is. Also without sadnesse doe they say him to be, who is not subiect to sadnes, nor is too frequent, nor too much in this fault. For that were to deny the nature of man, that the minde of some man should bee free from griefe: a wise man is not ouercome with sorrow, but is touched there∣with: so other things, a••ter this sort, correspond to their owne sect. They doe not with these things take away the affections, but moderate them. But how little doe we gi••e to a wise man, if hee bee stronger then the weakest, and merrier then the saddest, and more moderate, then the most vnbridled, and greater then the basest be? What if Ladas admire his owne swiftnesse, looking backe vnto those that be lame and weake?

On tops of grasse, not pressing them, she ran, Nor tops of standing corne, her course hurt can; In midst of sea on waters highest tip, Her running feet in water doe not dip.

This is that swiftnesse esteemed of by it selfe, not which is praised in compari∣son of those that be most slow. What if thou call him, who is slightly sicke of an a••ue, a sound man? The smalenesse of a disease is not good health. Thus, saith he, a wise man is said to be of true temper, as sweet kernel-lesse Pomgra∣nats, are called so, not in which there is no hardnesse of the kernels, but in which lesse hardnesse is. It is false: for I doe not vnderstand a lessening, but a wanting of euils in a good man: there ought to bee none, not those that are small. For if there be any, they will encrease, and sometimes will hinder vs. As a greater and a perfect web in the eye maketh blinde, so a small one troubleth the eye. If thou giuest any affections to a wise man, reason shall be vnable to

master them, and shall be carried away, as it were, with a streame: especially when thou leauest not one, but a whole troupe of affections wherewithall it may striue. A troupe, although it bee of those that be meane, can doe more, then the violence of one that is great. He hath couetousnesse, but it is meane; he hath ambition, but it is not eager; he hath anger, but it is to be appeased; he hath inconstancie, but not very wandering; and subiect to motion: he hath lust, but not madnesse. Better is it with him who hath one whole vice, then with him who hath lighter vices indeed, but yet hath all vice. Then there is no dif∣ference, how maine the affection be, and how great soeuer it is; it knoweth not to obey, it receiueth not counsell. As no liuing creature obeyeth reason, not the wilde, not the tame and gentle•• for the nature of them is deafe to him that doth perswade: so affections doe not follow, they doe not heare, how small soeuer they be. Tygers and Lions neuer put off feircenesse, sometimes they submit it; and when thou shalt least expect, their mitigated frowardnesse is ex∣asperated. Vices neuer in good earnest doe waxe tame. But if reason profit∣eth, the affections will not begin: if they shall begin against reasons will, they will perseuer against the will of it. For it is more easie to forbid the beginnings of them, then to rule their force. Certainly this mediocritie is false, and with∣out gaine, and is to be esteemed of in the same place, as if one should say, wee might be indifferently madde, or indiff••rently sicke. Vertue alone hath it; the euils of the minde doe not receiue moderation, more easily shalt thou take them away, then gouerne them. Is there any doubt, but that the inueterate and hard vices of humane minde, which we call diseases, be without moderati∣on; as couetousnesse, as crueltie, as vn••ulinesse, as impietie? Therefore also the affections are without moderation•• for wee passe from these vnto those. Furthermore, if thou giue any power to sadnesse, to feare, to couetousnesse, and to other bad motions, they will not be ruled by vs. Why? because those things be out of our power, whereby they be stirred vp. Therefore they en∣crease, as they haue greater or lesser causes, whereby they be prouoked. Grea∣ter shall the feare be, if there be more wherewithall it may be affrighted, or if one shall look nearer thereunto; couetousnesse shall be more cruell, when hope of a larger estate shall call it forth. If it be not in our power, whe••her affections may be or not, that indeed is not, how great they may be: if thou hast permit∣ted them to begin, with their causes they will encrease, and they shall bee as great, as they are made by thee. Adde now, that these, although they be but little things, grow to be greater. Neuer doe hurtfull things keepe a meane. Be∣ginnings of diseases creepe forward, although they bee light; and sometimes the least accession drowneth a bodie that is alreadie sicke. But who is so mad, as to beleeue that, that the beginnings of those things which are placed with∣out our will, the limits of them are according to our will? How am I sufficient∣ly able to put an end vnto that, which I am scarce able to hinder? Sith it is more easie to exclude, then to suppresse things admitted in. Some haue distinguished so that they said: A temperate and a prudent man in the frame and habite of the minde is calme, but not in the euent thereof: for in regard of the habite of the minde he is not troubled, neither feareth, nor is sad: but many causes doe outwardly fall forth, which may bring perturbation vnto him. This is it that they would say, that he is not indeed a cholericke man, yet that hee is angry at sometime. And that hee is not a fearefull man, yet that hee feareth at sometime: that is to say, hee wanteth the vice, but not the affection of feare. But if we allow of this feare, with frequent vse it becommeth a vice: and anger

being admitted into the minde, discouereth that habit of the minde that wan∣ted anger. Furthermore, if it contemneth not those causes which outwardly come, and feareth any thing, when that valiantly we are to go against weapons, and fires, for our Countrie, Lawes and libertie, it will lingringly goe forth, and with a minde returning backe. But this diuersitie of minde falleth not vpon a wise man. That furthermore doe I iudge to be obserued, lest wee confound two things which are seuerally to be proued. For by it selfe it is gathered, that there is one only good, namely, that which is honest: that by it selfe againe ver∣tue is su••ficient for a happie life. If there be but one good, namely, that which is honest; all then grant that vertue is sufficient to liue well: contrarily it shall not be reiected, if vertue alone doe make a blessed man, that there is one good, that is, that which is honest. Xenocrates and Speusippus doe suppose, that a bles∣sed man can be made by vertue alone: yet that is not the one only good, which is honest. Epicurus also iudgeth, that when one hath vertue, that he is blessed, yet that vertue it selfe is not sufficient to a blessed life: because pleasure may make a man blessed, which is from vertue, and is not vertue it selfe. A foolish distinction. For the same man denieth, that vertue is at any time without plea∣sure: thus if it alwaies be ioyned vnto it, and be inseparable, it also is sufficient alone. But that is absurd, because it is said, that one shall become happie euen by vertue alone: but shall not become perfectly happie thereby: which thing how it may be done, I doe not finde. For a blessed life hath in it a perfect good, such as cannot be ouercome: which thing if it be thus, it is perfectly a blessed life. If th•• life of the gods hath in it no more nor better thing; and a blessed life is a diuine life; it hath nothing wher••unto it can more lift vp it selfe. Fur∣thermore, if a blessed life needeth not any thing•• euery blessed life is perfect, and a blessed, and a most blessed life is the same. What doubtest thou, but that a blessed life is the chiefest good? Therefore if it bee the chiefest good, it is chiefely a blessed life. As the chiefest receiueth not augmentation (for what is aboue that which shall be the chiefe?) so is not a blessed life indeed, which is not without the chiefest good. But if thou shalt bring in one who is more blessed, then shalt thou make a great many more innumerable differences of the chiefest good: when I vnderstand the chiefest good, I speake of that which hath not a degree aboue it selfe. If any be lesse blessed then another: it follow∣eth, that he will more desire the life of that other more blessed, rather then his owne life: but the bl••ssed man preferreth nothing before his owne life. Which of these you will it is incredible; either that any thing remaineth to a blessed, which he had rather haue to be, then that which is: or that rather hee should not desire that, which is better then that other thing. For certainly, by how much he is more wise, by so much he will extend himselfe to that thing which is best of all, and euery manner of way he will desire to obtaine it. But how is he blessed, who can still, yea who ought to desire? I will say what it is, whence this error doth come. They know not that blessed life is one. The quality there∣of, not the greatnes placeth it in the best estate. Therefore alike is it long and short, broad and narrow, distributed into many places and parts, and gathered into one. He that esteemeth it by number, and measure, and parts, taketh that therefrom, which is the most excellent therein. But what is that which is ex∣cellent in a blessed life? That it is full; namely, as the end of eating and drinking is sacietie: he eateth more, that man eateth lesse. What difference? Either of them is full. This man drinketh more, he lesse: what difference? neither of them i•• a thirst. He hath liued more, he fewer yeares. There is no difference: if many

yeares haue made him as wel a blessed man, as a few yeares this man. He whom thou callest lesse blessed, is not blessed: the name cannot be lessened. He that is valiant, is without feare: he that is without feare, is without sadnesse: he that is without sadnesse is blessed. This is our interrogation. Against this they en∣deuour to answer thus; that we bring in a false and a controuerted, for a true thing, namely, that he who is valiant is without feare. What therefore? shall not a valiant man, saith he, feare euils hanging ouer him? This were the part of a mad man, and of one out of his wits, and not of a valiant man. He indeed, saith he, feareth most moderately, but is not altogether without feare. They who speake th••se things are againe returned vnto the same thing, that smaller vices be vnto them in the place of vertues. For he who feareth indeede, but more seldome and lesse, wanteth not badnes, but is vexed with that which is lighter. But yet I think him mad, who feareth not euils hanging ouer him. True it is which he saith, if they be euils; but if he know that they be not ••uils, & iudgeth dishonesty alone to be that which is ill, he ought securely to looke vpon dan∣gers, & to contemne those things that are feared by other men: or if it be the part of a foole or of a mad man, not to contemne euil things; by how much any one is the more wise, by so much shall he feare the more. As it seemeth to you, saith he, a valiant man shal thrust himself into dangers. No; he shal not fear, but shall auoyde them. Warinesse, not feare becommeth him. What therefore? Doest thou say, that he shall not feare death, bands, fire, and other weapons of fortune? No; for he knoweth that those things be not ill, but seeme so to be: he thinketh that all these things be the ••eares of humane life. Describe captiui∣tie, beating, chaines, pouertie, tearing asunder of the members, eyther by sicke∣nesse or by iniurie: and whatsoeuer thou shalt bring hereunto, number them amongst imaginarie feares. These things are to be ••eared by those that be fear∣••ull. Supposest thou that to be bad, whereunto some times of our owne accord we must come. Seekest what is euill? To giue place to ••hese things which are called euill, and to yeeld our owne libertie vnto them, for which we are to en∣dure all things. Libertie perisheth, except we contemne those things, which lay a yoake vpon vs. They would not doubt what would become a valiant man, if they knew what valor were. For it is not vnaduised rashnesse, nor loue of dangers, nor a desire of fearfull things. It is a knowledge of distinguishing, what is euill, and what is not•• fortitude is most diligent in defending of it selfe, and the same is most patient of those things, wherein is a false shew of bad things. What therefore if a sword be thrust into the throat of a valiant man, if first one part and then another be hewed forth, if he see his owne bowels in his owne armes, if after a space, to the end that he may feele torments the more, he be set vpon againe, and fresh bloud trickleth downe by his dried bowels? wilt thou not say, that this man doth not feare, that he doth not feele griefe? Certainely he feeleth paine, for no vertue putteth off the sense of a man: but he feareth not: being vnconquered, from on high he looketh vpon his dolours. Thou de∣maundest, what minde then there is vnto him? The same that is vnto them who exhort their sicke friend. That which is euill hurteth, that which hurteth maketh worse. Dolour and pouertie make not worse, therefore they are not bad. False is it, saith he, which is propounded; for if any thing hurt, it doth not also make worse. A tempest and storme hurt a Pilot, but notwithstanding they make him not worse. Certaine Stoicks do thus answer against this, That a Pilot is made worse by a tempest and by a storme, because that thing which he had purposed he cannot effect, nor keepe on his course. Worse is he made,

not in his skill, but in his work. To whom the Arist••telian: therefore, saith he, pouertie and dolour, and whatsoeuer such like thing there shall be, shal not take vertue from him, but shall hinder his working thereof. This were rightly said, except the condition of a Pilot, and of a wise-man were vnlike. For the purpose of him is in leading his life, not without faile to effect that which he assayeth to doe, but to doe all things aright. It is the purpose of the Pilot, without faile to bring a ship into an hauen. They be seruile arts, they ought to performe that which they promise. Wisedome is a mistresse and goue••nesse. The arts doe serue to, wis••dome commandeth ouer life. I iudge that we must answere after another sort, namely, that neyther the skill of the gouernour is made worse by any tempest, nor yet the very administration of art. The gouernour hath not promised prosperous successe vnto thee, but his profitable endeuour, and skill to gouerne the ship. This appeareth the more, by how much the more some force of fortune hath hindred him. He that hath beene able to say this, O Nep∣tune, this ship was neuer but right, hath satisfied skill. A tempest hindereth not the worke of a Pilot, but the successe. What therefore sayest thou? Doth not that thing hurt a Pilot, which hindereth him from entring the Port? which causeth his endeuours to be vaine? which eyther beareth him backe, or detai∣neth and disarmeth him? It hurteth him not as Pilot, but as one that doth saile. Otherwise it doth not so much hinder, as shew the Pilots skill. For euery one can, as they say, be a pilot in the calme. These things hinder the ship; not a pi∣lot, as he is a pilot. Two persons a pilot hath; the one common with all who haue gone aboard the same ship, wherein he himselfe also is a passenger; the o∣ther proper, as he is a gouernour. The tempest hurteth him as he is a passen∣ger, not as a Pilot. Furthermore the art of a Pilot is anothers good, it ap∣pertaineth to those whom he carrieth: as the art of a Physitian appertaineth to those whom he doth cure. Wisedome is a common good, and is proper to ownes selfe, for those with whom he doth liue. Therefore peraduenture a Pi∣lot is hurt, whose promised seruice to others is let by a tempest. A wise-man is not hurt by pouertie, nor by dolour, nor by other tempests of life. For not all workes of him be hindered, but only those that pertaine to other men: alwayes is he himselfe indeed; then greatest of all, when fortune hath opposed her selfe vnto him, then manageth he the businesse of wisdome it selfe: which wisdome we haue said to be both anothers and his owne good. Furthermore not then indeed is he hindred to profite other men, when some necessities do presse him. Through pouertie he is hindred to teach, how a Common-wealth may be ma∣naged: but he teacheth that thing, how pouertie is to be managed. His worke is extended all his life long. Thus no fortune, no thing excludeth the acts of a wise-man. For he doth not that verie thing, whereby he is fobidden to doe o∣ther things. He is fit for both chances: a gouernour of the bad, an ouercom∣m••r of the good. So I say hath he exercised himselfe, that he sheweth vertue as well in prosperous as in aduerse affaires, neyther looketh he vpon the matter thereof, but vpon it selfe. Therefore neyther pouertie, nor dolour, nor any o∣ther thing, which turneth backe the vnskilfull, and driueth them headlong, hin∣dereth them. Hast thou rather he should be pressed? He maketh vse of it. Not only of Iuorie did Phidias know how to make Images: he made them of brasse. If marble were vnto him, if thou hadst offered baser matter, he would haue made such an one thereof, as could be mad•• of that which was the best. So a wise-man will shew vertue, if he may, in wealth; if not, in pouertie: if he shall be able, in his countrie; if not, in banishment•• if he can, being a commaunder;

if not, being a souldier: if he can, being sound; if not, being weake: what for∣tune soeuer he shall entertaine, he will performe some memorable thing there∣by. Certain tamers there be of wilde beasts, who teach the fiercest creatures, and which terrifie a man when they meete him, to suffer the yoake: and not con∣tented to haue shaken fiercenesse off, do tame them, euen to keepe them com∣panie. The master vseth often to thrust out his hand to Lions; they kisse it. The Keeper commandeth his Tyger; the AEthiopian Player commandeth his Elephant to fall vpon their knees, and to walke vpon a rope: so a wise-man is skilfull to subdue euill things. Dolour, pouertie, ignominie, prison, banishment, when they come vnto him, are made tame.

EPIST. LXXXVI.

Of the Countri-house of AFRICANVS, of his building and Bath, which was neyther garnished nor neat. Against the ryot of his time. Last of all, of setting Oliues, through occasion of a Countrey-house.

LYing in the verie towne of Scipio Africanus, I write these things vnto thee, hauing adored the spirit of him, and the Altar, which I suppose to be the sepulcher of so great a man: the soule of him indeed I perswade my selfe that it hath returned into heauen, whence it was: not because he lead great armies (for this also fu∣rious Cambyses did, and prosperously vsed furie) but for great moderation and pietie, more admirable in him when he left his countrie, then when he defen∣ded it. Eyther Scipio must be depriued of Rome, or Rome of libertie. Nothing, saith he, will I derogate from lawes, nothing from decrees. Amongst all Citizens let there be an equall right. O my countrie, vse the benefit of me without me. I haue beene the cause, I will also be an argument of libertie vnto thee: I depart if I haue increased more, then is expedient for me. How can I chuse but admire this greatnesse of minde? He departed into voluntarie banishment, and disburthened the Citie. The matter was brought vnto that passe, that eyther libertie should do iniury to Scipio, or Scipio to libertie. Neither was lawfull to be done. Therfore he gaue place to the lawes, and betooke himselfe to Liternum, as willing to impute the banishment of himselfe, as of Hannibal to the Common-wealth. I saw that towne builded of foure square stone, a wall compassing about a wood, towers also set vnder both sides of the towne for a defence: A Cisterne laid vnder the buildings and greene places, which was able to serue euen an armie of men: A little narrow Bath, somewhat darke, as the olde fashion was. It seemed none was warmed for our ancestors, except it were obscure. Great pleasure entred in∣to me, beholding the manners of Scipio and of vs. In this corner that horrour of Carthage, to whom Rome is in debt, that it was taken but once, washed his bo∣die, wearied with the labours of the countrie: for he exercised himselfe in work, and he himselfe tilled the earth, as the fashion of the ancients was. He stood vn∣der this so base a roote, this so meane a floore sustained him. But now who is he that can sustaine to be bathed thus? Poore and base seemeth hee to himselfe, except the walls haue shined with great and precious rounds, except Alexandri∣an marbles be distinguished with Numidian roofe-cast; except all about vpon them, a curious varied plastering be layed like a picture that is drawne, except the chamber be couered ouer with glasse, except stone of the Ile Thassus, once a

rare gazing s••ocke in some Church, haue compassed about our ponds, into which wee let downe our bodies emptied of much sweat; except siluer cockes haue powred out water vnto vs. And as yet I speake of the conduits of the common sort: what when I shall come to the Bathes of freed men? how great pictures, how great pillers holding nothing vp, but placed for ornament sake to the causing of cost, how great waters sliding downe vpon staires with a great noice? To that delicacie are wee come, that wee will not tread but vpon precious stones. In this Bathe of Scipio, there be verie small chinckes, rather then windowes, cut out in the stone-wall, that without hurt of the fense, they should let the light in. But now are they called the bathes of Gnats, if any be not framed so, as to receiue with most large windowes the Sunne all the day long, except they be bathed and coloured both at one time, except from a throne they look vpon both land and sea. Those therfore which had concourse and admiration when they were dedicated, these are reiected in∣to the number of the old, when riot hath deuised some new thing, wherewith∣all it selfe might ouercome it selfe. But in old time there were few bathes, neither were they adorned with any trimming vp. For why should a thing of a far∣thing worth be adorned, and which is found forth for vse, and not for delight? Water was not still powred in, neither alwaies as from a warme fountaine did it runne fresh: neither did they suppose that any matter it was, into what shining vessell they put their washed-off filth. But, O the good gods, how delighted it to enter into bathes somewhat darke, and couered with seeling of the com∣mon sort, which thou diddest know, that Cato, when he was ouerseer of the buildings, or else Fabius Maximus, or some of the Cornelij had tempered with their owne hand? For also the most noble ouerseers of houses, performed this dutie also of going into those places which receiued the people, and of ex∣acting neatnesse, and a profitable and an healthie temperature, not this which is lately found forth, like vnto a setting on fire, so that it is meet indeed to be wash∣ed aliue, as a seruant conuicted of some wickednesse is. No difference now see∣meth vnto me, whether the bathe be scalding hot; or be but warme. How great rudenes may some condemne Scipio of, because into his warme bathe with large windowes he did not let in the day, because with a great deale of day-light he was not sod, and did not see, how he might seeth within a bathe? O misera∣ble man! he knoweth not how to liue; he was not washed in faire, but often∣times in troubled water, & almost muddy, when more vehemently it did raine. Neither much cared he, whether he were washed so, for he came to wash away sweat, and not to wash away oyntment therewith. What speeches beleeuest thou there will be of some? I enuie not Scipio, he liued in banishment indeed, who was washed thus; yea if thou wilt know it, he was not washed euery day. For as they say, who deliuered the maners of the City as they were of old, they washed euery day armes and legges, as which had with worke gathered filth, but all ouer were they washed euery nine daies. In this place some one will say, it is apparant that they were most vncleane. What thinkest thou they smel∣led of? Of warre, of labour, of playing the men. After that neate bathes are found forth, more filthy men be. Horatius Flaccus being to describe an infa∣mous man, and one notorious for too many delights, what saith he?

Of Pomander doth RVFILLVS smell—

Thou art to grant Rufillus now, that it were all one, as if he smelled of a Goat,

and were in Gorgonius his place, whom Horatius hath opposed to Rufillus. It is too little to take oyntment vpon thee, except it be renued twice or thrice in the day, lest it vanish from the bodie. What, that they boast of a smell, as if it were their owne? If these things seeme too sad vnto thee, thou shalt impute it to the village; wherein I learned from AEgialus a most diligent husband (for hee now is the possessor of this ground) that a shrub, although it be old, may be translated into another place. This is necessarie for vs to learne, who bee old men, of whom there is none but planteth an Orchard of Oliues for another man. That which I haue seene, this I speake; namely, that an Orchard of three or foure yeares old, will with a plentifull fall of the leafe yeeld forth fruit; yea also that tree will couer thee: which

Hath beene slow to make a shade before, To yong nephewes and those that were vnbore:

As our Virgil saith, who beheld, not what might be spoken most truely, but most seemely: neither desired he to teach husbandmen, but to delight those that read. For (to passe by other things) I will adde hereunto that, which is needfull to reprehend at this day.

In Spring be Beans, and dunged Limons set, And Millet doth a new yeares care beget.

Are these to be set at one time, and whether that the Spring-time be for the sowing of them both; thou mayest iudge from hence. The moneth of Iune, wherein I write these things vnto thee, is neare vnto Iuly. In the same day I saw some gathering Beans, and sowing Millet. I returne to the Orchard of Oliues, which I saw disposed after two sorts. He remoued the trunkes of great trees, the boughes being cut off all about, and being brought to one foot length, with the bodie of the tree, the roots being cut off, that the very head being onely left, whence those did hang. This being besmeared with dung, he put into an hole: afterward he did not heape in the earth, but troad and pressed it downe. There is nothing (as h•• saith) more effectuall then stamping it hard, namely, for that it excludeth the cold and winde; lesse also it is shaken: and for this it suf∣fereth the springing roots to go forth, and to lay hould vpon the ground; which is needfull to be tender as yet, and lightly to stick therunto, light tossing also vp and downe, plucketh it vp againe: but it is scarce a tree, vntill the root do plen∣tifully hide it selfe in the ground, for from euery matter which is made naked, as he saith, new roots doe come out. But the stocke of the tree ought not to stand out aboue vpon the earth, no more then three or foure feete; for present∣ly it will be garnished from below: neither shall a great part thereof, as in old Oliue-gardens be withered, and scorchingly drie. This also hath beene ano∣ther manner of planting them. In the same kinde I haue set in the ground strong boughes, not of an hard barke, such as are ••ccustomed of the tender trees: but when they come, as it were, from a plant, they haue no rough nor ill-fauoured thing in them. That also haue I now seene, an old Vine to be translated from her shrub: The small strings also of this (if it may be) are to be gathered, there the Vine more largely is to bee spread abroad, that also it may take roote from the body thereof. And I haue seen•• th••m set, not onely in the Moneth of Fe∣bruarie; but also in the Moneth of March, which layed hold vpon, and embra∣ced

Elmes about, which were none of their owne. All these trees which (as I so speake) are in great plentie, are, as he saith, to be holpen with Cisterne water: which if it profit, we haue raine in the power of our selues. I thinke it not meete to teach thee any more, lest euen as our AEgialus hath made me to be an aduer∣sarie vnto him, so also I procure thee to be vnto me.

EPIST. LXXXVII.

The frugalitie of SANECA and contempt of externall things: an admonition vnto others, that their wils and deedes might bee such. Then follow small disputations, wherein he approoueth, that casuall things are not amongst those that be good: onely that they may be called Commodities.

I Haue suffered shipwracke, before I haue gone aboard: how it hath come to passe, I set not downe, least amongst the Stoicall para∣doxes thou suppose, that this also is to bee put: of which things, I will approoue when thou wilt, yea if thou will not, that none is false, nor so wonderfull, as appeareth to bee at the first sight. In the meane space this iournie hath instructed mee, how many things we neede not to haue, and how easily with iudgement we might contemne them, which if at any time necessitie hath taken away, we feele them not to be taken away. With a very few seruants, whom one Coach could contain, without any stuffe, saue that which was carried vpon our backes, I and my Maximus haue now ledde these two dayes a happy life. A matteresse lyeth vpon the ground, I vpon the matteresse. Of two cloakes, the one is a blanket to lie vpon, the other is made a couerlid. Concerning my dinner, nothing is superfluous therein, it hath beene made readie in no more then in an houres time; neuer without drie figs, neuer without an handfull of hearbs: those if I haue bread, be made like water∣gruell: if not, they be for bread: alwayes are they serued in vpon New-yeares day, which I make prosperous and ble••sed by thoughts that be good, and by greatnesse of the minde: which neuer is greater then when it hath seperated forraine things: and by fearing of nothing hath got peace vnto it selfe; and by coueting of nothing hath got wealth vnto it selfe. The Coach wherein I ride, is a country one. The Mules testifie that they liue by going onely. The Mu∣leter is vnshod, but not for heat: I scarce obtaine of my selfe, that I would haue this Coach to be supposed mine. A peruerse shamefastnesse of that which is right abideth as yet: so often as we doe fall into some brauer company, I blush against my will; which is an argument, that these things which I approue, which I praise, haue not as yet a certaine and vnmoueable seat. He that blush∣eth at a base Coach, glorieth at a pretious one. Little haue I profited as yet, I dare not publish frugalitie, yea now doe I care for the opinions of those that passe by. A voyce was to be sent out against the opinions of all mankinde: yee be mad, you erre, you be amased at superfluous things, you esteeme no man ac∣cording to his worth. When ye come to patrimonie ye are most diligent recko∣ners; thus ye set downe an account of euery o••e, to whom ye will commit ey∣ther money or benefits. For these also do ye account amongst your expences. He possesseth a great deale, but he oweth much: he hath a faire house, but it is gotten with the money of other men: no man on the sudden can shew a more gallant familie, but he payeth not his debts. If he shall pay his creditors nothing

shall remaine vnto him. The same ye ought also to doe in other things, to ex∣amine how much proper goods euery man hath. Thou supposest him to be a rich man, because golden houshold-stuffe followeth him vpon the way, b••cause he tilleth grounds in all Prouinces, because a great booke of his accounts is roul∣led vp, because he possesseth so much ground in the Suburbes, as with enuie he should possesse in the deserts of Apulia: and when thou hast said all, he is a poore man; wherfore? because he is in debt. How much, sayest thou? All that he hath, exc••pt peraduenture thou thinkest that there is a differenc••, whether that one hath borrowed of a man, or of fortune. What to the purpose doe ap∣pertaine fatted Mules, all of one colour? What these carued Coaches?

Tapestry, Scarlet, foot clothes horses bore, And long golde poitrels on their breasts before. Couered with golde, they champ a yellow bit, And with their teeth the golde they chaw of it.

These things can make neyther a better Master nor Mule. Marcus Cato the Censor (whose birth truely profited the people of Rome, as much as Scipi••es did; for the one made warre with our enemies, the other with manners of the time) was carried on a gelding, and had a cloake-bagge behinde him, wherein he carried his necessarie stu••fe. O how doe I wish that some of these delicate horse-men might meet with him, hauing foot-men and Numidians, and a great deale of dust before him. He without doubt would seeme richer and better attended then Cato w••s: he amongst that delicate preparation, yea, when hee doubteth exceeding much, whether to bestow himselfe on the sword, or on the knife. O how great a dignitie was it to that age, that an Emperour, who had triumphed, who had beene Censor, and which is aboue all, that Cato should be contented with one horse, nay certainly not with a whole horse; for his fardell hanging downe on both sides, posses••ed part of him. Thus wouldest thou not prefer before all the well-fed ambling nags, before great and easie going horses, that one onely horse rubbed by Cato himselfe? I doe not see that any end will be vnto this matter, except that which I shall cause to my selfe. Here there••ore will I holde my peace as concerning these things: which without doubt hee foresaw they would be such, as now they be; who first called them impedi∣ments. Now further will I relate a very few interrogations of our men pertay∣ning to vertue, which we striue to be sufficient for a blessed li••e. That which is good, maketh men to be good. For also in musicke-skill, that which is good maketh a Musitian. Casuall goods make not a man good, therefore they be not good. The Aristotelians doe thus answer against this, that they say that to be false, which we doe first of all propound: from that say they which is good, men are not also made good. In musicke there is some thing that is good, as a Pipe, an Harpe-string, or some instrument fitted for the vse of singing: notwithstan∣ding not any of these things maketh a Musitian. Here will we answer; you vn∣derstand not how we haue placed that which is good to a Musitian: for we doe not speake of that which instructeth, but of that which maketh a Musitian: thou commest to the furniture of skill, and not vnto skill. But if there be anie thing which is good in Musicke skill, that certainely will make a Musitian so to be: yea, furthermore I will make that to be more plaine. That which is good in musicke skill, is said so to be two manner of wayes; the one whereby musi∣call effects, the other whereby Art is holpen. The instruments of the Pipe, and

Organs, and Harpe-strings do appertaine to the effect, but they doe not apper∣taine to the Art it selfe; for he is a workeman without these, but cannot perad∣uenture without them vse his skill. This is not alike double in a man: for there is the same good both of a man, and of his life. That is not good which can be∣fall euery most base and dishonest man: but riches befall both to the Bawde and Fencer, and therefore they are not good. That which is propounded, say they, is false; for in Grammar skill, and in the Art of Physicke and of gouerning, wee see that goods do befall to euery one of the basest sort. But these Arts professe not a greatnesse of the minde, they rise not aloft, neyther disdaine they such things as come by chance. Vertue extolleth a man, and placeth him aboue those which are deere to mortall wights: neyther doth hee too much desire or feare those things that are called good or bad. Chelidon one of those effeminate ones which Cleopatra had, possessed a great Pattimonie: lately Natalis, both of a wicked and of an vnpure tongue, into the mouth of whom women were pur∣ged, both was the heire of much, and left many heires. What therefore? did money make him pure, or did not he himselfe pollute money? which so falleth vpon certaine men, as a piece of money falleth into the vault. Vertue standeth aboue the••e things, it is deemed by the worth of it selfe: it iudgeth none of these things to be good, howsoeuer they fall vnto vs. Physicke and gouernement forbid not to themselues and to theirs, the admiration of such things. He that is not a good man, may neuerthelesse be a Physitian, may be a Gouernour, may be a Grammarian forsooth as well as a Cooke. To whom it befalleth not to haue euery thing, him mayest thou not call an vniuersall man. What things e∣uery one hath, such a manner of man he is. The Exchequer is worth so much as it hath; yea, into the reuenew thereof commeth that which it hath. Who setteth any price vpon a full bagge, except the summe of the money put there∣in hath caused him? The same befalleth to a Master of great patrimonies, they are the reuenewes and the appendices vnto them. Why therefore is a wise-man great? Because he hath a great minde. True therefore it is, that that is not good, which befalleth vnto euerie most base man. Therefore will I neuer say, that the want of sorrow is a good thing, a Grashopper hath that, a Gnat hath that. Nor indeed will I say, that quietnes, and to want trouble is a good thing. What is more idle then a Worme? Seekest thou what maketh a man wise, what maketh a God? It is meet that thou giue some diuine, some heauenly, som magnificent thing. Good falleth not vpon all, neither endureth it euery posses∣sor. See thou,

What euery land will beare, or will not haue; This corne, that grapes, more happily doth craue. Some-where yong trees do sprout, and grasse amaine: Of Saffron smels, hill Tmolus is the vaine. Doth not th' Indian clime send Iu'ry out; Of Sabaeis soft is not their incense bought? From naked Chalybes is Iron brought.

These things are assigned to their owne place, that commerce might be neces∣sarie vnto men amongst themselues, if interchangeably one should demaund somwhat of another man. That chiefest good it selfe hath also his seat: it sprin∣geth not where Iuorie or Iron doth. Seekest thou what is the place of the chiefest good? The minde: this except it be pure and holy, entertaineth not God. God is not made of that which is bad; but riches are caused by couetu∣ousnes;

therefore they be not good. It is not good, saith he, that good springeth o•• that which is bad. From sacriledge and from theft doth mony come: ther••ore bad indeed is sacriledge and theft: but because, it causeth more bad, then good things. For it giueth gaine, but with feare, with care, with torments both of bo∣die and of minde. Whosoeuer speaketh this, it is needfull that he admit, that as sacriledge is bad•• because it doth many bad things, so also that it is good in some sort, because it doth some good: then which thing what is more monstrous? Although we be altogether perswaded, that sacriledge, theft, and adultery are among••t those things that be good. How many blush not at theft; how many boast of adulterie? for small sacriledges are punished, great ones are carried in triumph. Adde now that sacriledge, if altogether it be good in any sort, shall also be honest, & shall be said to be well done: for the action is ours, which thing the thought of no man receiueth, therefore good things cannot come of those that be bad. For if, as yee say, for this one thing sacriledge is bad, because it bringeth much euill: if thou shalt remit punishments to it, if thou shalt promise security, altogether it shall be good. But the greatest punishment of heinous deeds is in themselues. Thou errest, I say, if thou put them off to the Hang-man, and to the Iayle: presently are they punished, when they are done, yea whilest they are in doing them. Therfore good is not borne from that which is bad, no more then a Fig ••rom an Oliue tree. They answer that they be borne for seed: good things cannot wax worse. As that which is honest, is not borne from a dishonest thing, so from a bad thing is not that which is good: for the same is an honest and a good thing. Some of ours do thus answere against this: let vs suppose that mo∣ny is a good thing, whence soeuer it be taken, notwithstāding mony is not ther∣fore frō sacriledge, although it be taken from sacriledge. Thus vnderstand this. In the same pitcher there is both gold and a viper. If thou shalt take the gold out o•• the pitcher, because there also a viper is, not therefore doth the pitcher giue gold vnto me, because it containeth a viper, but it giueth gold, although it haue a viper. After the same sort gaine is made from sacriledge, not as sacriledge is dishonest and wicked, but as it hath gaine; euen as i•• that pitcher a viper is bad, not the gold which lieth with the viper: so in sacriledge the heinous deed is bad, but not the gaine. Againe, it is argued: the condition of both the things is most vnlike: there can I take away gold without the viper: heere I cannot make gaine without sacriledge: this gaine is not added to, but is mingled with wickednesse. Which whilest we will obtaine, we fall into many euill things: that is not good, whilest wee will obtaine riches, that we fall into many bad things; therefore riches are not good. Your proposition, saith he, hath two significations; the one whilest we will obtaine riches, that we fall into many bad things: but into many bad things doe we fall, whilest also wee would obtaine vertue. Some one whilest hee hath sailed to studie, hath suffered shipwracke; another hath beene taken. Another signification is thus, that whereby we fall into euils, that is not good. The consequent to this proposition will not be: by riches or by pleasures we fall into euils: or if by riches we fall into many euils, riches are not onely not good, but be bad. But yee onely say, that they be not that which is good. Furthermore, saith he, yee grant that riches haue some vse, and amongst commodities doe ye number them. But by the same reason they shal not be a profit indeed: for by them many discommodities come to vs. Some men answere thus vnto these things: ye erre, who impute discommodi∣ties vnto riches. They hurt no man, either doth folly hurt euery man, or the wickednesse of other men: so, euen as a sword which killeth no man, yet is the

weapon of him that doth kill. Riches therefore doe not hurt thee, if for riches there be hurt vnto thee. Posidonius speaketh better, as I suppose, who saith, that riches are the cause of euill things, not because themselues can doe any thing, but because they prouoke those that will doe. For there is one efficient cause, which of necessitie forthwith must hurt: another is a precedent cause, riches haue in them this precedent cause. They pu••fe vp the minde, bring forth pride, procure enuy, and so farre forth estrange the minde, that the fame of money, yea that which will hurt delighteth vs. But good things ought to want all man∣ner of blame: they be pure, they doe not corrupt, nor solicite the minde: they lift vp indeed and dilate, but without swelling. Those things that be good, cause confidence, riches cause boldnesse. Those things that are good cause magnanimitie, riches insolencie. But insolencie is nothing else, then a false shew of greatnesse. After this sort sayest thou, riches are not only not that which is good, but also that which is bad. They were a bad thing, if by themselues they should hurt; if (as I haue said) they should haue an efficient cause: now they haue a precedent cause, and indeed not only one prouoking, but drawing minds thereunto. For they shew forth a very likely shape of that which is good, and credible to most men. Vertue also hath a precedent cause vnto enuie, for many through wisdome, many through iustice are enuied at: but neither from it selfe hath it this cause, nor any like vnto it. For contrarily that more likely shape is by ver••ue set before the mindes of men, which may call them vnto loue and ad∣miration thereof. Posidonius saith, that we must reason thus: What things giue neither greatnesse, nor confidence, nor securitie to the minde, are not good: but riches, and good health, and things like vnto these, cause none of these things; therefore they are not good: yea also hee enforceth this reason after this sort. Those things be bad which giue neither greatnesse, nor confidence, nor securi∣tie to the minde; but contrarily beget insolencie, pride, arrogancie: but by ca∣suall things we are enforced into these; therefore they are not good. By this reason, saith he, they shall not be commodities indeed. There is one conditi∣on of commodities, another of good things. A commoditie is which hath more vse, then trouble: a good thing ought to be sincere and without hurt on ••uery part. That is not good which profiteth more, but that which bringeth pro••it alone. Wherefore, commoditie pertaineth both to liuing creatures, and to vnperfect men, and to fooles. Therefore discommoditie may be mixed therewithall: but it is called commoditie, being esteemed by the greater part thereof. That which is good, appertaineth to a wise-man alone, it is meet that it should be without hurt. Be of good courage: one, but an Herculean knot re∣maineth vnto thee. From bad things good is not made; from many pouerties riches doe not come; therefore riches are not good. Our men acknowledge not this reason. The Aristotelians both faine and loosen it. But Posidonius saith, that this Sophisme is tossed through all the Logicians Schooles, and by An∣tipater is refelled thus. Pouertie is not called according to a putting to, but ac∣cording to a taking from, or (as the Ancients haue said by priuation: the Gre∣cians say, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉: not because it hath, is it called, but because it hath not. Th••refore by many voide things nothing can bee filled: many things, and not much want, are the cause of riches. Thou vnderstandest pouertie, otherwise then thou oughtest to doe. Pouertie is, not which possesseth a few, but which possesseth not many things. Therefore it is called not from that which it hath, but from that which is wanting vnto. More easily would I expresse that which I meane, if there were a Latine word, whereby 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 is signified. Antipater

assigneth this to pouertie. I see not what other thing pouertie may bee, then possession of a small thing. Concerning this we will see, if there shall be great leasure at any time, what the substance of riches, what the substance of pouerty may be: but then also will we consider, whether it were better to asswage po∣uertie, to take loftie lookes from riches, then to striue concerning words, as though alreadie we had iudged of the things. Let vs suppose that we are called to a Parliament. A law is propounded for the abolishing of riches: by these reasons shall we perswade or disswade? By these shall wee cause the people of Rome to require, and to praise pouertie, the foundation and cause of their Em∣pire? and to feare their wealth? to thinke how they haue found these amongst the conquered? that hence ambition, and bribery, and tumults haue broken in∣to a most holy and a most temperate Citie? That too luxuriously the spoyles of the Nations are shewed out? That one people hath taken from all, more easily that from one it might bee taken by all. It is better to perswade these things, and to fight against the affections, not to beguile them. If we can, let vs speake more valiantly; if not, more openly.

EPIST. LXXXVIII.

Liberall studies are not amongst good things, neither doe they of themselues leade to vertue. Seuerally teacheth he this in Grammer, in Musicke, in Geometrie, in A∣stronomie. But although they doe not leade, yet they helpe: that is, they fu••ther and prepare. Then there is another diuision of Arts, into Vulgar, Sporting, Childish, Li∣berall: and amongst these he maketh Philosophie to be onely that, which truely ma∣keth free. Yea it alone searcheth foorth concerning Good and Bad things, it alone knoweth them; it therefore alone, or chiefely is to be embraced: and sheweth how vn∣profitable and superfluous things Great Readers ••ollow after, yea some Philosophers too. O good, O golden things be heere! Reade ye both yong and old.

THou desirest to know what I thinke concerning liberall studies. I admire none, I number none amongst those things that be good, whose end is for gaine. Hired workmanships they bee, so farre profitable, as they prepare, and not detaine the wit. For so long must wee abide in them, as the minde can performe no greater thing; they be our rudiments, not our workes. Wherefore, thou seest they be called liberall studies, because they be worthy of a free man. But one studie is liberall indeede, which maketh a free man; this is of wisdome, high, valiant, magnanimous; other be pettie and childish things. Beleeuest thou that there is any good in these things? the professors whereof thou seest to bee the most dishonest, and the most wicked of all men? We ought not to learne, but to haue learned these. Some haue iudged that that question is to be propounded con∣cerning liberall studies, whether they could make a man good. They promise it not indeed, neither doe they affect the knowledge of this thing. A Gram∣marian is conuersant about the care of speech, and if he will wander any fur∣ther, about Histories yea that he may extend his limits the farthest of all, about verses. What of these maketh the way to vertue? Doth the vnfolding of Syllables, and diligence of words, and memorie of fables, and the law and scanning of verses? Which of these taketh away feare, taketh out couetous∣nesse, refraineth lust? Let vs passe to Geometrie, and to musicke: nothing

shalt thou finde with them, which forbiddeth to feare, forbiddeth to couet: which whosoeuer is ignorant of, in vaine he knoweth other things. Let vs see whether these teach vertue, or not, if they doe not teach, they deliuer it not in∣deed: if they doe teach•• they be Philosophers. Wilt thou know, how that they haue not sit downe to teach vertue? behold how vnlike the studies of all be a∣mongst themselues: but likenes had bin if they had taught the same things. Ex∣cept peraduenture they perswade thee, that Homer was a Philosopher, with these very things whereby they conclude, they may deny it. For sometimes they make him a Stoick, allowing of vertue alone, & flying back from pleasures, and not retiring backe from that which is honest, for the price of immortalitie it selfe: sometime an Epicurean praising the state of a quiet Citie, and amongst bankets and songs spending his life: sometime an Aristotelian bringing in three kinds of good things: sometime an Academick, teaching all things to be vncer∣taine. It appeareth that none of these things be in him, because that all be: for these things disagree amongst themselues. Let vs grant vnto them, that Homer was a Philosopher: certainly he was made wise before he knew any verse: ther∣fore let vs learne those things, which haue made Homer to be a wise-man. For me to seeke after this thing indeed, whether Homer or Hesiod were elder by birth, no more appertaineth to the busines, then to know, whether Hecuba was yonger then Helen•• and why so badly she did beare her age. What, I say, supposest thou that it appertaineth to the purpose, to enquire for the yeares of Patroclus and Achilles? Seekest thou where Vlixes did wander, rather then that thou cause, that we doe not alwayes goe astray? There is not idle time to heare, whether that Vlixes were tossed betwixt Italy and Sicily, or was without the world that is knowne vnto vs: for so long a wandring could not bee in so narrow a place. Tempests of the minde doe daily tosse vs, and wickednesse driueth vs vpon all the euils, which Vlixes ••ad. Beautie is not wan••ing which may solicite the eyes, not an enemie: hence are very cruell monsters and delighting in humane bloud: hence are deceitfull allurements of the eares: hence are shipwrackes and so many varieties of euill things. Teach mee this thing how I may loue my Countrey, how my wife, how my father, how euen su••fering shipwracke, I may s••ile vnto these so honest things. What enquirest thou, whether Penelope was vnchast•• whether shee deceiued her age, whether she suspected him to bee Vlixes whom shee saw, before that shee knew it to be true? Teach mee what chastitie is, and how great a good there is in it•• whether it bee placed in the bodie or in the minde. I passe to a Musitian. Thou teachest mee how acute and graue sounds may agree amongst themselues, how a concord may bee of strings making an vnlike sound. Make rather that my minde may agree with itselfe, and that my counsels may not disagree. Thou shewest vnto mee which be the mourning tunes: shew rather how in aduersitie I may not vtter a mourning voice. The Geometrician teacheth me to measure large pieces of grounds: rather let him teach, how I may measure, how much may be suf∣ficient to a man. Arithmeticke teacheth mee to number, and to lend my fin∣gers to couetousnesse: rather let it teach•• that these computations doe nothing appertaine to mine estate. Hee is not an happier man, whose patrimonie wea∣rieth the casters vp of his accounts: yea very super••luous things may hee pos∣sesse, who shall become most vnhappie, if hee bee constrained to reckon vp, how much hee hath. What profiteth it mee to know, how to diuide a small field into parts, if I know not with my brother how to diuide it? What pro∣fiteth it subtilly to know how many feete are in an acre of ground, and also

to comprehend if any thing hath escaped the pearch; if a mightie neighbour maketh me sad and encroacheth on somewhat of that which is mine? Teach∣est thou me, how I may lose nothing of my bounds? but I am willing to learne how I may lose them all with mirth. I am expelled, saith he, from my fathers and from my grandfathers land. What? before thy grandfather who possessed this ground? Tell if thou canst; not what mans, but what peoples it was? Thereon hast thou entred, not as a Lord, but as a Tenant. Whose Tenant art thou? Thine heires, if thou hast good lucke. Lawyers denie, that any thing can be prescribed vpon, which i•• publike•• this is publike which thou possessest, and belongeth indeede vnto mankind. O remarkeable Art! thou knowest to mea∣sure round things, thou bringest into a quadrate what shape soeuer thou shalt receiue: thou tellest of the distances of the starres: nothing is there but falleth within the measure. If thou be a workeman, measure the minde of man: tell how great, tell how little it is. Thou knowest which is a streight line; what profiteth it to thee, if thou be ignorant what is streight in life? Now I come to him who boasteth in the knowledge of heauenly things.

Whether colde SATVRNE doth it selfe betake, And what circles CYLLENIVS star doth make.

What shall it profit to know this? that I may be carefull when Saturne and Mars shall be in opposition, or when Mercury shall make his euening fall Sa∣turne looking? Rather I will learne this, that wheresoeuer these things be, that they be prosperous, that they cannot be changed. A continuall order and an ineuitable course of destinies moueth these: by set courses they doe retire. They eyther moue or note forth the effects of all things. But whether they be the cause, why euery thing falleth forth, what shall the knowledge of an vnchangeable thing profite thee? or whether they signifie, what skilleth it to prouide for that which thou canst not auoyde? Whether thou do know or not know these things, they shall come to passe.

On the swift Sunne, and starres that follow it, If that thou looke in order as they sit, Th' ensuing day will neuer thee deceiue, Nor cleare nights slights of foresight will bereaue.

Sufficiently and abundantly it is prouided, that I should be safe from am∣bushes. Doth not the time that is to morrow deceiue me? for it deceiueth him that is ignorant hereof. I know not what shall be; I know what may come to passe. I despaire nothing of this, I expect the whole. If any thing be remitted, I take it in good part. Time deceiueth, if it spareth mee•• but neyther so indeed deceiueth it. For as I know that all things may fall forth, so also I know that for certaine they will not fall forth. For certaine I expect prosperous things: I am prepared for those that be bad. In that it is needfull that thou suffer me not go∣ing by that which is put in writing. For I am not perswaded to receiue Painters into the number of the liberall arts, no more then makers of statues, or workers in marble•• or other seruants of riotousnes. Alike do I expell wrastlers from these liberall studies, & all the skill consisting in oyle and clay; or may I receiue those that make sweet oiles, & Cooks and others, that do apply their wits for the plea∣sures

of vs? For liberall things, I pray thee haue these ••asting vomitors, whose bodies be fat, but mindes be leane and asleepe? Doe we beleeue that this is a li∣berall studie for our youth, which our auncestors haue exercised to be right, to cast Darts, to tosse a Speare, to ride an horse, to handle weapons. Nothing did they teach their children, that was to be learned by those that lie still. But ney∣ther these nor those do teach or nourish vertue. For what profiteth it to gouern a horse, and with a bridle to moderate his course, and with most vnbridled affe∣ctions to be led away? What profiteth it with wrastling, or with buffets to o∣uercome many men, and to be ouercome by anger? What therefore? Do libe∣ral studies bestow nothing vpon vs? For other things much, for vertue nothing. For these base professed Arts, which consist of the hand, confer very much to the instruments of life, notwithstanding to vertue they doe not belong. Why therefore doe we instruct our children in liberall studies? Not because they can giue vertue, but because they prepare the minde to the receiuing of it. For as that first literature, as the auncients called it, whereby the first principles are deliuered to children, teacheth not the liberall Arts, but prepareth a place for the first receiuing of them: so liberall Arts leade not the minde to vertue, but make it fit. Posidonius saith that there be ••oure kindes of Arts; the vulgar and base, sporting, childish, and the liberal Arts. Vulgar be of crafts-men, which con∣sist of the hand, and be busied for the furnishing of life; wherein there is no counterfeiting of comlinesse, nor of any honest thing. Sporting Arts be those which tend to the pleasure of the eyes & of the eares. To these you may num∣ber the Inginers, who deuise frames rising vp of themselues, and boards secretly encreasing to a great height, and other varieties scarce thought vpon; eyther those things seperating which did cleaue together, or these things which s••ood asunder, comming together of their owne accord, or these things which stood vp by little and little, setling downe againe vpon themselues. The eyes of the vnskilfull are stricken with these things, wondering (because they haue not knowne the causes) at all sudden things. Childish they be, and haue some si∣militude with the Liberall Arts, namely, these which the Grecians call 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, and our men call Liberall Arts. But they alone are Liberall Arts (and as I may more truely speake) bee free, which haue a care of vertue. Euen as, saith hee, some part of the minde is for naturall, some for morall, some for reasoning Phi∣losophy; so also this troope of Liberall Arts, doth in Philosophy challenge a place vnto it selfe. When we come to Naturall questions, we stand to the testi∣monie of Geom••trie. Therefore is it a part of that which it doth helpe? Ma∣ny things helpe vs, yet for that they are no parts of vs: yea if th••y were parts, they would not helpe. Meate is an helpe of the bodie, yet is it not a part. The seruice of Geometry performeth somewhat vnto vs: so is it needfull to Philo∣sophie, as a Carpenter is vnto it: but neither is he a part of Geometrie, nor that of Philosophie. Furthermore, both haue their ends: for a wise-man both see∣k••th and knoweth the causes of naturall things, the numbers and measures of which, a Geometrician followeth after and counteth. A wise man knoweth after what manner heauenly things consist, what forc••, or what nature is vnto them: a Mathematician collecteth the courses, and returnings backe, and the obseruations, by which they descend and be ••ifted vp, and sometimes make a shew as though they stood still, although that heauenly things cannot stand. A wise-man knoweth what the cause is that expresseth images in a glasse: a Geo∣metrician can tell that vnto thee, how much a body ought to bee absent from the image, and what forme is of the glasse that may represent images. A Phi∣losopher

will proue the Sunne to be great: the Mathematician will shew how great it is, who proceedeth by a certaine exercise and vse; but that he may pro∣ceede, certaine principles are to be obtained by him. But that Art standeth not vpon her owne right, whose foundation is by request. Philosophy desireth no∣thing from another thing, it raiseth vp the whole worke from the ground. The Mathematicks (as I may so speake) is a superficiall Art, it receiueth principles from others, by the benefit of which it may come to farther things: if by it selfe it could come to that which is true, if it could comprehend the nature of the whole world, I should say that it would bestow much vpon our minds, which encrease by the handling of heauenly things, and draw somewhat from it. The minde is made perfect by one thing, namely, by the vnchangeable knowledge of good and bad things; which agreeth vnto Philosophie onely. But none o∣ther Art enquireth about good and bad things: let vs consider all Vertues in particular. Fortitude is a contemner of things to be feared: it despiseth, prouo∣keth and breaketh terrible things, and such as send our libertie vnder the yoke: what therefore doe liberall studies strengthen this? Fidelitie is the most holy good thing of a humane breast, by no necessitie is it constrained to deceiue, it is corrupted by no reward. Burne, saith he, beat, kill, I will not betray; but by how much the more paine shall seeke to discouer secret things, by so much will I the more deepely hide them: what are liberall studies able to cause these mindes? Temperance ruleth ouer pleasures; it hateth and driueth away some, it dispenseth with other some, and reduceth them to a sound meane, neyther at any time doth it for themselues come vnto them. It knoweth that the best meane of desired things is, not to take how much thou wilt, but how much thou oughtest. Humanitie forbiddeth to be proude ouer thy fellowes, to bee couetous: in words, in deedes, in affections it sheweth it selfe gentle and easie vnto all; it supposeth none ••uill to be estranged from him, but especially it lo∣ueth that good of it selfe which shall be for anothers good; what doe liberall studies command these maners? No more then simplicitie, modestie, frugalitie, and parsimonie; no more then cl••mencie, which spareth the bloud of another as it were his owne, and knoweth that a man must not prodigally vse a man. When ye say (saith he) that without liberall studies vertue cannot be attained vnto: how denie ye that those things confer nothing to vertue? Because ney∣ther without meat can vert••e be attained vnto, yet notwithstanding meate ap∣pertaineth not to vertue. Wood conferreth nothing vpon a ship, although that a ship cannot be made without wood. There is no cause, saith hee, that thou mayest thinke any thing to be made with the help of that thing, without which it could not be made. That also may be spoken indeede, that without liberall studies wisdome may be comne by: for although that vertue be to be learned, notwithstanding it is not learned by these things. But why is it, wherefore I should esteeme that he shall not become wise, who is ignorant of learning, see∣ing wisdome is not in learning? It deliuereth deedes, not wordes; and I cannot tell whether the memorie may be more sure, which hath no help out of it selfe. Wisdome is a great and spacious thing; it hath neede of an emptie place: wee must learne diuine and humane things, things past, things to come, things fading an eternall, and time it selfe: concerning which one thing, see how many things may be sought for; first, whether any thing may be by it selfe, then, whether a∣nie thing may be before time: if time hath begun with the world, whether also before the world; because somewhat hath beene, time hath also beene. Innu∣merable questions be only concerning the mind; whence it may be, and what,

when it beginneth to be, how long it may be: whether it may passe from one place to another, and may change her house, and may be cast from one forme of liuing creatures into another: or that it may serue no more then once, and being sent forth may wander in the whole world: whether it be a bodie, or no: what it will doe, when it hath ceased to doe any thing by vs: how shee will vse her libertie when she shall flee out of this denne: whether it may forget former things, and there begin to know it sel••e, after that it being led out of the bodie, hath departed on high. Whatsoeuer part of diuine and humane affaires thou shalt comprehend, thou shalt be wearied with huge abundance of things to be sought for, and to be learned. That these so many, and so great things may haue ••ree place of remaining, super••luous things are to be taken out of the mind. Vertue will not put it selfe into these straits: a great matter desireth a large space: let all things be expelled; let the whole br••st be emptie for it. But the knowledge of many Arts delighteth. Let vs therefore retaine so much of them, as is necessary. Supposest thou that it is a thing to be reprehended in him, who getteth sup••rfluous things for his vse, and layeth abroad the pompe of precious things in his house: and thinkest thou him not to be blame-worthy, who is oc∣cupied in the superfluous implements of learning? To bee willing to know more, then may be sufficient, is a kinde of intemperancie. What, that this fol∣lowing after Liberall Arts maketh men troublesome, full of words, vnseasona∣ble, pleasures of themselues, and therefore not learning necessarie things, be∣cause they haue learned superfluous things. Dydimus the Grammarian wrote foure thousand bookes: wretched, if he had read so many superfluous things. In these booke it is sought of the Country of Homer; in these of the true mo∣ther of AEnaeas: in these whether Anacreon led a more lustfull or a more drun∣ken life: whether Sappho was a whore; and other which were to be vnlearned, if thou shouldest know them. Goe now, and deny life to be long. But also when thou shalt come to our owne men, I will shew that many things with axes are to be cut off. This praising, O learned man! costeth great expence of time, great trouble of the ••are of other men. Let vs be content with this more rusticke title: O good man. Is it euen so? Shall I tosse ouer the Chronicles of all Nations, and shall I search who first hath written verses: how much time m••y be betwixt Orpheus and Homer; when I haue not records of time, shall I reckon it: and shall I reuiew the note of Aris••archus, wherewith he noted the verses of other men: and in Syllables shall I spend my time? What shall I so s••icke in the Geometricall dust? Hath that wholesome precept, Spare time, so fallen out of minde? Shall I know these things, and be ignorant of my selfe? Appion the Grammarian, who vnder Caius Caesar was caried about in all Greece, and by all Cities was adopted into Homers name, said, that Homer hauing finish∣••d the matter both of the Odysses and Iliads, added a beginning to his worke, wherein he comprehended the Troian warre. He brought an argument of this thing, because of purpose he had placed two letters in the first verse, containing the number of his bookes. It is meet that he know these things, who will know many things. Wilt thou not thinke how much time bad health may take from thee, how much publike and priuate businesse, how much businesse by day, how much sleep, measure thine age, it is not capable of so many things. I speake of Liberall s••udies: how much superfluitie Philosophers haue, how much reti∣ring from vse. They also haue descended to the distinction of Syllables, and to the proprieties of coniunctions and prepositions, and to enuy Grammarians, to enuy Geometricians. Whatsoeuer was superfluous in the Arts of them, they

translated into their owne Art. Thus it is come to passe, that through more diligence they know rather to speake, then to liue. Heare how great euill too great subtiltie can cause, and how great an enemie it is to truth. Protagoras saith, that alike, concerning euery thing it may be disputed on vpon both parts: and concerning this very thing, whether that euery thing may be disputed on vp∣on both parts. Nausiphanes saith, that of these things that seeme to be, that no∣thing rather is, then is not. Parmenides saith, that of these things that are seene, there is nothing at all. Z••no El••ates hath cast all businesse out of businesse; hee saith, that nothing is. The Pyrrhonians are for the most part conuersant about the same things, so are the Meg••ricans, and Eretricans, and the Academicks, who haue brought in a new knowledge, of knowing nothing. Cast all these things in∣to that superfluous flocke of Liberall studies. Those deliuer a knowledge that will not profit; these take away the hope of all knowledge: it is better to know superfluous things, then nothing at all. These doe not carry a light before, whereby the eye may bee directed to that which is true: these put out mine eyes. If I beleeue Protagoras, there is nothing but doubts in the nature of things: if Nausiphanes, this one thing is certaine, that nothing is certaine: if Par∣menides, there is nothing but one thing: if Zen••, there is not one thing indeed. What therefore be we? What these things which stand about, nourish, and sustaine vs? The whole nature of things is a shade, or vaine, or deceitfull. I cannot easily tell, whether I may be more angry at them, who would haue vs to know nothing: or at them, who haue not indeed left this thing vnto vs, to know nothing.

EPIST. LXXXIX.

The difference betwixt Philosophie and wisedome: and a diuerse diuision thereof, and a∣gaine a diuision and description of the parts. Then an admonition, that these and such like are to be referred to manners and to the minde: and by the way he inueigh∣eth against those that be badly rich, and therewithall he chastiseth riotousnesse and couetousnesse.

THou desirest a profitable thing, and which is for certaine necessa∣rie vnto wisedome, namely, that Philosophie be diuided, and that the huge bodie thereof be disposed into members. For more easi∣ly by parts are we brought to the knowledge of the whole. I would that as the face of the whole world commeth into sight, so that whole Philosophie might come vnto vs, a sight most like to the world. For truely it would speedily draw all mortall men into admiration of it selfe, these things being left, which now with great admiration of the great ones, we doe beleeue. But because this cannot fall forth, so shall it be looked vpon by vs, as the secrets of the world are seene. The minde of a wise-man indeed com∣prehendeth the whole frame thereof, neyther lesse swiftly goeth about it, then our eye goeth about the skie: but to vs, to whom darkenesse is to be broken thorow, and whose sight faileth in that which is hard by, seuerall things can more easily be shewed, we being as yet not capable of the whole. I will there∣fore doe that which thou requirest, and I will diuide Philosophie into parts, not into pieces. For it is profitable to be diuided, and not to be hacked small. For as to comprehend the greatest, so hard it is, to comprehend the smallest things

The people are described into Tribes, an armie into hundreths. Whatsoeuer hath encreased to be very great, is more easily taken notice of, if it hath departed into parts•• which (as I haue said) it is no•• meete, they should be innumerable and small. For too great a diuision hath the same fault, that no diuision hath: it is like to that which is confused, whatsoeuer is ••ut euen vnto dust. First there∣fore as it seemeth I will tell, what difference there may be betweene wisedome and Philosophie. Wisdome is a perfect good thing of the minde of man: Phi∣losophie is a loue, an affectation of wisdome. This sheweth that which it hath attained vnto. It appeareth, whence Philosophie may be named: for it confes∣seth with the name it selfe. Some haue defined wisdome thus; that they cal∣led it a knowledge of diuine and of humane things. Some thus; Wisdome is to haue knowne diuine and humane things, and the causes of these. This addi∣tion seemeth superfluous vnto me, because causes be parts of diuine and of hu∣mane things. Also there haue beene who haue defined Philosophie, some one way, and some another way: some haue said, that it is a studie of vertue; some a studie of correcting the minde. By some it is called a desire of true reason. As though it were manifest, that there were some difference betwixt Philosophie and Wisedome. For it cannot come to passe, that that which is affec••ed, and that which affecteth is the same thing. As there is much difference betwixt mo∣ney and couetousnesse, seeing the one desireth, the other is desired: so is there betwixt Philosophie and Wisdome. For this is the reward and effect of that•• that commeth, this is come vnto. Wisedome is that which the Grecians call 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. This word did the Romanes also vse, as also they now vse Philosophie; thing which the auncient Comedies acted in gownes will proue, and the title written vpon the monument of Dossennus:

Stranger stand still, to go do not proceede, But slay, the wisedome of DOSSENNVS reade.

Some of our men, although Philosophie were the studie of vertue, and this were sought for, and that did seeke, haue notwithstanding thought, that those might not be seuered. For neyther Philosophie is without vertue, nor vertue without Philosophie. Philosophie is a studie of vertue, but by vertue it selfe: but ney∣ther can vertue be without the studie of it selfe, nor the studie of vertue be with∣out it selfe. For not as in these who endeuour to strike any thing from a farre off, in one place is he that striketh, in another that which is striken: nor as jour∣nies which leade vnto Cities, be without them. By vertue wee come vnto it. Therefore Philosophie and vertue doe cleaue together betwixt themselues. Both the greatest and most authors haue said, that there be three parts of Philo∣sophie; namely, Morall, Naturall, and Reasonable. The first composeth the minde, the second searcheth the nature of things, the third exacteth the propri∣eties of words, and their frame, and manner of reasoning, that false things may not creepe in for that which is true. But there be found, who likewise would di∣uide Philosophie into fewer things, and who would diu••de it into more. Som of the Aristotelians haue added a fourth part, namely, Ciuill skill, because it desi∣reth a certaine proper exercise, and is occupied about another matter. Certaine haue added a part vnto these, which the Grecians call 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, the knowledge of gouerning a familie. Some also haue seperated a place for the kindes of life. But is not any part of these, which is not found in that Morall part. The Epicu∣r••ans haue supposed, that there be two parts of Philosophie, Naturall and Mo∣rall.

The reasoning part they haue remoued away. Then when they were constrained with the things themselues to seperate doubtfull things, to reproue false things lying hid vnder the shew of that which is true, themselues also brought in a place, which they call Concerning iudgement and rule, it beeing called Reasonable after another name: but they suppose that place to bee an augmentation of a Naturall part. The Cyrenians tooke naturall things a∣way together with the reasonable, and were content with Morall: but these also, who remoue them away, doe bring them in another way. For they diuide Morall thinges into fiue partes: that one part is of things to be desi∣red and to bee fledde from, another of the affections, a third of the actions, a fourth of the causes, a fift of the arguments. Causes of things are from the naturall part, arguments from the reasonable, actions from the Morall. Aristo Chius not onely said, that the naturall and reasonable were superfluous, but al∣so contrarie, hee also clipped Morall Philosophie round about, which he had left alone. For hee tooke away that place, which containeth admonitions, and said, it appertained to a Tutor, and not to a Philosopher or a louer of Wise∣dome: as though that a wise-man is any thing else, then a Tutor of man∣kinde. Therefore sith Philosophie or the loue of Wisedome is three-folde, let vs first beginne to dispose the Morall part thereof, or that which ordereth the maners of men. Which it pleaseth againe to be deuided into three: that the first might bee a contemplation distributing his owne to euerie man, and e∣steeming how much euerie thing is worthy of; this part is most profitable; for what is so necessarie as to set prices vpon things? The second part is of en∣deuour, the third of actions. For the first is, that thou iudge of how great worth euerie thing may be: the second, that thou take an ordered and tem∣perate affection to these things: the third, that there may be an agreement betwixt thine endeauour and action, that in all these things thou mayest a∣gree with thy selfe. Whatsoeuer of these three shall bee wanting, it also troubleth the rest. For what profiteth it, to haue all things iudged of within, if thou be too much in eagernesse? What profiteth it to haue repressed eager∣nesse, and to haue desires in thine owne power, if in the verie action of things thou be ignorant of times, and knowest not when, and where, and how euery thing ought to be done? For it is one thing to haue knowen the worth and prices of things; another, the oportunities; another to refraine eagernesse, and to goe, not to rush to the doing of things. Therefore then is life agreea∣ble to it selfe, when action hath not forsaken eagernesse. Eagernesse is con∣ceiued from the worth of euery thing, therefore it is remisse or more fierce, according as that thing is worthy to be sought for. The part of Philosophie which teacheth concerning the nature of things is cut into two; things that haue bodies, or into those that be without bodies. Both are deuided (as I may so speake) into their owne degrees. The place of bodies into these first, namely into those things which make, and those things which are begotten of these: but the elements are begotten. The very place of an element (as some suppose) is simple, or without any mixture at all; as othersome thinke, it is diuided into a matter, and into a cause mouing all things, and into the elements. It remaineth that wee diuide the reasonable part of Philoso∣phie. Euerie speech is eyther continued or diuided betwixt him that answ••∣reth and asketh. It hath pleased that the one should be called Dialecticke, or the Arte of Logicke, the other Rhetoricke, This careth for wordes, and sense, and order. Dialecticke is diuided into two parts; into words and significations: that

is, i••to things which are spoken of, and into wordes, wherewith they are spo∣ken. Then there followeth an huge diuision of them both: therefore I will make an end in this place.

I onely will relate Of things their chiefest s••ate.

Otherwise, if I would make parts of parts, there will be made a book of questi∣ons. I scarre thee not, O Lucilius, the best amongst men, from reading these things, so that whatsoeuer thou shalt reade, thou doe presently referre it vn∣to manners. Bridle thou those, stirre vp that which languisheth in th••e, binde that which is loose, tame that which is stubborne, and vexe thy publique de∣sires as much as thou canst•• and these saying, How long the same things? Answere, I ought to say, How long will yee the same offend? Yee will haue the remedies to cease before the vices. But I so much the rather will speake, and because yee refuse, I will goe on. Then beginneth Physicke to pro∣fite, when touching causeth griefe in a troubled bodie. I will also speake those things which shall profite the vnwilling. Sometime not some flattering voyce shall come vnto you: and because each of you will not heare the truth, heare it in publique. How farre will yee propagate the limits of your posses∣sions? The ground is narrow for one Master, which receiued a people. How farre will yee stretch out your tillage, not being contented indeede with sow∣ing of Prouinces, to limit a measure of your Farmes. The runnings of famous ••louds thorough the ground of priuate men, and great Riuers, and the bounds of great Nations, from the Fountaine vnto the mouth, bee yours. This also is too little, except yee haue compassed Seas with your large pos∣sessions: except your Bayliffe raigne beyond the Hadrian, and Ionian, and AE∣gaean Sea, except Ilands, the houses of great Captaines, bee numbred amongst the basest things. Possesse ye so largely as ye will; let that be priuate ground, which sometimes was an Empire: make yours whatsoeuer yee can, so that more belongeth to another man. Now I talke with you, whose riotousnesse is alike spaciously spread abroad, as the couetousnesse of those is. I will tell you; How long shall be no water-lake, ouer which the height of your Villages may not hang? No streame, whose bankes your buildings may not couer a∣bout? Wheresoeuer veynes of warme water shall spring vp, there new lodg∣ings of ryot shall be builded. Wheresoeuer the shoare shall bend crookedly into some creeke, yee presently will lay foundations; not being contented with ground, except yee force with hand, to driue the Sea farther in. Although your houses gli••••er in all places, somewhere being set vpon Mountaines, for the vast prospect both of Land and Sea: somewhere being reared vp from the plaine ground to the height of Mountaines; when yee haue builded ma∣nie, when yee haue builded huge things, yee are notwithstanding but seue∣rall and small bodies. What doe many chambers pro••ite, yee lie but in one. It is not yours, wheresoeuer yee are not. Then I passe to you, whose deepe and vnsatiable throa••e, on the one side searcheth Seas, on the other side searcheth Landes. Through great labour hee followeth after some crea∣tures with hookes, some with snares, some with diuers kindes of Nets: no liuing creatu••es haue peace, except it bee by loathing and detesting them. For how little of these bankets, which ye prepare through so many hands, doe ye taste of with a mouth wearied with pleasures? How little of this wilde beast,

taken with danger, doth the master with a raw and loathing stomacke taste of? How little of so many shel-fish brought from so far, slideth downe by this in∣satiable stomacke? Vnhappie also ye are, because yee vnderstand not, that yee haue a greater hunger•• then a belly. Tell these things to other men, so that whi∣lest thou tellest them, thou mayest heare them thy selfe. Write, so that when thou hast written, thou read, and referre all to the manners, and to the asswa∣ging of the outrage of affections. Studie, not to know any thing more, but bet∣ter to know things.

EPIST. XC.

The praise of Philosophy, it hath formed life, it hath framed societies and Empires, it hath giuen lawes and equitie. Also whether Arts be profitable to life, as working with the hammer, working in Marble, in mettals, on cloathes, and such like? Him∣selfe denieth it, against POSIDONIVS, and saith, that these things are inferiour to the maiestie thereof, and that many of these be super••luous. It manageth, and hath managed the affaires, not of the bodie, but of the minde. Also whether wise-men were in the rude age? No, but those that were like to wise-men, by the benefit not of learning, but of nature. There are many good things amongst these, and fruit∣full for knowledge, and for life.

WHo can doubt, my Lucilius, but that it is the gift of the immortall gods, that we liue•• but of Philosophy, that we liue well? There∣fore by so much that we owe more to it, then to the gods, by how much more a good life is a greater benefit, then life? For certaine it should be due, except the gods had giuen Philosophie it selfe: the knowledge whereof they haue giuen to none, but the abilitie to all. For if they also had made this a common good, wee likewise should be borne wise: wisedome had lost that which is the best therein, that it is not amongst casuall things. For now this is precious and magnificent in that, that it commeth not by chance, that e∣uery man oweth that vnto himselfe, that it is not sought for from another man. What shouldest thou haue, to admire in Philosophy, if it had beene a thing comming by gift? One worke of this is, to finde forth the truth concerning diuine and humane things: Iustice, Godlinesse, Religion, and all the other traine of vertues vnited and agreeing amongst themselues, neuer do depart from this. This hath taught to honor diuine things, to loue humane things, and that go∣uernment is in power of the gods, and that societie is to be amongst men: which sometime remained inuiolable, before couetousnesse distracted societie, and was a cause of pouertie euen vnto them whom it hath made rich. For they haue ceased to possesse all things, whilest they would haue them to be their owne. But the first men, and who were begotten of these without corruption, followed nature, and had the same, both for a Captaine and law, according to the iudgement of him that was better. For it is the part of Nature to submit worser things to the better. For either the greatest or the most vigorous bodies doe indeed rule ouer the dumbe flockes. A base Bull goeth not before, but he who hath ouercome other males in greatnesse, and in strength of limbes: the highest of Elephants leadeth the flocke: amongst men for chiefest is he accoun∣ted

who is the best. Therefore a Gouernour was chosen by the minde: and so it was the chiefest happinesse of the Nations; amongst whom one could not be more mightie, except he were better. For he is able to doe so much as he will, who thinketh that he cannot doe, saue that which he ought. Posidonius there∣fore doth iudge, that rule was in the power of wise-men, in that which is called the golden age. These contained their hands, and defended the weaker from those that were more strong: they perswaded and disswaded, and shewed both profitable and vnprofitable things. The wisdome of these men prouided that nothing might be wanting vnto theirs, their fortitude kept dangers backe, their bountie encreased, and adorned those that were subiect vnto them. It was not a Kingdome to rule ouer other men, but an office. No man tried how much hee was able to doe against them, through whom he had begun to be able to doe. Neither was there either minde or cause to iniurie any one, when there was good obedience to him who gouerned well, and a King could threaten nothing besides, to those who did badly obey, then that they should depart out of his Kingdome. But after that, vices creeping vp, Kingdomes were turned into ty∣ranny: there began to be need of lawes, the which were made by wise men at their beginning. Solon who founded Athens with equall right: amongst the seuen noted for wisdom in his age. If the same age had brought forth Lycorgus, he had beene in that holy number accounted the eight. The lawes of Zaleucus and of Charondas are praised; these learned not right at the Bar, nor at Counsel∣lers dores, but in that secret and holy solitarie place of Pythagaras, which they gaue to Sicily, which flourished then, and to Greece in Italy. Hitherto I agree to Posidonius: that Arts were inuented by Philosophy, which Arts life vseth in continual practise: I wil not grant; neither that glory which is adioyned to buil∣ding. That, saith he, taught those who were scattered vp and downe, and co∣uered with a cottage, or with some rock, vnder which they digged, or with the trunke of an hollow tree, to deuise houses for them. But I iudge Philosophy, no more to haue inuented these frames of one house arising vpon another, and pressing downe Cities, then the ponds of fishes shut herein, to the end that the throat might not vndergoe perils of tempests, and although that the sea were exc••••dingly rough, yet that riot might haue her hauens, wherein she might fat∣ten seuerall sorts of fish. What sayest thou? hath Philosophie taught men to haue a locke and key? and what else was it, then to giue a signe to couetous∣nesse? Hath Philosophy with so great perill of the inhabitants, hung vp these tops of houses that hang ouer vs? For it was too little to be couered by those things which by hap did befall vnto vs, and without difficultie and art to finde out some receptacle for our selues. Beleeue that age was happie, which was be∣fore builders of houses were. These things were borne when riot began to be, to h••w wood into a foure square, and with an instrument of iron cutting it, as it is marked out, and to polish a beame with a certaine hand.

Our forefathers with wedges claue Such wood as they then cut would haue.

For houses were not prepared for a supper, which could encertaine the people: neither for this vse were Pine or Fir-trees carried vpon a long row of carts, the streets trembling thereat, whilest from that tree, roofes being loaded with gold did hang. Forkes vnder-propped a cottage hanging downe vpon both sides: thicke dead boughes and leaues being heaped together, and set a side-long, cau∣sed

raine although it were great to runne of. They being secure, dwelled vn∣der these houses. Thatch couered free-men, bondage enhabiteth vnder mar∣ble and gold. In that also I disagree from Posidonius, because hee iudgeth that working-tooles were deuised by wise-men. For after this manner he might say, that they were wise, by whom

Deuis'd it was the wilde with net and gin To take; with dogs great fields to compasse in.

For the craft of men, not wisdome hath deuised all these things. In this thing also I disagree, that they were wise-men, who inuented the metals of iron and brasse: when the burned ground through the firing of woods had powred forth the veines that did lie aboue. Such men inuent these things, as honour them. This indeed seemeth not so subtill a question to mee, as it seemeth to Posidonius: whether the hammer or the pinsers began to be vsed first. One of an exercised, sharpe, of no great, nor high wit found them both forth, and euery thing besides which is to be sought for with a bended bodie, and with a minde looking towards the earth. A wise-man hath beene easie to feed. What else? sith euen also in this age, hee desireth to be most soone prouided. How I pray thee agreeth it, that thou admire both Diogenes and Daedalus? Whether of these seemeth vnto thee to be wise, he that inuented the saw: or he who seeing a boy drinking water in his hollow hand, presently brake a cup taken out of his bagge, thus reprouing himselfe: How long haue I, foolish man, had superfluous bur∣thens? Who foulded himselfe double in a Tub, and did lie therein? At this day whether thinkest thou him the wiser man, who hath found forth, how out of secret pipes he may cast forth Saffron vp to a great height; who with a sudden force of water filleth and drieth little seas; who so coucheth together the changeable roofes of supping Parlors, that one fashion after another may presently succeed, and so often the roofe may bee changed as the dishes them∣selues: or him, who sheweth this both to himselfe, and to other men, that Na∣ture hath commanded no hard or difficult thing vnto vs? That we may dwell without a cutter of marble, that we may be cloathed without traffick with the Serians, that we may haue necessary things for our vses, if wee shall be content with these things, which the earth hath laid in the highest part therof? Whom if mankind would heare, they should know that a Cooke were as super••••uous as a Souldier. They were wise-men, or for certaine, like vnto wise-men, to the bodies of whom there was a speedie fence. Necessarie things cost but a simple care: men labour for delights. Thou wilt not desire worke-men, if thou fol∣low nature. It would not haue vs to bee entangled, it hath furnished vs, vnto whatsoeuer things it hath constrained vs. Cold is intollerable for a naked bo∣die. What therefore? What, cannot the skins of wilde beasts, and of other creatures, enough and abundantly defend vs from cold? Doe not many Nati∣ons couer their bodies with barkes of trees? Are not the feathers of birds sewed together for the vse of apparell? And are not at this day a great part of the Scy∣thians couered with the skins of Foxes and of Mise, which bee so••t, and not to be pierced thorow by the windes? Notwithstanding there is neede of a thicker shade, to driue backe the heat of the Sommer Sunne. What therefore, hath not Antiquitie hidden many places, which either by iniurie of time, or by some o∣ther chance being made hollow, haue retired into the forme of a den? What therefore? haue they not with their hands wo••en an hurdle of twigs, and pla∣stered

it with base clay, then haue they not couered the top thereof with stub∣ble, and with other things fetched out of the wood, and whilst raine hath slidden downe by the caues therof, haue they not in security spent the Winter? What therefore? doe not the Syrtick Nations lie in a place digged out of the ground? who because of the too great heate of the Sunne, haue no couering sufficient en∣ough for the repelling of the heate, but the very drie ground it selfe? Nature was not so much an enemie, that seeing she gaue an easie passage of life to all other creatures besides, man alone should not liue without so many Arts. None of these things is by it commanded vnto vs, nothing is to be sought for with labour to prolong our life. We be borne to prepared things: we haue made all things difficult vnto vs by disdaine of easie things. Houses and clothes and nourishments of bodies and meates, and those things which be now made a great businesse were easie to come by, and freely gotten, and prepared with a light labour: for the measure of all things was as necessitie required; we haue made these things precious, we haue made them marueilous, we haue made them to be sought for with great and with many Arts. Nature sufficeth to that, which it requireth. Riot hath reuolted from nature, which continually inciteth it selfe, and increaseth in so many ages, and helpeth vices with wit. First it be∣gan to desire superfluous, then contrarie things, last of all it solde the minde to the bodie, and commanded it to serue the lust thereof. All these Arts, where∣with the Cittie is continually set on worke, or maketh such a stirre, do•• manage the affaires of the bodie: to which all things were once performed as to a ser∣uant, but now are prouided as for a Lord. Therfore hence be the shops of wea∣uers, hence of hammer-men, hence of those that seeth perfumes, hence of those that teach effeminate motions of the bodie, and effeminate and wanton songs. For that naturall meane hath retired backe, which finished desires with necessa∣rie helpe: now is it clownishnesse and miserie to be willing to haue so much as doth suffice. It is incredible•• my Lucilius, how easily sweetnesse of speech can draw from the truth, euen those that be great men. Behold Posidonius, as mine opinion is, one of those who haue added much to Philosophie, whilst first of all he will describe how some threeds may be ••ard spunne, and how some may be drawne from the soft and loosened tow: then how a webbe of cloth extendeth the yarne with weights hung thereon, how the woofe is wouen in to mollifie the hardnesse of the cloth•• pressing it together on both sides, and how the broad places may be constrained to come, and to be ioyned together: he also said, that the Weauers Art was inuented by wise-men, forgetting this most subtile kinde, which was afterwards found out, wherein

The web is ioyn'd to beame, a small s••icke doth diuide They yarne, the middle woo••es with shittle slide, Which teeth in stay of Weauers loome fast put, With their broad comb the wouen yarne do cut.

But if it had hapned vnto him to see the webs of our time, of which apparrell is made that will not couer, wherein I will not say, that there is no helpe to the bodie•• but that there is no helpe for shame? Then he passeth to husbandmen, and no lesse eloquently describeth how the ground is plowed vp, and tilled a∣gaine, to the end that the earth may more easily lie open to the rootes, then he describeth the seed that is sowen, and weedes picked out by the hand, lest some casuall and wilde thing may encrease vnder it, to kill the corne. This also, saith

he, that it is the worke of wise-men; as though that now also tillers of ground did not finde out very many new things, whereby fertilitie might be encreased. Then not contented with these Arts, sendeth a wise-man downe into the hand∣mill; for hee declareth how imitating the nature of things, men beganne to make bread. The hardnesse of the teeth meeting together, one with ano∣ther, breaketh, saith he, the corne that is receiued into the mouth, and whatsoe∣uer falleth from them, is brought againe by the tongue vnto the same teeth: then is it mingled with spittle, that more easily it might passe thorow the slip∣perie jawes; but when it commeth into the bellie, it is concocted with the heat of the stomacke, then at length commeth it to the bodie. Some following this example, laide one rough stone vpon another, in likenesse of the teeth, of which the vnmoueable part expecteth the motion of the other: then the graines are broken by the grinding of them both, and more are they turned backe againe, vntill being ground they be brought vnto meale: then sprinckled he flower with water, and mixed it with continuall kneading, and made bread thereof; which first of all warme ashes and an hote stone did bake: afterwards by little and lit∣tle were Ouens found forth, and other meanes, whose heate might serue, accor∣ding to the pleasure of men. There wanted not much, but that he said, the Shoomakers craft to be, also found forth by wise-men. Reason indeed, but not right reason hath inuented all these things. These are inuentions of a man, not of a wise-man: so verily indeed as ships, by which we passe ouer Riuers, and by which we passe ouer Seas, sailes being fitted for the receiuing of the force of windes, and a sterne being added to the end of the poope, which hither and thi∣ther might enforce the course of the ship: and an example is drawn from fishes, who be stered by the taile, and with the small force thereof do bend their swift∣nesse into eyther side. All these things indeede, saith he, did a wise-man finde forth, but being lesser then that himselfe might handle them, he gaue them to more base seruants; yet they were inuented by none other, then by such as at this day take charge of them. We know that certaine things haue at length comne forth in our memory; as the vse of windowes made of stone, sending cleere light thorow them, by reason of a slate that the light shineth thorow•• as the hanging vp of bathes, and pipes pressed into the walls, by which heat might be dispersed all about, which should alike cherish at one time, both those things that be below, and those that be aboue. What shall I speake of Marbles, wher∣with Temples, wherewith houses doe shine? What of heapes of stone, fashio∣ned to be round and smooth, whereof we make galleries and houses capable to receiue whole peoples? What of the notes of words, whereby speedie speech is taken, and the hand followeth the swiftnesse of the tongue? These are the de∣uices of the most vile slaues: wisedome sitteth more deepe, neyther teacheth it the hands, it is a mistresse of mindes. Wilt thou know what thing that hath found forth, or what it hath made? Not vnseemely motions of the bodie, nor variable singings by the Trumpet and Flute, by which breath being receiued, eyther in the going forth, or in the passing thorow, is formed into voyce: nor weapons, nor walls, nor warr••s; it endeuoureth profitable things, it fauoureth peace, and calleth all mankinde to an agreement. It is not, I say, an artificer of instruments for necessarie vses. Why assignest thou so small things vnto it? Thou seest a framer of thy life. It hath other Arts indeede vnder rule: for he that hath life, the ornaments of life do also serue vnto him. But he tendeth to a blessed estate, to that he leadeth, to that he openeth the way. Hee sheweth what be, and what seeme to be euill thi••gs. He putteth vanitie out of the mind.

He giueth solid greatnesse: but he represseth that which is puffed vp, and beau∣tifull to be seene, through that which is vaine: neyther suffereth hee to be vn∣knowne, what difference there is betwixt great and swelling things; he deliue∣reth the knowledge of all nature, and of his owne. He declareth what the gods, and of what manner they be; what be the infernall, what the houshold and the genies be: what be those euerlasting soules, hauing the second nature of deities, where they abide, what they doe, what they can, what they will. This is the initiation of him, whereby not a priuate hallowed place, but the huge Temple of all the gods, euen this world is laid open: whose true images, and true representations he hath brought forth to be seene in the soules of men: for the sight is dull vnto so great sights. Then it returneth to the beginning of things, and to eternall reason infused into the whole, and to the force of all seedes properly figuring euery thing. Then hee beginneth to enquire of the minde, whence it was, where, how long, and in how many parts it is diuided. Then from corporall hee hath translated himselfe to incorporall things, and hath examined the truth, and the arguments of them: after these, how the doubts of life and of death should be discerned. A wise-man withdraweth not himselfe, I say, as it seemeth to Posidonius, ••rom these Arts, but not at all com∣meth he vnto them. For hee had iudged nothing worthy of inuention, which he would not iudge worthy of perpetuall vse. He would not take vp things to be laid down. Anacharsis, saith he, found out the Potters-wheele by the turning whereof vessels be fashioned. Then because that the Potters wheele is found in Homer, he had rather that the verses should seeme to be false, then a fable. I do not contend, that Anacharsis was the author of this thing: and if he was, a wise-man indeed inuented it, but not as being a wise-man: as wise-men doe many things, as they be men, not as they be wise-men. Suppose that a wise-man is exceeding swift, hee will excell all in running, as hee is swift, not as he is wise. I would desire to shew some glasse-maker to Posidonius, who with breath fashio∣neth glasse into many formes, which would scarce bee framed by a diligent hand. These things are found out, since wee haue ceased to finde out a wise-man. Democritus himselfe is said to haue found out the Arch of stone, that the bending of stones by little and little declining on one side, might be fastened to a stone in the middest. I say, that this is false. For it is needfull that before Democritus, both bridges and gates were, whose tops for the most part are croo∣ked. Furthermore, yee haue forgotten, how the same Democritus found out, how Iuory should be polished, how a well purged stone should be turned into Emrold, by which purging euen at this day, stones profitable in this kind being found out, are coloured. Although that a wise-man hath found out these things, yet found he not them out, as he is a wise-man: for he doth many things, which we see as well to be done, euen by those that are most vnwise, but either more skilfully or more practically. Seekest thou what a wise-man hath found out•• what he hath brought forth into light? First the nature of things, which he hath looked vpon, as other liuing creatures haue done, with eyes slow to di∣uine things. Then the law of life, which hee hath directed according to all things: neither only hath he taught to know, but to follow the gods, and to re∣ceiue accidents no otherwise then commands. He hath forbidden to obey false opinions, and he hath weighed with true estimation, of how great worth euery thing was: hee hath condemned pleasures mixed with repentance. And hath praised good things which will alwaies please, and hath made apparent, that he is the happiest man, who hath no need of happinesse: that he is the most migh∣tie

man who hath power ouer himselfe. I speake not of that Philosophie, which hath placed a Citizen out of his countrey, gods out of the world, which hath giuen ver••ue to pleasure: but concerning that, which supposeth that there is no good thing, saue that which is honest, which cannot be molli••ied neither by the gifts of man, nor of Fourtune; the price of whom is this, not to be able to be taken with any price. I doe not suppose that this Philosophie was in that rude age, wherein as yet workmanship was wanting, and they learned pro∣fitable things by vse it selfe: as before those fortunate times, when benefits of Nature did lie to be vsed in common, before couetousnesse and riot had seuered mortall men, and that by consort they ran out to spoile, they were not wise-men, although they did things to be done by those that are wise. Certainly not any one shall more admire any other estate; neither if God permitted him to fashion earthly things, and to giue manners to the Nations, shall allow any o∣ther thing, then that which is remembred to haue beene amongst them, with whom

The ground then none did plow, none might diuide Land that to him alone might then betide. The earth it selfe in common all did lie; No toiling was, but things to grow did hie.

What was more happie then that kinde of men? They enioyed the nature of things in common: that sufficed to be a parent for the defence of all: this was the secure possession of publike wealth. Why haue I not said that, that kinde of mortall men was the richest of all, wherein thou couldest not finde one that was poore? Couetousnes••e brake into things that were setled exceeding well: and whilest it desired to take somewhat apart, and to turne it to the vse of it selfe, it hath made all things other mens, and from being vnmeasurable, hath brought them into a strait, and hath brought in pouertie, and by coueting ma∣ny things, hath lost all things. Therefore although it should now conuert and repaire that which it hath lost; although it should adde fields vnto fields, and driue out neighbours from their lands, either by price, or wrong; although it should enlarge grounds to be as bigge as prouinces; and call a long wandering through their owne, a possession: yet no enlarging of limits shall bring vs thi∣ther, whence we haue departed. When we haue done all, we shall haue much; whereas we had all. The earth it selfe was more fertill without labour, and was large for the vse of the people who robbed it not. Whatsoeuer Nature had brought forth, it was a pleasure no lesse to haue found it out, then to shew the inuention to another: neither could there be either too much or too little to any one: it was diuided amongst those that did agree. As yet the stronger had not laid hand vpon the weaker, as yet a couetous man did not by hiding that which did lie vp for him, also exclude another from necessary things. There was the like care of another, and of a mans owne selfe. Weapons did cease, and hands were not tainted with humane bloud; they turned all their hatred vpon beasts. They whom some thicke wood had couered from the Sunne, who li∣ued safe vnder leaues in a base cottage, against the rigor of Winter or of raine, passed ouer pleasant nights, without sighing. Carefulnesse, tosseth vs in our purple and stirreth vs vp with most sharpe prickes; the hard ground gaue soft sleepe vnto them. Carued roofes did not hang ouer them, but they lying in the open aire, the starres did slide ouer them, and the notable spectacle of the

nights, the world was driuen on apace, leading so great a worke with silence: as well by day, as by night, the prospect of this most beautifull house did lie open: one might behold the signes, declining from the middle part of heauen, and a∣gaine some arising from their hidden place. How could it not but delight to wander amongst miracles that be so largely spread abroad? But yee be afraid of euery sound of the houses, and if any thing make a noise amongst your pi∣ctures, yee flee away astonished. They had not houses like Cities. The aire and winde was free in open places, and the light shade of a rocke or of a tree, and very cleare fountaines, and riuers not made stale by any worke, nor by a conduit, nor by any constrained course, but running of their owne accord, and meadowes beautifull without arte, amongst these things there is country little houses, reared vp by a rusticall hand. This house was according to Nature, wherein one might be lawfull to dwell, neither fearing it, nor for it; now houses be a great part of our feare. But although a notable, and a life wanting deceit was vnto them, yet were they not wise-men, sith now this is a name in greatest worke. Notwithstanding I deny not that they were men of an high spirit, and freshly sprung from the gods: for the world being not as yet wasted in strength sent forth better things. But as wit was more valiant in all, and more prepared for labours; so wits were not consummated in all things. For Nature giueth not vertue; it is a skill to be made good. They indeed did not seeke for gold, nor siluer, nor glistering stones shining amongst the lowest dregs of the earth, yea as yet they euen spared dumbe creatures: so farre was it off, that a man not angry should kill a man not fearing; onely comming to see him, should kill any one. Not as yet any one had garnished apparell, as yet gold was not wouen in; as yet it was not delued out. What therefore? they were innocent in ignorance of things: but there is much difference, whether one will not, or know not to sinne. Iustice was wanting to them, wisedome was wanting, temperance and fortitude was wanting. A rude life had certaine things like vnto all these ver∣tues: vertue befalleth not but to a minde instructed and taught, and brought to the highest by continuall exercise. Furthermore, indeed we are borne to this, but without this: and also in the best, before thou instruct, there is matter of vertue, not vertue it selfe.

EPIST. XCI.

The dolefull and sudden burning of the Colony at Lyons: by casting in of that, we are to thinke of sudden things, and which may fall forth to a man. Hee setteth before our eyes the vncertaintie and variablenesse of things: the greatest and most firme things may be diminished, changed, withdrawne, by earth-quake, waters and fire. All mortall things are condemned to perish. Therefore neither death nor infamie is to be feared by a man.

OVR Liberalis is now sad, the fire, wherewith the Colony at Ly∣ons was burned vp, being related vnto him. This accident might moue any man, much more one who loueth his country excee∣ding much. Which thing causeth to seeke out the resolution of ones minde, namely, which he hath exercised, for those things which he supposed might be feared: but I wonder not, if this so vnthought of mischiefe, and almost vnheard of hath not beene without feare, sith it was with∣out

example. For fire hath vexed many Cities, it hath destroyed none. For also where fire is set vpon houses by the enemies hand, it faileth in many places: and although forthwith it bee raised vp againe, notwithstanding seldome doth it so deuoure all, that nothing be left to the sword. Scarce also at any time hath there beene so grieuous and so pernicious an earth-quake, as to ouer∣throw whole Townes. Lastly, neuer hath there any where beene so terrible a fire, that nothing remained to another burning. One night hath laide along so many most faire workes, euerie one of which might haue made seuerall Ci∣ties to haue beene famous; and it falleth forth in so great peace, as could not indeed be feared in warre. Who can beleeue this? that armes being quiet eue∣ry where, when securitie is spread abroad throughout the whole earth, Lyons that was pointed at in Gaule, is sought for. Fortune hath permitted all, whom publiquely it hath afflicted, to feare that which they were to suffer: no great thing but hath had some space of the ruine thereof. In this there was onely one night betweene a great Citie and none at all. To conclude, I am longer in telling thee that it hath perished, then it was in perishing. O Liberalis, all these things incline our affection to be firme and vndaunted against the euils thereof. Neyther is it striken without a cause. Vnexpected things doe aggrauate the more: noueltie addeth weight to miseries: neyther any man but hath the more grieued at that thing which he hath admired. Therefore nothing ought to be vnprouided for by vs: the minde is to be sent before vnto all things: and wee must thinke, not whatsoeuer is accustomed, but whatsoeuer may be done. For what is it, that fortune cannot when she will, take away euen from the most flo∣rishing? which he cannot by so much the more assault and shake, by how much it shineth the more beautifully, What is hard, or what is difficult vnto her? Not alwayes one way, nor all of her runneth vpon vs. Sometimes she calleth for our owne hands vpon vs, sometimes contented with her owne strength, shee findeth forth dangers without an author. No time is expected, in pleasures themselues causes of dolour doe arise. Warre ariseth in the middest of peace, and the helpes of securitie passe ouer into feare. He is an enemie from a friend, a foe from a fellow. The calmes of summer is driuen into sudden tempests and those which be greater the winter storms. Without an enemie we suffer hostile things; and too great felicitie hath found forth causes of slaughter vnto it self, if other things faile. Diseases set vpon the most temperate, the consumption vpon the strongest, punishment vpon the most innocent, tumult vpon the most se∣cret. Chance chuseth some new thing, by which as it were forgetting, she re∣neweth her owne strength. Whatsoeuer long continuance of many labours, and much fauour of God hath builded vp, one day scattereth and dissipateth it. He gaue long delay to euils hasting on, who hath said that a day, an houre and a moment of time sufficeth for the ouerthrowing of Empires. There were some comfort to our weakenesse, and to our affaires, if all things were repaired with so great speed as they be finished by. Now increasings goe softly, but they make hast to losse: nothing in priuate, nothing in publique is firme: as well the desti∣nies of men as of Cities are turned about. Feare neerly attendeth the choysest pleasure; & although there are no occasions of troubles outwardly, mischiefes breake forth from such places where they were least expected. These King∣domes which stood both in ciuill and forraine warres, are ruined without any opposition. What Common-wealth could support her felicitie? Al things ther∣fore are to be thought vpon, and the minde is to be confirmed against those things that may happen. Thinke vpon exiles, torments, warres, sickenesses and

shipwrackes. Fortune may bereaue thee of thy countrey, and thy countrey of thee: she can cast thee into a desert, she can make that place desolate, wherein the people is almost stifled with thronging. Let the whole condition of mans life be set before our eyes, and let vs consider in our mindes (if we would not be oppressed, neither stupified with any vnusuall miseries, as if they were new) not how much happeneth oftentimes, but how much may for the most part fall out. We must wholly apprehend the inconstancie of the affaires of this world. How often haue the Cities of Asia & Achaia bin ruinated by one earthquake? How many Cities in Syria, and how much hath the earth deuoured in Mace∣don? How often hath this miserie afflicted Cyprus? how often hath Paphos beene buried in her owne ruines? Oftentimes haue wee heard newes of the destructions of whole Cities, and we amongst whom these rumours are ordina∣rily spread; how small a part are we of all things? Let vs therefore erect our selues against aduersities, and whatsoeuer thing may happen, let vs know that it is not so great as is reported. A rich Citie, the ornament of all those Prouinces, into the which it was inserted and receiued by them, being built vpon a hill, and that not ouer-high is burned. And time also shall consume the very foundati∣ons of all these Cities, which now thou hearest praised for their magnficence and riches. Seest thou not how in Achaia the foundations of famous Cities are consumed? and that nothing is extant wherby it may be knowne that in times past they haue beene. Not onely those things which are framed by hand doe perish. Not onely such things as mans Art and industry hath planted doth time ouerturne, but the mountain tops moulder, and whole regions are come to nought. Those places are couered with the sea that stood far off from the sight of the same. The fire hath consumed the Mountaines from the hollow wher∣of it flamed out. And in times past hath eaten away the highest Promontories which were a sollace to Sailers, & brought the proudest hills to humble shoars. The very workes of nature are vexed, and therefore ought we to suffer patient∣ly the destruction of Cities. All things that stand must fall, and an end remai∣neth to all things: whether the windes shut in by an internall force and blast haue shaken of the weight vnder which they be held; or the force of flouds in secret, hath throwne downe those things that stand against them; or the vio∣lence of flames hath broken the ioyning together of the ground; or oldnesse, from which nothing is safe, hath by little and little ouercome them: or the vn∣wholesomnesse of the skie hath cast out people, and situation hath corrupted deserts. It is a long thing to reckon vp all the wayes of the destinies. This one thing I know, that all the workes of mortall men are condemned by mor∣talitie. We liue amongst those things that perish. These and such like com∣forts I apply to our Liberalis, he being set on fire with a certaine burning loue to his countrey; which peraduenture is consumed, that it might be the better builded vp. Oftentimes iniurie hath made place to greater fortune. Many things haue fallen that they might rise higher and greater. Timagines an enemy to the prosperitie of the Citie, did say, that he grieued at the firing of Rome for this one thing•• because he knew that better would rise againe, then had been burned. In this Citie also it is very like, that all will striue, that greater and more certaine things may be restored then they haue lost. I wish that they may be more long∣lasting and builded with better signes of lucke for a longer age to come. For the hundreth yeare is scarce to this Colonie from the beginning thereof, an age scarce long enough for a man. It being lead forth into this frequencie, waxed well againe with the oportunitie of the place: which notwithstanding hath suf∣fered

most grieuous chances within the space of the olde age of a man. There∣fore let the minde be framed to vnderstanding, and to patience of her lot, and let her know, that there is nothing which fortune dare not doe. That she hath the same right against Empires, which she hath against those that doe rule: that she can doe the same against Cities, that she doth against men. None of these things is to be fretted at. We haue entred into that world, wherein men liue by these lawes. Pleaseth it? Obey. Pleaseth it not? Depart which way thou wil. Be angry, if any thing be foolishly, vniustly resolued vpon by thy selfe. But if this necessitie tyeth the highest and lowest, therefore returne into fauour with de••tiny, by which all things are dissolued. There is no cause that thou measure vs with Tombes, and with these Monuments, which being of vn∣equall bignesse, doe compasse the way about. The dust maketh all equall. We are borne vnlike, we die alike. The same I say of Citties, that of the inhabitants of Citties. As well was Ardea taken, as Rome. That maker of mankinde hath not distinguished vs by birth, nor by famousnesse of names, no longer then we be. But when we come to the end of mortall things: O ambition, saith he, de∣part thou; let there be the same law to all things which presse the earth. We be alike to the suffering of all things. No man is more fraile then another, no man is more certaine of his owne vntill next day. Alexander the King of the Mace∣donians, began like a wretch to learne Geometry, that he might know how little the earth was, whereof he had possessed very little. Thus, I say, like a wretch for this, because he was to vnderstand that hee did beare a false sirname. For who can be great in so small a thing? Those things that were deliuered were subtile, and to be learned by diligent attention: not which that mad man could perceiue, who sent his thoughts beyond the Ocean Sea. Teach me, saith he, easie things. To whom his Master said; These things be the same, and alike difficult vnto all. Thinke thou that the nature of things saith this. These things whereof thou complainest, they are the same vnto all: more easie things can be giuen vnto none; but whosoeuer will, shall make those things more easie vnto himselfe. How? With vprightnesse of minde•• It is meet both that thou grieue, and thirst, and be hungry, and waxe olde, and if longer stay amongst men befall vnto thee, that thou be sicke, and lose somewhat and doe perish. Notwithstan∣ding there is no cause that thou mayest beleeue these things which make a noise about thee. None of these things is bad, nothing intollerable or hard. Feare is from consent vnto these things. Thus thou fearest death as report. But what is more foolish then a man fearing words? Our Demetrius is accustomed e∣legantly to say, that the speeches of the vnskilfull are as much esteemed by him, as is the breaking of winde. For what difference, saith he, is there vnto me, whe∣ther that these doe make a noyse from aboue or from below. How great mad∣nesse is it to be affraide, lest thou be discredited by those that haue no credite? As ye haue feared fame without cause, so also those things, which ye should ne∣uer feare, except fame had commanded it. What shall a good man suffer losse, being bespotted with vniust reports? Neither indeed let this hurt death in the iudgement of vs: for this also endeuoureth that which is bad. None of them who accuse it, haue tried it. In the meane space it is rashn••sse to condemne that which thou knowest not. But thou knowest that, how profitable to many it is, how many it freeth from torments, from pouertie, from complaints, from pu∣nishments, from tediousnesse. We are not in the power of any thing, sith death is in our owne power.

EPIST. XCII.

That reason ruleth in man, and that all things are to be referred to this, and that bles∣sed life is in that being perfect. That externall things haue light or no weight. Al∣so that pleasure is of no moment, it is the good of vnreasonable creatures. And yet that externall things may be assumed, which are according to nature; but with iudge∣ment: and that this then is good in them, to be well chosen. Neuerthelesse also with∣out them, that one is blessed, yea most blessed by vertue alone. These things may be∣fall: yet being added, they doe not encrease, nor being taken away doe decrease bles∣sednesse: against which no time can doe any thing. That wee are to be made like to God, and that we goe to him.

I Thinke that thou and I agree of this, that externall things are gotten for the body, and that the body is reuerenced for the honour of the minde, that there bee seruile parts in the minde, whereby wee bee mooued and nourished, giuen vnto vs for that principall thing. In this principall there is somewhat that is vnreasonable and reasonable. That serueth to this. This is one thing, that is not referred vnto any besides: but it carrieth all things vnto it selfe. For also that diuine reason is set ouer all things, it selfe is vnder none. And also this of ours is the same, because it is from it. If we agree amongst our selues concerning this, it followeth also that we agree concerning that, that bles∣sed life is placed in this one thing, that reason may be perfect in vs. For this a∣lone submitteth not the minde, it standeth against Fortune. In euery habit of things, it being preserued, preserueth. But that is the onely good, which is ne∣uer broken off. He, I say, is blessed, whom nothing maketh lesser; he holdeth the chiefe, and leaneth not indeed vpon any thing, saue vpon himselfe, For he may fall, who is sustained by the helpe of another. If it be otherwise, those things that be not ours shall begin to preuaile much in vs. But who shall stand by Fortune, or what wise-man admireth himselfe for those things that bee o∣thers? What is blessed life? securitie and perpetuall tranquillitie. The great∣nesse of the minde will giue this, and a firme constancie of a thing well iudged of. But how come we to this? If all veritie be throughly looked vpon; if an order, manner, comlinesse, and an hurtlesse will, or that wich is bountifull, and bent to reason, and neuer departing from it, being both louely, and to be ad∣mired, be preserued in the doing of things. Lastly, that I may briefely write the forme vnto thee, such ought the minde of a wise-man to bee, as may be∣come a god. What can he desire, to whom all honest things doe befall? For if things that be not honest, can conferre any thing to the best estate, blessed life shall be in those things, without which it is not. And what is more foolish or more dishonest, then to tie the good of a reasonable soule vnto vnreasonable things? Notwithstanding, some iudge the chiefest good to be encreased, be∣cause it is scarcefull, casuall things resisting it. Antipater also amongst the great Authors of this sect, saith, that himselfe giueth somewhat to externall things, but very little. But thou seest what manner of thing it is, not to be contented with day-light, except some pettie fire shined vnto vs. What moment in this clearenesse of the Sunne can a sparke of fire haue? If thou art not contented with honestie alone•• it is needfull that thou wilt haue quiet to be added there∣unto, which the Grecians call hesychian, or pleasure. The one of these things

howsoeuer may be receiued. For the minde is voide of trouble, being free to the beholding of the vniuerse, and nothing calleth it away from the contem∣plation of Nature. That other thing, namely, pleasure is the good of a beast. We adde an vnreasonable thing to that which is reasonable, a dishonest thing to that which is honest. Doth the tickling of the body cause a happy life? Why therefore doubt ye to say, that a man is well, if his taste be well? And numbrest thou him, I doe not say, amongst men, but amongst mankinde, whose chiefest good consisteth of tastes, and colours, and sounds? Let that creature which is borne to eate, onely depart from that most beautifull number of liuing crea∣tures, and next vnto the gods, and let him be numbred with brute beasts. The vnreasonable part of the minde hath two parts: the one couragious, ambitious, vnbridled, placed in the affections: the other base, languishing, giuen vnto plea∣sures. They haue left that vnbridled, but better, certainely more valiant and more worthie a man: and haue thought this feeble and abiect to be necessarie to a blessed life. They haue commanded reason to serue this, and haue made that which is demisse and ignoble, to be the good of a most generous creature. Fur∣thermore, it is mixed, and monstrous, and framed of the diuers agreeing mem∣bers of liuing creatures. For as our Virgil saith of Sylla:

A womans face and virgins breasts most faire Vntill her middle-part: after she bare Fish-like, a bodie vast with Dolphines tailes, And many a woluish paunch with her she trailes.

But although that fierce, horrible, and swift liuing creatures are ioyned to this Sylla, yet of what monsters haue these men compounded wisdome? The first part of a man is vertue it selfe; the brittle and fading flesh, and apt onely to re∣ceiue meates, as Posidonius saith, is committed vnto this. That diuine vertue endeth in a mutable thing; and a sluggish and decaying liuing creature is ad∣ioyned to the higher, venerable, and heauenly parts thereof. That rest how quiet soeuer gaue of it selfe nothing indeed to the minde, but remoued impe∣diments. Pleasure of it owne accord dissolueth and mollifieth all strength. What so disagreeing coniunction of bodies amongst themselues shall bee found? A most sluggish thing is adioyned to that which is most valiant; scarce serious things to that which is most seuere, euen a distemperate and confused thing to that which is most holy. What therefore, saith he, if good health, and quiet, and a wanting of griefes shall no wayes hinder vertue, wilt thou not seeke for those things? What else but that I should seeke? Not because they be good, but because they be according to nature, and because with good iudgement they be taken by me. What good then shall there be in them? this one, to bee chosen well. For when I take such a garment as is meete, when I walke as is re∣quisite; when I sup as I ought: not the supper, or walking, or apparell are good things, but my purpose in these of keeping a meane agreeable vnto reason in e∣uery thing. Yea now I will adde, the choice of neat apparell is to bee desired by a man. For man is by nature a neat and an elegant liuing creature. There∣fore neat apparrell is not a good thing by it selfe, but the choice of neat appar∣rell; because it is not good in the thing, but in the choice: because our actions be honest, not those things that are acted. That which I haue spoken of appar∣rell, suppose that I haue spoken the same concerning the bodie. For Nature hath also compassed the minde with this, as a certaine apparrell, it is the cloa∣thing

thereof. But who at any time hath esteemed his apparrell by a chest? A sheath maketh the sword to be neither good nor bad. I also do answere thee the same concerning the bodie: I would take indeed, if choise be giuen, both health and strength. But my iudgment concerning them, and not they themselues, shal be that which is good. A wise-man is blessed indeed, saith hee; notwithstan∣ding, he obtaineth not that chiefest good, except also that naturall instruments be correspondent vnto him. Thus wretched indeed he cannot be, who hath vertue: but he is not most blessed, who is forsaken of naturall good things, as of health, and of soundnesse of members. Thou grantest that which seemeth more incredible, that one is not miserable in the greatest and in continuall dolors, yea also that he is blessed: thou deniest that which is more light, that hee is most blessed. But if vertue can cause that a man bee not miserable, it will more easily cause that he be most blessed. For lesse distance remaineth from blessed to most blessed, then from miserable to blessed. Or what thing preuaileth so much, that it may place him amongst the blessed, who is taken from calamities: can it not adde that which remaineth, to make him most blessed? Faileth it in the highest top? Commodities and discommodities are in life; both are without vs. If a good man be not miserable, although he be pressed with all discommodities; how is he not most blessed, although he be destitute of some commodities? For ••u••n as he is not depressed with a burthen of discommodities, to be euen a mi∣serable man; so is he not led with want of commodities, from being a most bles∣s••d man. But as well he is most blessed without commodities, as he is not mise∣rable by discommodities. Cannot his good be taken from him, if it can be di∣minished? A little before I said, that a small fire helpeth not the light of the Sunne. For whatsoeuer shineth without it, is hid with the clearnesse thereof. But certaine things, saith he, doe also hinder the Sunne. But the force and the light of the Sunne is whole, euen amongst opposite things: and although somewhat may lie betweene, which may hinder vs from the sight of it, yet is it in worke, and is carried in his owne course. So often as it hath shined amongst the clouds, it is no lesse, nor slow indeede, then when it shineth bright, because there is great difference, whether that somewhat doe only stand against or hin∣der. After the same sort opposite things detract nothing from vertue. It is not lesse, but shineth lesse: peraduenture it so appeareth not, nor shineth vnto vs: it is the same vnto it selfe, and after the fashion of the obscured Sunne, doth in secret exercise her force. Therefore calamities, and losses, and iniuries, can doe this against vertue, that a small cloud can doe against the Sunne. There is found, who saith, that a wise-man hauing scarce good health, is neither mi∣serable nor blessed. Hee also is deceiued; for hee matcheth casuall things with vertues, and giueth so much to honest things, as to things wanting hone∣stie. But what is more filthie, what is more vnworthie, then to compare vene∣rable things with those that are base? For faith, iustice, pietie, fortitude, pru∣dence, are venerable things: on the contrarie•• those bee vile, which doe be∣fall more full to the most base, namely, a sound thigh, and arme, and teeth, and the health and strength of these. Againe, if a wise man who hath a disea∣sed body, shall bee accounted neither miserable nor blessed, but shall bee left in the middest: his life also shall neither bee to bee desired nor to be fled from. But what is so absurde, as that a wise mans life should not bee desired? and what is so without credit, as that there is a life which is not to be de∣sired, or to be fledde from? Then if the losses of the bodie doe not make miserable, they suffer to bee blessed. For they vvhich haue not povver of

translating into a worser estate, haue not power indeede of hindering the best estate. We know, saith he, that somewhat is hot, and somewhat cold: and that luke-warme is betwixt them both. So one is blessed, and another mise∣rable; another neyther miserable nor blessed. I will diligently search this Image that is set against vs. If I shall put more cold into that luke-warme, it will bee made cold: if I shall power on more warme, it shall at last bee made warme. But how much soeuer I shall adde to the miseries of this man, who is neither miserable nor blessed, hee shall not bee miserable, as yee say, there∣fore this similitude is vnlike. Then I deliuer to thee a man neyther miserable nor blessed: I adde blindenesse to him, he is not made miserable: I adde weak∣nesse, hee is not made miserable: I adde continuall and grieuous dolours, hee is not made miserable. Whom so many euils translate not into a miserable life, they doe not indeede leade him from a blessed life. If a wise-man, as yee say, cannot fall from being blessed, to bee miserable, hee cannot fall into not blessed. For why should hee, who hath begunne to slide, s••ay any where? That thing which suffered him not to bee rolled to the bottome, keepeth him in the toppe. But why cannot a blessed life be vndone? indeede it cannot be lessened; and therefore vertue it selfe, by it selfe, is sufficient vnto it. What therefore, saith hee, is not a wise-man more blessed, who hath liued longer, whom no dolour hath called away: then hee who oftentimes hath wrastled with bad successe? Answere mee: Is hee not both better and honester? If these things bee not, hee is not more blessed indeede. It is meete that hee liue more rightly, that hee may liue more blessedly: if hee cannot liue more right∣ly, hee cannot liue more blessedly indeede. Vertue is not augmented: there∣fore not a blessed life indeede which is from vertue. For vertue is so great a good thing, that it feeleth not these small additions, namely, shortnesse of life, and dolour, and diuers discommodities of the bodie. For pleasure is not worthie, to which it may haue respect. What is the chiefest in vertue? Not to neede a future thing, nor to reckon his dayes. In whatsoeuer time yee will, eternall good maketh absolutely perfect. These things seeme incredible vnto vs, and running out aboue humane nature. For we measure the maiestie thereof by our weakenesse, and wee put the name of vertue vpon our vices. What furthermore, seemeth it not alike incredible, that one being placed in greatest torments, should say, I am blessed? But this voice is heard in the ve∣rie shoppe of pleasure: I liue, saith EPICVRVS, this most blessed and last day: when on the one side difficultie of making water tormented him, and on the other side an incurable dolour of an exulcerated belly tormented him. Why therefore are these things incredible with them, who embrace vertue: sith al∣so they are found amongst them, ouer whom pleasure ruleth? These dege∣nerate also and of a most base minde say, that a wise-man shall not be misera∣ble, nor blessed, in greatest dolours, in greatest calamities. But this also is incre∣dible, yea more incredible. For I see not, how vertue being cast from her owne height, how it may not bee driuen into the lowest. It eyther ought to make blessed; or if it be driuen from this, it shall not forbid to be made wret∣ched. He that standeth cannot be ouercome: it is requisite that eyther hee be ouercomne, or ouercome. Both vertue and blessed life befalleth to the immor∣tall gods alone: a certain shadow and similitude of those good things be vnto vs. We come to those things, we attaine them not. But reason is common to gods and men: this is consummated in them, it is consummable in vs. But our vices draw vs to despaire. For that other second man, as one scarce constant to keepe

the best things, whose iudgement as yet slideth and is uncertaine, desireth the sense of the eyes and of the eares, good health, and no ill-fauoured aspect of the body, and abiding in his fashion, and furthermore, a longer space of life. By this he may bee busied in things not to bee repented of, according as an vnperfect man may. There is a certaine force in this badnesse, whereby it maketh the minde prone to bad things: he worketh wanting badnesse, and that working is different from that which is good. As yet he is not good, but is fashioned for good: but whosoeuer wanteth any good thing, is bad.

If present vertue and a minde In any man thou shalt forth finde;

He matcheth the gods, he striueth thither being mindefull of his originall. No man doth wickedly endeuour to ascend thither, whence he had descended. But what is it, why thou esteemest not, that there is some diuine thing in him, who is a part of God? All this wherein we are contained, both is one thing, and is God: and we are the fellowes and the members of him. Our minde is capable; it is carried thither, if vices presse it not downe. As the shape of our bodies is lifted vp, and looketh towards heauen: so the soule, to which so much as it will, it is lawfull to be stretched forth, is fashioned for this by nature, to will things equall to the gods, and so to vse her strength, and to extend her selfe into her owne space. For if it endeuoured to the highest by force of another, it were great labour, to goe into heauen: it returneth, when it hath gon this iourney, it goeth boldly, and is a contemner of all things, neither hath it respect to mony: gold and siluer are most worthy of that darkenesse wherein they haue lien, it esteemeth not this glittering, wherewith they strike the eyes of the vnskilfull: it knoweth that they be digged out of the mud, from the which our couetous∣nesse hath separated and digged them vp. It knoweth, I say, that riches are seated some where else, then where they are heaped vp; the minde, not the chest ought to be filled. One may set this ouer the rule of all things, one may bring this into the possession of nature, as being his owne. Let the East and We••t be his limit, and let him possesse all things after the manner of the gods; let him from aboue despise rich men with their riches: of whom none is so ioy∣full in his owne, as sorrowfull at another mans. When he hath lifted vp him∣selfe into this loftinesse, he is also not a louer, but a manager of the bodie, as of a necessarie burthen: neither subiecteth he himselfe to that, ouer which hee is set. No man is free who serueth the bodie: for to passe by other masters, whom too great care for it hath found forth, the command of it is austere and delicate. Sometime it departeth from this with an vpright minde, sometime it breaketh from it with a great minde; neither seeketh it what end there shall be afterwards to the remainders thereof. But as wee neglect the haires tha•• be shauen from the beard; so that diuine minde being to depart out of a man, iudgeth that it no more pertaineth to himselfe, how his receptacle be bestowed, whether the fire burne it vp, or the beasts pluck it asunder, or the earth couer it, no more then the secondines pertaine to an infant new borne. Whether when it is cast out, the birds carry it asunder, or it be consumed.

When cast it is away To Sea-dogges for a pray,

What is it to him? Who then also whilest he is amongst men, feareth no threats:

shall he after death feare any threats of them, whom we scarce ought to feare vntill death? The hooke, saith he, shall not teare me, nor the rending of my dead carcasse cast out to reproach, although loathsome to them that shall look on. I request no man for a last duetie: I commend my reliques to no man. Na∣ture it selfe hath prouided that no man should be vnburied. Whom crueltie hath cast forth, the day shall burie. Mecaenas saith eloquently:

I care not for a Tombe or any Graue, To bury my remaines Nature will craue.

Thou wouldest haue thought that one girded like a man had spoken it: for he had both a great and a manly wit, except he himselfe effeminately had mana∣ged it.

EPIST. XCIII.

Concerning the death of the Philosopher METRONACTES, who died a young man. That is of small regard: also life is to be measured, not by space, but by act. Euerie good life is that which is long: lastly, nothing here is long.

IN the Epistle wherein thou bewailedst the death of Metronactes the Philosopher, as though he might & ought to haue liued lon∣ger, I haue desired thy equitie, which is abundant in thee to euery person and in euery businesse, but faileth in one thing, wherein it faileth all men. I haue found many vpright towards men, but none towards the gods. We daily chide destinie: why was he taken away in the middest of his course? Why is not he snatched away? Why extendeth it olde age grieuous both to himselfe and to others? Whether I pray thee, iudg∣est thou it to be more fit, that thou obey nature, or that nature obey thee? But what difference is there how speedily thou depart, whence likewise thou must depart. We must not care to liue long, but to liue enough. For there is neede of destinie, that thou mayest liue long; that thou may••st liue enough, there is neede onely of the minde. Life is long if it be full: but it is filled, when the soule hath restored his owne good vnto himselfe, and hath translated the po∣wer of it selfe to it selfe. What doe fourescore yeares spent in sloath helpe him? This man liued not, but made an abode in life; neyther lately, but long agoe did he die. He liued fourescore yeares. The difference is from what day thou accountest his death. But he died young; yet hee performed the dueties of a good citizen, of a good friend, of a good sonne: he failed in no part: although his age were imperfect, his life was perfect. He liued fourescore yeares: yea, rather he was fourescore yeares; except p••raduenture thou sayest him to haue liued so, as trees are said to liue. I desire thee my Lucilius, that we endeuour this, that euen as pretious things, so our life may not lie much open, but may be worth much. Let vs measure it by the actions, not by time. Wilt thou knowe what difference there is betweene this couragious man, and contemner of for∣tune•• who hath gone through all the degrees of humane life, and is promoted vnto the highest good, and him ouer whom many yeares haue passed? The one is also after death the other perished before death. Therefore let vs praise and place him in the number of the happy, to whom how little time soeuer hath

happened, it is bestowed well. For he hath seene true light, he hath not beene one of the ordinary sort; he liueth, and hath liued, and hath flourished. Some∣time he hath vsed prosperous successe: sometime, as it commeth to passe, the brightnesse of a strong Planet hath shined through the cloudes. Why seekest thou, how long he hath liued? He liued euen vntill posteritie: he passed away, and gaue himselfe to the memory of ages to come. Neyther therefore haue I refused that many yeares should befall vnto me. But yet will I not say, that a∣ny thing hath beene wanting to a blessed life, if the space thereof be cut off. For I haue not fitted my selfe vnto that day, which greedy hope hath promised to be the last vnto me: but I haue looked vpon euery one as being my last. Why askest thou me, when I was borne? Am I as yet reckoned amongst those that be more young? I haue that which is mine owne. Euen as in a lesser habite of bo∣die, one may be a perfect man: so in a lesser measure of time, there may be a per∣fect life. Age is amongst externall things. So long as I am, it is anothers time: so long as I am a good man, it is mine owne time. Exact this of me, lest as it were in darkenesse I measure out an vnnoble age; that I may leade a life, not that I may be carried through it. Seekest thou what is the largest space of life? To liue euen vnto wisdome: He that commeth vnto that, hath touched, not the longest but the greatest end. But let him glorie, and giue thankes vnto the gods; and amongst them, let him impute it to himselfe, and to the nature of things, that he hath beene. Deseruedly shall he ascribe it: for he hath retur∣ned a better life then he receiued. He hath set downe the patterne of a good man: he hath shewed what an one and how great he was: if he had added any thing, it had beene like vnto that which was past. And notwithstanding how long doe we liue? We enioy the knowledge of all things. We know from what things the principall Nature lifteth vp it selfe on high, how it ordereth the world, by what courses it recalleth the year, how it hath shut vp al things which were at any time, and hath made it selfe the end of it selfe. We know that the starres goe by their owne force: that nothing but the earth standeth still: that other things with a continuall swiftnesse runne on. We know how the Moone passeth by the Sunne: wherefore being more slow, she leaueth the swifter be∣hinde her: how it receiueth or loseth light: what cause bringeth on the night, what bringeth backe the day. Thither must we goe, where thou mayest be∣holde these things neerer vnto thee: neither, saith that wise-man, do I the more valiantly depart, because I iudge a way to lie open for me vnto the gods. I haue deserued indeed to be admitted, and now haue I beene amongst them: and I haue sent my minde vnto that place, and they haue sent theirs vnto me. But suppose that I be taken away, and that nothing of a man remaineth after death: I haue alike as great a minde, although I depart to passe into no place. He liued not so many yeares as he might haue done. Also it is a booke of a few verses, but to be praised and profitable indeed: thou knowest the Chronicle of Tamu∣sius, that it is not fashionable, and what it is called: alike is the long life of certain men, and that which followeth the Chronicle of Tamusius. What iudgest thou him to be more happy, who is slain in the last day of the show of Gladiators, then he who is slaine in the midst of the dayes? What thinkest thou that any one is so desirous of life, that he had rather haue his throate cut in the vntiring house, then on the Theater? No greater space doe we one goe before another. Death goeth through all; he that killeth, followeth him close who is killed. That is the small••st thing, concerning which men doe most carefully deale. But what pertaineth it to the purpose how long thou auoydest, that which thou canst not auo••de?

EPIST. XCIIII.

A discourse, whether the Teaching or Exhorting part of Philosophy be more profita∣ble? and whether the one can suffice without the other? ARISTO preferreth the former, and admitteth it alone: and his arguments be here. And other adioyne the other part, and shew the great vses thereof; and SENECA distinguisheth finely, wit∣tily, and fruitfully. Reade and delight.

SOme haue receiued that part of Philosophie alone, which giueth proper precepts to euery person, but frameth not the whole man, perswading the husband how to carrie himselfe towards his wife; the father how to bring vp children; the master how to gouerne seruants: and haue left the other as wandring without our pro∣fite: as though any one could in part perswade, except first he had comprehen∣ded the summe of vniuersall life. But Aristo a Stoicke, on the contrary estee∣meth this to be a light part, and which descendeth not euen vnto the breast: but that which hath not precepts, he saith, that it profiteth very much; and that the decrees themselues of Philosophie, are the constitution of the chiefest good, which he that hath vnderstood and learned well, himselfe commandeth him∣selfe, what is to be done on eyther part. Euen as he who learneth to cast a Dart, taketh a fit place, and frameth his hand for the direction of those things which he deliuereth; when he hath gotten this force by instruction and exercise, he vseth it at whatsoeuer he will; for he hath learned not to hit this or that, but whatsoeuer he will: so he who hath instructed himselfe for his whole life, desi∣reth not particularly to be admonished, hee being taught for the whole; not how to liue with a wife or with a sonne, but how he may liue well: in this also it is how he may liue with his wife and children. Cleanthes iudgeth this part al∣so to be profitable indeede, but weake except it flowed from the whole, except one knew the very decrees and heads of Philosophie. Therefore this place is diuided into two questions; Whether it be profitable or vnprofitable, and whe∣ther it alone can make a good man, that is, whether it be superfluous, or can make all things else superfluous. They who would haue this part to be thought superfluous, say thus: If any thing set against the eyes hindereth the sight, it is to be remoued; but that not being cast away he hath lost his labour, who hath giuen instructions: thus thou shalt walke, thither shalt thou stretch out thine hand; after the same manner, when any thing blindeth the minde, and hinde∣reth it from discerning the order of dueties, he dot•• nothing who deliuereth precepts: thus shalt thou liue with thy father, thus with thy wife. For precepts will profite nothing, so long as error is spread before the minde: if that be dri∣uen away, it will appear•• what is due to euery duetie. Otherwise thou teach∣est him what a sound man must doe, thou makest him not sound. Thou shewest to him that is poore, how to play the rich man: but how can this be done, if so be that pouertie remaine? Thou shewest to him that is hungry, what he may do as a man being full: rather take away hunger, which is fastned to the inward parts. The same will I say vnto thee concerning all vices; the things themselues are to be remoued away; we are not to command that which cannot be done, whilst they do remain. Except thou shalt expell false opinions, that we be trou∣bled withall; neyther will a couetous man heare how he must vse money, nor a fearefull man how he may contemne dangers. It is requisite that thou make

him know that money is neyther good nor bad: that thou shew vnto him most miserable rich men: that thou cause, that whatsoeuer we haue feared in pub∣lique, he may know that it is not so to be feared, as fame relateth it is: no not dolour nor death: that it is a great comfort often in death, which the law con∣straineth vs to suffer, because it returneth to no man: obstinacie of minde shall be for a remedie in griefe: he that suffered any thing resolutely, maketh it to be lighter vnto himselfe: that the nature of griefe is the best, because neyther that which is extended can be great; nor that which is great can be extended: that al things are to be valiantly receiued, which the necessitie of the world com∣mandeth vs. When thou hast brought him by these decrees vnto the sight of his owne condition, and he shall know that a blessed life is, not which is accor∣ding to pleasure, but according to nature: when he shall altogether loue vertue, the onely good of a man, and shall flie from dishonestie as that which is onely bad, he shall know that all other things, namely, riches, honours, good health, strength, empire be in the middle part, and are neyther to be numbred amongst the good, nor reckoned amongst the euill. He shall neede no instructor to say vnto him, walke thus, sup after this manner; this becommeth a man, that a wo∣man; this a married man, that a batchelor. For these things which they so di∣ligently prescribe, they themselues cannot do. These things doth the School∣master teach his scholler, the grand-mother her nephew; and the cholericke master argues that a man must not be angry. If thou enter into the schooles, thou shalt finde that children are taught all that for their lesson, which Philoso∣phers boast of with such loftie lookes. Finally, whether wilt thou propose such things as are manifest, or such as are doubtfull? Those things that are euident neede not to be taught, and he that teacheth such things as are doubtfull, is hardly beleeued. It is therefore a superfluous thing to teach. This learne thus: If thou proposest things that are obscure and ambiguous, thou must confirme them by proofes. If thou wilt proue them, those things by which thou prouest are more auaileable, and are sufficient enough of themselues. Thus vse thy friend, thus thy fellow Cittizen, thus thy companion. Why? Because it is iust. All these things the common place as touching iustice, will furnish me with. There finde I that equity is a thing to be desired of it selfe, that feare cannot compell vs thereunto, and that for gaine we will not respect it: briefly, that he is not iust and vpright who approueth any thing in this vertue, but the vertue it selfe. When as I haue perswaded my selfe of these things, and learned it per∣fectly, what doe these precepts profite me, which instruct the learned man? To giue precepts to a wise-man is a superfluous trauaile, to an ignorant man it suffi∣ceth not. For he must heare not onely what is taught him, but why it is taught him: that is to say, whether they be necessarie to him that hath true opinions as touching goods and euils, or to him that hath not: hee that hath them not, will be no wayes profited by thee, for a common report contrary to thy admo∣nitions hath filled and possessed his eares. He that hath an exact iudgement of that he ought to flie and follow, knoweth that which he ought to doe, although thou be silent. All this part of Philosophie therefore may be cut off. There are in vs two euils, which make vs commit others. Eyther in our mindes is there a mallice contracted by euill opinions; or although it be not occupied with falsi∣ties, yet is it inclined vnto error, and is quickly corrupted by some vaine appear∣ance, which draweth him thither whether he should not pretend. It behoueth vs therefore eyther to cure the sicke minde, and to deliuer it from vices, or that it be not as yet infected, but inclined vnto euill, to preuent it. The decrees of

Philosophie doe both the one and the other. Therefore such a kinde of tea∣ching doth nothing. Furthermore, if we giue instructions to all in particular: we should neuer make an end. For we must in••truct the Vsurer one way, the Hus∣bandman another way, the Merchant thus, him that affected the friendship of Princes, otherwise: thu••, those that should loue their equals: that way, such as affect their inferiours. In matrimony they must teach how a man must liue with a wife, whom he maried a maid; how with her that had a husband before, how with a rich, how with a poore one. Thinkest thou there is no difference betwixt a barren and a fruitfull woman, betweene an old, and a yong maiden, betwixt a mother, and a stepdame? we cannot comprehend all kindes; and yet euery one of them requireth seuerall lessons and aduertisements. But the lawes of Philosophie are short, and containe and write all things. Adde here∣unto that a wise-mans precepts ought to be limited and certaine; if they are found to bee infinite, they are out of the limits of Philosophie, wisedome knoweth what the bounds of all things should be. This part therefore which proposeth things in particular ought to be remoued, because that what she pro∣miseth to performe to a few, she cannot performe to all. Contrariwise wisdome embraceth and containeth all men. There is little difference betweene pub∣like madnesse, and that which the Phisitians describe, but that the particular is possessed with a certaine sicknesse, the publike is besotted with false opinions: the one hath drawne the causes of his furie from the indisposition of the body, the other from the infirmities of the minde. If a man should giue precepts to a furious man, and teach him how to speake, how to walke out, how to behaue himselfe in publike, how in priuate, he should be more mad, then the mad man he teacheth. He must purge the melancholy humor, and the cause of furie must be remoued. The like must be done in this other furie of the minde; it must be discussed and driuen away, otherwise all aduertisement will bee to no end. These things are spoken by Ariston. To whom we will answere in particular. First to that where he saith, that if any thing hindereth the eye and letteth the sight, it ought to be remoued. I confesse that he hath no neede of precepts to make him see, but of medicines to purge his sight, and meanes to driue away that which blemisheth the same. For by nature we see, and he that taketh away the obstacles, he returneth the eye to his sight. But Nature teacheth not a par∣ticular dutie to euery one. Secondly, he that is cured of his suffusion, cannot as soone as he hath recouered his sight, giue sight to other men likewise. He that is rid of an infirmitie recureth also. The eye needeth neyther exhortation nor counsell to vnderstand the proprieties of colours, it will distinguish white from blacke without any teacher. Contrariwise, the minde needeth many precepts to discerne what is to be done in life. Albeit the Phisitian not only cureth the infirme eye, but counselleth also. Thou must not (saith he) expose thy weake eye-sight suddenly to the open aire and brighter light, first from an obscure place seeke out a shadie, then be more bould, and by little and little accustome thy selfe to endure the cleare light. Thou must not studie after meat, keep thy selfe quiet where thine eyes are great and swolne. Auoide the winde and force of cold, lest it beate vpon thy face, and such like, which were no lesse profitable then the medicines were. In briefe, Physicke annexeth counsailes to remedies. Error, saith he, is the cause of sinne, which sinne counsaile acquitteth vs not of, neither conuinceth false opinions of good and euill things I grant that precepts suffice not of themselues to driue a peruerse opinion out of the vnderstanding•• but it followeth not, that being aunexed to others, they should be vnprofitable.

First of all, they refresh the memorie. Secondly, by their meanes, those things which in generall seemed confused, being diuided into pa••ts, are more diligent∣ly considered. Happily thou after this manner supposest consolations and ex∣hortations superfluous, but they are not; consequently not admonitions. It is a folly (saith Ariston) to command a sicke man such a thing as he should doe in his health, whereas his health is to be restored vnto him, without which all his precepts are vaine. But haue not both the sicke and whole certaine things com∣mon to them both, whereof they ought to be admonished, as not to eate ouer-greedily, nor trauell excessiuely? Both poore and rich haue certaine common precepts. Cure auarice (saith he) and thou shalt haue nothing wherein thou shalt admonish either the poore or rich: if the couetousnesse both of the one and the other bee abated. Is it a different thing not to desire money, and to know well to vse it? The couetous haue no measure in their desires, they that are not couetous, know not how to make vse of money as they ought. Take away the errours (saith he) the precepts are superfluous. It is false: for suppose that auarice be mod••rated, dissolution restrained, rashnesse bridled, idlenesse a∣wakened: although the vices are driuen away, yet ought we learne that which we ought to doe and how. The admonitions se••ue to no vse, being applied to enormous vices. I answere that Physicke healeth not incurable diseases, yet is it ministered to some for remedie, to othersome for mitigation: not all the whole power of Philosophie, although she intend all her forces to this end, can roote out an indurate and inueterate plague out of our mindes: and yet she re∣medieth some euils, though she cureth not all. What profiteth it, saith he, to shew that which is discouered? Greatly, for sometimes although wee know a thing, yet we regard it not. Admonition teacheth not, but it awakeneth and setleth the memorie•• and preuenteth forgetfulnesse. We take little heed of ma∣ny things, which passe before our eyes. To admonish is a kinde of exhortati∣on. Oftentimes our mind pretendeth not to comprehend that which is appa∣rent: we ought therefore to refresh the memory with the knowledge of things best knowne. In this place it shall not be amisse to repeate the notable saying of CALVVS against VATINIVS, You know there hath beene bribing, and all men know that you know it. Thou knowest that we ought to entertaine friendship re∣ligiously, but thou doest it not. Thou knowest him to be a wicked man, that requireth his wife should bee honest, and himselfe hunteth after other mens wiues. Thou knowest that as she ought not to acquaint her selfe with an adul∣terer, so thou shouldest not haue to doe with a strumpet, and yet thou vsest to prostitute. For this cause oftentimes oughtest thou to call thy duetie to me∣morie, for thy memorie must not be distracted, but at hand and before thine eyes. All holesome things ought to be oftentimes remembred, and renewed, to the end that besides the knowledge thereof, wee may haue them readie to assist vs. Besides that which is alreadie well comprehended, is vnderstood and remembred farre better. If those things (saith h••e) be doubtfull which thou teachest. Thou oughtest to adde proofe vnto them, they therefore be not the precepts will pro••it. I answere, that the authoritie of him that admonisheth, sufficeth without any proofe of his saying. As the answeres of the Lawyers are of force although they yeeld no reason of their counsell. Moreouer, precepts haue a great waight in themselues, especially if we intermix them with poesie, or that in prose they be shut vp together in a few, but graue words. As those of CATOES, Buy not that which thou needest, but that which is necessarie. That which thou hast no need of is deare of a farthing. And these other sentences proceeding

from Oracles or other excellent men. Spare time. Know thy selfe. Wouldest thou aske the cause thereof, if a man should repeate thee these sentences. For∣getfulnesse is the remedie of iniuries. Fortune fauoureth the audacious. The idle man hinders himselfe. These sentences seeke no aduocate, they touch the affections and profit, because Nature vnfouldeth vertue in them. Our mindes containe all the seeds of vertue, and these seeds fructifie by meanes of admonitions, no otherwise then a sparkle being assisted with a light blast, becometh a great flame: vertue is awakened, when she is either touched or shaken. Furthermore, there are certaine things, which buried in our vnderstanding, beginne to shew their worth, when they are quickened by admonitions. There are other sorts of things which lie heere and there, which a dull vnderstanding and vnexercised cannot recollect. It behoueth therefore to gather them into one, and to ioyne them together, to the end they may be more forcible, and raise the minde the more. Or if precepts haue no power, we must exterminate all institution, and be contented with Nature her selfe. They that see this, consider not that there are some that haue a stirring and noble spirit; the other of a dull and heauie. In briefe, that all are not equally, are not of one ingenuitie. The power of the minde is nourished, and encreaseth by precepts, and annexeth new perswasions to those that are innate, and correcteth those that are depraued. If any man (saith he) hath not the true decrees, what shall admonitions profit him, that is plagued and drowned in vices? Truely this, that he may be deliuered of them. For the naturall disposition is not extinguished in him, but obscured and op∣pressed. In pursuite whereof she endeuoureth to raise her selfe, and to resist e∣uill. As soone as she is succoured and assisted by precepts, shee receiueth her forces, prouided that this contagion of sinne, which hath so long time infected her, hath not wholly mortified her. For then the whole disciplines of Philo∣sophie vniting all her forces, cannot restore her. For what difference is there be∣tweene the decrees and precepts of Philosophie, but that the one are generall, the other particular. Both of them command; the decrees are generall, the precepts particular. If any one (saith hee) hath iust and honest decrees, such a one is admonished in vaine; not so. For this man, although hee know that which he ought to doe, yet seeth he not exactly all the parts of his duetie. For we are not only hindered by our affections, from executing that which is good, but for want of a knowledge how to finde out that which is requisite in euerie thing. Sometimes we haue a minde well composed, but heauie and vnaddres∣sed to finde out the tract of the offices of our life, which is discouered vnto vs by admonitions. Driue away (saith he) the false opinions, as touching goods and euils, settle the true in stead of the false, and then will admonition be profi∣table. Assuredly the minde is gouerned by such meanes, but not by this meanes onely. For although it be by arguments gathered, what are good, and what are euill, notwithstanding precepts haue their parts, and both Prudence and Iustice consist in offices, and offices are disposed by precepts. Furthermore, the iudge∣ment that we haue of goods and euils, is con••irmed by the execution of o••fices, whereunto we are guided by precepts. For they agree together, neither may those goe before, but these will follow after, and keepe their rancke; whence it appeareth that the Generall march before. Precepts, saith he, are infinite. It is false. For they are not infinite in things that are great and necessarie, but their differences according to time, place, and persons are small. But to these like∣wise are generall precepts giuen. There is no man (saith he) that cureth mad∣nesse by precepts, and consequently not malice. There is a difference. For in

curing a mad man of his madnesse, he is restored to his health. If wee haue ex∣cluded false opinions, we presently apprehend not that which we ought to doe, and were it so, yet our admonition would confirme the right apprehension and iudgement we haue of goods and euils. This likewise is ••alse, that precepts no wayes profite mad men. For as they profite not alwayes, so further they the cure. Both threatnings and chastisements haue restrained mad men: I speake now of those mad men whose wits are altered, but not taken from them. The lawes, replieth he, cause vs not to doe that which we ought. And what other thing are they, but precepts intermixed with threatnings? First of all they per∣swade not, because they menace; but precepts constraine not, but perswade. Se∣condly, lawes deterre vs from doing euill: precepts exhort euery one to doe his duetie. Adde hereunto, that lawes are profitable to good manners, prouided, that precepts be vnited to their commandements. In this thing differ I from Posidonius: I allow not the principles that are set in the beginning of Platoes lawes. For a law should be short, to the end that the ignorant might appre∣hend it more easily, as if it were an Oracle. Let it command, not dispute. No∣thing seemeth more impertinent and foolish to me, then a law garnished with a Preface. Admonish, tell me what thou wouldst haue me do; I listen not to thee to learne, but to obey. The lawes are profitable, so see wee that Common-weales, which haue had euill ordinances, haue had worse manners. But lawes pro••ite not all men; no more doth Philosophie, and yet it ceaseth not to be pro∣••itable and powerfull in forming mens minds. And what other thing is Philo∣sophy but the law of our life? But let vs presuppose that the lawes are vnprofi∣table, it followeth not therefore that admonitions are vnnecessary: otherwise we should say that consolations, exhortations, disswasions, reprehensions and praises, serued to no purpose. These are sorts of admonitions, & by their means the spirit attayneth his perfection. There is nothing that more reuesteth our vnderstandings with vertue, nor that retireth them more from an euill custome, and confirmeth them in goodnesse, then good mens conuersation. For by little and little it descendeth and distilleth into the heart, and to be often seene and heard, standeth in stead of precepts, vndoubtedly the onely meeting with wise-men doth great good; and thou mayest learne somewhat of a vertuous man, euen then when he is silent. I cannot so well tell thee how it profiteth, as I haue found that it profited me. Some small creatures (as Phaedon saith) when they sting are not felt, so small and ready is their stinge to giue the pricke, but the swelling is discouered although there appeare no wound in the same. The like will befall thee in thy conuersation with wise-men, thou shalt not perceiue when or how he profiteth thee, but thou shalt finde the profite. Whereto (saith he) tendeth all this? Good precepts and admonitions, oft-times reitera∣ted, will profite thee as much as good examples. Pythagoras saith, that they who entred into a Temple, or that saw neere vnto them any image of the gods, or heard the voyce of some Oracle, changed their mindes and thoughts. Who dare denie, but that the most Ideots of the world are powerfully striken with some precepts? As for example, by these which ensue, which are short, but sen∣tentious, and of great waight, namely, Nothing too much. The greedy minde is ne∣uer satisfi•••• with gaine. Such measure as thou metest, the same shall be mete to thee. These things heare we with strong apprehension, neyther may any man doubt or dispute vpon them: Why? Because truth perswadeth without any assist∣an••e of reason: if the respect we beare vnto any man bridleth our ••pirits, and re∣presseth our vices, why should not admonition doe the like? If correction ma∣keth

men ashamed, what should hinder the same effect in good admonition al∣though it were accompanied but with simple precepts? But what admonition is more powerfull, and pierceth deeper, which fortifieth his commaundements with good reasons, that alleageth why a man should doe this or that, and what good may befall a man by his obedience? If commaundement and authoritie serue, so doth admonition; but authoritie is of great vse, and consequently ad∣monition. Vertue is diuided into two parts, into contemplation of truth, and into action. Institution teacheth contemplation, admonition action. A iust a∣ction both exerciseth and sheweth vertue. But if he that perswadeth profiteth him that is to act, he likewise will profite that admonisheth. If therefore vpright action be necessary to vertue, and admonition sheweth what iust actions be, it followeth that admonition is necessary. There are two things which greatly fortifie the minde, assurance of the truth, and confidence. Admonition pro∣duceth both these. For there is credite giuen to the same, and when she is be∣leeued, the minde conceiueth high hopes, and is filled with confidence: admo∣nition therefore is not superfluous. Marcus Agrippa, a man of great vnderstan∣ding, and onely happy to the publique good, amongst all those that were raised by ciuill warres, was wont to auow, that hee was very much indebted to this sentence; For by concord small things increase, by discord the greatest are ruined. This, saith he, made me become a good brother, and a sure friend. If such sen∣tences familiarly entertained in the minde do forme the same, why should not this part of Philosophie which consisteth of such like sentences, doe the like? A part of vertue consisteth in discipline, another in action. Thou must learne, and that which thou hast learned thou must confirme by action: which if it be so, not onely decrees of wise-men are profitable, but also the precepts, which re∣straine and oblige our affections as it were with an Edict. Philosophie, saith he, is diuided into these, into science and the habite of the minde. For he that hath comprehended any thing and knoweth that which he ought to do and auoide, is not yet wise, except his spirit be transformed into those things which he hath learned. The third part, consisting in precepts, is composed of the two prece∣dent, both of decrees and of habite, and consequently superfluous to make ver∣tue complete, whereas they two are sufficient. By this reckoning then consola∣tion is vnnecessary, for this also consisteth of both; neyther exhortation, per∣swasion, neyther argumentation. For she taketh her originall from the habite of a composed and strong minde, But although these parts proceede from that habitude of the minde, the best habite of the minde is both of the one, and of the other. Furthermore, all that which thou sayest respecteth a perfect man, and such a one as hath attained the summe of humane felicitie. But to this a man attaineth very slowly; meane while we must shew an vnperfect man, yet such a one as is toward the way which he ought to hold in his actions. It may be that wisedome may addresse her selfe without admonition, considering she hath already ledde the spirit so outward that he cannot be moued but on the right way. But as touching those that are more feeble, they had neede of a con∣ductor that may say vnto them, Thou shalt shun this, thou shalt doe this. Be∣sides, if he expect the time, wherein of himselfe he may know that which is best to be done, he shall in the meane space erre, and erring shall be hindred from at∣tayning to that whereby he may be contented with himselfe. He must there∣fore be gouerned till he begin to be able to gouerne himselfe. Children are taught to forme their letters, their fingers are held, and their hand directed, and led to teach them to fashion and counterfeit letters, then are they commanded

to follow such and such examples, and by them to reforme their writing. So is our minde strengthned if it be instructed by proposing some example vnto it which she may follow. These are the things whereby it is approued that this part of Philosophy is not superfluous. Furthermore it is demaunded whether she alone sufficeth to make a wise-man. We will answere this question at ano∣ther time: for the present, omitting those arguments, doth it not appeare vnto vs that we had neede of some aduocate, who may giue vs instructions contrary to the precepts of the people? A man cannot speake any thing that toucheth vs not. They that wish vs good hurt vs, and they also that curse vs: for the im∣precation of those impresseth in vs false feares, and the loue of others spoyleth vs, in desiring our prosperitie, because it driueth vs to goods that are forraigne, wandring, and vncertaine, whereas we might draw felicity from our selues. I say that wee are not permitted to follow the right way. Our parents and ser∣uants draw vs vnto euill. No man erreth to himselfe onely, but spreadeth his follie amongst his neighbours, and learneth of theirs likewise. And there∣fore the vices of the common sort are in euery priuate man, because the peo∣ple amongst whom he conuerseth hath giuen them him, and in making others badde he becommeth badde himselfe, hee hath learned the worse, and after∣wards teacheth the same; and when that which each one knew to be most wic∣ked was gathered and put together, that great heape of iniquitie was made and discouered. Let there bee therefore some guide that may pull thee by the eare, driue thee from the bruite of Citties, and reclaime thee from the flatteries of the common sort. For thou abusest thy selfe if thou thinkest that vices are borne with vs; they steale vpon vs, and were ingested into vs. Let vs therefore represse those opinions which buzze about our eares by frequent ad∣monitions. Nature neither tyeth nor obligeth vs to any vice: she hath ingende∣red vs intire and free: nothing that might incite our auarice hath she placed in open sight, but hath put both golde and siluer vnder our feete to be kickt and trode vpon, or whatsoeuer it be for which we are kickt and trode vpon. She hath addressed our faces towards heauen, and would that we should beholde whatsoeuer she hath made, either magnificent or wonderfull in the world, the rising and settings of the starres, the sudden course and motion of the heauens, wich by day make vs see the goods of the earth, and by night those of the hea∣uens. The slow motion of the starres, if they be compared with the whole, the swift, if thou imagine how great way they make without euer staying; then the eclipses of the Sun & Moone, opposed the one against the other: moreouer, di∣uers other things worthy admiration, whether they succeed by order, or break forth being moued by their causes; as the pillers of fire in the night, the flashes streaming from the opening heauen without thunder and lightning, the pillers, beams, & other diuers inflamed impressions in the aire: nature disposeth al these things aboue vs. As touching gold, siluer & iron, which by reason of both these hath depriued vs of peace, she hath hid them, as if they had bin badly cōmitted vnto vs. But we haue brought them to light, to the end we might fight for them: we casting the waighty earth frō off them, haue digged them vp, the only causes & instruments of our dangers. We haue trusted our miseries vnto fortune, ney∣ther are we ashamed that they are in the greatest estimatiō with vs, which were most deeply buried in the bosom of the earth. Wilt thou see how fallatious the brightnes is that blemisheth & bewitcheth thine eyes? There is nothing more abiect, nor more obscure then these as long as they are buried in their mould. Why not? when as they are drawn out of the darknes of the largest and longest

mynes, there is nothing more deformed then they are, whilst they are sepera∣ted from their excrements, and drawn from their vaines. Briefly, regard a while those that trauell in the myne, by whose hands this ••terrill and informed kinde of earth is purged, and you shall see how they are besmeared with smoake. But these doe more defile the mindes then the bodies, and there is more soyle in those that possesse them, then in those that refine them. It is necessary therfore to be admonished, and to haue some Counsellor of good vnderstanding, that in so great confusion and tumult of falsities, may truely speake vnto vs: what shall he speake? Those words and wholsome counsails, which may open our eares, being deafned by so many ambitious cries, and say, Thou hast no cause to e••uy these whom the people termeth great and happy men. There is no cause that a vaine applause should rauish from thee the setled habitude and health of thy soule. There is no reason that this great Lord, so gaily attended and clad in purple, should driue thee from the heig••t of thy peace. Thou hast no more cause to iudge him more happy, to whom euery man giues place, then him whom the Sergeant enforceth to giue way. If thou wilt exercise a power that may be pro∣fitable vnto thee, and hurt no man, driue vice from thee. Many there are that set fire on Citties, that leuell huge Fortresses with the ground, which so many hun∣dreth yeares were held impregnable, that raise Plat-formes as high as Castles, who by Engines of batterie ouerturne marueilous high wals, who cause armies to march before them, that neerely pursue their flying enemies, who couered with the bloud of conquered Nations, haue gotten countries as farre as the bounds of the Ocean; but these hauing defeated their enemies, haue themselues bin ouercome by their own desires. No man might make head against their ar∣mies, no more then they knew how to resist their ambition and cruelties. Euen then when they seemed to pursue others, they were pursued themselues. The cursed desire of spoiling other mens countries afflicted vnhappy Alexander, and sent him to countries vnknown. Doest thou think him a man of vnderstanding, or in his right w••ts, who began to ruinate Greece, where first he was brought vp and instructed, did afterwards pillage all that which euery one possessed and e∣steemed best? He imposed a yoke on Sparta, and silence to Athens. And not con∣tent with the spoile of many Citties, either subdued or bought by Philip his fa∣ther, he scattered them from one place to another, made war vpon al the world without remitting ought of his wonted cruelty, imitating herein the sauage beasts, who bite more then hunger enforceth them to. Furthermore, he ioyned diuers kingdomes in one, he made himselfe dreadfull to the Greeks and Persians, he subdued the free Nations that were vnder Darius his Dominion; yet would he beyond the Ocean, and the Sun being displeased that Hercules and Bacchus pillers should confine his victories. He addresseth himselfe to inforce Nature; he will not march, neyther will hee stay in a place resembling those fardel•• which are cast from the top to the ground, which cease not to tumble down vn∣till they fall to the bottom. Neyther did vertue nor reason counsaile Pompey to enterprise his forraine and ciuill warres, but a disordinate loue of flattering greatnesse droue him now into Spaine against Sertorius, then to make warre a∣gainst the Pirats, and to assure the Seas. Th••se were his pretexts to maintaine his authoritie, who drue him into Africa, into the North, into Armenia, and through all the corners of Asia against Mithridates. It was an immeasur∣rable desire of greatnesse, being in his owne opinion not great enough. What thing thrust Caesar vpon his owne and his Countreyes ruine? Glorie and ambition, and no measure of eminencie aboue others: for hee could not

endure that one should be before him, when as his Common-wealth endured two Masters. Thinkest thou that Marius who was once Consul (for one Con∣••ulate he receiued, the other sixe he bribed or enforced) was egged on by ver∣tue to hew the Cimbrians and Theutons in pieces, to follow Iugurth thorough the deserts of Africa, and to expose himselfe to so many perils? Marius condu∣cted the Army, but ambition conducted Marius. These men, whilst they shook all others, were shaken themselues after the manner of whirle-windes, which before they winde in those things they force vp, are themselues tossed; & ther∣fore turne they with greater furie, because they haue no holde of themselues: by which meanes these men, after they haue cruelly tormented others, do feele in themselues this pernicious fury, wherewith they haue offended other men. Thinke not that any man may become happy by another mans misfortune. All these examples proposed both to our eyes and eares, ought to be remem∣bred, and our hearts full filled with euill opinions, ought to be clensed. Where the place is voyde there must we lodge vertue, which rooteth out pleasing lyes which seperateth vs from the people (to whom we giue ouer-much credit) and confirmeth vs in sincere and good opinions. For this is wisdome, to be conuer∣ted into nature, and to be restored thither whence publique errour hath expel∣led vs. It is a great part of health, to haue forsaken the counsailors of folly, and to haue far-fled from this company of people which corrupt one another. To know that this is true, consider how euery man liueth after one sort in publike, after another in priuate. Solitude of it selfe, neither teacheth vs simplicity or in∣nocence; the country maketh vs not more frugall or temperate, but when there is no body that may beholde and giue testimony, vices retire themselues. For their good lieth in this to be beheld and seene. Who would put on a purple robe if no man should see him? Who being couched vnder the shadow of some ru∣sticke tree, hath mustred all the people of his dissolutenesse to himselfe alone? No man is braue in secret, no not in the presence of two or three of his familiars, but according to the number and quality of those that beholde him, maketh he shew of his vanities. So then if any one, eyther know or admire vs, that is the spur that pricketh on to discouer all these things, on which we are mad and be∣sotted. Take away the shew, thou shalt abolish couetousnesse. Ambition, dis∣solutenesse and pride will haue themselues seene. Wilt thou recouer them? Hide them. If therefore we are lodged in the midst of Citties, let vs keep some good counsailor about vs: who opposing himselfe against those that praise great possessions, priseth a rich man very little, and that measureth his goods by their vse: against those who make reckoning of nothing but credite and humane greatnesse, let him approue and commend that ••onest repose which the study of good letters giueth; and let him esteeme nothing so much as a conscience that hath forsaken al transitory things, to ground himselfe vpon the reall good? Let him shew that all they who are commonly called happy tremble, and are dismayed in that high degree so much enuied, and haue a farre other opinion of themselues then the people hath. For those things that are raised, & highly pri∣sed in other mens eyes, in their iudgments are slippery, steepy, & vncertain. For this cause they are heartlesse and fearfull as often as they looke into this steepe mountain of mightines, wherupon they are mounted. Then suspect they those things they desired, and their felicity which hath beene so odious vnto others, is more hatefull to themselues: Then praise they a peaceable and retired life: authority is distastefull vnto them, they seeke to be discharged of their prosperi∣tie; then shalt thou see them play the Philosophers for feare, and take good

counsaile from their aduersitie. For as if prosperitie and a good minde were appointed contraries, we are most wise in our miseries, contrariwise prosperitie bereaueth vs of our iudgement.

EPIST. XCV.

It adherethor dependeth of the former, and the question is, whether the Exhortatorie part of Philosophie may alone suffice? When as especially he hath shewed so many and so cleare vses thereof. He denieth, setteth downe, and refelleth the arguments which are vrged. Therefore he praiseth the doctrinall part, and sheweth that precepts flow from that fountaine, and that life is contained therein. He intermixeth worthy things, and by the way maketh an excursion against riot, lust, and vnlawfull affection of ho∣nors. The whole Epistle is excellent and fruitfull.

THou requirest me to represent that which I had remitted, till ano∣ther time, and that I should write vnto thee, if that part of Phi∣losophie which consisteth in precepts, which the Greekes call 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, wee preceptiue bee sufficient to make a man perfectly wise. I know thou wilt take it in good part, if I deny the same, and for that cause the rather doe I renue my promise, and will not suffer that my word so expresly and solemnly engaged should be broken. Hereafter aske me nothing which thou wilt not obtaine, for sometimes wee instantly require that, which wee would refuse if it were offered vnto vs. This, whether it bee lightnesse or familiaritie, is to bee punished with a facilitie of promising: wee seeme to will many things which we would not. A certaine Reciter brought a great historie written in a small hand, and straitly foulded, and hauing red ouer a great part thereof: I will giue ouer (saith he) if you will. To this it is answered with a loud voice. Reade on, Read on, by those who would willingly that hee should presently hold his peace. Oftentimes we will owe things, and wish an∣other, and to the gods themselues wee speake not truth; but the gods either heare vs not, or haue mercie vpon vs. But I setting apart all fauour will re∣deeme my selfe, and will cloy thee with a long Epistle, which if thou reade vn∣willingly, say that thou thy selfe art the cause, and number thy selfe amongst those whom a wife continually tormenteth to get her selfe some new gowne daily: amongst those that haue no ioy of the goods they haue gotten with great labour: amongst those whom honour torments, being gotten by all in∣dustrie and labour, and the rest who are partakers of their owne euils. But lea∣uing this Preface, I come to the point. A blessed life (say they) consisteth of iust actions, whereunto we are led by precepts, consequently precepts are suf••ficient to make the life happie. Yet precepts doe not alwayes lead a man to iust actions, but when as the minde is capable and conformable to instructions. Sometimes they are proposed in vaine, to wit, when the vnderstanding is be∣sieged with false opinions. Againe, although they doe right, yet know they not that they doe right. For no man can performe that which he ought euerie way, nor vnderstand when hee ought to doe a thing, nor how much, nor with whom, nor how, if from the beginning he hath not beene addressed and fashio∣ned exactly in all reason. By meanes whereof he cannot with his whole minde constantly and willingly endeuour vnto vertue, but shall be doubtfull and look backe. If an honest action (say they) proceedeth from precepts precepts shall

sufficiently suffice to make the life happie, but the one is true, consequently, therefore so is the other. To these we answere, that honest actions proceed not onely from precepts and particular instructions, but also from maximes and ge∣nerall rules. If other artes (saith he) are content with precepts, wisdome also will be contented, which is the art of life, but he maketh a master of a ship that instructeth him thus. Steere after this manner, strike saile after this fashion, take the benefit of a good winde thus, resist a contrarie that way, and make vse of such a meanes to warrantise thee from a crosse winde. Precepts likewise confirme other sorts of Artists. Cannot therefore Philosophers teach others to liue; cannot they doe the like? All these arts are employed about the instru∣ments of life, not about the whole life, and therefore many things hinder and let them externally, such as are hope, couetousnesse, and feare. But Wisdome the mistris of life cannot be hindered by any thing from continuing her exer∣cise, for shee preuenteth impediments, and temperateth obstacles. Wilt thou know wherein they differ in condition? In mechanique arts it is more excusa∣ble to sinne for want of aduice, then casually, and in wisdome it is a great fault to sinne willingly. That which I say is so. The Grammarian is not ashamed of a Solecisme, if he make it willingly, but he blusheth if he doe it without taking he••d. If the Physitian foreseeth not that his patient begins to weare away, he committeth more error in his art, then if he perceiued the defect, and preten∣ded not to know it. But in the art of good life, more shamefull is their fault, who offend willingly. Adde hereunto that the most kinde of arts, yea of them all the most liberall haue not only their precepts, but decrees, as Physicke hath. There is therefore one sect of Hippocrates, another of As••lepiades, another of Themison. Besides no contemplatiue art is without her decrees, which the Greekes call 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, wee precepts: propositions and foundations, which you shall finde in Geometrie and Astronomie. But Philosophie is both contempla∣tiue and actiue, she speculateth and setteth hand to the worke. For thou errest, if thou thinkest that she only promiseth terrestriall actions, she aspireth more high. I s••arch (saith shee) the whole world, neither containe I my selfe inclo∣sed in the company of mortall men, to the onely end to perswade or disswade. Great matters, such as are aboue your reach call and inuite me.

For first I will disclose and let thee know The secrets of the heau'ns and higher powers, Whence Nature formes, and whence she makes things grow, Whence they encrease, and spread their seeds and flowers, Ile count thee all their of-springs and their ends, And what in each thing Nature most intends.

As Lucretius saith.* 1.5 It followeth therefore that being contemplatine, shee hath her decrees. In effect no man shall euer performe that which he ought, but he that hath comprehended the reason whereby in euery thing he may performe his decrees in all offices; which hee shall not obserue who hath receiued but meere precepts. Those things that are distributed by parcels are feeble in them∣selues, and if I may so say, without roote. Those are decrees which defend vs, which maintaine our securitie and tranquillitie, which comprehend at once all life and all nature. The same difference is there betweene the decrees and pre∣cepts of Philosophie, as there is betweene letters and whole clauses. The one depend vpon the other, decrees also are the cause of precepts and of all things.

The ancient wisdome, saith he, onely taught nought else, but what was to be done, and to be esteemed. And then were men farre better, after learned men began to flourish, good men were scant. For that simple and open truth is chan∣ged into an obscure and subtill science, and we are taught how to dispute, not how to liue. Without doubt, that ancient wisdome, as you say, was rude and simple in the beginning, no lesse then other arts which haue beene polished by succession of time. But at that time also the present remedies were not neces∣sarie, wickednesse was not growne to that height, neither had shee spread her self so largely euery where; simple remedies were sufficient for simple vices. But now the more strange the mischifes are which assault vs, the more solide should our resist and defences be. Physicke in times past was but the knowledge of a few Simples, whereby a flux of blood might be stayed, and wounds by little and little might be healed. Afterwards shee attained to this raritie of medicines: neither is it to be wondered at, that in those dayes she had so little to doe; sure then men had more stronge bodies, and were contented with easie and simple diet, and not corrupted by art and pleasure. Which diet, after it beganne to be sought, not to take away, but prouoke hunger; and a thousand sorts of sauces were inuented, whereby the appetite might be awakened. Those meats which sustained such men as were hungrie, are become as many burthens to full bel∣lies. From thence proceeded palenesse, and the trembling of the nerues, be∣ing drowned in wine, and a more miserable leanenesse caused rather by crudi∣ties, then by hunger. From this excesse hath proceeded the weaknes and slum∣bling of the feete, and such a kinde of gate as drunken men vse. Thence grew the water betwixt the filme and flesh, thence was the belly discended, whilest it was accustomed to receiue more then it could containe. Thence came the blacke Ianders, the discoloured face, and the consumption of such as rotted in∣wardly. Thence crooked fingers, by reason of the stifnes of the ioynts, hence the Apoplexie, hence the Palsey: why should I reckon vp the swimming and turning of the head, the torments both of eyes and eares, and the vermination of the inflamed braine; and all the passages of our bodies, whereby wee are purged, affected with inward vlcers. Besides an innumerable sort of Feuours, the one violent and sudden, the other lent and lingring, the other beginning with much horror and shaking of the members? why should I rip vp other in∣numerable diseases, the iust plagues of intemperance? Free were they from those euils, who as yet were not weakened by these delicates, who gouerned and ministred vnto themselues. They hardened their bodies with industry and true labour, either wearied with running, or hunting, or plowing of their lands; and their meat was such as could not please any but such as were hungry. There was therefore no need of so great a multitude of Physitians, neither of so ma∣ny instruments and subnotaries. There health being entertained by a simple cause, was simple also: many dishes haue bred many sicknesses. Behold how many things gormundize the ruine both of land and sea, intermixeth together to the end they might afterwards be swallowed by one greedie gullet. It can∣not be, but that things so diuers should striue one with another, and after they are swallowed downe, should hardly be disgested, by reason that the one is a hinderance to the other. It is no maruell, if of meats so different, such confu∣sed and violent sicknesses are engendred, nor that the humours being driuen by contrary passages, should redound as they doe. See heere the cause why we haue so many different sorts of sicknesses, as of meats. The greatest of the Phy∣sitians, and the Founder of the Science, saith, that women are neither bauld nor

sicke of the gout, yet they at this day are both destitute of haire and lame in their feet. The nature of women is not changed, but the life. For whereas they haue equalled men in their licentiousnes, they haue likewise had an equall part in their maladies. They watch no lesse, they drinke no lesse, and challenge their husbands in bathing and drunkennesse. Both the one and the other ha∣uing, as it were, by force filled their panches, yeeld it vp againe by their mouths, and in vomitting returne backe againe all the wine they haue swallowed. The women as wel as the men gnaw vpon the Ice to coole their ouer-hot stnomacks. But in lust they surpasse the males, being borne to suffer. The gods and goddes∣ses confound them, who haue peruerted the order of habitation both with male and female. Wonder not therefore, though the greatest amongst Physi∣tians, and Naturalists was deceiued in this, that at this time there are so many bauld and gowtie women. By excesse haue they lost the benefit of their sex, and because they haue shaken off the habit of women, they are condemned to en∣dure the sicknesses of men. The ancient Physitians knew not what it was to prescribe their patients to feed often, and to replenish their vaines that were emptied with wine: they knew neither how to cup nor to scarifie, nor to bath and sweat those that had been long time sicke, they knew not how by binding the legs and armes, to reuoke the hidden heat to the outward parts, which was stayed in the center. There was no need to looke about for many kinds of re∣medies, when as there were but few sorts of sicknesses. But now to what num∣ber and height are infirmities growne? This is the vsury which we pay for so much pleasure as we haue wrongfully and inordinately desired. Maruellest thou to see so many sicknesses? Number me the Cookes. All studie is giuen ouer. The professors of liberall sciences are without auditors, their sieges void, and their schollers gone. Solitude dwelleth in the Schooles of Rhetoricians and Philosophers. Contrariwise, how many famous Kitchins are there: how many yong men fill vp the fires of such as are prodigall and dissolute. I speake not of the troopes of poore yong children, who at the shutting vp of a feast at∣tend to suffer other villanie in the chambers. I ouerslip the troopes of those that haue beene abused contrarie to Nature, distinguished by nations and co∣lours, so as on the one side, all they of the same height are raunged, and they whose beards begin to bud, and such as are haired alike, to the end that he who hath the straight and long haire, should not bee mixed amongst those that are curled. I ouerpasse the troopes of Pastlers, and attendants who serue in supper when the signe is giuen them. Good God, how many men are busied about one belly. Thinkest thou that these mushromes, a sort of pleasant poison, al∣though they hurt not vpon the present, doe they not secretly work and wrong at last? Thinkest thou that this snow, which they vse to refresh and coole them∣selues with in Sommer, hardeneth not their liuers, and that vnsauoury meat of Oysters, that are fattened with mud, engender they not viscous and clammie humors? Beleeuest thou not that the sauce which is composed of Mackerels and other sort of ••ish that costs so deere, doth it not with his drying saltnesse burne the entrailes? Iudgest thou that these rotten ioyces which are swallow∣ed downe hot, can they without harme be extinguished in the stomacke? How ••ilthie and pestilent belches? What loathing of themselues? Whilest they dis∣gorge their old surfets? Know thou, that whatsoeuer they take rotteth, but dis∣gesteth not. I remember that in times past AEsopes dish was much spoken of, wherein this sweet-lipped fellow running vnto his owne ruine, gathered all that was either rare or daintie from the tables of great men: there were diuers sorts

of shel-fish handsomly chewed and ready to swallow, ath wart whereof were enterlaced Creuisses, and aboue them dressed Barbels, cut in pieces and se∣uered from their ••innes and bones. It loatheth them to fe••de on euerie dish apart, all sauces are mixt in one, and at supper-time that is done, that should be done after collation time. Now must I expect to haue the min∣sed meates serued in so small, as if they had been chewed. What difference is there betweene taking away the s••ales and bones, or to haue a Cooke to execute the office of our teeth? It is too tedious a thing to disgui••e all sortes of meates; for once wee must make a hochpot, why should I put a∣ny hand into a dish that had but one kinde of daintie? Let me haue many come together. Let the ornaments of many dishes be vnited and ioyned toge∣ther. Let them forth with know, who say that this prodigality at mens Tables is done to make them to be talked of and esteemed, that these are not publique, but excesses done in secret. Let those things that were wont to be s••uerally dressed, be serued in in one broth. It is all one as if Oysters and Sea-crabs, Mus∣kels and Mullets be mixed together. The meat of those that vomit should not be more confused. But as these meates and sauces are confounded the one with the other; so likewise of such confused excesse, diuers compounded inexplica∣ble, different, and manifold sickenesses do arise, against which Physique hath be∣gun to arme her selfe with many remedies and obseruations. The same say I of Philosophy; it was in times past more simple, amongst those whose sinnes were not so enormous, but more easie and slight to be cured. Against so great corrup∣tion of manners all things are to be attempted. And would to God this plague at last might be so ouercome: we play the mad-men, not onely in priuate but in publique; Doe we represse priuate murthers? What shall I say of warres and the glorious sinne of destroyed countries? Neyther auarice nor crueltie knew a∣ny measure; and these things as long as they are done by stealth, and by pri∣uate men are least hurtfull and monstrous. By the ordinances of the Senate, and Edicts of the people, those hainous offences which are cond••mned in priuate men, are permitted vnto all, and committed in sight of euery man. We praise a publique crime, which we would punish with death had it beene committed se∣cretly. Are not men ashamed, that by nature are the mildest, to take pleasure in shedding their neighbours bloud, to make warre, and leaue this exercise to their children? wheras euen the dumbe and sauage beasts haue peace amongst themselues. Against so potent and generall a furie Philosophy was made more effectuall, and assumed so much power vnto her selfe, as they had gathered a∣gainst whom she is addressed. It was an easie matter to chide and reproue those th••t were giuen ouer to wine, and besotted with delicacy and dainties; for there needed no great force to reduce the minde to frugality, from whence by little and little she had reuolted.

Now neede we worke by force and violence, And then by Art and great experience.

Pleasure is sought for on euery side. No vice conteyneth it selfe in it selfe. Dis∣solution runs headlong into auarice, honesty is forgotten: there is nothing fil∣thy if it be prised or pleasing. A man, a sacred thing; a man is now murthered in jest. And whereas it was impiety to teach a man to giue and receiue wounds, now expose we him in publique both naked and disarmed, supposing that his death would be a pleasing spectacle to content an assembly. So then in this

peruersitie and corruption of manners there needeth some medicine more ea∣ger then was accustomed to dissipate these inueterate euils. We must propose Maximes and rules, that the perswasion of falsities too greatly entertained, may be wholly extinguished. To these if we annex precepts, consolations, exhorta∣tions, they may preuaile, being scarce powerfull enough of themselues. If we will set them free that are bound, and draw them from those euils wherewith they are now entangled, let them learne what euill is, and what good is. Let them know that all thing•• change their name but onely vertue, and now be∣come euill, and now good. As the first bond of warfare is Religion, and the loue of our Ensigne, and the loathing and hainousnesse to forsake it, and after this all the rest are easily commanded and obtained at his handes who hath so∣lemnly obliged his faith: so also must thou lay the first foundations in those whom thou pretendest to conduct vnto happy life, and to plant vertue in their hearts. Let them be seized with a zealous superstition thereof, let them loue her, let them desire to liue with her, not to liue without her. What then? Are there not some that without any subtill institution, haue become honest, and haue attained to great perfection, whilst they onely submitted themselues to bare precepts? I confesse no lesse. But they had a happy and apprehending spirit, which in a moment apprehended that which is proper for his instructi∣on. For euen as the immortall gods haue learned no vertue, whereas by being and nature they are all good, so some of noble nature comprehend those things which are taught them, and as soone as vertue is shewed vnto them, they embrace it. Whence grew these mindes so greedily catching after vertue, and so fruitfull of themselues? But to those that are dull and hard of vnderstan∣ding, or long time besieged with euill customes, the rust of their mindes must be rubbed off. Euen as we easily draw those vnto perfection who are inclined to good; so on the other side the meanes to redresse the feeble, and to dispossesse them of their euill opinions, is to propose vnto them the rules and Maximes of Philosophie, which are marueilous necessary, as thou shalt perceiue by that which ensueth. We haue certaine inclinations which make vs heauy in some affaires, and light and rash in others: neyther may this rashnesse be repressed, nor that slownesse awakened, except their causes be cut off, such as are false ad∣miration and fained feare. As long as these haue vs in their possession, thou mayest say, This must thou doe for thy father, this for thy children, this for thy friends, this for thy guests; but auarice will restraine him that would at∣tempt so good a course. He shall know that he ought to fight for his countrey, but feare shall disswade him. He shall know that he must labour for his friends to the vttermost, but pleasures shall withdraw him. He shall know that it is a most hainous kinde of iniurie towards a wife to entertaine a harlot, yet shall lust compell him to the contrary. It will therfore profite nothing to giue precepts, except thou ••irst of all take away all things that are contrary to them: no more then it will profite to haue laide weapons in sight, and to haue set them nee∣rer, except his hands be vnbound that vseth them. To giue a means vnto the minde to apprehend the precepts which we giue, we must giue it libertie. Let vs suppose that a man doth that which he ought not; he will not doe it conti∣nually, he will not doe it equally, for he knoweth not wherefore he doth it. By aduenture or by custome some things will goe well, but a man shall not haue a rule in hand, to know the same whereunto he may trust that they are rightly done, which he hath done. He will not promise to continue good that is casu∣ally good. Againe, pecepts may happily instruct thee to doe that which

thou oughtest, but not in that sort as thou oughtest; and if they performe not this, they bring thee not to vertue. He shall doe that which he is aduised to do: I grant ••t. But that is little, because the praise consisteth not in the deede, but in the manner how it is done. What is more odious then a sumptuous supper, whereupon a man spendeth a Knights liuing? What is more worthy of censure then if a man (as these gluttons say) bestow this vpon himselfe and his Genius? and yet haue there beene some persons, both very sober and temperate, that in such extraordinary banquets haue spent the summe of seuentie fiue thousand crownes. If for gormandize sake a man lauisheth in this expence, it is hatefull; if it be to honour any great and noble assembly, it may be borne withall, for it is no excesse but a solemne expence. The Emperour Tiberius hauing receiued a Barbell of a wonderfull greatnes: (shall I set downe the weight to awake gour∣mands? for it is said that it weighed more then foure pounds & a halfe) cōman∣ded it to be carried to the market and sould, saying to those that kept him com∣pany at that time; My friends, I am much deceiued, but eyther APICIVS or P. OCTAVIVS will buy this Barbell. But there fell out farre more then he expect∣ed; for they set the Barbell to be cried, and it was sold to him that offered most. Octauius bare it away, and was highly prised amongst his adherents, because he had bought a Barbell which the Emperour had solde, and Apicius could not buy it for two hundreth crowns, or thereabouts. It was a shame for Octauius to disburse so much money, not for him that bought it to send it to Tiberius, al∣though I would not excuse him. He admired the thing which he thought Cae∣sar worthy of. A man sits by his friend that is sicke: I allow it; but if he doe it in hope to be his heire, he is a Vulture, he expecteth carrion. The same thing•• are both honest and dishonest: but it importeth to know wherefore, or how. But all things will be done honestly, if we addic•• ou•• selues thereunto, and iudge it with the dependances thereof, to be the onely good of humane life, the rest are good but for a short time. We must therefor•• imprint in our hearts a lesson that extendeth it selfe to the whole life: this is that which I call a decree. Such as this perswasion is, such shall those things be which shall be eyther done or thought. And such as these shall be, such shall be the life. It is but a small mat∣ter for him that would rule the whole, to giue counsaile that it should be distri∣buted into parts. M. Brutus in his booke he intituled 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, giueth many precepts both to father and mother, children and brothers, which no man shall performe as he ought, except he haue some rule whereunto he may haue rela∣tion. Let vs propose vnto our selues a scope or soueraigne good, at which we ayme, and to which we addr••sse al our thoughts and life, as the Marriners ought to shape their course vnder the aspect of some certaine starre. Life without a limit is extrauagant: if this limit must be proposed, the rules that shew vs the same, begin to be necessarie. Thou wilt confesse this, as I suppose, that there is nothing more shamefull, then to see a man that is doubtfull, irresolute, fearfull, that now sets forward, and then slides backward. This will befall vs in all things, if we doe not rent away that imprisoneth and restraineth our vnderstan∣dings, and that hindereth them from stirring at their pleasure. It is a vsuall thing to teach the manner how to serue the gods. We forbid men to light lamps on the Sabboth dayes, because the gods haue no want of light, and men take no pleasure in smoake. We forbid men from doing their reuerences and salu∣tations in the morning, and permit no man to sit at the Temple gates; for humane ambition is baited and caught by these offices. He that knoweth God, serueth and hononreth him. We forbid men to bring sheets & bathing-combs

to Iupiter, or to hold a glasse before Iuno. God seeketh no Ministers. Why not? He ministereth to mankind. Each where is he readie and addressed to helpe all men. Although he heare, how he ought to behaue himselfe in sacri∣fices, and estrange himselfe from curious and troublesome superstitions; yet would all this bee nothing to his perfection, except hee haue conceiued in his vnderstanding a god, such as he ought to apprehend him, namely, such a one as hath all things, that giueth all things, and bestoweth his benefits gratice. But who inciteth the gods to doe all these goods for men? Their nature. He erreth, whosoeuer thinketh that they will doe hurt. They cannot, neither can they receiue or doe iniurie. For to hurt, and to be hurt, are things con∣ioynt and haue relation the one vnto the other. That soueraigne and faire na∣ture aboue all hath exempted those men from dangers, which are not dange∣rous. Moreouer, the first seruice due vnto the gods, is to beleeue that they are next to acknowledge their maiestie and bountie, without which their maiestie were nothing. To know that they are those that gouerne the world, who tem∣per all things as their owne, who haue all men vnder their protection, and are sometimes curious of priuate men. These neither giue, nor haue euill, although they chastise, represse, and afflict, and punish likewise some men at sometime, vnder appearance of euill. Wilt thou haue the gods fauourable vnto thee? Be a good man. He giueth them sufficiently that imitateth them. Heere followeth another question, how we ought to vse and serue men. What doe we? What precepts giue we? To shed no humane bloud? How small a matter is it not to hurt him, whom thou oughtest to profit? Truely it is worthie much praise for one man to be kinde vnto another. Shall we command him to succour the ship∣wracked, to bring the wanderer into his way, to diuide his bread with the hun∣gry? What need I to specifie all that which it behoueth him to doe or flie, when as in three words I will propose a forme of humane offices? All this world, in which all diuine and humane things are inclosed, is but one: we are the members and parcels of this great bodie. Nature hath created vs akin, in for∣ming vs of the same elements, and in the same enclosure. She hath planted mu∣tuall loue in our hearts, and made vs sociable. She it is that hath composed iu∣stice and equity, and by her ordinance it is a more miserable thing to doe, then to suffer iniurie. By her command are his hands addressed, that helpeth and com∣forteth another. Let vs haue this verse in our hearts, and in our mouthes.

I am a man, and thinke this true to be, That nothing humane is estrang'd from mee.

Let vs possesse this common good, that we are borne. Mans society resembleth a vault of stone, which would fall except the stones resisted one another; so that by this meanes it is sustained. After gods and men, let vs behold how we ought to vse these things: vnprofitable should our precepts be, if first of all we knew not what opinion we ought to haue of euery thing, as of pouertie, riches, glory, ignominie, our country and banishment. Let vs esteeme euery one of them without respect of common apprehension, and let vs examine what they be, not what they are called. Let vs passe ouer to vertues. Some one would require that we should prise prudence, that we should respect valour, that we should loue temperance, and that (if it might be) we should ioyne our selues vnto iu∣stice more strictly, then vnto the rest. But this would be to no purpose, if we be ignorant what vertue is, if there be one or many, if they be separated or vnited,

if he that possesseth one of them hath all, and how the one differeth from the other. It is not needfull now for a Smith to enquire what the beginning and vse of his arte is, nor for a Iester to examine what the arte of dancing is. All these occupations know themselues, they want nothing, because they appertaine not to the whole life. But Vertue is the science both of others and of her selfe, we must learne of her, to the end we may vnderstand what we ought to will. If the will be not good, the action which proceedeth from the same shall neuer be. Furthermore, the will shall be peruerse, if the habitude of the spirit be not vp∣right, because that from that the will hath his being; and this hab••te of minde shall not be in the best state, if it comprehendeth not all the rules of life (con∣sidering the iudgement which a man ought to haue of euery thing) and shut them all within the circle of truth. The contentment of the spirit is a good that befalleth no man, except those that are endowed with a certaine and vn∣moueable indgement. The rest of men slip, fall, and sometimes or other rise againe, and doe but float betwixt that which they haue omitted, and that which they desired. The cause of this tossing and shaking is, because hauing builded vpon common report, which is a wonderous and vncertaine manner of liuing, they are assured and confident in nothing. If thou wilt alwaies haue the same will, thou must will those things that are true. There is no way to at∣taine truth without Maximes, for they containe life, good and euill, honest and dishonest things, iust and vniust, pious and impious, vertue and the vses of ver∣tue, the possession of things commodious, existimation and dignitie, health, force, forme, and sagacitie of the sences; all these require such a one as can iudge of them, and knoweth at what price they ought to be taxed. For thou abusest thy selfe, and thinkest that some things are of greater value then they be, and the more art thou deceiued, in prising riches, credit, and power (as many other of thy ranke doe) which are not to be accounted worth any thing. Thou shalt not know this, if thou respectest not rule, whereby these things are estimated amongst themselues. Euen as leaues cannot flourish by themselues, but require a bough whereunto they may cleaue, and from whence they may draw iuyce and nourishment: so these precepts decay and vanish, if they be alone, they will be affixed and grounded vpon Maximes. Besides, they vnderstand not who take away decrees, that they are confirmed by that very meanes, whereby they are extinguished? For what say they? that life is sufficiently addressed by pre∣cepts: and that the decrees and principall rules of wisdome are superfluous. But this which they say is a decree as true, as if I should now say that we ought to giue ouer precepts, and onely rely vpon Maximes, in denying the vse of pre∣cepts, I should recommend the same by this precept of mine. Some things there are that content themselues with a simple admonition of Philosophie, o∣thersome that would be proued: and some there are, that are so confused, that hardly and without great search a man cannot vnderstand their true sence: if proofes be necessarie, so are decrees likewise, which gather the truth by argu∣ments. Some matters are easie, other some are obscure. Those are easie and open, which are comprehended by sence and memorie, and those obscure which are not subiect thereunto. But Reason contenteth not her selfe with things that are manifest. The greatest and most beautifull part therof, is groun∣ded on that which is hidden. Those things that are hidden require proofe, proofe is not without decrees; decrees therefore are necessarie. The perswa∣sion and apprehension of certaine things, without which all our thoughts are vncertaine and without stay, is that which perfecteth the common sence, and

maketh it accomplished. Whence it followeth that decrees are necessary, which giue vnto the minde an inflexible iudgement. In briefe, when we exhort any man to esteeme his friend as much as himselfe, let him thinke that his enemie may be made his friend, that he encrease more and more the friendship he bea∣reth vnto the one, and moderate his hatred towards the other; we adde there∣unto that it is iust and honest. But this honestie and equitie is comprised, in the reason of our decrees or rules. It is therefore necessarie, without the which the other cannot be. But let vs ioyne the generall rules and precepts together, for both without the root the boughes are vnprofitable, and the rootes them∣selues are aided by those branches they haue produced. No man can be igno∣rant what profit the hands haue in them, for they manifestly helpe. That heart whereby the hands liue, from whence they take their forces, by which they are moued, lieth hidden. The same can I say of precepts; they are open, but the de∣crees of wisdome are hidden. As there are none but such as professe, that know the mysteries of sacred things: so likewise in Philosophie, the secrets of the same are not discouered, but to such persons as are admitted and receiued into her sanctuary: but precepts and such other things, euen those that are prophane know thē Posidonius iudgeth, that not only preception (for nothing prohibiteth vs to vse this word) but also perswasion, consolation, & exhortation are necessa∣ry. To these he addeth the inquisition of causes, which why should we not be bould to call the character, as wel as the Grammarians, who in their owne right terme themselues the maintainers and keepers of the Latine tongue I see no cause. He saith that the description of euery vertue will be necessary. This doth Posidonius call AEnologia, the Grecians 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which expresseth the signes and notes of euery vertue and vice, whereby those things that are alike may be discerned the one from the other. This hath the same force as the proposition of precepts. For he that giueth precepts, saith, Thou shalt doe thus, if thou wilt be temperate. He who describeth, saith, The temperate man is he that doth these things, and abstaineth from those. Askest thou me what the difference is? The one giueth precepts of vertue, the other example. I confesse that these descrip∣tions, and to vse the words of the Publicans, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, that is to say, markes pro∣ceed from vse. Let vs propose laudable things, and we shall finde such as will fol∣low them. Thinkest thou that it is profitable to haue instructions giuen thee how to know a generous Horse, left thou be deceiued, and thou buy a sluggard and a Iade. How much more profitable is this, to know the markes of an excel∣lent minde, whereby thou mayest be able to apply them to thy selfe.

* 1.6The goodly coult bred from a noble race Begins to grow amiddest the spacious fields, And proudly ouer hill and dale doth pace, His force vnto no threatning torrent yeelds, The seas vnknowne he swimmes and neuer feares, The threatning brookes; his force and courage proud, To further kindes encrease is daily bent, No sooner tempts his eare the trumpet loud, Or clattering armes some future warre present: But straight he startles beating of the ground With horny hoofe, his eares are prickt vpright, He shakes his ioynts, he doth coruet and bound, He snortes and puffes, with fome his bit is white.

Our Virgil, vnder the similitude of a horse, describeth a man of great minde. For mine owne part, I would not giue any other portraiture of a great perso∣nage. If I should represent Cato dreadlesse, and assured amongst the noices of ciuill warres, being the first that charged and skirmished with the companies alreadie approching the Alpes, and running before the ruine of the Common-weale, I would assigne him no other countenance, no other habit. Truely no man could engage himselfe further then he, who at one time made head against Caesar and Pompey, and defied them both, and shewed that the Common-weale had some partakers. For it is a small matter to say of Cato,

Nor feares rumors false.

Why? because he cared not for euident and true conspiracies. Did he not in despight of ten Legions entertained and mustered from France, and from other forren troopes, intermixed with the Romans, speake freely, and exhort his Citi∣zens to maintaine their libertie, and to trie all meanes, yea to hazard death it selfe, rather then to lose their libertie; it being more honest for them to fall into seruitude by constraint, then by their owne wills to go vnto it. How great vi∣gor and spirit was there in him, what confidence when the rest of the Com∣mon-weale was confused? He knoweth that the question is not of his estate; that it concerneth not him, that the question is not whether Cato be free, but whether he be amongst free-men. Thence groweth it that he disdaineth dan∣gers and drawne swords. In admiration of the inuincible constancie of this person, confirmed in his constancie amiddest the ruines of his Country, I will say in imitation of Virgil, that Cato had

A mightie minde, high, stout, and generous.

It shall doe well, not onely to expresse who they are, that haue beene accusto∣med to be good men, and to represent some counterfeit of them, but also to recount and particularly set downe that last and valourous wound of Catoes, through the which libertie it selfe lost her life. Likewise the wisdome of Laelius, and the good accord betwixt him and his friend Scipio, The braue actions both publike and particular of Marcus Cato, sirnamed Censor, the Couches of Tubero made of plaine wood, set in open view, couered with Goats skins, and the ves∣sels of earth wherein they were serued at the table, who banquetted before the Chappell of Iupiter: what other thing was this, but to consecrat•• pouertie be∣fore the Capitol? Had I no other action of Tuberos, but this, to rancke him in the number of the Catoes. Thinke you this to be a small matter? This was no banquet, but a Censure, O how little knew these ambitious men what this censure is, and how it ought to be desired! In that day the Roman people be∣held many rich aud sumptuous moueables, but admired none but the vten∣siles of this one man. All their gold and siluer hath beene broken and melted a thousand times, but Tuberoes vessels of earth shall endure for euer.

EPIST. XCVI.

Against complainers, and that all things should come from Fate and God. Why there∣fore are we displeased? Let vs obey them, or rather assent vnto them.

WHence proceed these despights and plaints? Knowest thou not that in all the euils of this life, there is but one euill, which is when thou art displeased, and complainest? If thou aske mine aduice, I thinke there is not any miserie in a man, except he thinke that there is something miserable in the nature of things. I endure not my selfe that day wherein I can suffer nothing. Am I sicke? it is a part of my destiny. Is my family afflicted with infirmities? Doth vsury offend me, my house cracke ouer me? Am I assaulted by dangers, wounds, trauailes, and feares? This hap∣peneth ordinarily, this is a small matter, this should be done, these are not ca∣suall, they are decreed. If thou thinke me to be a true man, when I discouer freely vnto thee what I thinke, know that in all accidents which seeme aduerse and hard, I am so formed. I obey not God forcibly but freely, I follow him with a free heart, and not enforced. Nothing shall euer befall me, that I will entertaine sorrowfull or with sad countenance, I will pay no tribute vnwilling∣ly. All those things which we grieue at, for which we feare, are the tributes of life: neither hope thou (my Lucillius) neither demand thou an exemption from the furie. A paine of the bladder hath tormented thee. This banquet hath little pleasure in it; these are continuall passions. I will ••ome more nee∣rer, thou hast beene put in feare of thy life. But knowest thou not that in desi∣ring to be old, thou desirest such incommodities as are ordinarie in a long life; as in a long way we finde dust, dirt, and raine? But I would liue and feele no discommoditie, whatsoeuer. So effeminate a speech becommeth not a man. Consider how thou wilt entertaine this vow of mine, which I protest with a great and generous minde, neuer let the gods and goddesses permit, that pro∣speritie make thee a wanton. Aske thy selfe, if (by permission of any god) thou mightest haue thy choice which of these two thou wouldest acc••pt, either to liue in a Shambles, or in an Armie. But our life (my Lucillius) is but a war∣fare. They therefore who are tossed, that mount and descend from rockes and high places, that execute dangerous commissions, ought to be reputed va∣liant men, and chiefest in the Armie. But they, who whilest their companions trauaile, repose themselues at their pleasures in all delights, are effeminate and nothing worth, who liue at pleasure to doe wrong vnto other men, and to meet with it themselues one day.

EPIST. XCVII.

That both now and in times past were euill men•• he deduceth example from the iudge∣ment of CLODIVS, which he corrupted by bribes and adulteries. After this of the force of conscience, and that by her offences are condemned, and also punished by an in∣ternall whip and gnawe.

THou abusest thy selfe, my Lucilius, if thou thinkest that dissolute∣nesse, and neglect of good manners, and other vices which euery man reproueth in the age wherin he liueth, are the imperfections of our age. It is not the time but the men that are to be blamed for this. No age hath beene free from vice; and if thou beginnest to estimate the libertie and loosenesse of euery time I am ashamed to say it. Ne∣uer did the world offend more openly then before Cato. Can any man beleeue, that mony was stirring in that iudgement, wherein Clodius was accused for that adulterie which he had secretly committed with Caesars wife, violating the cere∣monies of that sacrifice, which was said to be made for the people, from the sight whereof all men are so much exempted (for onely women are admitted to attend the same) that the very pictures of male beasts were couered likewise. But money was giuen to the Iudges, and (that which is more villainous then all the rest) there were some that exacted in way of salarie, the licence to violate Matrons and young Noblemen. More sinne was there committed in absoluing then acting the crime. He that was guilty of adultery, diuided adulteries; ney∣ther was he secured of his life, before such time, as he had made his Iudges like vnto himselfe. These things were done in that iudgement, wherein Cato (if nought else) gaue in testimonie in the cause: I will set downe Ciceroes very words, because the thing exceedeth all beleefe; Hee sent for those persons that were required at his hands, he promised, he intreated, he gaue. But now O good Gods, what wickednesse? Some of the Iudges in ouerplus of their paines, lay with and passed the night with certain•• women, and young Noblemen that were brought vnto them. I haue no minde to enquire how much money they receiued. There was more in that which succeeded. Wilt thou haue the wife of that seuere fellow Cato? or of such a one who is rich, that is to say Crassus? thou shalt lie with her. When thou hast committed the adultery condemne the crime. That faire lasse which thou desirest shall come vnto thee•• I promise thee that she shall accompany thee this night, neyther will I delay thee; I will perform my word within foure and twenty houres. It is more to distribute adulteries, then to commit them. That is to giue summons to all the Matrons, that to delude them. These Iudges of Clodius required a guard at the Senates hands, whereof they had no neede except in condemning the faultie, yet was it granted vnto them. By meanes whereof, after they had absolued Clodius they were wittily scoffed at by CA∣TVLVS; To what intent, said he, required you a guarde at our hands? Was it for feare lest your money should be taken from you? Yet amidst all these jests, and before the sentence was giuen, the adulterer remained vnpunished: during the processe this ba••de maintained himselfe, committing (to the end he might warrantize himselfe from punishment) a more greater wickednesse then the former, for which he should haue beene condemned. Beleeuest thou that any age was more corrupted then that wherein lust could neyther be repressed by pietie nor by iustice? vnder which in the extraordinary inquiry made by decree of

the Senate, there was more great villany commited, then that which was then in question. The inquiry was, whether after an adultery any man might liue securely in Rome? And it appeared that he could not be secure without adul∣tery. This was done betweene Pompey and Caesar, Cicero and Cato; that Cato, I meane, who sitting by to behold the games, the common people durst not de∣mand that the common sports called Florales should be giuen them, wherein common and naked strumpets were publiquely presented. Thinkest thou that men haue beene more seuere to behold, then to giue sentence? Such excesses haue and will be committed, and the libertie and licentiousnesse of Citties (ne∣uer by it sel••e) but by good lawes and sharpe punishments shall be extinguish∣ed. Thou art not therefore to beleeue that in these dayes onely, the lawes haue little credite, and licentiousnesse much. The yonger sort in this time are not so disordered as in times past, when he that was guilty denied the adultery before the Iudges, and the Iudges confesse the same before him that was faulty, when as in regard of the cause that was to be adiudged, whoredomes and villa∣nies were committed, when Clodius being well befriended for those Palliardises that made him guilty for all allegations furnished with harlots to iustifie for him. Can any man beleeue this? He that was condemned in one adulterie was absolued by many. Euery Iudge will a••foord vs such as Clodius, but not such as Cato. All of vs are pliable to the worst, because therein we shall neyther want a guide or companion; and were it we should faile them, the matter of it selfe goeth ouer-forward without companion: the way vnto vices is not onely ready but headlong. But the greatest euill that I see, and that maketh men vn∣curable is, that Artsmen and such as are learned are ashamed if they happen to erre in the exercise of their Arts and professions, where contrariwise a wicked man taketh pleasure in his sinnes. The Pilot reioyceth not if his Ship be ouer∣turned, the Physitian is sad if his Patient die, the Orator is pensiue if for want of good pleading his clyent loose the cause; but contrariwise, all men take plea∣sure in their sinnes. This man reioyceth in his adultery, especially when he hath compassed the same with great labour: another taketh pleasure in his de∣ceit and theft, it is not the sin that displeaseth him, but the punishment he hath had for committing it. See here the fruit of euill custome: Otherwise to let thee know, that in consciences (yea, euen those that are most corrupted) there remaineth some sense of goodnes, and that shame consisteth not in the concea∣ling, but the neglect of those that doe euill, there is not one that dissembleth and couereth it not: and if he chance to obtaine that which he pretendeth, yet would he not be called a whoremonger or thiefe, although he had both com∣mitted adulterie and theft. But a good conscience will appeare and be seene. Wickednesse is afraid of darkenesse it selfe. In my minde therefore Epic••rus hath spoken very fitly: A man that is guilty may hide himselfe, but he cannot be∣leeue that he is hidden. Or if thou thinkest that this sense may be better explica∣ted by these meanes; It therefore profiteth not those that sinne to lie hidden: for al∣though they haue the meanes to hide themselues, yet haue they no assurance. So it is, ini∣quities may be concealed, but not assured. I suppose that this is not repugnant to our sect if it be thus explicated. Why? Because the first and gre••test punish∣ment of wicked men, is that they haue committed wickednesse; neyther is there any hainous crime, though neuer so much boulstred out by humane pro∣sperity, or countenanced and defenced by fortune that remaines vnpunished, because the punishment of wickednesse is in the wickednesse it selfe. Meane while, she and her punishment are seconded and attended by another chastice∣ment,

that is to say, with affright and continuall feare, accompanied with a di∣strust of his owne ••ecuritie. Why should I deliuer impietie from this punish∣ment? Why should I not leaue her alwayes in suspence. Let vs dissent from Epicurus in this where he saith nothing is iust by nature, and that crimes are to be auoyded, because the feare may not be eschued. Herein let vs agree with him, that an euill conscience scourgeth these hainous faults, and that she is a ter∣rible torture, being pressed and beaten continually with perpetual care, because she cannot put trust in those that would make her beleeue that she is in repose. For this is the argument of Epicurus, that by nature we abhorre from wicked∣nesse, because there is no man how much soeuer he be secured that feareth not. Fortune deliuereth many men from punishment, no man from feare. Why? because there is a certaine hatred infixed in our hearts against that thing which nature condemneth. And therefore it is why those who hide themselues are neuer assured in their lurking places, because their conscience reproueth them, and discloseth themselues to themselues. But the propertie of such as are guil∣tie, is to tremble. It would be ill for vs, because that diuers enormities escape the lawe and maiestrate and the written punishments, if these naturall and grie∣uous punishments did not instantly pay the wicked, and if feare had not taken place and succeeded repentance.

EPIST. XCVIII.

That we ought onely to trust internall goods, and that the rest com and go. That this is to be meditated vpon, and that all things ought to be considered and esteemed as tran∣sitory, The minde therefore is to be prepared to the losse of such things, and to be con∣firmed in patience. Why not? Other men haue suffered the like. Follow thou their example, nay more, be thou the example thy selfe. Assuredly this is one amongst his good and profitable Epistles.

NEuer beleeue thou that any man is happy, whose felicity is in suspence. He buildeth vpon vncertainties, that reioyceth in ca∣sualties; for the ioy that hath entred will quickly fleete away. But that which proceedeth from it selfe is both faithfull and firme, and increaseth, and prosecuteth euen vnto the end. The rest, which the common sort admire, are good for a time. What then? May not they serue and giue pleasure? Who denyeth it? But so as they depend on vs, not we on them. All whatsoeuer fortune beholdeth became fruitfull and plea∣sant in this sort, if he that possesseth them be Master of himselfe likewise, and is not subiect to that which he hath. For they are deceiued, my Lucilius, that think that fortune giueth vs eyther any thing that is good or euill. He giueth vs the matter of goods and euils, and the beginnings of things, which shall either haue a happy or vnhappy issue with vs. For the minde is stronger then any fortune, he conducteth his affaires, eyther right or wrong, he is himselfe the cause of his contented or miserable life. An euill man conuerteth all things to the worst, yea, euen those things which happened with appearance of great good. An vpright and good conscience correcteth the infirmities of fortune, and mollifi∣eth those things which are hard and vntoward by his knowledge how to suffer, and the same man most gratefully and modestly entertaineth prosperity, and constantly and couragiously aduersitie, who although he be prudent, although

he doth all things with an exact iudgement, although he attempt nothing a∣boue his strength, yet that intire good which is setled and exempted from the threats of fortune doth not befall him, except he be assured against whatsoeuer is vncertaine. Whether it be thou wilt obserue others (for the iudgement is most free in other mens affaires) or whether leauing partiality a part, thou wilt beholde thy selfe, thou shalt both thinke and confesse this, that no one of these goods which are desired and prised is profitable, except thou arme thy sel••e a∣gainst lightnesse, and those things that depend on casualtie, except that oft and without complaint thou speake thus in euery one of thy losses. It is the pleasure of the gods that it should goe otherwise. Or rather that I may report a speech more strong and iust, whereby thy minde may be more enabled, say thus when as any thing hath falne out otherwise then thou thoughtest: The gods send better. Being thus composed, nothing shall be casuall: and so shall he be composed, if they shall but imagine what the variety of humane affairs may, before he feele it, if he so possesse his children, his wife and patrimony, as if he should not alwaies haue them, and as if he should not be more miserable for this cause, if he should be forced to lose them. Wretched is that minde that is tor∣mented with that which is to succeed, and before miseries is he miserable who is carefull, that those things wherein he taketh delight should continue with him to his end: for he shall neuer be in quiet, and in expectation of the future, he shall lose the present which he might enioy. But the griefe of the thing that is lost, and the feare of that which is to be lost, are both ••quall. Neyther there∣fore doe I command thee to be negligent. But decline thou from those things that are to be feared, and foresee all that which prudence may foresee: consider and preuent that thing which may offend thee long time before it happen. To this ef••ect thy confidence will serue thee greatly, and thy certaine resolution to support all accidents. He can beware of fortune that can suffer fortune: vn∣doubtedly he neuer stormeth in his tranquillity. It is a misery and extreame folly to be alwayes in feare; what folly is this to goe before a mans euill? In briefe, to let thee know that in a word, which I think I will describe vnto thee, these busie-bodies, and tormenters of themselues: they are as intemperate in their miseries as they were before them. He grieueth more then he needeth, that grieueth before he needeth; for by the same infirmity he estimateth not his griefe, whe••eby he expecteth it not; with the same intemperance he faineth to himselfe pe••petuall felicity, he imagineth that all these things that haue be∣••alne him, should not onely endure but increase and forgetting that all humane things are both tossed and changed, which is while he promiseth himselfe one∣ly an assured estate in his casualties. I finde then that Metrodorus spake very fitly, when in a letter he sent vnto his sister to comfort her in the death of her sonne, which was a childe of great hope, he said that all the goods of mortall men are mortall. Of these goods speaketh he which men so much affect and ••locke after; for the true good perisheth not, wisedome and vertue are certaine and eternall, these onely are the immortall goods that haue befalne mortall men. But men are so vnhappy, and so farre forgetfull whether they goe, whe∣ther euery day draweth them vnto, that they wonder if they lose any thing, being assu••ed one day to lose all. Whatsoeuer it be that thou art called Ma∣ster of, know that it is not thine, although thou possesse it. Thou art infirme and mortall, there is nothing then in this world that is firme and immortall for thee. It is as necessary our goods should perish as be lost, and if we take heede it is a great comfort to lose those goods with a setled and resolute minde, which

must perish. What remedy then shall we finde out against these losses? This, that we may keepe in memorie such things as are lost, neither suffer the fruit of them, which we haue gotten by them, to perish with them. To haue may be ta∣ken from vs; to haue had, neuer. Most ingratefull is he, who wh••n he hath lost, oweth nothing for that he hath receiued. Casualty taketh our substance from vs, but leaueth the vse and fruit thereof with vs, which we lose by the iniquitie of our desire. Say vnto thy selfe; Of these things that seeme so terrible, nothing is inuincible. Many there are that haue ouercome each one o•• them, M••tius the ••ire, Regulus the crosse, Socrates poison, Rutillius banishment. Cato death enforced by his owne sword. Let vs likewise get some victorie: moreouer, those things which allow & entice the cōmon sort, vnder appearance of beauty & happines, haue by many & oftentimes bin contemned. Fabricius being chiefe of the army•• reiected riches, and being Censor cōdemned them. Tubero iudged pouertie to be worthy both of himselfe & the Capitol, when as vsing earthen pots in his pub∣like supper, he shewed that man ought to content himselfe with that, wh••rwith the gods disdained not to be sometimes serued. Sextius the Father, a man fit to gouerne the affaires of a Common-weale, refused all honourable Offices, and would not accept the dignitie of a Senator, which Iulius Caesar had presented him, knowing well that whatsoeuer may be giuen, may be taken away. Let vs likewise doe some of these things valiantly. Let vs ranke our selues as exemplar men among the rest. Why are we faint-hearted? Why despaire we? What∣soeuer might be done, can be done. Let vs now purge our mindes, and follow Nature, for he that erreth and strayeth from her must of force, desire, and feare, and be a slaue to casualties. We may returne into the way, we haue libertie to recouer our constancie. Let vs be restored, that we may endure grief••s, in what manner soeuer they assaile our bodies; and say vnto Fortune, Thou hast to deale with a man, search out some other, a man whom thou mayest ouercome. By these say∣ings and such like, the force of that vlcer is appeased, wherof I desire either ease or recure, or strength to support and waxe old with the same. But I am secure of him; the question is of our losse, whereby a worthy old man is taken from vs. For he is full of life, who desireth that nothing should be added vnto him for his owne cause, but for theirs to whom he is profitable. He doth liberally, be∣cause he liueth. Another ere this had finished all these troubles: this man thin∣keth it as foule a thing to shunne death, as to seeke after death. What then, shall he not forsake it, if he be perswaded thereunto? Why should he not forsake it? If no man now hath any further vse of him, if hee haue no businesse but to waite vpon paine. This (my Lucillius) is to learne Philosophie in art and to be exercised in the truth, to see what minde a prudent man hath against death, a∣gainst dolor, when the one approcheth, the other presseth him. That which is to be done, is to be learned of him that doth it. Hitherto we haue debated by arguments, whether any man may resist paine, or death likewise may humble great mindes, when it assaileth them. What need many words? The thing discouereth it selfe, let vs trauell thereunto: neither doth death make him more stronger agains•• paine, neither paine confirme him against death, hee armeth himselfe against both; neither patiently greeueth he in hope of death, neither dieth he willingly thorow the tediousnesse of paine; he endureth the one, hee respecteth the other.

EPIST. XCIX.

A consolatorie Epistle vpon the death of his sonne, vndoubtedly both wise and elo∣quent.

I Haue sent thee that Epistle which I wrote vnto Marulus, when as he had lost his litle son, and was said to be ouerpassionate and grieued for his losse: wherein I haue not obserued my vsuall cu∣stome, neither thought I it fit to handle him gently, when as he was more worthy of reproofe then consolation. For to him that is afflicted and vnable to support a great wound, some little way must be giuen. Let him satisfie himselfe, or at least-wise vpon the first brunt powre out teares abundantly. They that giue libertie to themselues to sorrow and lament, let them forthwith be chastised, and taught, that there are some follies euen in teares. Dost thou expect consolations, receiue reproofes. Doest thou endure thy sonnes death so effeminately? What wouldest thou doe haddest thou lost thy friend. Thy yong infant of vncertaine hope, and very little, is departed: a handfull of time is lost. We seeke out occasions to lament, wee exclaime, al∣though vniustly against Fortune, as though she would not afford vs iust causes of complaint. Truely in esteeme that thou wert alreadie as animated sufficient∣ly against solide and great euils, and consequently against shadowes and appea∣rances of miseries, for which men mourne for custome sake. Hadst thou lost thy friend, which is the greatest losse of all others, thou shouldest endeauour to re∣ioyce more because thou hadst him, then to mourne for that thou hast lost him. But many there are that reckon not what courtesies they haue receiued & com∣fort they haue conceiued by their friends. Amongst other miseries sorrow hath this, that it is not only superfluous, but vngrateful also. Hauing therfore enioied so good a friend, hast thou lost thy time? So many yeares, so great a vnitie, such familiar societie in studie: are all these vanished without effect: Doest thou bu∣rie thy friendship with thy friend? Wherefore mournest thou if his presence hath beene so profitable vnto thee? Beleeue, the greater part of those whom we haue loued remaineth with vs, although casualtie hath taken them from vs. The time alreadie passed is ours, neither is there any thing more securely lod∣ged, then that which hath beene. We are vngratefull in regard of those things we haue receiued vnder hope of that to come; as if that which is to come (if so be it proue successefull vnto vs) should not quickely passe into that which is past. To straitly limitteth hee the fruits of humane life, who onely reioyceth in those things that are present. Both those things that are to come, and those things that are past, doe delight the one with expectation, the other in memorie, but that which is to come is in suspence, and may not be done, as tou∣ching that which is past, it is vnpossible but that it hath beene. What madnes is it then, to leaue that which is most certaine? Let vs content our selues with that wee haue, prouided that wee haue not drawne with a hollow vn∣derstanding, which letteth that passe which hee hath already apprehended. There are infinite examples of those, who without teares haue interred their yong children, who vpon their returne from the funerals, haue entered the Se∣nate house, or entertained some publike office, and suddenly occupied them∣selues about some other businesse, and that vpon good occasion. For first of all it is lost time to grieue, if sorrow profit nothing. Secondly, it is an vniust thing

to complaine of that which hath befallen one, and must befall all those that are to follow after. Moreouer, it is a folly to wish, or to lament, when there is so little difference betweene death and him that lamenteth the same•• For the which cause we ought to haue the more repose in our hearts, because we shall follow them whom we haue lost. Behold with what swiftne••••e time posteth a∣way: thinke vpon this short race whither we runne so swiftly. Consider this great company of mankind, which tendeth to the same end, conuersing and li∣uing together, distinguished by small spaces, euen then when they seeme most greatest. He whom thou thinkest dead, is but gone before. But what madnes is it to bewaile him that went before thee, when as thou thy selfe must trauell the same iourney after him? Doth a man bewaile that thing which hee knew should happen? Or if he thought that man should not die, he deceiued him∣selfe. Some man bewaileth a thing which he said could not chuse but be done? Whosoeuer bewaileth the death of any man, bewaileth that he was a man. All men are tied to one condition, he that happened to be borne, must die. By spa∣ces we are distinguished, by death equalled. That which happeneth betweene our first and last day, is diuers and vncertaine. If thou estimate the troubles, it is ouer-long for a childe: if the swiftnes, it is too short for an old man. There is nothing that is not incertaine and deceiuable, and more light then the winde. All things are tossed, and are transferred into their contrary by the power of Fortune, and in so great inconstancie of humane affaires, there is nothing cer∣taine to any man but his death. Yet all men complaine of that, wherein no man is deceiued. But he died a childe. I say not yet, that he is better dealt withall that is dead. Let vs pas••e ouer to him that is old, how short is the time wherein he hath out-stripped an infant? Propose vnto thy selfe this great extent of years, and comprehend all the ages that are past, then make comparison with that which wee call mans life, with that infinitie of yeares, and then shalt thou see how little a thing all that is which we desire, and extend. Consider how much teares, cares, death so oftentimes wished for, before it comes, sicknesses, feares, foolish infancie, wanton youth, and vnprofitable yeares do possesse, and de••our the portions of our life, we lose the halfe in sleeping. Let vs adde hereunto tra∣uels, sorrowes, and perils, and thou shalt see that in the most longest life which a man can obserue, that which is called liuing, is the smallest portion of the same. But who will not grant thee this, that hee is in better state that may quickly turne to dust; whose iourney is at an end before he be wearie? Life is neither good nor euill, it is the place of good and euill. So hath he lost nothing but the eye which is more certaine to our harmes then good. He might haue become both modest and prudent, he might haue beene formed by thy care and instru∣ction to be more vertuous, but (that which may most iustly be feared) he might haue beene made like to th•• most part of men. Marke me those yong Gentle∣men of great houses, who by their intemperance are brought to that miserie that they are become fencers. Consider those others, who lewdly defile both their owne and others bodies, which ouerslip not a day wherein they are not drunke, or defamed for some other notable infamie. Then shalt thou see that there was more to be feared then hoped for. For which cause thou oughtest not summon to thy selfe these causes of sorrow, nor in vexing thy selfe heape vp incommodities, and of light and slight ones, as they be, to make them vn∣sufferable. I counsell thee to resist thy sorrow, and to vrge it, neither haue I so bad an opinion of thee, that thou wouldest call to aide all thy vertue against those difficulties which present themselues. This is no true griefe, but a slight

touching, thou makest it true griefe, vndoubtedly Philosophy hath done thee great seruice, if thou bewaylest with a resolute heart a childe better known vn∣to his nourse then to his father. Well then, will I haue thee seized of a heart of iron? and is it my minde that thou shouldest looke vp cheerely in the funerals of thy sonne? and will I not suffer thee to let thy minde relent a little? By no meanes. For this were inhumanity, not vertue, to beholde the dead with the same eye that wee doe the liuing, and not to bee moued when as the one is thus separated from the other. Beholde what it is which I forbid. There are things which in a manner are out of our power. Teares fall from the eyes of certaine men that would faine containe them, and these teares thus shed doe lighten the heart: what is there to bee done in such a case? Let vs suffer them to fall, but let vs not commaund them. Let them droppe as long as a••fection commaundeth them to flowe, but not as much as custome and other mens example doth require. But let vs adde nothing vnto sorrow, ney∣ther let vs augment it by other mens examples. This ostentation of sorrow exacteth more then the sorrow it selfe. How few are sorrowfull to themselues? If they suppose that men heare them, they crie out more earnestly; but being by themselues, they are quiet, and as soone as any other saluteth them, then re∣commence they their sorrow, then beate they their head with their handes, which they might haue done more freely when no man forbad them; then wish they themselues dead, then tosse they vpon their pallets: when the be∣holder is gone, the sorrow ceaseth. In this affaire as in others, we are won by an euill custome, we follow the example of our neighbours, and compose our selues by their example, and not by that which best becommeth vs. We neg∣lect nature, and addict our selues to the fashions of the common people, which are both ignorant and corrupt, and who in this as in all other things, is incon∣stant of inconstantest. If they see any man confident in his calamitie, they call him impious and brutish: if they see another dismayde, that respecteth nothing but his body, they tearme him a weake and an effeminate man. All things ther∣fore are to be reduced within the list of reason. But there is no one more grea∣ter folly then to get fame by affected sadnesse, and to approue it by tears, which I consider in two kinds in regard of a wise-man, the one issuing of themselues, the others permitted to flow. I will shew thee what difference there is: Assoone as we heare the newes of our deceased friend, when as we behold his body, rea∣dy to be transported to the fire from our embraces, naturall necessity extorteth teares, and the spirit being impelled by the stroke of sorrow, euen as it shaketh the whole ••ody, so sucketh it, and expelleth from the eyes the tear••s that are at hand. These teares are extorted as they fall, and flow against our wills. Some other there are which we giue way to, when as any man maketh mention of those whom they haue lost. In this heauinesse there is found some sweetnesse, when we remember our selues of their pleasant discourse, of their agreeable conuersation, of their charitable piety, then doe our eyes open and poure forth teares, as it were in ioy. To these we giue allowance, by these we are ouercome. Restraine not therefore, neyther giue libertie to thy teares, by reason of those that assist thee, or attend vpon thee, be it that eyther they are dried vp, or drop downe, there is no shame in them, prouided that they be not fained. Let them flow of thems••lues, and they may flow in men temperate and well composed. Oft-times they haue flowed without any preiudice to a wise-mans authority, with so much temperance, that there neyther wanted humanity, or were disal∣lowed in dignity. It is lawfull, say I, to obey nature without the blemish of gra∣uitie.

I haue seene men that were venerable in the funerals of their children, in whose lookes their loue was testified towards their dead children, without any vaine ostentation of grieuing. There was not any thing which testified not a simple and naturall affection. There is a certaine decorum, euen in sorrow which ought to be obserued by a wise-man. And as in other things, so likewise in teares there is somewhat that is sufficient: vnwise men, as in their ioyes, so keepe they no measure in their sorrowes. Accommodate thy selfe peaceably vnto necessitie. What incredible matter or nouelty hath falne out? How many men are there, whose funerals haue beene celebrated, whose bodies haue beene em∣balmed and embowelled, and who weepeth for them? As oftentimes as thou shalt remember that thy dead childe was an infant, thinke also that hee was a mortall creature, to whom nothing certaine was promised, whom fortune was not obliged to bring vp to olde age, but to forsake then when it best liked her. But speake of him oftentimes, and celebrate his memory as much as thou canst, which oftentimes will be refreshed in thee, if it may salute thee without bitter∣nesse. For no man willingly conuerseth with a sorrowfull man, much lesse with sorrow. If thou remember any speeches of his, if thou hast during his infancy, heard any jests of his to thy contentment, repeate them often, and constantly a••firme that he might haue fulfilled those hopes which thy fatherly minde had conceiued of him. It is the act of an vnnaturall minde to forget a mans friends, and to bury their memories with their bodies, and to weepe for them abun∣dantly, and to remember them slenderly. So birds and beasts loue their young ones with a violent and enraged affection, but with the losse of them it is whol∣ly extinguished. This becommeth not a wise-man: let him continue his re∣membrance, forbeare his mourning. This doe I no wayes allow of, which Me∣tr••dorus saith that there is a certaine ioy that is allied to sorrow, and that this should be affected at this time. I haue set downe Metrodorus owne words, of which I doubt not what censure thou wilt yeeld; for what is more absurd then in sorrow to a••fect pleasure, nay more, by sorrow and teares to seeke that which may comfort? These are they that obiect against vs our too much rigour, and defame our precepts for their hardnesse, because wee say that sorrow is ey∣ther not to be admitted into the minde, or quickly to be expelled out of it. But whether of these two is more incredible and inhumane, eyther not to feele any sorrow for the losse of our friend, or to search pleasure in sorrow? But that which we teach is honest, when as our affection hath powred forth any teares, and (if I may so speake it) hath skummed them•• that we ought not abandon our selues wholly vnto sorrow. What sayest thou? That we mixe pleasure and sorrow together. So still we our children by giuing them bread, so pacifie we our infants by powring in milke. Touching thy selfe at such time as thy sonne burneth, or thy friend expireth thou canst not permit thy leasure to cease, but wilt tickle and flatter sorrow it selfe: whether of both is more fitting, eyther to heale the soule of all griefe, or to mixe griefe and ioy together, I say not onely to mixe, but to take occasion of pleasure out of his sorrow. So farre is it that sor∣row is accompanied with any pleasure, as Metrodorus thinketh. This is lawfull for vs to say, but vnlawfull for you: you acknowledge but one good, which is pleasure, and one euill, which is paine. What alliance may there be betweene good and euill? But suppose there be; now especially must we finde the same, and now it is that we must see whether paine be enuironed with any ioy or pleasure. Certaine remedies there are which applied to some partes of the bo∣die are wholsome, but by reason of their loathsomnesse and indecency cannot

be applied to others, and that in one place may profite without touch of mode∣stie, is dishonest in another part, where the wound most appeareth. Art thou not ashamed to heale sorrow with pleasure? This wound must be handled with more seuerity, rather proue that the dead can feele no euill; for if so it were, he should not be dead. Nothing, say I, hurteth him that is nothing. He liueth if he be hurt. Whether thinkest thou him to be in bad case who is no man, or him that as yet is some body? But in as much as he is not any more, there is not any torment that may o••fend him; for who can feele it that is not? neyther in as much as he is, can he be endamaged; for he is deliuered from the greatest dan∣ger, which is death, by being no more. This likewise let vs say to him that be∣wayleth and wanteth his childe, rauished from him in his young yeares. If thou make a comparison of the shortnesse of all mens liues, with the length of time which is pa•••• since the beginning of the world, both young and olde shall finde themselues equall. For both the one and the other of vs possesse as little as no∣thing of that length and extent of time. A little is yet somthing, but our life and nothing are almost al one, notwithstanding we stretch it out as much as we may, such is our follies. I haue written these things to thee, not because thou shoul∣dest attend from me a remedie, which cometh too late; for I suppose that thou hast tolde thy selfe all that which is contained in my letters. But that I might chastise that little delay, wherein thou hast departed from thy selfe, and in con∣clusion might exhort thee to arme thy selfe hereafter against aduersities, and to foresee all fortunes assaults, not as they might, but as they ought suddenly to af••lict thee.

EPIST. C.

His iudgement of PAPIRIVS FABIANVS the Philosopher, and of his writings.

THou writest to me that thou hast very diligently read ouer those books of Fabianus Papirius, intituled of things Ciuill, but that they answered not thine expectation. And afterwards, forgetting thy selfe that the question was of a Philosopher, thou accusest his composition. But put case it be so as thou say••st, that in stead of well couching his words, he saith all that commeth to memorie: first of all, this discourse hath his grace, and it the proper ornament of a stile, little faultie: for I think there is a great difference whether it escapeth or floweth. Now in this also which I am to speake, there is a great difference: Fabianus seemeth not to me to speake much, but to speake to the purpose. To speake truth his stile is fluent, but not inforced, although it be currant enough. He confesseth openly, and letteth vs see that it is not an affected and laboured stile, but such a one as a man may know it was Fabianus writing. He pretended not to confront his discourse, but to reforme manners: he laboured not to tickle the eare, but to teach & instruct the minde. Furthermore, at such time as he discoursed thou shouldest not haue leasure to consider the parts of his discourse, so much would the summary of the whole rauish and detaine thee. And ordinarily that which is pleasing to vs, be∣ing pronounced Viua voce readily and presently, is not so pleasing vnto vs, being couched in writing. But this also is a great matter, to settle and occupie the sight vpon a book, although a diligent contemplation might find out matter worthy reprehension. If thou ask my opinion, more great is he that rauisheth our iudge∣ment then he that deserueth it. Such a one is more assured, and if I erre not, may

more boldly promise his writings perpetuitie. A laboured discourse becomes not a Philosopher. What shall becom of a generous and resolute heart? when shall hee make proofe of himselfe, if hee be afraid of wordes? Fabianu•• was not n••gligent in his discourse, but secure. Thou shalt finde nothing in him that is base and impertinent. The wordes are chosen but not affect••d, neither couch∣ed according to the custome of this time, or disordered. They are words that haue their weight, that haue an honest and magnificent sense, although they be ordinary & vulgar, they are neither constrained nor doubtfull in a sentence, but graue & profound. We shall neither s••e any thing that is curtalled & short∣ned, nor any structure vnfit, nothing that is not polished, as the eloquence of this time requireth. Examine this discourse euery way, and when thou hast be∣held it on euery side, thou shalt ••inde no straights emptie. Although it haue no Marbles of diuers colours, nor diuiding or currents of waters running thorow chambers, nor little clossets of sparing and abstinence, nor whatsoeuer else disso∣lutenes, not contenting himselfe with a simple & conuenient decency, hath in∣uented and mixed together, yet is the house well builded. Let vs now speake of stru••ture and composition, for all men are not of accord herein. Some of harsh will haue it smooth, some are so much affected to rashnesse & austerity, that if a clause do happily end in a pleasing cadence, they purposely dissipate the same, and interrupt the clauses expresly, lest they should be answerable to expectati∣on. Read Cicero, his composition is one, he obserueth his foot, his speech is poli∣shed, smooth & not effeminate. Contrariwise, Asinius Pollio's discourse is vneuen and skipping, and such as will leau•• thee when thou least expectest it. To con∣clude, in Cicero all things end, in Pollio th••y fall, except a few which are tyed to one certaine kind of custom and example. Besides, in thine opinion thou sayest, that all things in his discourse are humble & scarce vpright, of which vice in my iudgement he is freed: for they are not humble but pleasing, and are formed in an equall and composed manner, not tied together but vnited, they want this rhetoricall vigour nor those points, and sudden darted sentences. But exa∣mine the whole body, although it be not farded it is honest and wel ••ashioned. His speech hath no grace: bring me one whom thou mayest prefer before Fabi∣anus. If thou producest Cicero, who hath almost written as many books in Philo∣phy as Fabianus, I will giue place; y••t is not that presently little that is lesse then the greatest. Say that it is Asinius Pollio, I will yeelde; but to return•• thee an answere: To be after these two•• is too very high when the qu••stion is of elo∣quence. Name me Liuie beside these, for he also hath written Dialogus, which a man may as wel cal Philosophical as Historical: other books likewise, wherin he treateth expresly o•• Philosophie; to him likewise will I giue place, yet consi∣der how m••ny he exceedeth, who is ouercome by three, & they the three most eloquent. But he performeth not al, his speech is not strong, although alate; it is not violent nor headlong, although abundant in words; it is not perspicuous but pure. Thou desirest a sharpe declamation against vices, a confident discourse against dangers, a bould speech against aduersitie, an inuectiue against am∣bition. I will haue wickedness•• chidden, lust traduced, impatience bridled. Let the termes of an Orator bee stinging, of a tragique Poet stately, of a Co∣micke familar and plaine. Wilt thou haue him countenance a small matter with words? He hath addicted himselfe to the gentlenesse o•• things he drawes our eloquence, and makes it follow after him, as the shadow doth the bodie. Vndoubtedly all his words shall not be well placed and exactly couched toge∣ther; neither in euery clause shall there bee a part that may quick••n and a∣waken

men. I dare promise that diuers periods shall escape him to no purpose, and that somtimes his discourse shal slip away without mouing, but in al places his wordes shall be agreeable, neyther shall there be any pause that will be dis∣pleasant. In a word, he will make thee know that he beleeued whatsoeuer he wrote. Thou shalt see that his intention was to make thee know what he ap∣proued, and not to flatter thee: he demandeth nothing but thy good, and sear∣cheth for nought else but to see thee endowed with a good conscience. It is not applause which he desireth. I doubt not but his writings are such, and though I remember not their intents in generall, yet hau•• I b••fore mine eyes some pas∣sages of the same, not in that I haue read them ouer lately, but for that I haue s••ene them in times past, and long since. At such time as I heard him, his wordes in my iudgement were such, not solid but full and natural, which might allure a young and well dispos••d man to vertue, and giue him hope to attaine the true end; which manner of teaching in my opinion, is more effectuall then any other, for that of another kind maketh the auditors to lose their harts, and taketh away their hope, which impresseth no other desire in them, but to imi∣tate and follow the same. In briefe, Fabianus abounded in wordes without the commendation of euery seuerall part; but all his discourse in generall was ex∣quisit and magnificent.

EPIST. CI.

Of the sudden death of one of his acquaintance, and by occasion that we are to trust or promise nothing to our selues. That all things are vncertaine, and therefore good life is not to be deferred, neyther long life to be desired: in conclusion, he controlleth MECAENAS his absurd vow.

EVery day, euery houre sheweth vs how vaine and nought worth we be, and by some new argument admonisheth vs that are for∣getfull of our frailty, when as it compelleth vs (who meditate vp∣pon eternitie) to looke backe vnto death. Askest thou me what this induction meaneth? Thou knewest Cornelius Senecio a Ro∣mane Knight, a man both rich, liberall, and courteous, who from a slender e∣state beginning, had raised his fortunes, and had attained the speedy meanes al∣ready to compasse the rest. For dignity doth more easily increase then begin. Mony also maketh the longest stay about pouerty, whilst she creepeth out of it. This Senecio aspired vnto riches, whereunto there were two very effectuall meanes that conducted him, that is to say, the knowledge of getti••g, and the meanes of keeping, whereof the one is sufficient to make a man rich. This man being wonderfully frugall, no lesse carefull of his patrimony then of his bodie, when as according to his custome he had s••ene me in the morning, when as from morning to night he had sitten by his friend that was grieuously sicke, and lay desperate without hope, af••er he had supped merrily, was seized with a sud∣den sickenesse, that is to say, with the Squinancy, which s••rangled him, and set his soule at libertie. He departed therefore within a few houres after he had per∣formed all the offices of an able and healthfull man. He that traded with his money both by Sea and Land, that had publique profit•• also, and left no kinde of profit vnsought after, in the very height of his succesfull fortunes, when as money rained on euery side into his coffers, was taken out of this life.

Now MAELIBEVS graft thy peares againe, And plant thy vines vpon the pleasant plaine.

How fond a thing it is to promise our selues long life, whereas we are scarcely Lords and Masters of to morrow. O how mad are they that feede on fained hopes, and long enterprises? I will buy, I will build, I will lend, I will recouer my debts, I will haue such and such estates, and then when I am fully satisfied, I will passe my full and weary age in repose and quiet. But trust me, all things are vncertaine, yea euen vnto those that thinke themselues most assured. No man ought to promise himselfe any thing of that which is to come. That also which we haue surest hold-fast of, slippeth thorow our fingers, and casualtie cuts that very cord in sunder whereon we haue greatest hold-fast. There is a prefixed or∣dinance in the reuolutions of the world, although they are marueilously obscu∣red. But what concerneth it me, whether that be certaine to nature, which is vncertaine to me? We purpose & intend great voyages by Sea, wherin we shall see many forraine parts, & resolue not to return again into our country of a long time: we must to the warres, and be richly recompenced after we haue passed thorow al the degrees of armes, & haue had commissions & honorable charges, more and more, the one after the other, when as in the meane while death stan∣deth by our sides, and because we neuer cast our eyes on that which is ours, but only vpon that which is anothers, from time to time the examples of our frailty appeare vnto vs, whereon we neuer thinke, but at such time as they stay before our eyes. But what is more foolish then to wonder to see that done in any day, which may be done in euery day. It is a thing most assured, that the scope of our life is limitted by the inexorable necessitie of destinie, but no man knoweth how neere it is. Let vs therefore so dispose our mindes, as if this present time were our last houre. Let vs deferre nothing. Let vs daily make euen with life. It is the greatest errour in life, that it is alwayes imperfect, and that some part thereof likewise is deferred. Hee that hath euery day laid the last hand on his life, needeth not time. But from this indigence proceedeth feare, and a desire of the future deuouring and eating our mindes. There is nothing more miserable then the doubt to things to come, why they happen. The soule that debateth what it is that remaineth, or of what kind is agitated with an inexplicable feare. How shall we auoid this perplexitie? By this one, if we prolong not our life in vaine discourse, but gather it into it selfe. For he to whom the present time is vn∣profitable, cannot haue any repose, in regard of the future•• But whereas what∣soeuer is due by me vnto my selfe, is restored to my selfe, whereas the confir∣med minde knoweth that there is no difference betweene a day and an age: she beholdeth, as it were, from an high tower, all the dayes and affaires that here∣after are to come, and with much laughter thinketh on the sequele of times. For what should the varietie and mutabilitie of fortunes trouble thee, if thou be assured against incertainties? Make hast therefore (my Lucillius) to liue, and thinke euery seuerall day, a seuerall life. Whosoeuer ordereth himselfe thus, he that maketh euery day his whole life, is secure. They that liue in hope, haue neuer any time of rest, they are alwayes desiring and coueting: and the appre∣hension of death a thing most miserable, and which maketh all things most mi∣serable neuer forsaketh them. From thence proceeded that dishonest wish of Moecenas, who contented himselfe to be weake, deformed, and tormented with grieuous and sharpe sicknesse, prouided he might prolong his life amiddest the masse of these miseries.

Make me weake in thigh and hand, Make my feet infirme to stand, Shake my teeth, and make them cracke, Stoope my shoulders, bend my backe; So my life remaine, I care not, Threaten torture, come and spare not.

This is to wish an extreame misery, if it should haue happened, and the length of the punishment is desired, as if it were some life. I should repute him a con∣temptible fellow, if he would liue vntill such time as hee were tied to the gal∣lowes. Yet this man saith, weaken me, prouided that my soule may remaine in my crased and vnprofitable bodie: dis••igure mee, if this counterfeit and mon∣strous bodie of mine may lengthen my life some dayes. Torture and crucifie me, if so be by that meanes I may liue. It is a strange matter in him to hide his wounds thus, and to be content to remaine hanged and stretched vpon a gibbet, vpon condition that death, which is the end of all punishment, and the soue∣raigne remedie against all euils, should be d••ferred in his behalfe. See heere a wondrou•• thing, I would hau•• a soule to die without dying. What wouldest thou wish for, O Maecenas, but that the gods should haue pitie on thee? Where∣to tendeth the villany of this verse, proceeding from an effeminate mind? What meaneth this couenant inuented by senselesse and madde feare? And to what purpose is this shamefull begging of loathsome life. Thinke you that Virgil e∣uer recited this verse vnto him,

To leaue this life, is it a thing so wretched?

He wisheth the worst of euils, and those things that are most grieuous to be suf∣fered, hee desireth to be grieuously tortured and hanged vp: and why, or for what recompence, for sooth, for a longer life. But what is this mans life? to die long. Is th••re any man found, who had rather parch himselfe vp amiddest tor∣tures, and to lose one member after another, and to die so oftentimes amiddest defluxions, as to die at one time? Was there euer any man that had rather wish to lie cou••hed all at his length vpon a miserable bed languishing, deformed, crook••d both before and behind, that besides his violent sicknesses, had other more mortall, that desireth to retaine a soule being tortured and rent in peeces by so many torments? Say now that the necessitie of death is not a great gift of Nature. Many as yet are readie to vow farre worse, yea euen to betray their friends that they may liue longer, and to deliuer their children to be deflowred with their owne hands, that they might prolong their life, being guiltie of so much wickednesse. We must shake off this desire of life, and learne this, that it skils not when thou sufferest any thing, which thou must suffer sometimes: that all in all is to liue well, without taking care how long, and that oftentimes also this well liuing consisteth in a life which is not long.

EPIST. CII.

He speaketh somewhat of the immortalitie of the soule, and then annexeth a question, Whether renowne doth vs any good after death. First he disputeth slenderly and Scho∣lastically, then about the end more effectually, and leadeth our mindes to God and ce∣lestiall things. He approueth that this our bodie is our burthen and couer, that it ought to be despised and shaken off, when God and time summon vs thereunto.

EVen as he is troublesome that awakeneth another man, that is sea∣zed with some pleasant dreames, although it be fained, for he ta∣keth away the pleasure, yea such notwithstanding as hath the ef∣fect of truth. So thy Epistle hath done me iniurie, for it hath re∣called me from a thought and meditation, into which I was suffi∣ently entered to the purpose, and had engaged my selfe further, had I not by this meanes beene disturbed. I tooke pleasure to debate vpon the eternitie of soules, nay more, I was fully resolued therein. For I easily beleeued the opini∣ons of great men, rather promising then approuing so gratefull a matter. I gaue my selfe ouer to this so great hope, and now grow hatefull vnto my selfe, and now contemned the reliques of my broken yeares, being readie to be transfer∣red into that immeasurable time, and possession of that in••inite eternitie, when as suddenly I was awakened by thy letter, which made me dismisse so sweete a dreame, which hereafter I will reuiue and redeeme againe, as soone as I haue sa∣tisfied thy expectation. Thou sayest that in my former letter I did not suffici∣ently answere that question, wherein I laboured to proue that which they of our sect doe approue, that the praise which a man obtaineth after death is a great good. That I haue not answered that question which is opposed against vs. Of goods that are distant (say they) there is none good; but this is a thing distant and farre off. That which thou proposest (my Lucillius) is a part of the question, yet such a part a ough•• to be debated vpon in another place: and therefore I neither would touch that, neither other things that were depen∣dent thereupon. For some Morall questions as thou knowest are intermixed with the Naturall. And therefore I entreated onely of that part which wholly concerneth manners. That is to say, whether it be a foolish and superfluous thing to transport our thoughts beyond the latter end of this life; whether our goods perish with vs, and nothing remaineth of his, who is nothing; whether we shall feele any fruit of that which shall be (what soeuer it may be) before we may enioy it. But all these questions pertaine vnto manners, and therefore are they ranked in their proper place. But those things which are spoken by the Logicians against this opinion, are to be seuered, and therefore are they set a∣part. But now, since thou requirest at this time a reason of all, I will examine that which they say, and afterwards answere their obiections. If I propose not something first, a man cannot vnderstand the refutations. What is it that I would foretell? That there are some continued bodies, as a man: some com∣pound, as a ship, a house, and all other things whose diuers parts are vnited to∣gether in one. Some likewise that consist of distant parts, whose members are as y••t separate, as an Armie, a People, a Senate. For they of whom this bodie is composed, are vnited together either by law or duetie, but by nature they are distinct, and each one seuerall. What is it likewise that now I will foretell? That we suppose that nothing is good, which is compos••d of things distant. For one

good mu••t be maintained and gouerned by one spirit, and that there is but one principall of one good. This is approued by it selfe, if thou requir••st it to bee proued, and in the mean while it was to be set down••, to the end it might be the ground of our discourse. Thou wilt say, you other Stoicks maintaine that no good is composed of things distant. But this glorie whereof wee entreate, is a fauourable opinion of good men. For as a good fame is not one mans words, neither infamie one mans mis-report: so is it not praise to please one good man, many famous and worthy men must consent herein to make it glorie. But this consisteth in diuers mens iudgements, and namely those that are distant, there∣fore it is not good, glory (saith he) is a commendation giuen by good men to a good man: commendation is a speech, a speech is a voice that signifieth some∣thing. But the voice, although it be a good mans voice, is not goodnesse. For whatsoeuer a good man doth, is not alwayes good. For he clappeth his hands and hisseth. But neither will any man say that his clapping or hissing is good, although he applaud and admire all whatsoeuer is his, no more then he will do his snee••ing or coughing. Therefore glory is not good. In a word, tell vs whe∣ther this good concerneth the praiser, or him that is praised? If the praiser, it is as much as if thou shouldest say, that another mans good health is mine, but to praise those that are worthy is an honest action, therefore this good concer∣neth the praiser, from whom this action commeth•• not from vs that are praised. But this is that which is in question. I answere briefely to these obiections. First the question is at this day, whether any good may be composed of those things that are distant; and both parties haue their reasons. Secondly, praise desireth not many suffrages: for it may be contented with one good mans iudgement, who onely is a competent Iudge, to say that all they who resemble him are good. What then (saith he) shal fame depend vpon the estimate of one man, and infamie tied to the mis-report of another man? Glory also (saith he) as I vnder∣stand, is spread more largely. For it requireth the consent of many men. The condition of these, and of this are different. Why? Because if a good man haue a good opinion of me, I am in the same estate that I should be, when as all good men should haue like thought of me. For if all of them knew me, they would iump•• in the opinion of this one man. They haue but one and the same iudge∣ment, and they that cannot differ, doe necessarily agree in their opinions. Ther∣fore, that which one thinketh importeth as much, as if all of them had spoken because they cannot be of any other opinion. The opinion of one man (saith he) sufficeth not to giue glory and renowne vnto another. To this I answere, that herein the opinion of one auaileth as much as of all, for if euery one of them be demanded, they will answere alike. In this place the iudgements of those tha•• disagree are diuers, the affections different. Thou shalt finde all things in this world doubtfull, light, and suspected. Thinkest thou that all mens mindes are alike? Vndoubtedly the same man is not of the same opinion al∣wayes. Truth is pleasing to the good, and this truth neither changeth his vi∣gor or colour. Amongst the wicked there are falsities wherein they accord, but there is nothing but inconstancie, repugnancie and discord in a lie. But praise (saith he) is but a voice spread in the aire, and that a word meriteth not the name of good•• when as they say that praise is the commendation of good men, deliuered by good men; now referre it not to the words but to the sentence•• For although a good man hold his peace, and yet iudgeth any man worthy of com∣mendation, by this is hee commended. Besides, there is a difference betwixt these two words, Praise, and Praising, which requireth explication. Deliuering a

funerall Oration, we vse not this word praise but praysing, which consisteth in wordes. But saying that some one is worthy of praise, we vnderstand by this word the iust iudgements of men, rather then their speeches. So then praise shall be the right opinion of him who without speaking, priseth in himselfe any good man. Furthermore as I haue said, praise hath relation to the thought, not vnto the words, which expresse the praise which is conceiued inwardly, and vt∣tered to the knowledge of many men. He praiseth who iudgeth that he ought to praise, when as the Tragique Poet saith, That it is a magnificent thing to be prai∣sed by a praise-worthy man: he meaneth that this praise-worthy man is worthy of praise. And when another Poet of the same time saith that praise nourisheth arts, he speaketh not of a flatterie which corrupteth arts. For there is nothing that hath so much soiled eloquence, and all other studies addicted to the eare, as the applause of the people. Fame would be published and bruited, praise would not, for she respecteth not wordes, but contenteth her selfe with iudge∣ment; she is accomplished, not onely amongst those that are silent, but likewise amongst those that oppose themselues against her. Now will I declare what difference there is betweene praise and glorie; Glory consisteth on many mens iudgments, Praise on good mens. To whom returneth the good of praise (saith he) eyther to him that is praised, or to the praiser? Both to the one & to the o∣ther. It is a great good for me to be praised, for nature hath created me a louer of all men: I reioyce that I haue done well, & one of my contentments is to haue met with men which take pleasure in those vertuous acts which I might haue done. That many are thus disposed is a good which they enioy, but I haue my part in it also, being of that mind that I think other mens good be mine, especial∣ly those men to whom I am the cause of this good which proceeds from vertue. But euery occasion of vertue is good, which they could not enioy if I were not vertuous. So then a true praise is a common good, both to him that praiseth, and him that is praised, as certainly as a iust sentence is the good and honour both of the Iudge and the partie who obtaineth profit by the cause. Doubtest thou that justice is not a good both to the debtor and creditor? It is iustice and equity to praise a man that meriteth praise, and consequently is a common good, both to him that praiseth, and him that is praised: we haue sufficiently answered these cauillers. But this should not be our purpose to sow subtilties, and to draw Philosophie from her majestie into these straights: how farre better is it to goe the open and direct way, then to finde out by pathes and loose our selues therein, and be constrained to returne backe, to our great trouble and pre∣iudice? For these disputations are nought else but the pastimes of men that would cunningly beguile one another. Rather tell mee how naturall a thing it is to extend the minde to infinitie. A great and generous thing is mans mind, it endureth not to be circumscribed by any limits, but those which are com∣mon to him with God. First of all, he acknowledgeth nor himselfe to be natu∣turally bred in any region or land whatsoeuer, as in Ephesus or Alexandria, or in any other countrey of the greatest extent, or most peopled. All whatsoeuer is in∣uironed by the continent of heauen is his countrey, that is to say, his round, composed of Seas and Lands mixed together, within which the extent of the ayre seperateth and vniteth things celestiall and terrestriall, in which so many gods disposed in due order are intentiue to execute their commissions: second∣ly, she endureth not to be circumscribed by yeares: all years (saith he) are mine, no age is locked vp to great wits, there is no time thorow which humane thought hath not pierced. When that day which must make a seperation be∣twixt

the bodie and soule thus vnited, as you see I will leaue this body, where I found it, and will restore my selfe vnto the gods; neyther am I now without them, but in such sort, as I feele my selfe detained in this heauie and earthly pri∣son. By these delayes of mortall life we make an entrance to that better and longer life. Euen as our mothers wombe containeth vs nine monthes, and pre∣pareth vs not to remaine therein alwaies, but for another place for which it soe∣meth we striue both hand and foot, as soone as we are readie to breathe and liue in the aire•• so by the meanes of this space of time, which is betwixt our infancy and age, we aspire vnto another birth of nature. Another originall, another e∣state of things attendeth vs. We cannot as yet suffer the heauen, but by means of this great extent which is betweene them and vs: for which cause beholde thou with a setled eye that determined houre which is not the last vnto the soule, but onely to the body. Whatsoeuer goods of this world thou beholdest about thee, look on them as if they were the baggage and moueables of an Inne. We must passe further; nature leaueth vs as naked at the issue of this world, as we were vpon the entry: thou hast brought nothing with thee, neyther shalt thou carry away any thing with thee; nay more, thou must leaue in the world a great part of that which thou hast brought with thee. Thou shalt be spoyled of that skin that inclosed thee, and the last cloth that couered thee; thou shalt leaue thy flesh and bloud, which is dispersed thorow thy whole body; thy bones and nerues shall be taken from thee, which were the supporters of so many fraile and fleeting things. This day which thou fearest so much, and which thou callest thy last, is the birth day of an eternity. Lay aside thy bur∣then. Why delayest thou? Is it so long since that thou forsookest a body, that is to say thy mothers womb where thou wert hidden, to enter into this world? Why striuest thou, and dalliest thou? Thy mother when thou wert borne la∣boured hardly to be deliuered of thee. Thou sighest, thou weepest, and this is that which the infant doth as soone as he is borne. But then wert thou to be pardoned, because as then thou wert but new born, and without the knowledge of any thing. Being issued from this hote and soft couch of thy mothers en∣trailes, thou hast breathed a more freer aire; then feeling thy selfe touched with a hand somewhat more hard, thou that wert soft and tender, couldest not endure it without crying: and it is not to be wondered at that thou remainedst astonished and daunted amongst so many things, which were vnseene before, considering that thou neither haddest knowledge nor apprehension of any thing. Let it not be a new thing now vnto thee to be seperated from that, wher∣of before time thou hast beene some portion: acquit thy selfe willingly of these members which are now superfectlesse, and lay aside this body, wherein thou hast inhabited so long time. It shall be cut in pieces, deuoured and brought to nothing. Why art thou agrieued? So goes the world. The cau••es which in∣folde the infants in their mothers wombe shall be broken and rotten. Why louest thou earthly goods, as if they were thine? These are but the foulds that wrap thee in. A day will come that will vnfould them, and will draw thee out of the company of this villenous and stinking wombe. Fly now out of this wor••d with a forward courage, estrange thy selfe from all things, yea, of those things that be necessarie. That done, meditate on somewhat more high and sublime. One day the secrets of nature shall be discouered vnto thee, this ob∣scuritie shall be cleared, and a shining light shall reflect vpon thee on euery side. Thinke with thy selfe how great this brightnesse is of so many celestiall bodies, which mixe their lights together. So faire a cleere shall neuer be obscured by

any darkenesse: the heauen shall be as glorious in one part as in another. Day and night are the reuolutions of the regions of the ayre. Thou wilt confesse that thou hast liued in darknesse, when as thou shalt freely see the whole light, which now thou beholdest obscurely thorow th••se narrow circles of thine eyes, and from a farre, yet not without astonishment. What wilt thou say of the diuine light, when thou shalt see it in his place? Such a thought as this will not suffer our soules to gather rust or durt, it hindereth vs eyther from humb∣ling our hearts too low, or raising them too high. Shee maintaineth that the gods are witnesses of all things, and will that we be approued by them, that we depend on their will, that we haue the day of eternitie alwayes before our eyes. Whosoeuer hath any apprehension hereof in his soule, he hath no feare of Ar∣mies, the Trumpet amazeth him nothing, there is no threat that may make him feare. He that expecteth death, can he be without feare? whereas the o∣ther (who esteemeth that the soule remaineth and subsisteth during his aboad in the prison of the bodie, in departing from which she is dissipated) ceaseth not to demeane himselfe in such sort, that after his death he pretendeth to serue those that suruiue in som other sort: for althogh he be taken from our sight, yet

The mans great vertue, and his countries glorie, And wondrous value come to memorie.

Thinke how much good examples profite vs, and thou shalt finde that the me∣morie of worthy personages is no lesse profitable for vs then their presence.

EPIST. CIII.

The malice and treasons of men amongst themselues, yet doe not thou so, but lay them a∣part; and be thou curteous and willing to doe good vnto all men.

WHy regardest thou on euery side those things that may befall thee, and happily may not chance vnto thee? I meane fire or ruine, and other inconueniences which happen vnto vs, but lay not in waite for vs. Rather consider and auoyde thou the dan∣gers which attend and surprise vs. These casualties are rare, although they be grieuous, to suffer ship-wrack, to be ouerturned out of a Coach. But from a man daily a man expecteth the most danger, prepare thy selfe against this euill, and contemplate it with open eyes. For there is no euill more frequent, more ob∣stinate, neyther any one more flattering. The tempest threatneth before it ri∣seth: the houses cracke before they fall: the smoake foretelleth that the fire is a kindling. But the mischiefe that a man doth is sudden, and the neerer the e∣uill is, the more secretly is it hidden. Thou art deceiued if thou trust their looks that meete thee: they haue the faces of men, but the hearts of sauage beasts, but that the first assault of beasts is most violent, which they cannot auoyde: for nothing but necessitie moueth them to hurt; either by hunger or feare they are enforced to fight, but a man taketh pleasure to destroy a man. But thinke thou so that the danger is by a man, to the end thou mayest thinke what the office of a man is. Consider the one, to the end thou be not offended, and the other, to the end thou offend not. Reioyce at euery mans profit, and be sorie for their harmes, and bethinke thy selfe what thou oughtest to performe, and what to a∣uoid.

By liuing thus, what gettest thou? Thou mayest alwayes auoide that men doe thee no outrage, but thou canst not chuse but be deceiued by them. Especially endeuour thy selfe to take thy retreat to Philosophie, shee will de∣fend thee in her bosome. In her Sanctuarie either shalt thou be safe, or safer. Men iostle not one another, except they walke in the same way. But of al things beware to boast of thy Philosophie. Many men by too proudly boasting, and vainely vaunting thereof, haue perished. Let it suffice thee that shee spoileth thee of thy vices, that she reprocheth not other men of theirs, that she abhorre not from publike manners, that she behaue her selfe modestly, without causing men thinke of her, that she condemneth all that which shee doth not her selfe. A man may be wise without making shew thereof, and without enuying any man.

EPIST. CIIII.

Of his sicknesse and the cure, and the charitie his wife had of him. That he had changed his abode for recreation sake, and hereupon an excellent discourse vpon trauaile. That it is not profitable of it selfe, except it be made so by the minde. Let that be amended, and the affections cut off, and that then euery station and estate will be pleasing. That there is likewise another kinde of trauaile, to haue recourse vnto ancient and great men, to behold them in our thoughts, and to imitate them. This rooteth out vices, that planteth vertues, and to this inuiteth he LVCILLIVS.

I Fled into my Grange at Momentanum: but why thinkest thou? to shun the Citie? No, the feuor which began to seaze vpon me. And now alreadie she had laid hold on me. Forthwith therefore I commanded my Coach to be made readie, although my wife Paulina were against it: My Physitian hauing touched my pulse, and finding the arterie beating incertainly and contrary to nature, said that it was the beginning of a feuor. Yet notwithstanding I resolued my selfe to set forward; remembring me of a speech of Gallio, my Lord and Master, who being in Achaia, and feeling himselfe surprised with a feuor, forthwith embar∣ked himselfe, crying out that this sicknesse of his proceeded from the aire of the Country, and not from his bodie. This tould I to my Paulina, who recommen∣ded my health vnto me. For whereas I know that her soule is translated and li∣ueth in mine, for her content sake I begin to haue a care of my health. But al∣though that old age hath fortified me against diuers difficulties, yet at this pre∣sent begin I to lose this benefit of age. I thought that in this old man there was a yong man, that was ouer much tendered. So then, because I cannot require that my wife should loue me more entirely then she doth, she hath begged so much at my hands, that now I cherish my selfe more tenderly then I otherwise did. For we must giue way vnto honest affections, and sometimes also, if vrgent causes require it, our soule in honor of our friends is to be recalled, though it be to our torment, and retained betwixt our teeth, because a vertuous man is bound to liue, not as long as he liketh, but as long as he must. He that without respect of his wife and friends, laboureth for nought else but to end his life, but demaundeth death is ouer delicate. Let the soule haue this commandement ouer her selfe, (when the profit of those, to whom she is obliged, requireth the same) to shunne death, not onely for her owne cause, but likewise when shee is

vpon the point to dislodge and leaue the bodie, to reenter againe, to the end she may be enabled to doe her friends seruice. It is the argument of a great minde to returne vnto life for another mans good, as diuers great personages haue ma∣ny times done. And this also esteeme I to be a great humanitie, to maintaine old age more intentiuely, (the fairest fruit whereof consisteth in maintenance of her health, and in liuing more orderly then he was accustomed) if thou knew that to be a thing either pleasant, profitable, or wished for of any of thy friends. Moreouer, there is a great ioy and profit therein. For what greater con∣tentment may there be, then to be so dearely beloued by a mans wife, that for that cause thou shouldest become more louing to thy selfe? My Paulina therfore cannot only impute her feare vnto me, but mine also. Demandest thou therfore what successe my determination had in going into the country? As soone as I had gotten out of the foggie aire of Rome, and from the stinck of the smookie chimneyes thereof, which being stirred, power forth whatsoeuer pestilent va∣pours they held inclosed in them, I felt an alteration of my disposition. How much, thinkest thou, was my strength encreased when I came vnto my Grange? No sooner entered I the meads, but I beganne to rush vpon my meate with a strong appetite. Thus therefore for the present haue I recouered my selfe, this leannesse of bodie which hath no securitie of health, and which beginneth to decline, is vanished from me, and I beginne to studie diligently. The place yeelds little furtherance thereunto, if the minde be not assistant to it selfe, for if he list amidst all affaires and troubles he may haue a place of retirement. But he that maketh choice of the place, and idleth it vainly, shall euery where finde a nooke wherein to restraine himselfe. For it is reported that Socrates (hearing a certaine man complaine that he had lost his time in trauelling heere and there) returned this answere: not without cause hath this befallen thee, for thou tra∣uelledst with thy selfe. O how happie would diuers men be, if they could wander from themselues. But they are the first that sollicite, corrupt, and ter∣rifie them selues. What auaileth it to passe the seas, and to change Cities? If thou wilt flie these things wherewith thou art vrged, thou needest not be in an∣other place, but become another man. Put case thou wert come to Athens, or to Rhodes; chuse what Citie thou pleasest. What skilleth it what manners they haue? Thou shalt carry thither thine owne. Thinkest thou that riches make men happie? Pouertie (yea the appearance and presumption thereof, which is a lamentable opinion) shall incessantly torture thee. For although thou possessest much, yet because another man hath more, thou shalt seeme vn∣to thy selfe by so much the poorer, by how much the other is more rich. Sup∣posest thou that honours are good? It shall grieue thee that such a man is made Consul, and that such a one hath twice enioyed the Office, it shal vex thee when thou shalt finde in the publike registers any mans name oftener then thine owne. So great shall the furie of thy ambition be, that if any one shall out∣strip thee, thou wilt not thinke that any marcheth behind thee. Wilt thou sup∣pose death to be an extreame euill? When as there is nothing euill in it, but the feare which is before it, not only the dangers, but the suspitions wil terrifie thee. Thou shalt incessantly be tormented with dreames and shadowes. For what shall it profit thee that thou hast escaped so many Cities of Greece, and made thy way by flight thorow the middest of thine enemies? Peace it selfe shall af∣fright thee. Thou shalt no wayes trust those things that are most a••sured, as soone as thy minde shall be shaken. For as soone as she hath gotten a custome to entertaine improuident feare, thou art no more disposed to entertaine any

repose or contentment in thy selfe. For she shunneth not, but flieth from the stroake, but if we turne our backes to afflictions, they haue greater holdfast on vs. Thou wilt iudge it a grieuous euill to lose any of those friends thou hast lo∣ued, whereas meane while it is as great folly to bewaile them, as to weepe, be∣cause the leaues of thy faire shadowing trees, which adorne thy house, are fal∣len and shaken to the ground. As much flourisheth the one, as the other which delighteth thee. Death will shake downe the one to day, the other to morrow. But as wee suffer patiently the fall and losse of the leaues of our trees, because they will spring againe: so oughtest thou to endure the losse of thy friends, whom thou conceitest to be the ioyes of thy life, because they shall be restored, although they be not now borne. But they shall not be such as they were whi∣lest they remained in this world. Neither shalt thou thy selfe be the same. E∣uery day, euery houre changeth thee, but in others the nourishment appeareth more easily, heere it lieth hidden, because it is not done openly. Some are carried away; but wee our selues are secretly stolne away. Wilt thou thinke of none of these things. Wilt thou apply no remedies to these wounds, but send vnto thy selfe the causes of thy cares, by hoping something and despai∣ring other? If thou beest wise, mixe the one with the other, neither hope thou without desperation, neither despaire without hope. What can trauell profit any man of it selfe? It tempereth not pleasures, it bridleth not desires, it pacifi∣eth not displeasures, it breaketh not the vntamed assaults of loue. To conclude, it disburtheneth the minde of no euill, neither gi••eth iudgement, nor shaketh off error, but detaineth the minde for a short time, and entertaineth it with no∣ueltie of things, as we see children stand at gaze, when they behold any thing which they haue not seene. To conclude, this going and comming doth no more but make the inconstant thought more light and stirring, which in the height of his euill, prouoketh and altereth it selfe in such sort, that they who most earnestly trauelled into any countrey•• depart from thence more hastily, and after the manner of skipping birds, flie thence more swiftly, then they came thither. Trauell will giue thee knowledge of Nations, will shew thee the new formes of Mountaines, the spacious and vnaccustomed plaines, the Valleyes watered vvith running Riuers, some floud that hath a certaine no∣table propertie, as Nilus, vvhich encreaseth in Sommer, or Tygris, vvhich loos•••••• it selfe, then hauing made a long circuit vnder the earth reentereth h••s channell, and reneweth his swift and spacious course as before, or hovv Meander (the exercise and play of all Poets) maketh an infinite vvindlas of turnes and retures, that oftentimes discharging her selfe from her owne channell streameth along the bedde of her neighbour flouds, and so retur∣neth. But such voyages will neither make thee more healthie, or more vvise. We must conuerse amongst studies, and amongst the authors of wisdome, that wee may learne that which wee desire to know, and seeke out that which is as yet vnfound. By this meanes must the minde bee redeemed from misera∣ble seruitude, and set at libertie. As long as thou shalt bee ignorant of that vvhich thou shouldest flie or follovv, of that vvhich is necessarie and superfluous, of that vvhich is iust and honest, this may not bee said a tra∣uaile, but an errour. Thi•• turmoyle vvill comfort thee nothing, for thou wanderest accompanied by thy affections, and thy euils follow thee. Would to God they might follow thee, and were further off from thee: now thou bea∣rest them on thy back, thou leadest them not. For which cause they euery way weigh thee downe, and feare thee with equall incommodities. The sicke man

must seeke out for a good medicine, not for a new country. Hath any one bro∣ken his leg, or put a member out of ioynt? He gets not to his coach, he embarkes not in his ship, but calleth for a Physitian, to the end he may vnite that which was broken, and set the ioynt in his place that was dislocated. To what end then thinkest thou, that by changing thy country, thou mayest heale thy brui∣sed and broken minde in so many places? This euill is more great then to be cu∣red by being carried hither and thither. Trauell neither maketh a Physitian no•• an Orator. There is neither art nor science that is learned by changing place in this sort. What then, is not wisdome which is the greatest treasure of all others learned in trauels? Trust mee, there is no iourn••y that may retire thee apart from thy desires, thy displeasures, and thy feares, or if there were any, all m••n∣kind by troopes would trauell and flocke thither. So long will these euils presse thee and macerate thee whilest thou wanderest by land and sea; as long as thou bearest the causes of thine euils in thee. Wonderest thou at this, that thy flight profit••th thee nothing. Why man, the things thou fliest are with the••. Mend thy selfe therefore, shake off thy burthens, and at least-wise containe thy desires within compasse. Roote all wickednesse out of thy minde, if thou wilt haue thy trauels delightfull, heale thy companion. Auarice will cling vnto thee as long as thou liuest with a couetous and base companion. Pride will clea•••• vnto thee, as long as thou conuersest with a proud man. Thou wilt neuer lay aside thy crueltie in a Hang-mans company. The fellowship of adulterors will en∣kindle thy lusts. If thou wilt be discharged of vices, thou must retire thy selfe a farre off from all euill examples. Auarice, dissolution, crueltie, fraud (such enemies that approching thee, will wound thee grieuously) are within thee. Acquaint thy selfe with the better sort, liue with such as Cato, Laelius, and T••∣bero were: and if thou take a liking to liue among the Grecians, conuerse with Socrates and with Zeno: The one will teach thee how to die, if it be needfull, the other how to die before it be needfull. Liue with Chrysippus and P••sidonius: These will teach thee the knowledge of diuine and humane things. These will command thee to put in practise that which thou hast learned, and not to con∣tent thy selfe with a polished tongue, which tickleth the eares of the hearers, but to fortifie thy heart, and to confirme it to confront casualtie. For the on∣ly port of this troubled and turbulent life is to contemne those things that may happen, to remaine resolute to oppose a naked bosome against all the darts of aduersitie, without playing the coward, or seeking starting holes. Nature hath created vs valiant, and as to some creatures she hath giuen a feirce, to some a sub∣till, to othersome a fearefull: so hath she giuen vs a glorious and high spirit, that seeketh where he may liue most honestly, not most securely; resembling the world, which in as much as humane abilitie will giue him leaue, hee followeth and counterfeiteth. He seeketh nothing but praise, and desireth to be seene. He is the loue of all things, and aboue all things. Hee therefore submitteth himselfe to nothing, nothing seemeth heauie vnto him, nothing that may make a man stoope.

Trauaile and death are vgly to behold.

Nothing so, if a man might behold them clearely, and breake thorow the dark∣nesse. Many things that haue beene esteemed dreadfull by night, haue proued trifles and iesting sports by day.

Trauaile and death are vgly to behold.

Worthily wrote our Virgil, he saith that they were not terrible indeed, but in semblance, that is, they seeme so to be, but are not. What is there, say I, in these so dreadfull as fame hath reported them? What is there I pray thee (my Lu∣cillius) that a man should feare either labour or death? Yet meete I with those men, that thinke all that impossible which they cannot doe, and say that wee speake greater matters then humane nature may sustaine or effect. But how farre better opinion haue I of them? They also can doe these things, but they will not. To conclude, whom haue euer these precepts failed that haue dained to make vse of them, who found them not more easie in action then in instru∣ction? It is not because they are difficult, that we dare not; but because we dare not, they are difficult. Yet if you require an example, behold Socrates, that most patient man, tossed in so many dangers; inuincible in pouertie, which his do∣mestique burthens made more grieuous and cumbersome, inuincible in those labours he suffered in warre, and wherewith at home he was daily exercised: whether you respect his wife fierce in manners, and froward in tongues or his rebellious and disobedient children, more like their mother then their father. So for the most part he either was in warre, or in tyrannie, or in libertie, more cruell then warres or tyrannies. Seuen and twentie yeares he bare armes, and hauing laid them aside, he saw his Citie enthralled vnder thirtie Tyrants, of which the most part of them were his enemies. The last of these is his con∣demnation vrged against him for most hainous crimes. The violating of Reli∣gion is obiected against him, and the corruption of youth, which ••e was said to enforce against the gods, against parents, and his Common-weale. After all this, his prison and poison. So farre were these things from mouing Socrates minde, that they neuer moued his countenance. He maintained that his won∣derfull and singular praise vntill his dying day. No man saw Socrates either more merrie or more sad, he continued equall in so great inequalitie of fortune. Wilt thou haue another example? Take me that Cato of Vtica, with whom Fortune dealt more cruelly, and more obstinately. Against which, whilest in all places he had made head; and last of all in his death: yet approued he that a confident and valiant man may liue and die in spite of Fortune. All his life∣time was spent in ciuill warre. And although thou say that this man, no lesse th••n Socrates, spent his life in seruitude: except a man may happily thinke that Cneus Pompey, and Caesar, and Crassus, were confederates to maintaine libertie. There was no man that euer saw Cato changed in a Common-weale so often∣times changed, in all occurrences he shewed himselfe one. In his Pretorship, in his repulse, in his accusation, in his prouince, in his speeches in the Armie, in his death; finally, in that garboyle of the Common-weale, when as on the one side Caesar had trusted his fortunes to ten valiant legions, on that side to the for∣ces of so many forren Nations, and Pompey to his owne forces; when some en∣clined vnto Caesar, other some vnto Pompey•• Cato onely maintained leuied armes for common libertie. If thou wouldest imagine in thy mind the Image of that time, thou shalt see on the one side the people with listening eare, harkening af∣ter nothing but noueltie; on the otherside the Senators and Knights and what∣soeuer was either holy and chosen in the Citie: two onely left in the mid∣dest, the Common-weale and Cato. Thou wilt wonder, say I, if thou shalt obserue.

ATRIDES graue, and PRIAMVS the olde, And Troians greatest feare, ACHILLES bolde.

For he condemneth both, and disarmeth both; and this is his opinion of both: he saith, that if Caesar preuaile, he will die: if Pompey, he will be banished; what had he to feare which had decreed that against himselfe, eyther if he hapned to be eyther conquerour or conquered, which might haue beene decreed by his most bitter enemies; he died therfore by his owne decree. Seest thou that men can suffer labours? He led his armie on foote thorow the midst of the deserts of Africa. Seest thou that they may endure thirst? Leading the remainder of his conquered Armie along the desert hills, without any baggage, he suffered the want of drink, being soultered in his armor, and as often as occasion offered him water he was the last that drunke. Seest thou that honour and authority may be contemned? The same day he was repulsed from the office he stood for, the same day played he at the ball in the market-place. Seest thou that great mens power may not be feared? He opposed himsel•••• against Pompey and Caesar at one time; the one of which no man durst offe••d, except it were to win the fa∣uour of the other. Seest thou that death may be as well contemned as banish∣ment? He both pronounced exile and death against himselfe, & in the Interim warre. We may then haue the same resolution against all accidents, prouided, that we take a pleasure to discharge our necks of the yoake. First of all there∣fore pleasures are to be despised, for they weaken, disable, and demaund much, and much is to be required at fortunes hands. After these riches are to be de∣spised, which are the recompences of seruitude. Let golde and siluer, and what else soeuer loadeth happie houses be left: libertie is not bought for nothing, if thou highly prise her, thou must misprise and neglect all the rest.

EPIST. CV.

Short and profitable precepts, tending to securitie. Reade them, and make vse of them.

THou shalt know of me what those things are which thou art to obserue, to the end thou mayest liue more secure: yet so heare these precepts I aduise thee, as if I should counsaile thee how to maintaine thy good health in the bad aire of Adiatinum. Consi∣der what things they be that prouoke one man to seeke another mans ruine, and thou shalt finde that they are hope, enuy, hatred, feare, and contempt; of all these contempt is the lightest, insomuch as many haue lien hidden therein for the safeguard of their liues. Whomsoeuer a man contem∣neth, he kicketh at him, but passeth by him. No man purposely hurteth a con∣temned person, no man diligently. Euen he that is prostrate on the earth in a conflict, is ouerslipped where he that standeth is assaulted. Thou shalt frustrate the hope of the wicked if thou hast nothing that may prouoke another mans wicked desire, if thou possesse nothing that is worthy the hauing. For those things that are of the greatest price, are most desired although they be least knowne. So therefore shalt thou flie enuy if thou makest no shew, if thou boast not of thy fortunes, if thou knowest how to enioy them to thy selfe. But as

touching the hatred which proceedeth from offence, thou shalt auoide it thus by prouoking no man without cause, from whence common sense will defend thee, for this hath beene dangerous to many. Some men haue had hatred, but not an enemy. The meanes not to be feared shall be to liue in a mean and hum∣ble condition, when as men shall know that thou art such a one, whom they may offend without perrill. Let thy reconcilement be both easie and certaine. But to be feared is as dangerous at home as abroad, by thy seruants as by thy children. There is no man that hath not power enough to hurt. Adde here∣unto, that he who is feared, feareth. No man could be terrible securely. Con∣tempt remaineth, the meanes whereof is in his power that is contemned, who is contemned because he would, not because he ought. The incommoditie here∣of both good Arts doe dis••usse, and the friendships of those who are powerfull with any mightie man, to whom it shall be expedient for thee to apply thy selfe, not to entangle thy selfe with them, for feare lest the remedie cost thee more then the danger would. Yet nothing shall more profite thee, then to be quiet, and to conferre the least with many, the most with thy selfe. There is a certaine charming discourse, which creepeth into a mans bosome and flattereth, and no otherwise then drunkennesse or loue betrayeth secrets. Let no man conceale that which he hath heard, neither let any man speake as much as he hath heard: he that will not conceale the matter, will reueale the author. Euery one hath a friend to whom he trusteth as much as is trusted to himselfe. To content himselfe with one mans eares, and to set a watch before his lips, he shal addresse himselfe to the people; so that which now was a secret becommeth to be a ru∣mour. It is a great part of s••curitie to doe nothing wickedly. Cholericke and reuengefull men leade a confused and troublesome life: they feare as much as they hurt; neither at ••hy time are they in quiet, for they feare and are doubt∣full when they haue done it. Their conscience suffereth them to doe nought else, and compelleth them oft-times to looke backe vnto themselues. Whoso∣euer expecteth the stroake is chastised enough, and whosoeuer hath deserued punishment expecteth it. There is something in an euill conscience that may settle it awhile, but nothing that may secure it. For he thinketh that although he be not discouered, he may be discouered, and midst his dreams he is moued; and when as any other mans wickednesse speaketh, he thinketh of his owne, he thinketh it neuer sufficiently defaced or fully couered. A wicked man hath sometimes had the fortune to hide himselfe, but neuer had he assurance in his hiding.

EPIST. CVI.

An idle question, taken out of CHRYSIPPVS, Whether good be a body. In the conclu∣sion somewhat against subtilties.

A Little too late I answere thy Letters, not because I am troubled with much businesse, for beware thou except not this excuse; I am at leisure, and all they that will are at leisure. Affaires follow no man, but men embrace them, and thinke businesse to be an argu∣ment of felicitie. What therefore was the cause that I did not pre∣sently write backe vnto thee, and answer thy question? It was a matter incident to my discourse; for thou knowest that I am determined to intreate of morall

Philosophy, and to decide all those questions that depend thereupon. I there∣fore doubted whether I should deferre thee, or giue thee an extraordinary satis∣faction before I come vnto the place where this question should be handled. But I thought it a point of more humani•••••• to delay him no longer, who sent from so farre: by meanes whereof, I will extract this out of the sequell of those things that depend one vpon anoth•••••• and if any shall occurre of this nature, I will willingly send them thee, although thou requirest them not. Askest thou me what these be? Such things as the science therof is more pleasing then pro∣fitable, as that is which thou bringest in question, Whether we call that good which is a body? I answer, that it is a body, for it acteth. That which acteth is a body; good agitateth the mind••, and in a manner formeth and containeth it: so then the goods of the body are a body, and the goods of the soule are a bo∣dy, and therefore the soule is a body. It must needes be that the good of a man is a bodie, considering that a man is corporall. I am abused if those things which nourish the body and keepe it, and restore it to health be not bodies. It followeth then that the good of a man is a bodie. I thinke thou wilt make no question of this, that affections are bodies, such as is cholor, loue, and sadnesse, (lest in this place I should be inforced to intermixe those things, whereof thou makest no question) if thou doubtest, consider if they change not the counte∣nance, if they bend not the brow, if they smooth not the face, or prouoke not blushing, or inforce not palenesse: what then? Thinkest thou that so manifest notes are imprinted in the body without a body? If affections be bodies, and the sickenesses of the minde, such as are auarice and crueltie, such as are obsti∣nate and incurable euils, mallice and all the kindes thereof, as malignitie, enuie, pride, shall be bodies likewise, and consequently good, first, because they are contrary vnto these; again, because they produce in thee the same offects. Seest thou not what vigour fortitude giueth to the eyes, how great intention pru∣dence? how much modestie & quiet reuerence? what contentment ioy? what rigour seueritie? what remission mirth? They are therefore bodies which change the habite and colour of bodies, which exercise their dominion in them. Was it euer doubted but that meanes, whereby a bodie is touched is a bodie? F••r nothing can touch and be touched, except it be a bodie, as the Poet Lucretius saith. But all these things whereof I haue spoken would not change a bodie, except they touched the same, therefore they are bodies. I likewise say that that part of vs which is so powerfull that it pusheth, constraineth, stayeth and comman∣deth is a bodie: what therefore? doth not feare restraine vs? doth not boldnes enforce vs? doth not fortitude harden and giue force? doth not moderation bridle and restraine? doth not ioy extoll? doth not sadnesse dismay? To con∣clude, whatsoeuer we doe, we doe it eyther by the command of mallice or ver∣tue. That which commandeth the body is a body, that which addeth force vnto the body is a body; the good of the bodie is a bodily good; the good of a man is the good of the bodie, and therefore is it corporall. Because as thou wil∣ledst me I haue satisfied thy desire, now will I say that vnto my selfe which I see thou wilt say vnto me: we play at Tables, our subtilty is spent on trifles. These make not men good but learned. There is more plainenesse and simplicitie in true science. We need little learning to haue a good conscience. But as we in all other things are lauish in superfluities, so are we in Philosophy, and abuse it with babill. Euen as we are trauailed with intemperance in all things, so are we in good letters, we learne not to liue but to dispute.

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

EPIST. CVII.

He comforteth LVCILIVS, and animateth him vpon the flight of his seruants. That these and such like are incident vnto life, and therefore not to be reputed as sudden. Suffer that therefore which thou doest not ••••nd. A good and wise Epistle.

WHat is become of thy wisedome? Where is thy subtiltie in con∣ceiuing things? Where is thy magnanimitie? Art thou trauelled with such trifles? Thy seruants thought that thy occupation•• were the occasions of thy flight. If thy friends should deceiue thee (for let them haue that name which Epicurus gaue vnto them & be so called, what damage shouldst thou receiue? Thou wantest them who both interrupted thy good actions, and made thee troublesome vnto o∣thers. There is no noueltie or vnexpected euent herein. It is as ridiculous a thing to be offended hereat, as to complaine that thou art eyther wet with wa∣ter, or sprinckled with dirt as thou walkest in the streets. The same is our conditi∣on in this life, as if we were in a bath, amongst a multitude of people, or in a great high-way, some things will be intermitted, some things will befall. It is no de∣licate thing to liue. Thou art entered into a long way, wherein perforce thou must slip, thou must iustle, thou must fall, thou must be wearied, and thou must ••xclaime, O death! that is, thou liest. In one place thou shalt leaue thy com∣panion, in another thou shalt burie him, in another thou shall feare him; with such like inconueniences wee must performe and tread this troublesome iour∣ney. Will he haue me die? Let our mindes be prepared against all accidents, let them know that they are come hether,

Where sorrowes and reuengefull cares doe sleepe, Where sickenesse pale and weary age doe keepe.

In the company of these must life be led; thou canst not escape these, thou may∣••st contemne them. And thou shalt contemne them, if thou oftentimes bethink thee on that which is to come, and suppose it present. Whosoeuer hath of a long time prepared himselfe vnto any thing, he performeth the same with grea∣ter courage; and if he hath premeditated any aduersities, he maketh head a∣gainst them afterwards. Contrariwise, the man which is vnprepared starteth backe for feare vpon the least danger that presenteth it selfe. Let vs take order that nothing may befall vs, which may moue vs to say, I had not thought it. And because that nouelties are most distastfull, such continuall thought will bring to passe, that thou shalt not be apprentice to any aduersitie. Haue thy seruants forsaken thee? They haue robbed one, accused another, killed this man, betray∣ed that, trampled vnder their feete and poisoned that man, and borne false wit∣nesse against another. All those mischiefes which thou canst call to memorie haue befalne diuers, and will hereafter happen. The arrowes that are shot a∣gainst vs are diuers and great in number. Some are sticking in vs, othersome are darted at vs, and approch vs neerely, and othersome there are which are shot at our neighbours, which doe no lesse grieue vs then if they were leuelled against our selues. Let vs not wonder at any accident whatsoeuer, we are borne there∣unto, there is no man that hath occasion to complaine himselfe, because that all men haue their parts, yea their equall portion, for if any man hath escaped from

an inconuenience, he might haue felt it. But an ordinance is equall vnto all those to whom it is proposed, although all men make not vse thereof. Let vs com∣mand our soule to continue in her entire, and let vs pay those tributes which we owe vnto Nature without murmure. The Winter bringeth on frosts, wee be cold, the Sommer bringeth heats with her, we shall sweat for heate, the intem∣perature of the ayre trieth our bodies; we shall be sicke. We shall meete in one place with a sauage beast, or a roarer worse then all beastes whatsoeuer. The one shall be drowned, the other brought to ashes. We cannot alter this condi∣tion of things. That which we may is to haue a resolute heart, and worthy of a good man, by meanes whereof we endure all accidents constantly, and con∣tent our selues with the order of Nature, which in this present gouernment causeth those reuolutions which thou now obseruest. After raine comes faire weather, after stormes and tempests succeed calmes and faire seasons. The winds blow the one after the other. We see one part of the heauens, and the other is hidden from vs. The world is composed of contrary elements. Let vs apply our soules vnto this law, let her follow and obey the same: let him thinke that all that which happeneth must happen, let her beware in any sort to taske Na∣ture: it is good for thee to endure that which thou canst not amend, and to fol∣low that great God without murmure or complaint, by whose prouidence all things come to passe. The Souldier is not good that vnwillingly followeth his Captaine. And therefore let vs obey her readily and willingly, without inter∣cepting the course of so faire a life, as mans life is, in which is interlaced, all the euill which we suffer: and in conclusion, let vs speake vnto God, by whose or∣dinance and direction all this round orbe is gouerned in the same termes, as our Cleanthes doth in elegant verse, which I will presume to translate into our tongue in imitation of Cicero, that thrice eloquent Orator. If they please thee, it shall content me; if they distaste thee, know that herein I am conformable vn∣to Cicero. Heare then that which Cleanthes saith;

O soueraigne Father, and eternall Lord Of highest heauens, conduct me at thy pleasure, Vnto thy powerfull will I straight accord, Make me not will, yet mourning without measure, Ile waite vpon thee, and in being bad Suffer all that, which if my minde were iust, I might endure with all the strength I had, Whither thou wilt, O God, I will and must: I flie delayes, both heart and feete are willing, The Fates conduct, the forward draw the willing.

Let vs liue thus, let vs speake thus, let the destinies finde vs alwayes addressed and willing. This courage that is thus bounded within the hands of God, is the greatest in all kindes. Contrariwise, that man is both faint and recreant that starteth backe, that complaineth him of the gouernment of the world, and that had rather censure the gods then himselfe.

EPIST. CVIII.

How are the Philosophers either to be read or heard with iudgement, and those things in especiall are to be chosen out of them, and put to memorie, which animate vs to good life. They that seeke delights studie in vaine; studie thou thy amendment. Neither is this hard to be done, for Nature her selfe inciteth vs vnto honestie, for the seedes and incitements thereof are in our mindes, they grow and encrease, when a learned teacher and animater doth aide. This proueth he by his owne example, when he was ATTALVS his scholler. Afterwards he sheweth that we come with diuers ends and mindes to reade Authors, and that we Philosophers should doe the like. Let vs obey him: both reade and heare you that are louers of learning.

THat whereof thou enquirest, is of the number of those things which it behoueth thee only to know, to the end that a man may say that thou knowest it; yet notwithstanding, since it is perti∣nent for thee to know it, and thou pressest mee so instantly, and wilt not attend those books which I will shortly finish, that con∣taine in good order all the part of Morall Philosophie, I will presently resolue thee, yet first of all will I write vnto thee how this desire of learning, wherewith I see thee thus transported, should be gouerned, for feare lest it hinder it selfe. Thou must neither ouer-runne, nor greedily inuade all Sciences; by parts we attaine the whole. The burthen must be fitted to the strength, neither ought we to embrace more then we are able to containe. Draw not as much as thou wilt, but as much thou mayest hold. Only haue thou a good courage, and thou shalt comprehend as much as thou pleasest. The more the minde receiueth, the more it is enlarged and greatned. These things, as I remember, our Master Attalus taught vs, when as we besieged his Schoole, and came first, and depar∣ted last, and prouoked him, whilest he walked, to some disputes; not only ad∣dressed to informe those that learned of him, but to meete with them vnpro∣uoked. He that teacheth (saith he) and he that learneth should haue one and the same intention, the one to instruct, the other to profit. He that commeth vnto the Philosophers Schooles, must daily carrie away some good thing with him; either returne more wise vnto his home, or better disposed to wisedome. But he shall returne: for such is the power of Philosophie, that shee not onely helpeth those that studie the same, but those also which frequent her. He that commeth into the Sunne, shall be Sunne-burnt, although he came not to that end. They that sit downe in a perfumers shop, and haue stayed a while therein, beare away with them the odour of such a place: and they that haue conuersed with a Philosopher, must needs draw somewhat, that might profit euen those that are negligent: marke what I say, negligent, but not repugnant. What then? Know we not some men that for many yeares haue conuersed and frequen∣ted with a Philosopher, without receiuing any tincture thereof? Why should I not know them? yea and such as were most industrious and diligent, whom I rather call the hostes, then the disciples of Philosophers. Some come to heare, not to learne, as we are drawne into the Theater for our pleasures sake, to de∣light our eares with Orations, Musick, or Comedies. Thou shalt see a great part of the auditors that make the Philosophers Schoole the Inne of their idlenesse. Their intention is not in that place to dispossesse themselues of some vices, or to r••ceiue some instruction, or rule of life, whereby they might reforme their

manners, but to enioy some delight that tickleth their eares. Some other there are that come to their ••ables, not to coate downe matter, but words, which they learne as well without other mens profit, as they heard them without their owne. Some rowse themselues when they heare any magnificent speeches, and are affectioned no lesse then the speakers themselues, cheerefull both in lookes and minde: neither are they otherwise moued, then those effeminate French are wont to be, that hand and foote it according to the Phrygian straine; these men are rauished and prouoked by the beautie of things, not by the sound of vaine words. If any thing be spoken bitterly against death, if ought be vrged proudly against Fortune, thou art forthwith addressed to doe that which thou hearest. They are affected, and let them be such as they are commanded, if that forme remaine in the minde, and if the people, which disswadeth all honest things, doe not forthwith extinguish this worthy forwardnesse. Few are they that could bring home with them that minde they had conceiued. It is an easie matter to stirre vp a hearer to the desire of that which is right. For Nature hath giuen vnto all men the foundations and seeds of vertue, all of vs are borne vnto all these things, when as a prouoker inciteth our mindes, then are those goods of the minde, which were in a manner laid asleepe, awakened and reuiued. Seest thou not how the Theaters ring as often as some things are repeated, which we publikely acknowledge, and testifie to be true by consent.

Pouertie wanteth many things, auarite all things, The couetous man is good to no man, and worst to himselfe.

The basest Broaker will applaud these vices, aud is glad to heare his owne vi∣ces blamed. How much greater waight should these things haue, being spo∣ken by a Philosopher, when as verses are interlaced with holesome counsels: thinkest thou not that they will more effectually worke in the minds of the vn∣lettered. For (as Cleanthes said) euen as our breath yeeldeth a more cleare sound, when as the trumpet, after it hath driuen the same thorow the straits of a long pipe, doth at last giue him a larger vent at the end thereof, so the strict necessitie of a vice maketh our sences more cleare. Those things are heard more negli∣gently, and perswade lesse powerfully, as long as they are deliuered in prose and ordinary discourse, but when as they are shut vp in numbers and good sence, be inclosed in certaine feet and cadences, that very sentence is darted and deliuered as it were an arrow from a strong arme. Many things are spoken in contempt of money, and in long orations we are taught this, that men should thinke that their riches are in their mindes, and not in their patrimonies, and that he is rich who fitteth himselfe to his pouertie, and maketh himselfe rich of a little. Yet are our mindes more moued•• when such like things are spoken in verse.

He that coueteth little, hath not need of much, He hath th••t which he would, who can wish as much as he would.

When we heare these or such like things, we are constrained to acknowledge the truth. For they to whom nothing is enough admire, applaud, and publish their hatred to many. When as thou seest this affection of theirs vrge the same, presse and prosecute this laying aside all ambiguit••e, syllogismes, cauil••, and o∣ther vaine subtilties of a fruitlesse braine, speake ••gainst auarice, inueigh against dissolutenesse, and when thou perceiuest that thou hast profited, and moued

the hearts of thine auditorie, prosecute it with vehemencie. It is impossible that such a discourse, tending vnto remedie, and intirely intended for the good of the assembly, should be other then profitable. For those minds that are not as yet obdurate may be easily induced to loue right and vertue. If truth finde a fit and conuenient aduocate, she easily seizeth on those that are willing to learne, and lesse peruerted. For mine owne part, when as I heard Attalus declaime a∣gainst vices, errors, and the mischiefes of this life, I oftentimes deplored the mi∣series of mankinde, and haue beleeued that he was exalted and raised aboue all other men. He said likewise that he was a King, but I thought him somewhat more, by reason that it was lawfull for him to censure Kings. But when he be∣gan to praise pouertie, and to shewe that all that which exceedeth necessary vse is a superfluous burthen, and grieuous to him that beareth the same, I often∣times wished to depart poore out of his schoole. When he began to traduce our pleasures, to praise a chaste bodie, a sober table, a pure mind, not onely exempted from vnlawful pleasures, but also superfluous, I required no more but to temper my appetite, and gouerne my belly. From thence I gathered some good instru∣ctions my Lucillius: for with earnest affection I attempted all things, and being afterwards drawne vnto a Cittizens life, I haue conserued some few of those faire and good beginnings. From thence it came that for all my life time I re∣nounced eie-sores & mushromes: for these are no meates, but entertain the ap∣petite, and constraine those that are full to eate more, which is very pleasing to those that are gluttons, who desire no more but to fill their panches with such things which easily enter, & are as easily vttered. I haue abstained also euer since from oyntments and perfumes, because the best odour in our bodie is none at all. Thereupon haue I refrained wine, and during all my life time fled from bathing, supposing it to be an vnprofitable and nice custome to seethe the body and consume it with sweating. These other customes in life, which I had giuen ouer, are brought in request, yet so, that I keepe a measure in these from which I had abstained, and vse them very little and with difficulty, because there are certaine things more easie to cut off wholly, then to gouerne well. Because I haue begun to declare vnto thee with how much more greater courage I came to Philosophy being a young man, then now when I am olde, I will not be asha∣med to confesse vnto thee what loue S••tion ingrafted in me in regard of Pitha∣goras; he taught me why he and Sextius after him abstained from eating flesh. Each one of these had a different cause, but both of them were magnificent. The one supposed that man had sufficiency to feede vpon without bloud, and that a custome of crueltie began, when tearing of flesh was drawne to be a pleasure. Hereunto he added, that the matter of dissolution should be contracted and gathered•• that multiplicity of meats were contrary to mans health, and nothing healthfull to our bodies. But Pithagoras held that there was a communion and consanguinitie of all things, with the one and the other, and that the one is changed into the other, in such sort that (if a man will beleeue him) no soule perisheth neither ceaseth but for a small time whilst it is infused into another bodie. We shall see by what reuolutions of seasons, and after how many a∣boades in diuers bodies, the soule shall reenter into a man, meane while this o∣pinion hath made men fearfull, for they haue beene afraid to become murthe∣rers and paricides because that in eating of a beast they might as well seize on their fathers soule, and with knife or tooth offend a thing wherein the soule of any one of their kindred might be lodged. Sotion hauing proposed and confir∣med this by his arguments, added hereunto, Doost thou not beleeue, saith he,

that soules are distributed from one body to another, and that which we call death is no other thing but a passage from one body into another? Doost thou not beleeue that in these tame or sauage beasts eyther killed or drowned, there suru••ueth somtimes the soule of a man? wilt thou denie that nothing perisheth in the world, but doth but onely chang•• ayre and countrey, and that not onely the heauens turne, but that liuing creatures and soules likewise haue their reuo∣lutions? Diuers great personages haue beleeued these things, and th••refore holde thou thine opinion in suspence, yet keepe thou all things intire vnto thy selfe. If thes•• things be true it is innocence to abstaine from liuing creatures: if they be false it is frugalitie; what damag•• receiu••th thy cru••ltie h••reby? I take from thee the meate of Lions and Vultures. Perswaded thus by these ar∣guments, I began to abstaine from flesh, and ere a yeare was finished, the custom was not onely easie vnto me but pleasing. I thought my spirit more free then it was before; neyther can I at this time iustifie vnto thee whether it were so or no. Doost thou aske me how I haue discontinued this manner of lif••? It was in my yonger dayes, at such time as Tiberius was Emperour, when as the Religi∣ons of strangers were banished out of Rome, and to proue the superstitions of the same, they alleadged that they abstained from touching the flesh of some creatures. So then vpon my fathers request who feared not reproach, but ha∣ted Philosophie I returned to my former custome: neyther was it a hard matter for him to perswade me to begin to sup better. Attalus was wont to praise a hard bed, and such as resisteth the body: such a one vse I now in mine olde dayes, wherein you cannot discouer any print where I haue lien. Th••se things haue I related vnto thee, to let thee know how vehement the first apprehensi∣ons of yong children be, & how inclined vnto all good things, if any man exhort them or egge them forward. But in some kinde the teachers are deficient, who teach vs to dispute, and not to liue: in some sort the learners who bring vnto their Masters a purpos•• not to rectifie their iudgments, but polish their tongues; so that which was Philosophie is mad•• Philologie. But it is very pertinent to the matter to examin with what purpose thou addressest thy selfe to any thing. He that examineth Virgil to that intent he may become a Grammarian: he rea∣deth not with this intent that worthy verse of his,

Time flies and neuer is to be recald againe.

You must watch: except we make hast we are forsaken. The day that swiftly fleeteth from vs, driueth vs forward and is driuen away. We are rauished before we know it. We dispose of all things as if we were to liue long time, and midst so many dange••s we are sluggards. But to obserue that as often as Virgil writeth of the swiftnesse of time, he vseth this word flyeth,

The better dayes of wretched mortall life, First flie then sickenesse raignes, and irksome age, And tedious labour rules and waxeth rise, And lastly death sweepes all with mortall rage.

He that truely addicteth himselfe vnto Philosophie, applieth such sentences as befitteth him: neuer, saith he, that the dayes goe, but that they flie, which is the most swiftest kinde of running, and that the better times are rauished from vs first. Why therefore cease we to spur on our idlenesse, to the end we might outstrip the time which fleeteth away so swiftly. The better dayes flie away,

the worse succede. Euen as out of a vessell the purest floweth out first, and that which is most heauy and troubled setleth in the bottome, so that which is first in our life is the best. We rather suffer others to draw out the purest, to the in∣tent to reserue the dregges vnto our selues. Let this sentence be imprinted in our mindes, and pleas•• vs as much as if it were an Oracle sent from heauen,

The best daies of wretched mortall life, Fly first—

Why the best? Because that which remaineth is vncertaine. Why the best? Be∣cause being young we may learne, and conuert, and addict our tender mindes, and pliable to the better, vnto the best: because this time is fit for labour, fit to exercise our wits in studie, and our bodies with labour. That which remaineth is more slowe and faultie, and neerer to the end. Let vs therfore wholly apply our selues th••reunto, and laying aside all these speculations, whereby we haue beene seduced, l••t vs apply our selues to one on••ly thing, for feare left at last we learne ouer late to our confusion, that it is impossible to stay and recouer the time that fleeteth away so fast, without hope of returne. Let euery first day please vs as if it were the best, and let vs reckon it properly ours, and let vs pre∣uent that which ensueth. This doth not he thinke that reade•• this verse with a Grammarians eye; that therefore euery fi••st day is the best, because sickenes∣ses succeed, olde age presseth and pearcheth ouer the head of those, who as yet thinke themselues young; but saith, that Virgil alwayes vnited sicknesses and olde age together, and in truth not without cause, for olde age is an incurable di∣s••ase. Besides, saith he, the Poet sirnamed olde age, irksome:

Then sickenesse raignes, and irksome age.

Wonder not that from the same matter euery man gathered that which is a∣greeable to his conceit. In the same field the Oxe seeketh his grasse, the Dog his Hare, and the Storke his Lizard: when those bookes which Cicero wrote of a Common-weale, fall into the hands of him that would know all things, and of a Grammarian, & of a Philosopher, euery one of these three hath his proper and peculiar election & thought. The Philosopher wondereth that so many things may b•• spoken against justice. When this loue-prattle comes to the same rea∣ding, he noteth this, that there are Romane Kings, whereof the one had no fa∣ther, and the other no mother: for each man doubteth which was Seruius mo∣ther, and Ancus father, who was reputed Numaes Nephew, is not to be found. Besides, he obserueth that he whom we call Dictator, and is so intituled in Histo∣ries, was by those in former times call••d the Master of the people, as it manifest∣ly appeareth at this day in the bookes of the Augurs, and that he whom we call the master of the knights, hath taken his name from thence. He noteth likewise that Romulus died during the Eclips of the Sun, that there was an appeale from the Kings vnto the people, as also Fenestella holdeth that it is contained in the Registers of the Bishops. When a Grammarian explicateth the same books, he first of all noteth in his Commentarie that Cicero vsed this word Reapse for Reip∣sa, that is to say, indeed, and Sepse likewise for Seipse, that is to say, himselfe. Then passeth he ouer to those things which the custom of the age hath changed, such are those which Cicero vsed, Because we are recalled by his importunity from the calce hereof, that is, frō the end of the course: for that which now we cal limits, those in

times past called Calcem, that is to say, the heele or end of the foote. Aft••r this he gathereth Ennius verses, and ••specially those which were written by Scipio the African,

To whom no friend or enemy in field, Could lend that helpe which he to them did yeeld.

Hereby he saith that he meaneth that this word opera, that is to say labour in times past signified Auxilium, that is to say, ayde and succour: for he saith that there was not one eyther Cittizen or enemie could render Scipio the reward of his labour. Furthermore, he esteemeth himselfe happie to haue found out this why it pleased Virgil to say,

Ore whom the mightie gate of heauen did thunder.

He saith that Ennius stole this from Homer, and Virgil from Ennius. We reade in the same bookes of Cicero this Epigram of Ennius,

If it be free for any one t' ascend the heauenly throne, The greatest gate of highest heauen is ope to me alone.

But for feare least I my selfe in thinking on other matters should my s••lfe be∣come a humanist or Pedant, I say vnto thee that we ought to referre that which we heare spoken by the Philosophers, and that which we reade in their bookes to this end, that we become vertuous, and not to affect olde and fained words, nor to affect extrauagant and vnaccustomed manners of speaking, but let vs search out those precepts, which may profit vs, and such magnificent and man∣ly sentences, which may be suddenly effected. So let vs apply th••se things, that those things which were wordes may be workes. But I thinke that no men doe worse deserue of mortall men, then they who haue learned Philosophy as it were some mercinarie occupation, who liue otherwise then they instruct other men to liue: for they themselues carrie about themselues, as examples of vn∣profitable doctrine, being otherwise slaues to euery sort of vice which posses∣seth them. Such a Master can as little profite me as a Pilot that is Sea-sicke in the midst of a tempest: when the billowes are increased the helme must be stee∣red; we must striue with the Sea, and strike and hale in saile: what can a Master of a Ship helpe me that is astonished and vomiteth? With how more greater tempest thinkest thou is humane life tossed more then any ship? We are not to speake, but to gouerne. All that which they say, all that which they boast of before the common sort is to no purpose. Plato, Zeno, Chrysippus, Posidonius, and an armie of such Philosophers haue said and resaid it often. I will shew thee how they may approue these things to be their owne; let them act that which they said. Because I haue spoken those things which I would haue carried vnto thee, I will now satisfi•• thy desire, and I will r••ferre the whole of that which thou requirest at my hands to another Epistle, lest hauing thy head wea∣ried, thou bend thy attentiue and curious eare to heare a difficult matter.

EPIST. CIX.

A short question: Whether a wise-man may profite a wise-man, and how? The cause of doubt is, because that all things are high in a wise-man; neyther may any thing be ad∣ded to him: yet answereth he that he doth profite, and distinctly approueth it. In the end he detesteth vnprofitable subtilties.

THou desirest to know whether a wise-man may be profitable to a wise-man: we say that a wiseman is replenished with all good∣nesse, and hath attained to the fulnesse of perfection. The questi∣on is how a man may profite him that hath attained the chiefest good. Good men profite one another; for they exercise vertue and containe wisedome in her estate, both of these require some man with whom he may conferre, with whom he may debate; vse execiseth those who are cunning in wrastling, and warneth the Musitian who hath learned vnisons. A wise-man like wise hath neede to haue his vertues stirred, so that euen as hee moueth himselfe, so is he moued by another wise-man. What can a wise-man pro••ite a wise-man? He will animate him, and shew him occasions of honest a∣ctions. Besides these, he will discouer some of his own thoughts, and will teach those things which he hath inuented. For there will be alwayes somewhat re∣mayning for a wise-man to ••inde out, and whereon his minde may be employ∣ed and occupied. An euill man hurteth an euil man, he maketh him worse by in∣citing wrath or feare, by assenting to sadnesse, by praising pleasures; and euen then are euill men most trauail••d and troubled, when they haue made a mixture of many vices, and wickednesse becommeth compleate. Therfore on the con∣trary side, a good man may profite a good man. But how sayest thou? He will bring him ioy, he will confirme his confidence, and both of their ioyes shall en∣creas•• by beholding their mutuall tranquilitie. Besides, he shall deliuer him the notice of some things: for a wise-man knoweth not all things; and although he knew them, yet may some man inuent more compendious wayes in things, and teach the same by which more easily the whole worke is compassed. A wise-man shall be pro••itable to a wise-man, not onely in regard of his owne forces, but in respect of his also whom h•• helpeth. And he himselfe likewise b••ing left vnto himselfe can expresse his owne parts. Let him make vse of his owne swift∣nesse•• yet notwithstanding he helpeth him also that encourageth him that run∣neth. A wise-man is not onely profitable to a wise-man but to himselfe. To this thou wilt obiect, Take from him his proper forces, and he doth nothing. In this sort thou mayst say that there is no sweetnesse in honey: for he that eateth the same must be apt both in tong and pallat to ••ntertain this taste, that he may be delighted and not offended with the sauor thereof: for some there are to whom honey seemeth bitter in regard of their sickenesse. Both of them must be such, that both the one may teach, and the other be disposed to receiue in∣structions. It were in vaine, saith he, to warme him more that hath beene hote to the extremitie, and as vaine is it to better him that hath attained the fulnesse o•• goodnes. Doth a husbandman that is his crafts-master in tillage, seek•• instru∣ctions from another? Doth a souldier that is sufficiently armed to enter the ••ield desire any further defence? Therfore not a wiseman•• for he is sufficiently instru∣cted and armed for life. He that is in the height of heat, had no need of heat to warme him: ••urther, heat it selfe, saith he, containeth it selfe; To this I answer,

first of all, there is a great difference betwixt these things which thou compa∣rest. For heate is one, but to profit is diuers. Againe, heate is not encreased in heate by the adiection of heate. A wise-man cannot stand in the habit of his minde, except hee admit some friends like himselfe, with whom he may com∣municate his vertues. Furthermore, adde hereunto that there is a certaine friendship betweene all vertues. He therefore profiteth that loueth any mans vertues that are equall with his, and giueth order also that his may be beloued: Those things that are alike doe delight, especially if they be honest, and know how to approue and to be approued. It is true, no other man but a wise man can cunningly moue a wise-mans minde, euen as no man may reasonably moue a man, except he be a man. Euen as therefore there needeth reason to helpe rea∣son, so to moue perfect reason, there needeth perfect reason. They are said to profit vs that giue vs meanes, as money, grace, health, and other things which are necessarie and deere to the vse of humane life, in these euen a foole shall be said to profit a wise-man. But to profit and aide another is to moue his thought by his vertue, and according to Nature, or by the vertue of him that shall be moued. And this also cannot be done without his good that profiteth; for in ex∣ercising another mans vertue, hee must needs exercise his owne. But that thou mayst remoue these things, which either are the chiefest goods, or the efficients of the chiefest: yet notwithstanding wise-men may profit amongst themselues. For it is a thing that of it selfe meriteth to be desired by a wise-man, to meete with another wise man, because that naturally a good thing is desired of his like, and a vertuous man acquainteth himselfe with another vertuous man, as wil∣lingly as with himself. I must needs for argument sake passe ouer from this que∣stion to another. For it is demanded whether a wise-man will deliberate, or de∣mand counsaile of another man, which is necessarie for him to do, when he will entreat of ciull or domestical matters, or to speak more rightly, of mortal things. In this case he hath need of anothers coūsell, as of a Physitian, a master of a ship, an aduocate & proctor. A wise-man sometimes may be profitable to a wiseman, for he will perswade him. But in those great and diuine things also, as we haue said, he shall be profitable by ordinarily intreating of honest things, and by intermixing both their minds and thoughts. Besides, it is according to Nature, both to embrace friends, and to conceiue as much ioy of a friends good action, as of his owne. For if we doe not thus, vertue shall not remaine in vs, which in exercising her selfe taketh lustre by vse. But vertue perswadeth vs to dispose well of the present, to bethinke on that which is to come, to deliberate and in∣tend the minde, and more easily shall he intend and explicate the same, who ta∣keth and entertaineth another vnto him. He seeketh therefore either a perfect man, or one that profiteth, or is neere vnto perfection. But that perfect man will profit, if by common prudence the one helpeth the others counsaile. They say that men see more in other mens businesse then in their owne, and this be∣falleth those men whom selfe-loue blindeth, and to those also, whom feare of danger driueth from all consideration of profit. The man that is assured and deliuered from feare, will recouer his courage and become wise. Yet notwith∣standing there are some things, which euen they who are the wisest doe more diligently discouer in others then in themselues. Moreouer, that which is most sweetest and honestest, a wise-man will procure a wise-man to will and nill the same which hee doth. They shall beare together a worthie charge; I haue performed that which thou requiredst at my hands•• although it were couched in the order of those things, which we haue comprised in our bookes of morall

Philosophie. Bethinke thee of that which I haue tould thee often, that we doe but exercise and whet our wits vpon these questions: for oft-times returne I thither. What doth this thing profit me? will it make mee stronger, iuster, or more temperate? I haue yet no leasure to exercise my selfe, I stand in need of a Physitian. Why teachest thou me an vnprofitable Science? Thou hast pro∣mised me great matter, but I see little. Thou saidst I should be dreadlesse, yea although swords glistered about me, although the point were readie to pierce my throate: thou saidst I should be secure, although I saw fires flaming about me, although a sudden whirle-winde should rauish and beare away my Barke thorow the whole Ocean. Doe thou thus much for me, that I may contemne pleasure and glorie, then shalt thou afterwards teach me how to resolue difficul∣ties, distinguish ambiguities, and prie into those things that are obscure, now teach me those things that are necessarie.

EPIST. CX.

That each one of vs haue our GENII, which he hath fauourable vnto him, whosoeuer hath a good minde. That the vowes and iudgements of those men are wicked, who estimate not things according to their value. That vaine things are wished for, and vaine things feared, and that the remedie of both is from Philosophie, whereunto he summoneth vs, hauing shaken off superfluities. In conclusion, he discouereth excesse, and reproueth it by ATTALVS worthie speech.

I Salute thee from my house at Nomentanum, and will thee to haue a good minde, that is, all the gods propitious vnto thee, who are fauourable and well affected towards him, whosoeuer is reconciled vnto himselfe. Lay apart for this present, the opi∣nions of some men, that euery one of vs hath giuen him a Peda∣gogue or God, not of the ordinary, but those of the inferiour note, and of the number of those whom Ouid nameth popular gods. Yet so would I haue thee lay these things apart, that thou remember thy selfe that our predecessours, who haue beleeued these things, were Stoickes, for they attributed vnto euerie one his Genius, and goddesse Iuno. Hereafter we will examine whether the gods haue so much leisure to procure and prouide for particular mens affaires. In the meane while know thou this, that whether we are resigned to a seuerall Genius, or else neglected and giuen ouer vnto Fortune, that thou canst wish no man a greater mischiefe, then if thou shouldest desire that hee may bee his owne ene∣mie. Neither needest thou wish any man, whom thou thinkest worthy punish∣ment, to haue the gods displeased with him; for I tell thee they are auerse, al∣though his life seemeth to prosper and flourish vnder their care and fauour. Consider and examine thou diligently what humane affaires be, not what they are called, and thou shalt know that more euils befall vs by our selues, then through the hand of casualtie. For how oft-times hath that which is called ca∣lamitie beene the cause and beginning of our felicitie. How oftentimes hath a thing entertained with great applause, builded it selfe a degree from whence it may fall head-long, and hath raised some one high, that was alreadie eminent, as if he should as yet continue in this place, from whence he might safely fall? yet that falling, if thou consider the end, beyond which Nature directeth no man, hath not any euill in it selfe. The end of all things is at hand, it is at hand I say,

as well that from whence a happie man is driuen by violence, as that from whence a miserable man is happily deliuered. Both these enlarge we, and make them long by feare and hope. But if thou beest wise, measure all things by hu∣mane condition, and restraine the occasions that may make thee ioy, or make thee feare. It were better haue no ioy that endureth long, and not to haue a feare likewise that endureth long. But why do I thus restraine this euill? Thinke not that there is any thing that thou shouldest feare. These are but vaine things which moue and astonish vs, none of vs hath as yet examined the truth there∣of, but each one hath taught the other to feare. No man hath dared to approch that which procured his feare, or know the nature and good of his own affright. And therefore it is, that a thing so fallacious and vaine is yet r••doubled, because no man disproueth or discouereth the same. Let vs onely bethinke our selues to open our eyes, and it shall presently appeare how short, incertaine, and secure things are feared. Such is the confusion of our mindes, as Lucretius descri∣beth it.

For euen as in the blinde and darkest night, Yong children quake for feare, and shake with fright, So feare we likewise in the clearest light.

What then? are not we more foolish then children that feare at no one dayes? But this is false, Lucretius, wee feare not in the light, wee haue made all things darknesse to our selues: we see nothing, neither that which hurteth vs, nor that which helpeth vs; all our life-time we runne, and wander heere and there, yet for all this we neuer make stop, nor consider at any time where we fix our feete. And yet thou seest how furious a thing it is to run head-long in the darke, yet vndoubtedly we doe thus, to the end we may be recalled from a further off, and whereas we are ignorant whither we are carried, yet perseuere we to run swiftly thither, whither we intended. But if we wil that the day may breake, yet but af∣ter one manner, that is, if a man receiue the knowledge of these humane and di∣uine things, if instead of meerely sprinkling himself therewith, he taketh the tin∣cture thereof, if although he know the same, he often debateth thereupon; and relateth it oftentimes to himselfe. If he haue sought what things are good and euill, and what things doe vnworthily challenge this title, if hee enquire what things are honest or dishonest, and what is prouidence: neither within these bounds is the quicknesse of humane vnderstanding circumscribed. She taketh pleasure to cast her eye beyond the world, to examine whither it is carried, whence it came, to what period so great a swiftnes of things hasteneth. From this so high contemplation haue we drawne our mindes into the consideration of sordide and base things, for to be slaues to auarice, so as ouer-slipping the earth and the bounds thereof, and the gods which gouerne and dispose all things, we haue employed the same in consideration of embowelling the earth, and not content with the goods which were offered, to search out what euill might be diggen out of it. Whatsoeuer is for our good, our good God and Father hath laid by vs. He expected not our inquisition, he gaue it freely, and buried those things that were hurtfull for vs in the bosome of the earth. Wee haue cause to complaine of none other but our selues. We in spite of Nature, and when she had closely hidden them, haue brought those things to light, which are the in∣struments of our ruine. We haue dedicated our mindes vnto pleasures, the en∣tertainment and allowance whereof is the beginning of all our mischiefes. We

haue giuen it ouer to ambition and fame, and other things as vaine and fruitlesse as these. What therefore now doe I exhort thee to doe? No new thing, for we seek no remedies for new euils, but this, especially to consider in thy selfe, what thing is necessarie, and what superfluous. That which is necessarie, thou shalt finde euery where before thee, but as touching those that are superfluous, thou must alwaies runne after them, and thou shalt hardly finde them. Neither hast thou cause to praise thy selfe too much, if thou contemnest golden beds, and houshold-stuffe garnished with precious stones. For what vertue is it to contemne superfluities? Then admire thou thy selfe, when thou contemnest neces∣sarie things. Thou doest no great thing, when as thou canst liue without King∣ly entertainment, when thou desirest not wilde boares of a thousand pounds waight, nor the tongues of Phenicopteres, nor such other monsters of glutto∣nie, which this day taketh no delight in whole beasts, but desireth and longeth after the leg of one, and the wing of another, and such and such members of an∣other. Then shall I admire thee when thou contemnest not the brownest bread: if thou perswade thy selfe that herbes when necessitie requireth, do not only grow for the vse of beasts, but for the nourishment of man. If thou knowest that the buds of trees are sufficient to fill the belly, into which we gather so ma∣ny precious things, as if it were a store-house to conserue them in, we must fill the same without loathing. For what skilleth it what it receiueth, since it must lose whatsoeuer it hath receiued. Thou takest pleasure to see a ranke of platters charged with fowle and fish. There are meates which please thine appetite, be∣cause they are yong and tender: contrariwise there are others lesse sauou∣rie vnto thee, if they be not so thicke and fa•• as they melt in their grease. The very artificiall smell of these delighteth thee. But vndoubtedly these meats so carefully sought out, and so cunningly sauced, being swallowed downe into the belly, conuert themselues into ordure of the same colour, and stincke. Wilt thou contemne the voluptuousnesse of meates, looke vpon them in thy close∣stoole. I remember that ATTALVS, not without the admiration of all men, was wont to say this: Riches, said he, haue oftentimes deceiued me, when I saw any peece of them shine heere or there, I stood in admiration to behold them. I thought that those which were hidden, were like those which were showen. But in a certaine Circensian show I saw all the riches of the Citie embolished with gold and siluer, and those things which exceeded either gold or siluer in price, exquisite colours, and garments that were brought not onely from ouer vttermost territories, but beyond the furthest confines of our enemies. On this side the troopes of children, seemely both in their habite and forme: on that side of women, and other things, which the fortune of the greatest Empire ha∣uing sought out her greatest riches, had brought forth. What other thing is this (said he) then to irritate the lusts and desires of men that are too forward of themselues? What meaneth this pompe of money? We are assembled to∣gether to learne auarice. But vndoubtedly I carrie hence lesse couetousnesse then I brought with me. I contemned riches, not by reason they were super∣fluous, but because they were things of a small value. Seest thou not in how small a time this so mightie show passed ouer, although they marched but slowly, and were rancked orderly? Shall this which could not fill the space of an houre, occupie our whole life? He likewise added this. They seemed vnto me as superfluous to those that had them, as those that beheld them. I there∣fore say thus to my self, as oftentimes as any such thing encountreth mine eyes, as often as I see a rich and sumptuous house, a rich guard of seruants, a Litter

carried by goodly Lackeyes. Why wonderest thou? why art thou amased? it is but pompe. These things are showne, not possessed; and whilst they please they passe by. Rather conuert thy selfe vnto true riches, learne to ••e content with a little, and with a great and manly minde exclaime thus; Let vs haue wa∣ter, let vs haue barley steeped in water, and let vs contend with IVPITER himselfe for felicitie. Let vs, I pray thee, doe thus although these things be wanting. It i•• a base thing to build a blessed life, eyther on golde or siluer, and as base to found it on water and steeped barley•• what shall I therefore do if these things be mis∣sing? Doost thou aske me what remedie there is against need? hunger endeth hunger, otherwise what importeth it if the things that make thee a slaue be great or little? What matters it how much it be that fortune may denie thee? This very water and steeped barley is at another mans command, but he is the free man, not ouer whom fortune hath the least power, but he ouer whom she hath no power at all. It is so. Thou must desire nothing if thou wil•• prouoke Iupiter that desireth nothing. These things spake Attalus vnto vs, but nature crieth it in all mens eares, which if thou wilt oftentimes thinke vpon, thou shalt make thy selfe really, not seemingly happie, and in effect seeme such vnto thy selfe, and not vnto others.

EPIST. CXI.

He proueth that cauils are but a vaine and base kinde of Philosophie, and that that part which concerneth manners is true, firme, and sublimed. Counsailing vs to retire to that studie.

THou hast enquired of me what those things are called in Latine, which the Grecians call Sophismat•••• many men haue endeuoured to expresse the same, but no man hath performed it; and the rea∣son is, because the thing it selfe was not receiued by vs•• neyther had in vse, and therfore likewise was the name of no account•• yet that in my ••udgement was the most fittest which Cicero vsed, who called them Cauillationes, that is to say Cauils; to which whosoeuer addicteth himselfe, he forgeth subtile questions, yet doe they profite him nothing vnto life, neyther is he made the stronger, more temperate, or more lifted vp. But he that hath exer∣cised Philosophy for his owne remedie sake is made mighty in mind, ful of con∣fidence inuincible, and more great the neerer he approcheth the same. That which falleth out in the greatest mountains, whose height appears l••ast to those that behold them from a farre, and the neerer you approach them, the more manifestly appeareth it what their immeasurable height is: such, my Lucilius, is a true and no count••rfeit Philosopher; he standeth in a high place, admirable, vpright, and truely great. He raiseth not himselfe on his feete, neyther walketh on his tiptoes, after the manner of those that helpe their height by shift, and would seeme ••onger then they be, he contenteth himselfe with his greatnesse. Why should he not content himselfe, since he is growne so farre, as fortune rea∣cheth not her hand vnto him•• and therefore is he aboue all humane things. He is alwayes like himselfe in all things that may happen, whether the Nauigation of his life floateth vnder a prosperous winde•• or be tossed by stormes and ad∣uerse dangers. This constancy these cauils (of which I haue spoken a little be∣fore) cannot affect. The minde dallieth with these, but profiteth not he cas••∣eth

Philosophy from her throne, and bringeth her vnto the plaine; neyther would I forbid thee to practise these things sometimes, yet let it be then when thou wouldest doe nothing, yet haue they this one cursed qualitie in them, they leaue a certaine touch of delight behinde them, and possesse and arrest the mind that is induced by the appearance of subtiltie; mean while, infinite and impor∣tant affaires remaine behinde, and scarcely may our whole life suffice to learne this one thing, which is how to contemne life. What to gouerne it sayest thou? This is the second worke: for no man euer well ruled it except hee contem∣ned it.

EPIST. CXII.

He despaireth the reformation of his friend, olde in yeares and vices.

VNdoubtedly I desire that thy friend according to thy wish should be both formed and instructed; but he is held ouer-hard, or rather (which is more troublesome) he is held ouer tender, and broken by euill and daily customes. I will yeeld thee an example out of the husbandry I professe: It is not euery Vine that is fit for graft∣ing; if it be olde and worme-eaten, if it be weake and slender, eyther it receiueth not the young plant, or nourisheth it not, or it will not ioyne with it, neyther wil communicate his qualitie and nature to the same. We therefore are accusto∣med to cut it aboue the ground, to the end that if it faile, a man may assay ano∣ther experiment, and set him once more into the earth. This man of whom thou writest, and whom thou recommendest, hath no forces. He hath beene in such sort addicted vnto vices, that he is both dryed and indurate. He cannot receiue or nourish reason, yet is he desirous. Beleeue him not: I say not that he lieth vnto thee, he thinketh he desireth. He is angry with the excesse he hath made, yet will he shortly fall in league with it againe. But he saith that he is offended with his life: I will not denie it; for who is not offended? men both loue and hate their liues. Then therefore will we giue our iudgement of him, when he hath approued vnto vs that his excesse is hatefull vnto him; but now they are greatly at oddes.

EPIST. CXIII.

He questioneth whether vertues be liuing creatures. He stoically affirmeth that the vices and affections are no lesse. Then preferred he a dispute, that were ridiculous in th••se dayes. He disswadeth vs from such like, and summoneth vs to th••se things that are profitable to life.

THou desirest me to write vnto thee what I thinke of this question so much canuassed amongst Stoicks, whether justice, fortitude, prudence, and the rest of the vertues are liuing creatures. By this subtilty, my deerest Lucilius, we giue occasion to some to thinke that we whet our wits about vnprofitable things, and that we lose our time in such disputes as serue to no purpose. Yet will I do that which thou desirest, and expresse vnto thee what the opinion of our Stoicks is; yet protest

I that I am of anoth••r opinion. I thinke there are some things that be••ome those that weare the ••at and cloke amongst the Grecians. I will therefore tell thee what the reasons were which moued antiquitie. It appeareth that the soule is a liuing creature, considering she is the efficient cause whereby we are a∣nimated: and for that liuing creatures haue der••ued this name from her. But vertue is nought else then a soule possessing her selfe in some so••t, it is therefore an animall. Againe•• vertue doth something, but nothing can be done without motion; if she hau•• motion, which none hath except it be a liuing creature, she is a liuing creature: and if she be a liuing creature, then vertue containeth vertue in her selfe, why not? she hath her selfe. Euen as a wise-man doth all things by the assistance of vertue, so doth vertue by her selfe: & th••rfore s••ith he, all Arts, and all those things which we thinke, and whatsoeuer we comprehend in our mindes are animals. It followeth therefore that in those narrow breasts of ours there inhabiteth diuers thousands of animals, and that euery one of vs are ma∣ny animals, or containe many animals in our selues. Askest thou me what is an∣swered hereunto? Each one of these things shall be an animall, and no•• diuers. The reason? I will tell it thee, if thou wilt heare me patiently & attentiuely•• all animals ought to haue each of them a proper substance: all animals haue one soule•• they cannot therefore subsist euery one, neyther can they be diuers. I am an animall, and a man, thou wilt not therefore say that I am two. Why? To make them two, they ought to be seuered the one from the other. Euery one of diuers sorts hath but one nature, and therefore is but one. My soule is an animall, and I my selfe am one also; yet for all this are we not two. Why? By reason that my soule is a part of me. Then shall any thing be numbred by it selfe, when it consisteth by it selfe, but when it is a part and member of ano∣ther, it cannot seeme to be another thing. And why? I will tell thee. Because that which is another must be his own, and properly his owne, and wholly his owne, and absolute within it selfe. I haue declared that I was of another opini∣on: for not only shall vertues be animals if this be admitted, but those vices and affections which are opposite vnto them likewise, such as are wrath, feare, sor∣row and suspition. And yet this thing shall proceed further, all sentences, all thoughts shall be animals, which must in no sort be admitted. For euery thing that a man doth is not a man; what is justice, saith he? A soule that possesseth her selfe in some sort: if therefore the soule be an animall, justice is an animall. Nothing so: for this is a habite and certain power of the soule. The same soule is conuerted into diuers figures, and yet is not the soule an animall, so often∣times as it changeth thus; neither is that which the soule doth an animall. If justice, magnanimity and those other vertues be animals, I demaund of thee if sometimes they cease to be, or if they begin againe, or if they be alwayes? Ver∣tues cannot cease to be vertues, therfore many liuing creatures are animals, nay, more innumerable animals are in this soule. There are not many (saith he) but this is but one soule assembled of diuers, which are the members and parts of one. By this reckoning we represent vnto our selues such a forme as the Hydra•• which hath diuers heads, each one of which fighteth and hurteth by it selfe. But none of those heads is an animall but the head of an animall, yet is she but one animall. No man said that in Chimera the Lion was an animall, or the Dra∣gon; these are the parts of him, but the partes are not animals. Where doost thou gather that justice is an animall? It acteth, saith he, somewhat and profi∣teth. But that which doth somewhat and pro••iteth, and hath force and moti∣on•• Ergo, that which hath force and motion is an animall. True it is, if it haue his

owne force and motion, but it hath not his owne force and motion, but that of the soule. Euery Animal vntill it die is that which it began to be. A man vntill he die is a man, so likewise a horse and a dogge, for they cannot passe into ano∣ther forme and substance. Iustice that is the soule which possesseth it selfe in any sort, is an Animal. Let vs beleeue it. Moreouer, Magnanimitie, that is to say, the soule in any sort mistris of her selfe, is an Animal. What soule is that? That which euen now was Iustice, is inclosed in the first Animal, and cannot passe into another Animal, but must remaine in him where she began to be. Furthermore, one soule cannot be in two liuing creatures together, much lesse in many. If Iu∣stice, Magnanimitie, Temperance, and those other vertues be Animals. How can they haue but one soule, it must needs fall out that euery one hath his own•• else cannot they be Animals. One body cannot be the body of diuers Animals. What is, saith he, the bodie of Iustice, the soule, and of magnanimitie also; but one bodie cannot be the bodie of two Animals. But some one will say, that one and the same soule hath taken the habitude of Iustice, magnanimitie and tem∣perance, This might be, if at such time as Iustice was in vigor, magnanimitie was not, and when value was, temperance was not. But all vertues are toge∣ther. How should these be different Animals, since there is but one soule, which can make but one Animal. Furthermore, no Animal is a part of another Ani∣mal. But Iustice is a part of the soule, it is not therefore an Animal. Truely in my iudgement, it is but lost time to contest vpon a matter that is granted, wee should rather be angry thereat, then dispute thereupon. No Animal is a part of another. Consider all mens bodies, and there is not one of them but hath his particular colour, forme, and proportion. Amidst other miracles, which make the wisdome of God the Creator admirable, I esteeme this to be one, that a∣midst so many things that are created, the one resembleth not the other, and as touching those that are like one another, yet will there be some difference found, if thou curiously obserue the same. He hath made infinite sorts of leaues distinguished the one from the other by some speciall marke. Infinite and dif∣ferent Animals, yea euen those which are of the same kinde, doe not in euerie part resemble one another. The Creator hath required and obtained this of himselfe, that these Animals of different kindes should not resemble one ano∣ther, either in forme or proportion. Thou sayest that all the Vertues are like one another, and therefore they are not Animals. There is not any Animal but doth something of it selfe. But Vertue doth nothing by her selfe, but with a man. All liuing creatures are either endowed with reason, as men and gods, or depriued of reason as beasts are. Vertues are endowed with reason, and yet for all that, they are neither gods nor men, and consequently they are not Ani∣mals. Euery reasonable liuing creature doth nothing, except it be first incited and pushed forward in regard and consideration of something: this stirreth the ••am•••• and then consent stirreth this motion. As touching Consent, see heere 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it is. I must walke out, I set forward, after I am commanded so to do, and ••••uing found it good. I must sit downe, and then I sit. This Consent is not in Vertue. Presuppose that Prudence is a liuing creature, how should she consent? I must of necessitie set forward, Nature opposeth her selfe against this point, for Prudence prouideth not for her selfe, but for him that is endowed with her, which cannot go nor sit downe, and therefore hath no consent. That which is depriued of iudgement and consent, is not a liuing creature endowed with rea∣son. If Vertue be a liuing creature, she is a reasonable liuing creature. But she is a reasonable liuing creature: Ergo, no liuing creature. If Vertue be a liuing

creature, and vertue be a good thing, euery good thing is a liuing creature. The Stoickes auow this. It is a good thing for a man to saue his fathers life, to speake materially and to the purpose, his opinion in publique assembly, to giue a sen∣tence according to the lawes, by this reckoning to saue a mans father, shall be a liuing creature, and to thinke and debate well, another. In briefe, this Paradox will seem•• so great in the end, that a man cannot containe himselfe from laugh∣ter. To know how to hold a mans peace in time and place, to sup well is a good thing, and therefore to hold a mans peace, and to sup well, are liuing creatures. I will not cease to tickle my selfe, and make me pleasure by these follies. Truly if Iustice and Magnanimitie be liuing creatures, they are terrestriall, euery ter∣restriall liuing creature suffereth cold, hunger and thirst. So Iustice hath a cold, Magnanimitie is hungry, and Clemencie drie. Moreouer, I would willingly aske of these Doctors, if these liuing creatures haue the figure of a man, of a horse, or of a sauage beast. If they attribute vnto them a round forme, as they doe vnto God, I would aske of them, whether couetousnesse, riot, and folly are round? For these likewise are Animals, if they be round. I would desire them further to let me know, if to walke discreetly be a liuing creature or no? They must of necessitie confesse that it is a liuing creature of a round forme. But to the end thou mayest know that I speake by my booke, and that it is not my priuate opi∣nion which I heere doe publish. Cleanthes and his scholler Chrysippus are not one in opinion, as touching this walking. Cleanthes saith that it is an agitation dis••persed from the head vnto the feete. Chrysippus is of another opinion: why then according to Chrysippus example cannot any man maintaine that which he shall iudge to be the best, and laugh at the number of these Animals, so great, as the world would be too little to containe them. The Stoicks say that Ver∣tues are not diuers Animals, and yet notwithstanding that they are Animals, e∣uen as one man is an Orator and Poet, so are Vertues Animals, and not diuers liuing creatures, but one onely. The soule that is iust, prudent, and couragious, is one and the same, being in some sort in possession of her selfe, in euery one of the vertues. The dispute ceaseth, we are agreed, for I confesse that the soule is a liuing creature, referring it to another place to speake my opinion as touching the same. I deny that the actions of the soule are liuing creatures, otherwise all the words, and euery Poets verses should be liuing creatures. For if a word well spoken be a good thing, and euery good thing be a liuing creature, the word shall be a liuing creature. A verse that is well made is good, that which is good is called an Animal, and consequently a verse shall be an Animal: and so

Arma virumque cano,

Is an Animal, which cannot for all that be round, because it is a verse of six feet. All this is but meere Sophistrie, which being well examined makes me readie to swound with laughing, when I remember that a Solecisme, a Barbarisme, and a Syllogisme is an Animal, and I depaint euery one of them such a forme as best liketh me. These things dispute we with loftie lookes and bended browes. I cannot in this place refraine to exclaime in this sort with Lucilius, O hatefull follies. They are ridiculous. But why manage we not rather some matters that may make vs better! Why search we not out the meanes to attaine vnto vertue, and the way that may leade vs thereunto? Breake not my braines in teaching me whether Magnanimitie be a liuing creature, but learne me that in this world there is not any liuing creature found that is happie, except hee bee

magnanimous, except he be resolute against all accidents, if in his thought hee hath not ouercome all aduersities before he felt them. Magnanimitie is the im∣pregnable fortresse of humane infirmitie, whosoeuer is inclosed therein, he re∣maineth assured in this beleagring of life. For he vseth his owne strength and his owne weapons. In this place I will set downe vnto thee the notable saying of the Stoick POSIDONIVS, Neuer thinke thy sel••e assured with the armes of Fortune, combate against her with thine owne. Casualties doe not arme vs. They therefore that are armed against their enemies, are disarmed against aduersitie. Alexander spoiled and put to flight the Persians, the Hircanians, the Indians, and all those Nations that inhabit the extent of the East Countries vnto the sea. Notwithstanding he himselfe hauing slaine one friend and lost another, lay groueling in a darke chamber detesting his wickednesse, deploring his losse, and this conquerour of so many Kings and Nations, was ouercome by choler and sorrow. For all his endeuours were aimed to this end, to master all other things except himselfe. O how blinde are men, who desire to make their Scepters passe beyond the seas, who thinke themselues happy if they conquer diuers countries and Prouinces by their souldiers, and ioyne new to the old, not know∣ing that the greatest Empire, and that which is wholly conquered, is to com∣mand a mans selfe. Let them teach mee how sacred a thing Ius••ice is, that it is a vertue that is carefull of another mans good; that seeketh not commodities or aduantages to her selfe. That she hath no alliance with ambition and vaine-glorie, but pleaseth her selfe. Before all things let euery one perswade himselfe this. It behoueth me to be a good man, without hope or desire of recompence. This is a small matter, let him adde more: I am commanded to employ my selfe wholly and freely in the studie of vertue, in such sort as all my thought is as much as in me lieth, to be driuen from the consideration of my priuate profit. Studie thou not whether the reward of vertue, is more great then vertue it selfe. Fix thou that likewise in thy minde, which I haue touched heretofore, it skilleth not whether thy vertue be knowne to few men, or to many. He that wil haue his vertue published, laboureth not for vertue, but for glory. Wilt thou not be iust without glory? But vndoubtedly thou must be iust with infamie, and then, if thou art wise, an euill opinion well gotten doth delight.

EPIST. CXIIII.

He teacheth that eloquence is otherwise different, and pleasing, euen as publike manners are seuere, dissolute and broken. He proueth that they take that colour from the mind, and that by MAECENAS example, and therefore that that is to be cured and for∣med, from whence proceedeth sence, and consequently direct words. By the way he argueth against dissolutenesse••.

THou askest mee why and whence it commeth to passe, that the speech is corrupted in some times, and why mens minds are incli∣ned to certaine vices, so as sometimes a swelling discourse was ap∣plauded, some other times sounding & deliuered after the maner of a song. Why other whiles men tooke pleasure in long & conti∣nued periods, other whiles in abrupt sentences & suspitious, in which more is to be vnderstood then heard. Why then was some age that immodestly vsed a figu∣ratiue discourse. The reason is this which thou hast commonly heard, and the Greekes haue made their prouerb, of such is mens speech as is their life. But as euery mans actiō is answerable to his speech, so somtimes the kind of discourse

imitateth publike manners. If the discipline of the Common-wealth hath been depraued, the effeminate manner of language is an argument of the disso∣lution of all estates: I speake of that language which is vsuall amongst all men, and not of that, which some one or two vse. The soule and vnderstanding can∣not be of two colours. If the soule be whole, composed, graue, and well tempe∣red, the vnderstanding also is sober and moderate. If the one be corrupted, the other is affected. Seest thou not, that if the mind languish, the members are wea∣kened, and the feet hardly moued? And if it be effeminate, how the infirmitie thereof appeareth euen in the walking? How if it be watchfull and forward, the body doubleth his pace, and if it be furious, or (that which is next to furie) be angry, how all the body trembleth, and how they go not, but are transported? How much more befalleth the vnderstanding thinkest thou, which is wholly intermixed with the soule, which formeth the same, bringeth it in action, and gi∣ueth it a law? In what sort Maecenas liued, it is better knowne, then that it nee∣ded to be expressed at this time, how he walked, how dainti•• he was, how desi∣rous to be seene, how vnwilling that his vices should be vndiscouered. What then, was not his discourse as dissolute as his life? Had he not as much affectation and vanitie in his speech, as in his equipage, then in his traine, then in his house, then in his wife? He was a man of great vnderstanding, ••ad ••e not tracted a worser way, had he not affected obscuritie, had he not ouerflowed in his dis∣course. Thou shalt therefore see the eloquence of a drunken man enfolded, ex∣trauagant and full of libertie. Behold Maecenas in his manner of speech. Quid turpius amne siluis{que} ripa comantibus? Vide vt alueum lintribus arent, verso{que} vad•• re∣mittant hortos. Quid si quis faeminae cirro crispatae & labris columbatur? Incipit{que} suspi∣rans vt ceruice laxa feriatur. Nemo tirāni irremediabilis factio rimantur, epulis lagaenae{que} tentant domos & saepe mortem exigunt. Genium festo vix suo testem tenuis ••erei fila & crepacem molam•• Iocum mater & vxor inuestiunt. Wilt thou not suddenly remember, as soone as thou readest this, that this is the sp••ech of such a man, who alwayes trauersed Rome streets in his loose-gowne. For euen then when in Caesars absence he executed his office, hee deliuered the watch-word in this habit. Thinke that it is the same man, that in the Pallace, in the Tribunall du∣ring the time of Orations, in all assemblies of these people alwaies presented himselfe, hauing his face muffeled in his cloake, without discouering any thing but his eares, as they are accustomed to doe, who flie and will not be knowne, according as they are represented in Comedies. Hee it is that in the greatest height of ciuill warres, at such time as Rome was in armes and in feare, mar∣ched thorow the streetes, attended by two Eunuches, yet more men then him∣selfe. He it is that hath had but one wife, and notwithstanding hath been ma∣ried a thousand times. These words aboue written so badly builded, so negli∣gently disposed, so repugnant to the manner of all mens writings, shew that his manners were no lesse new, then particular and depraued. Hee hath beene highly prised for the sweetnesse of his nature, in that hee neuer bare armes, or euer tooke pleasure in shedding bloud, or did any thing, except that which the libertie of the time or his credit might permit him. But all this good reputation of his hath beene soyled by the affectations of this his monstrous manner of language: for in this it manifestly appeareth that hee was ra∣ther a milke-soppe then mercifull. These obscurities in ••is composition, these ouerth wart vvords, these conceits oftentimes: loftie, but without pith, discouer vnto him that will obserue the same, that too much felicitie had trou∣bled his head, a vice which is sometimes found in the man, sometimes in the

time. When as repose and felicitie produceth and soweth dissolution on euery side. First of all, a man beginneth more carefully to dresse and adorne his bo∣die. Afterwards his studie is to haue rich moueables, consequently he bethin∣keth himselfe of stately buildings, to make them more large, to enrich the walls with Marbles fetched from beyond seas, to embolish the roofes with gold, that the beautie of the pauement be answerable to the richnesse of many beames. Then transferreth he his daintinesse to the magnificence of his table, and there searcheth he glorie in noueltie, and changing the accustomed fashions amongst our predecessors, so that those things which were wont to bee serued in last at supper, are brought in first, and those things that were presented to those that entered to the feast, are giuen to those that depart from it. After that mans minde was accustomed to loath that which was in vse, and things that are ordi∣narie were accounted contemptible: he goes and seekes out a new language, re∣uiuing and renuing vnusuall and forgotten words, then forgeth he new, and re∣grateth the vnknowne: that which is but newly found out is reputed elegant, and figuratiue translations are audacious and frequent. Some thinke to credit themselues by speaking to the halfes, and abbreuiating their speech in such sort, as he that heareth knoweth not what to thinke. Other there are that delate and draw them out, some there are that draw not vnto the vice (for he must needs, that vndertaketh any great thing to doe the same) yet such as loue the same. Wheresoeuer therefore thou seest that men take delight in an obscure and cor∣rupt speech, hold thy selfe assured that their manners are depraued. Euen as ex∣cessiue banquets and superfluous rayments are witnesses that the Common-weale is sicke, so this libertie in coyning new tearmes and words (if so be the custome be continued) sheweth that the spirits of those that speake thus, are entangled and lost. Wonder thou not in any sort, that this corruption is as plea∣sing to the mightiest, as to the meaner sort, for the greatest and the poorest dif∣fer not in iudgements, but in their pompe and estate. Rather wonder thou that men praise the effects of vices, and the vices themselues. For this hath beene alwaies done: there was no pleasing wit that had not his pardon. Giue me what∣soeuer man thou wilt of greatest name, and I will tell thee wherein the age wherein he liued pardoned him, and what they willingly dissembled in him. I will reckon thee vp many, whose vices harmed them not, and some, whose er∣rors profited them. I will, I say, let thee see some of great renowne, and repu∣ted most excellent men, whom if a man will censure, he confoundeth them. For so are their vertues intermixed with their vices, that the one do necessarily draw the other after them. Adde hereunto that language hath no certaine rule. The publike custome which changeth it incessantly, altereth it from yeare to yeare. Some men borrow words from another age. They vse the stile of the Lawes written in the twelue tables. Gracchus, Crassus, and Curio are ouer new for them, they returne as farre as Appius and Coruncanus. Some other contra∣riwise, that will haue nothing which is not vulgar and triuiall, speake very bare∣lie. Both of them are corrupted in a diuers manner so much certainlie, as if they would vse pompous wel-sounding and poeticall words, and flie those that are necessarie and in vse: I will say that as well the one as the other doth amisse. The one esteemeth thēselues more then is necessary, the other mispriseth thē∣selues ouer much; the one pull the haire frō their legs, the other not from their arme pits. Let vs passe ouer to cōposition, how many defaults may I discouer to thee? The one allow of a crabbed and harsh discourse, they disturbe a smooth and pleasing stile: no period is pleasing to them, if it be not harsh and rough:

they repute that manly and strong which affecteth the ••are with inequalitie. The other in stead of speaking, seeme to sing, so fl••ttering and so fluent is the structure of their wordes. What will you say of that where the words are de∣ferred, and after we haue attended them long time•• hardly returne they vnto their clauses? What shall I say of that which in the issue is moderate (as is that of Ciceroes and falling and ending afterwards sweetly, and answerable to the fashion; and hath his ending answerable to the manner and foot. There is not onely an errour in the kind of sentences, if eyther they are too weake and chil∣dish, and more proude and bolde then modestie will permit, but they are too flourishing and sweet, if they be deliuered in vaine and without any effect, they doe no more but sound. These vices some one man bringeth in, whose elo∣quence in that time is applauded, the rest doe imitate him, and the one deliue∣reth it to the other. So when Salust was in request, the sentences were curt••lled, and wordes had their vnexpected cadence, and obscure breuitie with the rest was reputed elegancie, Aruncius a man of rare frugalitie, who wrote the Hi∣storie of the Carthaginian warres, was a Salus••ian, and an excellent man in that kinde. There is an SALVST, Exercitum argento fe••it: that is to say, he made an armie with siluer; that is, he assembled an armie with money. This did Arun∣cius, he planted it in euery page: he saith in a certaine place, Fugam nostri fecere, that is to say, our men made a flight: and in another place Hiero King of Syracu∣sa, Bellum facit, maketh warre: and likewise in another place, Quae a••dita Panormi∣tanos dedere Romanis fecere, that is to say, which things being heard, they made that the Inhabitants of Panormus rendred themselues to the Romanes•• I thought good to giue thee a little taste. All this whole booke is composed of words. Those wordes that were rare in Salust are vsuall in him, and almost continued: and not without cause; for the one lighted on them by chance, the other sought for them. But thou seest what followeth him that taketh an er∣rour for an example: Salust said, Aquis hiemantibus, whilst the waters wintered. Ar••ncius in his first booke of the Carthaginian warre, saith, Repente hiemauit tem∣pestas, that is to say, the tempest suddenly wintered. And in another place, when he would say that the yeare was colde, he saith, Totus hiemauit annus, that is•• the whole yeare wintered. And in another place, Inde sexaginta onerarias leues pr••∣ter militem, & necessarios nautarum hiemante aquilone misit, that is, whilst the Aqui∣lon wintered, he sent from that place sixtie ships of small burthen, besides the Souldiers and necessarie Marriners. He neuer giueth ouer in all places to foist in this word. In a certaine place Salust saith, Inter arma ciuilia aequiboni famas pe∣tit, that is, amidst ciuill armes he sought the renowne of a man good and iust. A∣runtius tempered not himselfe, but presently in his first booke he inserted this, Ingentes esse famas de RE••VLO, that is, that the renownes of Regulus were great. This therefore and such like vices, which imitation hath impressed into any tokens of dissolution, or a corrupt minde. For they must be proper and conceiued by the vnderstanding, by which thou oughtest to estimate any mans effects. The speech of a cholericke man is hastie, and violent of a man that is moued to much stirring, of a delicate and ciuill man smooth and pleasant, which thou seest those men follow that eyther pull and trim their beards, that cause their mustachios to be cut short, that shaue their vpper lips very neere, and suf∣fer the rest to be as long as is possible, that weare their cloakes of an euill colour, and gownes of pure stuffe, who will doe nothing but that which is seene pub∣liquely, although they offend and displease the whole world. But they care not to be reproued, prouided, that they be beheld. Such is Mecaenas discourse and

all others else, which erre not casually but willingly. This errour proc••edeth from an euill conscience. Euen as in drunkennesse the tongue faltereth not, ex∣cept reason be obscured or betrayed: so this maner of speech (which is a meere drunkenesse of the spirit) is tedious to no man, except the vnderstanding of him that speaketh be shaken. Therefore we ought to heale the same, for from it the discourse, the words, the countenance, the regard, the marching is deriued; if it be whole and strong. The language is robust, strong and manly: contrari∣wise, if it be deiected all the rest grow to wracke,

The King in health then all mens mindes are one, The King once lost then all mens faith is gon••.

Our minde is our King if it be safe, the rest continue in their duetie, they obey and are gouerned, if he be neuer so little shaken, they droope with him. But when he giueth place to pleasure, his Arts and his actions also doe decay, and all his forces are feeble and fraile. Because I haue vsed this similitude I will perse∣uer. Our minde is now a King, now a Tyrant: a King when he beholdeth and aimeth at honestie, maintaineth the health of the bodie committed to his charge, and commandeth no filthy or sordid thing: but when he is cholericke, couetous and delicate, he assumeth a detes••able and direfull name, and is called Tyrant. Then doe impotent affections lay holde of him, and sollicite him in∣cessantly, and in the beginning of those that most presse him seeme to yeelde him pleasure; such as the people is accustomed to reioyce at when a tyrant ma∣keth them any larges to intrap them: but this abundance is vaine vnto the vn∣derstanding, which manageth that which he cannot dis-jest, when the sickenesse hath consumed his vigor more and more, and delights haue stolne into his nerues and marrow, the vnderstanding being ioyfull to behold these things (the vse whereof is vnprofitable to him, because he hath ouer-earnestly desired them) for the satisfaction of his delights, he enioyeth the sight of this or that, he is witnesse and vnder seruant of other mens lusts, being depriued of all delights of the same, because he is ouer-plunged therein: in briefe, the abundance of worldly pleasures in stead of conceiting him consumeth him, when he sees him∣selfe depriued of the meanes to let downe by his throate into his belly all the pleasant morsels he beholdeth, and to tumble himselfe basely amidst the troop of ba••des and harlots, he wonderfully grieueth because he is falne from the greatest part of his felicitie, hauing so straight receipt in a bodie so little. Is not this a true furie, my Lucilius, that none of vs thinketh that he is mortall? That we are insensible euery way of our infirmity? yea, that each one supposeth him∣selfe to be more then one. Behold our Kitchins, and our Cookes trauersing from one fire to another; wouldest thou thinke that for the refection of one on∣ly belly so much stirre should be made? Behold our Caues and Cellers repleni∣shed with the vintages of many ages; thinkest thou that it is for one belly that the wines of so many Consuls and Countries are stored vp? Behold in how ma∣ny places the earth is turned vp, how many thousands of husbandmen plough and digge the same; thinkest thou that it may seeme to be for one belly that Si∣cily and Africa are sowed? We shall be healthfull and desire little, if euery one of vs numbreth himselfe, and measure his body likewise, and know that it ney∣ther can receiue much, nor containe it long; yet is there nothing that will teach thee better to keepe a measure in all things, then an ordinarie meditation of the shortnes and vncertainty of this life, whensoeuer thou doost look backe vn∣to death.

EPIST. CXV.

He argueth against those that are too curious in their discourse and stile, and saith it is a token of a weake minde; alleaging that we ought to speake and write confidently with∣out affectation of ornament, and rather expresse in our minde. O what a one is he when vertues haue adorned him? He will draw all men into admiration of him, if he might be seene. But this externall beautie is eyther false or nothing worth: as like∣wise golde and money are, which wee so much admire. These make not men happy or secure, nay, rather miserable and to be pittied.

I Will not haue thee too curious, eyther in thy wordes or compo∣sition, my Lucilius, I haue greater matters for thee to care for, and thinke vpon. Seeke what thou shouldest write, and not how; and in stead of busying thy selfe about wordes, cause thy selfe to haue a feeling of the substance thereof in thy heart, to the end thou mayest apply the same more and more, and as it were seale it in thy selfe. Whomsoeuer thou seest that vseth an affected and laboured kinde of speech, thinke that he hath his spirit occupied about vaine things. A vertuous man speaketh more remissely, but more securely: whatsoeuer he saith, hath more confidence in it then curiositie. Thou knowest diuers young men well barbed and frizeled, who seeme as if they newly came out of a boxe; expect thou no∣thing eyther firme or generous from such kinde of men. The speech is the I∣mage of the minde: if a man mince it, disguise and polish it ouer curiously, it is a signe that he which speaketh it, is an hypocrite, and little worth. It is no manly ornament to speake affectedly. If it were lawfull for vs to prie into the soule of a good man, O the faire, O the holy, O the magnificent, gratious, and shining face which we should beholde! their iustice, their fortitude, their temperance, their prudence giue lustre on euery side. Furthermore, frugalitie, continence, pa∣tience, libertie and courtesie, and that rare, and as it were incredible ornament in a man, that is to say humanity, would reflect their light vpon them. Further∣more, how much grace, grauity, authority, discretion and magnanimitie (which is the highest of all other vertues) would annex themselues vnto the rest. No man would count him amiable that would not terme him venerable, if any one had seene this face more heauenly and resplendent then mortall eyes are accu∣stomed to behold, would he not step backe, being stroken with astonishment, as if he had met with some God? Would he not pray in his heart that he might contemplate the same? Then approching more neere, allured by the sweete∣nesse of his eyes, would he not humbly kneele downe before her. And hauing aduisedly considered it, how farre more excellent it were and incomparable a∣boue ours, with a gratious regard, yet sparkling and filled with liuing light, whol∣ly rauished with zeale and amase, would he not crie out with Virgil,

O by what stile faire Virgin shall I striue To set thee forth? for thine vnequal'd eyes Are mere then mortall, and thy words reuiue Farre more then humane eloquence implies, Liue happy, and vouchsafe vs of thy grace, And end those toyles which haue our life in chace.

Shee will assist and comfort vs, if we will honour her, but she is not honoured or

serued by the offerings of fat slaughtered and sacrificed Bulls, nor by golde, or siluer hung vp in the Temple, or by presents cast into her treasure; but by a right and holy affection. There is not any man, as I haue said, that would not be inflamed with her loue, if we could attaine to see her. For now there are ma∣nie things that hinder and dim our eyes, and dull them by their brightnesse, or detaine them in obscuritie. But euen as certaine medicines doe clense and shar∣pen the sight; so likewise if we will take away those impediments that darken the eyes of our soules, we may behold vertue, although couered with a body, although pouertie, base condition, and infamie be as many couerts to conceale her from vs; although this beautie be clouded by an obscure thing, yet shall we espie it. Contrariwise, we shall discouer from a farre the malice and stupidi∣tie of a miserable soule, although that riches doe abundantly shine and muster about her, and that in regarding her we haue our eyes dazeled with the false light of power and honours, Then may wee learne that which wee admire is contemptible in all sorts, and that we resemble little children, that thinke euery trifle of great value; for they preferre their little bracelets, scarce worth a peny, before their fathers, mothers, or brothers. What difference then is there betwixt vs and them, saith Ariston, but that we are madding after pictures and statues more costly foolish? They are delighted with little partie coloured stones, that haue some varietie in them, which are found vpon the Sea shore, and we with pillars of Iaspe and Porphirie, brought from the sands of AEgypt, or the deserts of Africa, to sustaine som porch or som dyning chamber to feast the Commons in. We wonder at the walls that are couered with thin marble, and yet we know what that is which is hidden, and we cousen our owne eyes. And when we guild all the roofs of our houses, what other thing reioice we in but in coun∣terfeit? For we know that worme-eaten wood lyeth hidden vnder that golde: neyther is it onely on our walls and house-beames that we bestow this light or∣nament, but remember thy selfe also that the felicitie of all these great men whom thou seest march so proudly, is but a felicitie guilded on the out-side, and a simple leafe. Obserue and thou shalt see, that vnder this thin skin of humane greatnesse, there is abundance of miserie and filthinesse. Those riches which at this day raise men to greatest magistracy & place of justice, haue bewitched the hearts and senses of the same men; and since mony hath growne in request, the true honour of things is made no reckoning of: and being become buyers and sellers both at once, we aske no more what this is, but of what worth this is? In this traffique we are sometimes good, and sometimes euill. As long as there is any hope of profite about vertue wee follow her: if vice promise vs better ad∣uantage we runne after it, and are for those will giue vs most. Our fathers and mothers haue made vs admire golde and siluer; this couetousnesse being sow∣ed in our tender soules, hath taken deepe roote, and is growne with vs. Againe, all men that in all other things are of different opinions, accord in this point of auarice, euery one embraceth the same, desireth that his may haue a part, & pre∣tending to shew himselfe gratefull to the gods, hee presenteth them with siluer and golde, as the most excellent thing in the world. Finally, mans life is brought to that passe, that pouertie is held for a hatefull thing, and full of contempt, neg∣lected by the rich, hatefull to the poore. Then haue the Poets annexed their inuentions, which are as it were matches to kindle our affections in praysing ri∣ches as the onely honour and ornament of this life, and that the immortall gods seeme to haue nothing better, neyther can giue any thing more exquisite. One of them speaking of the Pallace of the Sunne, saith

The Pallace of the Sunne, most seemely to behold, Was rais'd on pillars of the purest gold.

Behold how he describes his Chariot.

The axeltree, the beame, the outward bends, That arme the wheele, were all of burnisht gold, The spoakes of siluer.—

To conclude, they call that the golden age, which they would haue reputed for the best. Amongst the Tragique Poets, there are some that preferre profit before innocence, health, and good opinion.

Let me haue wealth and riches to be giuing, Account thou me the wretchedst miser liuing; All men enquire, if he be rich or no, But no man learnes what goodnesse he doth owe. They aske not why, or whence, but what thou hast, And onely that, so each man is reputed As he is landed, monied, and suted. Ask'st thou me what is loathsome to possesse, Nothing; for getting doth disgrace redresse. I either wish to liue in rich estate, Or die in pouertie, contempt, and hate: Full well dies he, that dying getteth gaine, Mony the greatest good of humane straine: The mothers comfort, and the infants pleasure, The sacred parents are but toyes to pleasures, In VENVS face nothing so sweetly shines As mony doth, nothing her power confines; The gods themselues are by her presents mou'd, And mortall men her sight haue euer lou'd.

When these last verses of Euripides Tragedie were pronounced, all the people arose with great tumult, to fling out both the Actor and the Author, till Euripi∣des himselfe stepped forth into the middest of them, beseeching them to haue patience, and they should see what end he had that so much admired gold. In this Tragedie Beler••phon receiued the chastisement, which euery one receiueth in himselfe. For no auarice is without punishment, although shee her selfe be punishment enough of her selfe. O how many teares and toyles exacteth shee at their hands that serue her, how miserable shee is both to those that gape af∣ter her, and to those that haue got her. Adde hereunto the continuall cares which torment euery man, according to the measure of that he hath: mony is possest with greater torment then sought. What bitter sighes are vented from the hearts of couetous men, if they haue any losses, which sometimes are great, and seeme also to be greater. Finally, although Fortune take nothing from them•• yet all that which escapeth their fingers, is as much as lost vnto them. But men say such a one is happie and rich, and desire to haue as much goods as hee. I confesse it. What then? Thinkest thou that any are in worse case then those

which haue both miserie and enuie. I could wish that they who desire riches, should consult and take counsell of rich men. I could wish that they who affect honors, should confer with ambitious men, and such as haue gotten the height of dignitie, they should vndoubtedly change their vowes, which they doe also making new wishes, and consequently condemning their former wishes. For there is no one man that contenteth himselfe with his felicitie, although shee posted forward to finde him. They complaine themselues of their designes and successe, and had rather haue that which they left behinde. But Philoso∣phie will giue thee content, which is the most great good thou canst imagine, thou shalt neuer repent thy selfe. To this so solide felicitie which no tempest may shake, apt and chosen words, neither a sweete and flowing stile will bring thee. Let words passe as they may, prouided that thy soule be in his entire, that it be great, and deliuered from errors, pleasing vnto it selfe, by reason of those things that are displeasing vnto others. Who estimateth his aduancement by his action, and iudgeth that hee knoweth so much, as he neither desireth nor feareth.

EPIST. CXVI.

Against the Peripatetickes, that affections are to be cut off, not tempered, neither that they are induced by Nature. That the aduerse opinion proceedeth from effeminate∣nesse.

IT hath oftentimes beene demanded•• whether it be better to haue moderate affections, or none at all. The Stoicks expell them which are tempered and moderated by Peripateticks. For mine owne part I see now how a sicknesse may be moderate, healthfull or profitable. Feare thou not, for I will haue none of those things taken from thee, which thou wilt not haue denied thy selfe. I will make my selfe facile and indulgent to those things which thou pretendest, and that either thou esteemest necessarie, profitable, or pleasing to thy selfe. I will only take from thee the vice. For when I forbid thee to desire, I permitte thee to will, to the end that resolutely and aduisedly thou mayest doe what thou pleasest, and that thou mayest taste the sweetnes thereof the more. Why not? For they will come the more vnto thee, if thou command them, then if thou serue them. But thou wilt say that it is naturall for a man to lament the death of his friend, that we ought to giue time to a sorrow so iust. That it is naturall to be touched with the opinions of men, and to be sorry in aduersities, that it is not reasonable to extinguish the honest apprehension of a danger. I answere, that there is no vice which findeth not an aduocate, and whose beginning is not fitting and excusable•• but that it is which giueth him the meanes to extend it selfe euery wayes. If thou suffer it to begin, thou shalt neuer be able to make it end. In the beginning each affection is feeble, but afterwards he inciteth him∣selfe, and getteth forces in his progresse, he is more easily excluded then expel∣led. Who denieth, but that affections flow, as it were, from a certaine naturall beginning. Nature hath committed the care of our selues to our selues, but when thou art too indulgent thereof, it is a vice, Nature hath intermixed plea∣sure with necessarie things, not that we should affect the same•• but that the ac∣cesse thereof, should make those things more pleasing to vs, without which we

cannot liue, if of it selfe it come not, it is dissolutenesse. Let vs therefore make head against affections which enter: because, as I said, they are not entertained so easily as they depart. Permit me in such a measure to be sorrowfull, in such a measure to feare: but that measure becommeth without meane, and endeth not there where thou wilt. It is safetie for a wise-man not to keepe himselfe o∣uer carefull, and let him when he listeth arrest his teares and his pleasures. And because it is not easie for vs to retire, it is the better that we set not forward at all. Me thinkes that Panaetius answered very fitly to a yong man that asked him, Whether a wise-man might loue. As touching the wise-man (saith he) wee will thinke vpon it, but in regard of thy selfe and me, we are yet farre distant from the perfection of a wise-man. Let vs keepe our selues carefully, lest we become slaues of a thing turbu∣lent, impotent, vnder the power of another, contemptible to it selfe. For if she eye vs, his humanitie incited vs, and if she despise, we burne in despite. The loue that is gratious is as hurtfull as that which is rigorous: by his facility we are entang∣led, and with the rigor we striue. Since then we know our owne weaknesse, let vs be quiet; neither let vs trust our infirme mindes to wine, to beautie, or flatte∣rie, nor to any other attraction and flattering things. That which Panaetius answe∣red of loue to this yong man, that say I of all other affections. Let vs reclaime our selues, as much as in vs lieth, from slipperie places, and let vs securely stand assured in the drie. Thou wilt propose vnto me in this place, that reproach which all the world vrgeth against the Stoicks: you promise ouer great matters, you command that which is as it were impossible. We are poore and infirme men, who cannot in this sort cut off all things, we will weepe but a little. Wee will couet but temperately, if we enter into choler, it shall be pacified. Wilt thou know why we cannot command our affections? It is in this respect, because we beleeue that it is impossible for vs. Yea, but vndoubtedly there is another matter in it, we defend our vices because we loue them, and we had rather ex∣cuse them, then discusse them. Nature hath giuen vs force enough, if we will make vse thereof, if we will gather our forces, and employ them wholly for our selues, and not against our selues. We pretend that we cannot, but the cause is that we will not.

EPIST. CXVII.

A question, whether since wisdome is good, it be good to be wise. The Stoicks com∣monly deny the same: some affirme; and he is more inclined to their opinion. In con∣clusion, he impugneth these vnnecessarie matters•• and seriously exhorteth vs to re∣forme our manners.

THou wilt trouble me much, and thy selfe likewise, and ere thou art aware thrust me into great strife and trouble, who proposest mee such short questions, in which, without offence, I dare not differ from the Stoicks, neither can I consent with a safe conscience. Thou enquirest of mee whether it bee true which the Stoickes maintaine, that wisedome is good, but to be wise is not. First of all will I ex∣pound what the Stoicks thinke, then dare I boldly discouer my opinion. It is the opinion of our sect, that that which is good is a bodie, because that which is good acteth. But each thing that hath action is a body. That which is good profiteth, but he must doe somewhat, to the end he may profit, and if it

doth, it is a bodie. They say that wisedome is good, it followeth then of ne∣cessitie that it is corporall. But they thinke that to be wise is not of the same condition. It is a thing incorporall and accidentall vnto wisedome, and there∣fore it cannot produce any action, neyther profite any wayes. But say we not it is good to be wise? We say so in relation to that whereon it dependeth, that is to say, to wisedome it selfe. Before I begin to retire my selfe, and to vnite my selfe with the contrary parties, heare that which some Stoicks answere vnto the rest. After this manner say they it is no good thing to liue happily: will they, nill they, they must answer that a blessed life is good, and that to liue blessedly is a good thing. Moreouer, it is opposed against those of our sect, Will you be wise? Therefore it is a thing to be desired to be wise: if it be a thing to be desi∣red it is good. The Stoicks are constrained to wrest wordes, and to require the interposition of one syllable, which our speech permitteth not to be insert∣ed, I will if thou wilt suffer me annex the same: That, say they, is to be desired which is good to be desired, which is contingent vnto good, which good when wee haue attained it, is not required as good, but is an accession to the good that is required. I am not of this opinion, and I iudge that the S••oickes a∣gree with mee herein, because the first point bridleth them, and they can∣not lawfully change the manner of speech: wee are wont to attribute much to the common and vniuersall opinion of men. Amongst vs it is a testimonie of truth, if it be alleaged that all men beleeue that which is in question. As for proofe that there are goddes, wee alleage that the be∣leefe that there are gods is ingraffed and planted in all mens minds; neyther is there any Nation how brutish soeuer, that beleeueth not that there are gods? When we dispute of the eternity of soules, the concent of men eyther fearing hell, or reuerencing the same, hath no small moment and authority. I vse this publique perswasion, thou shalt ••inde no man who thinketh not that both wis∣dome and to be wise is good. I will not doe as they are accustomed that are o∣uercome, who seeing themselues in danger to lose their liues, appeale vnto the people, we will begin to fight with our owne weapons, whether is that which happeneth vnto any man without or within him to whom it happeneth? If it be in him to whom it happeneth, it is as well a bodie as that to which it happe∣neth: for nothing can happen without touch, and that which toucheth is a bo∣die. If it be without after it hath happened it departeth: that which retireth his selfe hath motion, and whatsoeuer hath motion is a bodie. Thou hopest that I will say, that the course is not one thing, and running another; neyther heate one thing, and to be hote another; neither light one thing, and to shine another. I graunt that there is a diuersitie in these things, but I say that the one are not of a different condition from the other. If health be a thing indifferent, to be in health is a thing indifferent: likewise, if beautie be indifferent, to bee beautifull is indifferent: if justice be good, to be iust is good: if villainy be euill, to be a villaine is euill. As much assuredly as if lippitude be euill, to haue pur∣blinde eyes is euill. That thou mayest know this, can the one be without the other? To be wise is wisedome, and it is wisedome to be wise. So farre is it from breeding doubt, that the one resembleth the other, that som men suppose that they are one and the same thing. But I would willingly aske this question; Since all things are eyther good, or euill, or indifferent, in what ranke To be wise, shall be placed? They denie that it is good, and euill it is not; it followeth then that it is indifferent: but that repute we to be meane and indifferent that may as well befall an euill as a good man, as money, beauty, and abilitie. But to

be wise cannot befall any but a wise-man, and therefore it is not indifferent. An euill it is not that cannot betide an euill man, & therfore it is good•• it is, saith he, the accident of wisedome. This therefore which thou termest To be wise, whe∣ther maketh it wisedome or suffereth it? Whether it doth make it or suffer it, in both kindes it is a bodie; for both that which is made and that which maketh is a bodie: if it be a body it is good. For this one thing was deficient in it, and detained it from being good, which was, because it had no bodie. The Peripa∣tetiques holde that there is no difference betwixt wisdome and to be wise, when as the one is comprehended in the other. For thinkest thou that any man is wise except he that hath wisedome? And thinkest thou that wisedome accom∣panieth him that is wise? The ancient Logicians distinguished these things, and from them this diuision came vnto the Stoickes. What this is I will tell thee: The field is one thing, and to haue possession of the same another. Why not, when as to haue the possession of the field appertaineth to him that hath the field, and not vnto the field? So wisedome is one thing, and to be wise another. I thinke thou wilt grant me this, that these are two; that which is had, and hee that hath the same: wisedome is had, he that is wise hath it. Wisedome is a per∣fect minde, or that which attaineth the fulnesse of perfection; for she is the act of life. What is to be wise? I cannot say a perfect minde, but that which befal∣leth him that hath a perfect minde. So the one is a good minde, the other as it were to haue a good minde. There are, saith he, diuers natures of the body: as for example; this is a man, that a horse: these natures likewise are followed by the motions of the minde, which make shew of the body. These motions haue something proper and considered apart from the bodies, as I see Cato walking; this doth the sense shew, the minde beleeue. It is a bodie that I see, on which I haue fixed both mine eye and my mind. I say afterwards Cato walketh, I speake not now of his bodie, but of something denounced of the body, that is to say, of his motion, which some call pronounced, some signified, other some denoun∣ced. So when we say wisedome we vnderstand some thing that is bodilesse: when we say he is wise, we speake of the body. But there is a great difference whether thou speakest this or of that: for the present, let vs put the case that wisedome and to be wise are two things; for as yet I publish not my opinion, what hindereth both the one and the other to be good? Thou saidst a little be∣fore that the field was one thing, & to possesse the field was another. Why not? for he that possesseth the same is in one nature, and that which is possessed is another, the one is a man, the other is a fielde. But in this whereof we now make question, wisdome and to be wise are things of the same nature. Further∣more, the field that is possessed is one thing, and the man that possesseth the same another; but wisedom and to be wise are found in one and the same man. The possession of the field comes by right, that of wisedome comes by nature. A man may alien the field, and giue it vnto another man, wisedome neuer de∣parteth from him that possesseth the same: we must not therefore compare things that are vnlike. I began to say that both these may be two, and yet both of them good. Wisedome and a wise-man are two, and by thy confession both of them are good. But euen as nothing hindereth but that wisedome is a good thing, and he he that hath wisedome is good, so nothing hindereth but that wisedome is good, and to haue wisedome, this is to be wise and good. I will be a wise-man to this end that I may be wise. What therefore? Is not that good without the which the other is not good? Vndoubtedly, you say that wisedom if it be without vse is to be esteemed as nothing. And what is the vse of wise∣dome?

To be wise. This is that which is most precious in her, which being ta∣ken from her she is but meere illusion: if torments be euill, it is euill to be tor∣tured, yea in such sort that if a man were neuer tormented, he should neuer con∣sequently haue any torments. Wisedome is a habitude of a perfect vnderstan∣ding; to be wise the vse of a perfect mind: how can the vse thereof be good, which without vse is not good? I aske thee whether wisedome is to be desired? Thou confessest it. I ask thee whether the vse of wisdom is to be desired? Thou confessest it, protesting likewise not to receiue the same if a man will barre thee of the vse thereof: that which is to be desired is good, to be wise is the vse of wisdom, as the vse of eloquence is to speak, the vse of the eye to see; but the vse of wisdome is to be desired, Ergo, to be wise is a thing to be desired, and if it be to be desired it is good. I condemne my selfe for times past, for following those whom I accuse, and for implying arguments in a thing that is manifest. For who can doubt but that extreme heate is euill, and to be extremely hote is euill; and that if colde be euill it is an euill thing to be colde? If life be good, that to liue is good? All these things that are about wisedome are not in the same, but we are to stay our selues vpon her, and if we will discourse she hath ample and spa∣cious retreats to conuerse in. Let vs enquire of the nature of the gods, of the nourishments and diuers motion of the Planets, whether our bodies be despo∣sed according to their reuolutions, or whether their influences haue a hand in all mens bodies and mindes: whether those things which are called casuall are tyed together in a certaine order, and if nothing be done in this world without some speciall prouidence. But these things haue no relation to the present reformation of manners, yet mount they the minde, and raise the same to the greatnesse of those things they intreate of. But those disputes whereof I spoke a little before, doe diminish and depresse the same, neyther as thou thinkest doe they whet but dull the same. But why, I beseech you, imploy wee so necessary a care reserued for greater and better things, in a thing if not meer∣ly false, yet truely vnprofitable? What shall it profite me whether wisedome be one thing, and to be wise be another? What shall it auaile mee to knowe whether this be good, or that be badde? At all aduentures see what I desire; I wish thee wisedome, and my selfe that I may be wise, so shall wee be both e∣quall. Rather doe this that thou mayest shewe mee the way how I may at∣taine vnto these. Tell mee what I must eschue, and what I should desire, by what studies I may confirme my infirme minde; how I may driue farre from mee those vices that carrie and transport mee from th•• right; how I may surmount so many euils; how I may remoue th••se calamities that haue broken in vpon mee, and how I may thwart those, in which I haue engaged my selfe. Teach mee how I may endure afflictions without grie∣uing, felicitie without other mens enuie or distaste, how I may not expect the last and necessarie tearme of life, but of my selfe when I shall so thinke good, speedily seeke it out and flie vnto it. Nothing in my iudgement is more absurd and dishonest then to wish for death. For if thou wilt liue, why wishest thou to die? If thou wilt not, to what intent importunest thou the gods for that which they gaue thee when thou wert borne? For euen as it is decreed that thou must die one day whether thou wilt or no, so when thou wilt is in thine owne power: the one is of necessitie, the other of will. Some few dayes past I haue read a shamefull Preface of a certaine man, otherwise learned and eloquent, where these wordes are: So I may die (sayeth hee) in∣continently. O fond man, thou desirest that which is thine owne; So may I die

incon••inently. It may be that in speaking these wordes thou art become olde. Otherwise what stayeth thee? No man holdes thee, escape when thou wilt, chuse such a part of the instruments of nature, as seemeth good vnto thee, and command the same to giue thee issue: for these are the elements whereby this inferiour world is maintained, water, earth and ayre; all these are both the causes of life, and the high-wayes to death. So may I die incontinently: but when wilt thou die? What day wilt thou assigne to thine incontinent? It may come sooner then thou wishest. These are the wordes of a weake minde, and of such a one who by this protestation would obtaine mercie and lengthning of his life: he will not die that wisheth for death. Beseech the gods to giue thee life and health: if thou hast a minde to die, this is the fruite of death, to giue ouer wishing. Let vs speake of these things my Lucilius, and by them forme our vnderstandings wisedome, and to be wi••e consisteth in this, not to debate in impertinent questions of vnprofitable disputes. So many questions hath fortune proposed vnto thee, yet hast thou not satisfied her in them: now thou cauillest. How fond a thing is it to stand flourishing thy sword in the ayre, when the signall is giuen thee to begin the skirmish? Giue ouer these armes of disport, thou art to fight at sharpe. ••ell me by what means no sadnes or feare may trouble the minde? by what meanes I may disburden my selfe of this troublesom weight of secret desires? Let somwhat be don. Wisdom is good, to be wise is not good: be it so. Let vs denie that to bee wise is a good thing, to the end we may draw all that studie into contempt, which is imployed in su∣perfluous matters. What if thou knewest likewise that this is in question, whe∣ther future wisedome be good? For what doubt is there, I pray you, whether the barnes doe already feele the haruest that is at hand, neyther childehood vn∣derstand his future youth, being destitute of force and vigor? The health that is to com is nothing profitable to him that is sick, no more then rest doth which ought to follow the course and wrestling, comforteth not a man as long as he is running or wrestling. Who knoweth not that that which is to come is not good for this onely cause, because it is yet to come? For that which is good profiteth and serueth without delay. No things can be profitable but such as are pre∣sent: if a thing profit not, truely it is not good; if it profite it is presently good. I shall be wise, this shall be good when I shall be so; but in the meane while it is not. First must a thing be, and afterwards it must be such or such. But tell mee, I pray thee, how may that which as yet is nothing, bee perfectly good? For how wilt thou haue me better proue it vnto thee that a thing is not, then if I shall say it is to come: for it is manifest that it is not yet come that is comming. The Spring must follow. I know now that it is Win∣ter, the Sommer shall succeede: I knowe that it is not Sommer-time. The greatest argument I haue that a thing is not as yet present, is that it is to come. I hope I shall bee wise, yet in the meane space I am not wise. If I had that good, I should presently want this euill. It may bee hereafter that I shall be wise, although by this thou vnderstandest that I am not yet wise, I cannot at one time bee in that good and this euill. These two things doe not agree but are disioynted; neyther are at once in the same, good and euill. Let vs passe ouer speedily these ingenious trifles, and hasten our selues to attaine those things which may giue vs any help. There is no man that carefully seeketh for a mid-wife to come vnto his daughter that is in labour, that readeth vnto her the ordinance and disposition of the publicke Playes. There is no man that ha∣stily runneth to quench the fire that hath seized his house, hath not the leasure

to study how to saue his man, that in a game at Chests is hemmed in on eue∣ry side. But thou knowest that from all parts, there commeth newes vnto thee both of the burning of thy house and the death of thy children, of the siege of thy Cittie, of the pillage of thy goods. Adde hereunto, shipwracks, earthquakes, and all other dreadfull accidents. Being in the midst of so many troubles, hast thou no other businesse but to giue thy selfe to pleasure? Thou inquirest what dif••erence there is betwixt wisedome and to be wise. Thou knittest and loosest knots, hauing so great a mountaine of miseries hanging ouer thy head. Nature hath not giuen vs so fauourable and liberall benefit of time, that we should haue leisure to lose any par•• therof; co••sider also how much they lose who are most diligent. The sickenesse of our selues and of our friends carrieth away one part of vs, and necessarie and publique a••faires another. Sleepe robbeth from vs the halfe of our life. Of this time so short, so swift, and that carrieth vs away, to what purpose is it to consume the greater part thereof in vain? Adde hereunto now that the minde is accustomed rather to delight then heale it selfe, and that Phi∣losophie which should be the remedie of euils, serueth nothing but for pastime. I know not what difference there is betwixt wisedom and being wise, yet know I well that it profiteth me nothing, whether I know these things or know them not. Tell me when I haue learned the difference betwixt wisedome and being wise, if I shall be wise? Why rather detainest thou me amongst the words then the workes of wisedome? Make me stronger, make me securer, make me equall with fortune, make me superiour: but I may be superiour if I doe all that which I learne.

EPIST. CXVIII.

That he will write no vaine Epistles, but rather such as are full of profitable lessons. He perswadeth to handle our priuate not forraine businesses, to require nothing of for∣tune, neyther to depend vpon her. That the true good is to be sought, and the defini∣tion what it is: and likewise what it differeth from honestie. That euery good is ac∣cording to nature, neyther yet is euery thing good which is according to nature.

THou requirest me to write vnto thee oftentimes, if we enter into account thou canst not sufficiently satisfie me. It was agreed be∣tween vs that thou shouldest write first, and that I should answer thee, I will not be behinde hand with thee, I know that there is nothing lost that is lent thee. I will pay thee therfore before thy day: neyther will I doe that which eloquent Cicero was wont to counsell Atti∣cus to doe, that is, to write whatsoeuer came into his minde, although he had no matter whereupon to write. I can neuer want matter to write vnto thee, al∣though I omit all that discourse wherewith Cicero stuffeth his Epistles, to wit, who it is that laboreth for offices, who fighteth with his own or forraine forces, who laboureth for the Consulat, eyther vnder Caesars or Pompeis fauour, or of himselfe. How hard a vsurer Cicilius is, from whom his neighbours can∣not wrest a pennie, but a hundreth vpon a hundreth. It were better for a man to speake of his owne miseries then of another mans, to examine himselfe, and to consider how many things a man laboureth for, and obtaineth not one. This my Lucilius, is a worthy thing, this a secure and free thing, to demaund and pur∣chase nothing, and to let fortune possesse her estates, without ••ribing after any

of thē. How pleasant a thing is it, thinkest thou, when the people are assembl••d, when such as pretend offices giue court to their wel-wishers, & the one publike∣ly protesteth the mony he will giue, the other solliciteth by his sureties & priuat friends, when one man weareth and wasteth another mans hands with kisses. Where had he attained what he desireth, he would loath they should touch his, when all men are astonished, & expect the voice of the Crier, to stand idle & ••x∣pect those faires, neither buying nor selling any thing? How great ioy enioyeth this man, who beholdeth these assemblies, where choyce is made of Pretors and Consuls, but those great estates, where the one demaundeth yearely ho∣nours, others perpetuall power: the one happie successe in battels and tri∣umphes, the other riches: the one marriages and children, the other long and happie life for themselues and their parents. O how great a minde is it to de∣mand nothing, to make supplication to no man, and that saith vnto Fortune, I haue nothing to doe with thee, I am not at thy commandement. I know that with thee Catoes are repelled, and Vatinians aduanced. I demand nothing at thy hands. This is to reduce Fortune into order. Fot this cause therefore ought we to entertaine one another, and to entreat continually on this subiect in our let∣ters, beholding on euery side of vs so many thousands of men in trouble, who to cast themselues headlong into some mortall ruine, trauerse one mischiefe to finde out another, and seeke those things, which they incontinently flie as soone as they haue found them, or wherewith they should be likewise disgusted. For who is he that hath contented himselfe with that which was giuen him, or that supposed any thing ouer great, when he wished the same? Felicitie is not vn∣satiable, as men beleeue, but it is weake and small, and therefore satisfieth no man. Thou beleeuest that these things are great, because thou art estranged from them, but to him that hath gotten them they are but base: I lie if such a one seeke not to mount higher. That which thou accountest highest, is but a degree. But the ignorance of truth is the cause that men erre thus, and they runne vnto that which hath but the appearance of good, being deceiued by common opinion. Afterwards hauing by much trauell obtained that which they pretended, they see that those things are euill, vaine, and lesse then they expected, and the most part of them admireth at one time or another, these false lustre of such vanities. In briefe, the common sort esteeme those things for good, which are greatest. But lest wee fall into this error, let vs enquire that which is good. The interpretation thereof hath beene diuers: some haue de∣fined the same in one sort, othersome in another. Some define it thus. Good is that which inuiteth our mindes, and that calleth vs vnto him. H••reunto some pl••asantly obiect: But what if such a good inuite a man vnto his ruin••? Thou knowest how many euil•• there are that are attractiue. Truth, and that which seemeth true differ thus. That which is good is annexed vnto truth, for it is not good except it be true. But that which inciteth to it s••lf••, and attracteth by his appearance, hath a resemblance of truth: it insinuat••th, it solliciteth, it draweth. Some haue defined it thus. Good is that which moueth a desire of it selfe, or that inciteth the motion of the minde, that tendeth thereunto. And to this it is opposed in the same sort. For many things incite the motions of the mind••, which are desired to their confusion that desire them. Better haue they done who haue defined it thus. That is good which draweth vnto it selfe ac∣cording to nature, that motion of the soule, so that we ought to desire it then, when it is worthy to be desired. Let vs adde hereunto that this good is honest and vertuous, for we ought not to purchase an vnperfect good. This place ad∣monisheth

me to teach thee the difference that there is betwixt that which is good, and that which is honest. Somethings they haue mixed, and inseparable betweene them: neither can that be good which hath not some hones••ie in it; neither that honest which is not good. What difference therefore is betwixt them both. Hon••stie is a perfect good, wherein a bl••ssed life is accomplished, by whose attouchment other things are made good also. That which I say is thus. There are some things which are neither good nor euill; as Warrefare, Embassage, and Iurisdiction. These things when they are honestly admini∣stred, begin to be good, and become so, whereas before time they were indiffe∣rent. Good by the societie of honestie is made good, and honestie by it selfe is good. Good floweth from honestie, honestie is of it selfe. That which is good might haue beene euill; that which is honest, could not be but good. Some haue proposed this definition. That is good, which is according to nature. Marke what I say. That which is good is according to nature, yet is not that forthwith good, that is according to nature. Many things consent vnto nature, yet so small are they, that they deserue not to be called good. For they are small and contemptible: no good, no not the least is to be contemned, for as long as it is little, it is not good; when it beginneth to be good, it is not little. Whence is any thin•• ••now•• to be good, if it be perfectly according to nature. Thou doest confe••••e, sayest thou, that this is good which is according to nature, this is his propertie. Thou confessest likewise that there are some things which are according to Nature, and yet not good. How therefore is that good, when these are not? How attaineth it another propertie, when as both of them haue this propertie, to be according to nature? That is to say, in as much as they are great. Neither is this a new thing, that some things are changed by encreasing. He was an infant; now become a yong man: he hath had at that time some other pro∣prietie. For the yong man is endowed with reason, the infant is depriued of it. Somethings become not only more great in their increase, but other things like∣wise. That, saith he, is not made another thing, which is made greater. It skilleth not whether thou fil a bottle with wine, or a tonn••, the property of wine remai∣n••th in both the vessels. A little waight of hony and a great differ not in sauour. Thou settest down different examples: for in these the same quality remaineth, and though they be encreased, they are alwayes hony and wine. Some things amplified in their kind, continue in their propertie: som•• things after many en∣creasings are changed by the last, which imprinteth in them a new qualitie, o∣ther thē that which they had before. One stone wil make an arch, that is to say, that bindeth in, and fastneth in the d••clining sides, and that tieth th••m together. Why hath this last stone, although it be little, so great a vse, because it maketh the worke compleat, although it giue it not any great encrease. There are some things, which in aduancing themselues, despoile themselues of their former forme, and inuest a new. After that our vnderstanding hath long time trauel∣led vpon any subiect, and that it is wearied in following the greatnesse thereof, he beginneth to esteeme it infinit, because it is become farre different from that it was befor••, when it seemed great, but not infinite. In like case we haue ima∣gined that a thing may not be cut, which is hardly cut: afterwards the difficulty growing to be greater, we finde that the thing can no more be cut. In like sort of a thing which is hardly moued, we come vnto a thing which is vnmoueable. According to the same reason, some thing hath beene according to nature, and afterwards the greatnesse of the same hath transported it into another proper∣tie, and hath made it good.

EPIST. CXIX.

That we may desire riches, and enioy them without requiring them as vnnecessarie. That the end of all things which exceed not nature, is to be considered. She seeketh not su∣perfluitie, but sufficient. At last he sheweth that all they who commonly are reputed rich, are poore. Good God, they are both excellent and true.

AS oftentimes as I haue found any thing, I expect not till thou say I crie halfes. I say this vnto my selfe. Thou askest me what it is that I haue found out. Open thy lap, it is meere gaine that I giue thee. I will teach thee how thou mayest become rich sud∣denly, which thou art very desirous to heare of. And not with∣out cause I will leade thee the shortest way to great riches. Yet hast thou need of a creditor, and to negotiate, thou must needes borrow, yet will I not suffer thee to haue any Soliciter to borrow for thee, nor Broaker to publish thy name. I will bestow a creditor on thee, that shall be at thy commandement. That is to say, that sentence of CATO, Whatsoeuer it be, it will suffice, prouided that we re∣quire that of our selues, whatsoeuer we want. For these things (my Lucilius) are a∣like not to desire and to haue. The effect of the matter in both is alike, thou shalt not be vexed. Neither doe I command thee this, to deny Nature any thing, she is obstinat••, she cannot be ouercome, she requireth her owne. But so that thou mayest know, that whatsoeu••r exceedeth Nature, is but borrowed, and not necessarie. I am an hungry, I must eate: whether this bread be browne or white, it appertaineth nothing to Nature. She will haue the belly not de∣lighted but filled. I am a drie, whether this water be fetched from the next lake, or that which I haue closed vp in much snow, that it might be cooled by forren cold, it concerneth Nature no wayes. She commandeth this one thing, that the thirst should be quenched: whether the pot be gold or Crystall, or Cas∣sidony, or a pot of Tiuoli, or the hollow of the hand, it skilleth not. Fix thine eye vpon the end of all things, and thou shalt forsake superfluities. Hunger presseth me. Let thy hand lay hold on whatsoeuer is next thee, the appetite shall make that loathsome, whatsoeuer I lay hold of. An hungrie stomacke is glad of any thing. Thou demandest therefore what thing it is that delighteth me? M•• think••s it is worthily spoken. A wise-man is a diligent searcher of natu∣rall riches. Thou payest me, sayest thou, with an emptie platter. What is that emptie? I had alreadie prepared my coasts, and looked about me vpon what sea I should embarke my selfe to follow traffique, what publike estate I might rent, what merchandize I should send for. It is a deceit in thee to teach me pouer∣tie, when thou hast promised me riches. Doest thou then esteeme him poore that wanteth nothing? Thou answerest that it is by his owne meanes, and by the benefit of his patience, not of Fortune. Doest thou therefore iudge him not to b•• rich, because his riches cannot cease? Whether haddest thou rather haue much, or sufficient? he that hath much, desireth more, which is an argument that as yet he hath not sufficient: he that hath enough, hath attained the end which neuer befalleth a rich man. Doest thou therefore thinke ••hat thes•• are not riches, because for them no man i•• banished, because for them no sonne hath giuen his father poison, nor wife her husband? Because in warres they are secure, in peace at rest? Because it is neither dangerous to enioy them, nor trou∣bl••some to dispose them? Hath h•• but a little, that hath neither cold, nor hun∣ger,

nor thirst? Iupiter himselfe hath no more. Neuer is that little which is suf∣ficient; neuer is that much, which is not sufficient. Alexander of Macedon af∣ter he had conquered Asia, and the Indians, is poore, he seeketh what he may make his owne, he searcheth out vnknowne seas, he sendeth out new nauies vp∣on the Ocean; and if I may say so, passeth and presseth beyond the bounds and limits of the world. That which sufficeth Nature contenteth not a man. And some there haue beene found, that hauing all things, haue notwithstanding co∣ueted somewhat. So great is the blindnesse of our mindes, and so great the for∣getfulnesse of men, that they remember not themselues of their beginnings, when they see themselues aduanced. This Prince that was Lord of a little an∣gle of Greece, and that not without some opposition, is sorie that after he hath discouered and conquered so many Nations, to heare say that he must returne vnto his owne. Mony neuer made any man rich: contrariwise there is not any man that hath gathered store of it together, that is not become more couetous. Wouldest thou know the reason hereof? Hee that hath much beginneth to haue a will to haue more. In summe, although thou set before me whom thou wilt, of those who are reputed as rich as either Crassus or Licinius. Let him set downe his reuenewes, and account whatsoeuer he hath, and whatsoeuer he ho∣peth together•• yet this man, if thou beleeuest me•• is poore, or if thou trust thy selfe, may be poore. But he that hath composed himselfe to that which Nature requireth at his hands; is not only without the sence, but also without the feare of pouertie. But to the end thou mayest know how hard a thing it is to re∣straine a mans affaires according to the measure of Nature: this man whom we suppose to be moulded and fashioned according to his wil, and whom thou cal∣lest poore, hath something which is superfluous. But riches attract and blinde the common sort, when great summes of money are carried out of any mans house, when his roofes are enriched and garnished with gold, when his family are either comely in body, or courtly in apparell. All these mens felicitie is in publike ostentation: but he whom we haue exempted both from the eye of the people, and the hand of Fortune, is blessed inwardly. For as touching those, with whom pouertie hath taken place•• and is seazed of them vnder the suppo∣sed name of riches, they haue their goods in such sort, as we are said to haue the Ague, when the Ague hath vs. Contrariwise we must say, the Ague hath hold of him: and in like manner wee ought to say, Riches hold and possesse him. There is nothing therefore that I would haue thee r••member more then this, that no man is sufficiently admonished, to the end thou mayest measure all things by naturall desires which content themselues with nothing or with lit∣tle. Onely beware thou to mixe vices with desires. Askest thou me vpon what table, in what siluer vessell, by what seruices and seruants Nature presenteth thee thy meate. Know that she requireth nothing but meate.

When parching thirst doth burne thy iawes throughout, Seek'st thou for gold therein to quench thy drought? When hunger tempts thee, dost thou loath each meate, Except thou Peacocks flesh or Turbot eate?

Hunger is not ambitious, she is contented to cease, she careth not much by what mean••s. These are the torments of vnhappie excesse, he seeketh how after he is glutt••d, hee may get an appetite: how he may not fill, but force and stuffe his bodie: how he may reuoke his thirst againe, which is pacified by the former

potion. Horace therefore wittily denieth that it appertaineth to thirst, in what pot or in how cleane a hand water be ministred. For if thou thinkest that con∣cerneth thee, how well frizeled the page is, and how cleane and neate the pot is which he presenteth thee with, thou art not a drie. Amongst other things na∣ture hath especially fauoured vs herein, that he hath taken all disdaine from ne∣cessitie: superfluities take pleasure in variety. This is scarce seemely, that not well drest, this offendeth mine eyes. The Creator of all things, who hath set downe vnto vs the lawes of our life, hath giuen order to maintaine vs in health, and not to entertaine vs in delight. All things are readie and at hand for the conseruation of our healths: if the question be of delights, all that which con∣cerneth them is not recouered, but with much miserie and difficultie. Let vs therefore make vse of this benefite of nature, which is, to be numbred amongst the greatest, and let vs thinke that the greatest matter wherein we are most ob∣liged vnto her, is, that she hath effected this in vs, that whatsoeuer is desired in necessitie is entertained and embraced without loathing.

EPIST. CXX.

How the knowledge of goodnesse came vnto vs by obseruation and conference, as also by the assistance of nature. And it commeth likewise by the contrary, that is, by the de••estation of vice. He describeth a wise-man, who not onely spurneth against those things which are commonly to be required or feared, but death: also in conclusion such a one as is alwayes one, and constant to himselfe.

THy Epistle hath wandred about many pettie questions, yet hath staied it selfe vpon one, and desireth to haue my resolution here∣in: how the first notice of good and honest things come vnto vs. These two things in some mens opinion are diuers, but with vs that are Stoicks, they are only diuided. I wil tel thee what this is; Some men thinke that that is good which is profitable, and therefore they im∣pose this name vnto riches, to a horse, to wine, to a shoe; so abiect is the name of good amongst them, and so vnduly applyed vnto seruile vses. They sup∣pose that honest which consisteth in the discharge of a well-gouerned duety, as to haue a charitable care of a mans father in his age, to comfort and relieue the pouertie of a mans friend, to behaue himselfe valiantly in a warlike expedition, to deliuer a mans opinion wisely and moderately. These make we two, but out of one. Nothing is good except it be that which is honest, that which is ho∣nest is good also. I suppose it a superfluous matter to annex what difference there is betwixt them, when as I haue oftentimes expressed the same. I will on∣ly say this, That nothing seemeth good vnto vs, which a man may vse badly. But thou seest how many there be that vse their riches, nobilitie and strength badly. I now therefore returne vnto that which thou desirest me to resolue thee in, how the knowledge of that which is good and honest came ••irst vnto vs. This nature could not teach vs, for she gaue vs but the seeds of sciences, and not science it selfe. Some say that we casually come to the knowledge therof, which is incredible, that the image of vertue should casually appeare vnto any man. But we suppose that by diligence, obseruation, and frequent conference of things, estimated by that which is good and honest, we haue attained to this knowledge. And since the Latine Grammarians haue made this word a Citti∣zen

of Rome, I will not condemne it, nor return it to the Cittie from whence it came. I will therfore vse the same, not only as a receiued but as a vsuall word: I will set downe what the Analogie is; We haue knowne that there is a health of the bodie, and thereby haue we gathered that there is some health and vi∣gor of the minde. We haue knowne the strength of the bodie, and by these in∣ferre we that there is a strength of the minde likewise. Some benigne actions some humane, some strong haue amazed vs; these began we to admire as if per∣fect. These were trauersed by diuers defaults, which the appearance and bright∣nesse of some notable deed did couer, by meanes whereof wee haue made a shew that we saw them not. Nature commandeth vs to amplifie those things which are praise-worthy, whereupon euery one hath raised glory aboue the truth. From these things therefore we haue drawne the appeareance of an ex∣cellent good. Fabricius refused King Pyrrhus golde, and iudged it a greater mat∣ter then a Kingdome, to be able to contemne Kingly riches. The same man when a Phisitian promised to poyson Pyrrhus, gaue him notice thereof, and wi∣shed him to beware of treason. It was the same vertue in Fabricius, neyther to be ouercome with golde, nor to ouercome with poyson. We haue admired this great personage, who neyther suffered himselfe to be won by the Kings pre∣sents, nor by the Phisitians promises against the King; constant in his vertuous resolution, innocent in warre, which is a rare thing in a souldier, who though that a man might be wicked euen against an enemy; who in his greatest pouerty whereby he had gotten himselfe the most honor, no otherwise fled from riches then from poyson. Liue, said he, by my meanes O Pyrrhus, and reioyce, al∣though thou wert displeased therewith that Fabricius could not be corrupted. Horatius Cocles himselfe alone closed vp, and defended the strait passage of a bridge, and commanded a Trench to be made behinde him, to the end that his enemies might be hindered from entrance. And so long resisted he those that assailed him, vntill such time as he heard the noyse of the prop and timber that fell vnder him. And after he had looked behinde him, and perceiued that by his danger his countrie was freed from danger: Let him come, saith he, whosoeuer will follow me thither whither I goe. And hauing said thus, he cast himselfe des∣perately into the water; and hauing no lesse care in this violent channell of the riuer to saue his conquering armes as his life, and hauing maintained the honor of his victorie, he returned into the Cittie as secure as if hee had entred by the bridge. These and such like acts haue expressed vnto vs the Image of his ver∣tue. I will adde that which happily may seeme admirable: Euill things some∣t••••es haue presented themselues in the shape of honesty, and that which was the best hath beene manifested by his contrary. Some vices, as thou knowest, haue some resemblance of vertues, and those men that are most vicious and dis∣honest, haue some appearance of goodnesse. So doth the prodigall man coun∣terfeit the liberall, although there be a great difference betwixt knowing how to giue, and how to keepe. Many there are, my Lucilius, who giue not but cast a∣way their money; for I call him not liberall that is angrie with his mony. Neg∣ligence imitateth facilitie, and rashnesse fortitude. This similitude hath con∣strained vs to consider things, & to distinguish those things which are neere in appearance, but farre different and contrary in effect, whilst wee obserue these, whom some noble exployt hath made famous, we haue begun to note what he might be that at one time only had resolutly, and nobly executed some enter∣prise. We haue seene this man valiant in warre, fearefull in the iudgement seat, enduring his pouertie constantly, his infamy abiectly: we haue praised the act,

but contemned the man. We haue seene another curteous towards his friends, temperate towards his enemies, managing both publique and priuate affaires, both piously and religiously, not wanting patience in those things which hee was to suffer, nor prudence in those things he was to performe: we haue seene such a one that gaue bountifully where necessitie required, that was diligent and industrious where he was to labour, and that relieued the wearinesse of his bodie with the constancie of his minde. Besides, he was alwayes one, and like himselfe in euery action, not onely good in wordes and counsaile, but by cu∣stome brought to this passe, that besides that that he could not do•• ill, he could not also doe but that which was good. Then vnderstanding that vertue was perfected in such a one, we haue distinguished it into some parts. Desires ought to be restrained, f••••re repressed, actions foreseene, duties distributed: we com∣prehended temperance, fortitude, prudence, justice, and gaue euery one of them their particular office. Whereby therefore came we to the knowledge of ver∣tue? It was the order therof, the seemelinesse, and constancie, and the vniformi∣tie of all actions, within themselues, and the greatnesse thereof, that exalted it selfe aboue all things that shewed the same. Hereby was that blessed life vn∣derstood that hath a prosperous course, and dependeth wholly of it selfe. How therefore appeared this thing vnto vs? I will tell thee: neuer did that perfect man who was possessed of vertue curse fortune, neuer entertained he any acci∣dents with discontent. Beleeuing himselfe to be a Cittizen and Souldier of the world, he vnderwent labours, as if they had beene enioyned him. Whatsoeuer happened he refused it not as euill, or that casually fell vpon him, but as some charge committed vnto him. This, saith he, whatsoeuer it be is mine, be it eyther difficult or dangerous let vs trauaile therein•• of necessitie therefore he appea∣red great, who neuer groaned vnder the burthen of afflictions, neuer complay∣ned of his destinie, gaue vnto many a taste of himselfe, and no otherwise then a light shined in darkenesse, and drew all mens minds vnto him, by reason he was curteous and gentle, entertaining in good part all affaires both diuine and hu∣mane. He had a perfect minde, drawne to the height of his perfection; aboue which there is nothing but the minde of God, a parcell whereof is deriued into this mortall bodie, which is neuer more diuin•• then when it thinketh on his mortalitie, and knoweth that man is borne to this end, to forsake this life; ney∣ther that this bodie is a house but an hostrie, yea and a short hostrie which must be forsaken, when thou perceiuest that thou art displeasing to thine host. I tell thee, my Lucilius, it is a great argument of a minde that is deriued from a higher place, if it repute those things humble and abiect wherein he conuerseth, and if he feareth to forsake them: for he knoweth whether he shall depart that re∣membreth himselfe from whence he came. See we not how many incommodi∣ties doe torment vs, how badly this mortall bodie doth agree with vs. Some∣times we complaine of our bellies, afterwards of our heads, then of our breast and throat: sometimes we are tormented in our nerues, sometimes vexed in our feete: to day the flux, to morrow the rhume: sometimes too much bloud, sometimes too little, euery way are we troubled and driuen from one place to another. This befalleth them who are lodged in another mans house; but we that possesse so rotten a bodie, yet notwithstanding propose vnto our selues an eternitie, and as far as humane age may extend it selfe, so farre are we seized with hope•• contenting our selues with no money or power. What can be more im∣pudently or more foolishly done then this? There is nothing that contenteth vs that are to die, nay that die euery day: for we daily approach our last houre,

and there is not a day or houre that driueth and driueth vs into the graue where we must rest. See into what blindnesse our mindes are driuen: a greater part of that which I haue said must come, is alreadie come, and threatneth vs euery mi∣nute, for the time wee haue liued is in the same state where it was before wee were liuing. But it is a great folly for vs to feare the last dayes of the same, be∣cause the first contribute as much vnto death as the last. The degree in which we breath our last, is not that which leaueth vs, but onely it sheweth vs our las∣situde. The last day maketh vs touch death, all the rest to approch. She rauish∣eth vs not at once, but snatcheth vs away by little and little. A greater minde therefore that knoweth that he must be par••aker of a better life, endeuoureth it selfe in this statim wherein he is placed, to demeane himselfe honestly and in∣dustriously. Moreouer, he iudgeth nothing of these things that are about him to be his own, but like a stranger, and such a one as must suddenly forsake them, vseth them as lent him. When wee should see a man of this constancie, why should we not conceiue in him the image of an vnusuall vnderstanding•• if, as I say, he should make show of so true a greatnesse? True qualities continue in their entire, false are flitting. Some men at sometimes are Vatinians, at other times ••atoes, and some whiles Curius, in their opinions is a little too seuere. Fabricius not sufficiently poore, Tubero scarce frugall enough, and content with a little, they prouoke Licinius in riches, Apicius in suppers, Mace••as in delights. Incon∣stancie and a continuall agitation betwixt the dissembling of vertues, and the loue of vices, is a great token of an euill minde.

Oft-times two hundred men did him attend, Oft-times bu••••en•• sometimes his speech did tend To Kings, to Tetrarches, and to great estates, Sometimes his Fortunes he more basely rates: I will, saith he, haue a three-footed table, A homely salt, a gowne that shall be able, Though homely, to withst and the winter cold: Hadst thou committed to this niggards hold, That is contented with so little pelfe, Ten thousand crownes to seede and cloath himselfe Within few dayes, nor he, nor all his meny Could pay thee one, or blesse thee with a peny.

All these are such as Horace describeth this man, who was neuer himselfe, or euer like himselfe; so diuersly changed he. Said I diuers, scarcely is there one but is such. There is no man that doth not daily change both his counsaile and his vow: now will he haue a wife, then a Lemman: now will he gouerne, presently he laboureth for this, that no man may be a more officious seruant. Sometimes he exalteth himselfe so much, as he contracteth enuie: sometimes hee abuseth himselfe vnder euery one, and becommeth more miserable then those that are truely wretched: now scattereth he his money abroad, presently after hee en∣grosseth all other mens. Hereby especially is an imprudent minde discouered, euery one betrayeth him, and that which in my opinion is most base, he is vn∣like himselfe. Repute thou it to be a great vertue for a man to be one. But no man but a wise man doth one thing, all the rest of vs haue many shapes. To day we will seeme to be modest and graue, to morrow prodigall and vaine: we of-times change our maske, and oftentimes take a contrarie to that we haue put

off. Exact thou therefore this of thy selfe, that to thy last breath thou main∣taine thy selfe such, as thou hast resolued to shew thy selfe. Doe this, that thou mayest be praised, or approued at the least. A man may iustly say of him whom thou sawest yesterday, what is this man? So much is a man changed in a lit∣tle time.

EPIST. CXXI.

He pretendeth somewhat for the wittier sort, and then propoundeth the same. Whether euery liuing creature hath a sence of his constitution, that is, whether they willingly and by nature intend thither, whither they ought, and were made. He saith that it is so, and by diuers reasons and examples teacheth the same.

THou wilt chide with me, I see, when I shall resolue thee of that question, wherein this day I spent no little time. For once more wilt thou exclaime what concerneth these maners? But exclaime at thy pleasure, whilest I first of all oppose those against thee, with whom thou mayest contend, I meane Posidonius and Ar∣chidamus, for these shall debate the matter with thee, and afterwards I will say, that whatsoeuer is morall reformeth not good maners. There is one thing that appertaineth to a man to nourish him, another thing to exercise him, another thing to cloth him, another thing to teach him, another thing to delight him: yet all these things do appertaine vnto a man, although not all of them make him better. Certaine instructions concerne manners in some sort, certaine in another. Some correct and gouerne them, some search out their nature and beginning: when it is demanded why Nature brought forth man, why shee preferred him before all other liuing creatures. Thinkest thou that I haue left manners a farre off? Thou art deceiued. For how shalt thou know what manners are to be sought after, except thou findest out what is the best for man, except thou exa∣mine his nature? Then at length thou shalt vnderstand what thou art to doe, and what to auoid, when as thou hast learned what thou owest to thy nature. I, sav••st thou, will learne how I may desire lesse, how I may feare lesse. Shake o••f from me this superstition: teach me that this which is called felicitie, is but a slight and vaine thing, and that the accession of one syllabble will make it infe∣licitie. I will satisfie thy desire, and exhort thee vnto vertues, and will whip vi∣ces: and although some men repute me too immoderate in this kind, yet will I not desist to persecute wickednesse, to restraine vnbridled affections to tempe∣rate desires and pleasures that should terminate in sorrow; and to oppose my self against wishes. Why not? When as we haue desired the extreamest of euils, and that from the ioy which we haue, our sorrow hath proceeded. In the meane while suffer me to vnfold those things which seeme somewhat too much re∣moued from vs. The question was, whether in all creatures there were a sence of their constitution. But that they haue a sence, it hereby most manifestly ap∣peareth, because they fitly and readily moue their members, as if they had bin fashioned thereunto. Euery one of them hath an agilitie in his parts. A work∣man handleth his tooles readily. The master of a ship knoweth how to s••eere his helme of his ship fitly. A Painter doth quickly discerne those diuersities of colours which are laid before him, to the end he may apply them in his worke, and with a readie hand and eye he passeth betwixt the wax, and the similitude or resemblance which he would draw: so liuing creatures moue themselues in

euery sort, according as it becommeth them. We are wont to wonder at these cunning actors, who haue their hands so nimble, that they are able to represent all things, and effect readily by their gesture, whose fingers are as nimble as their tongues. That which Art vouchsafed them, Nature alloweth these. There is no man but stirreth his members without paine, there is no one restrained, when he hath need to moue himselfe, being borne vnto this motion: they per∣forme it readily; they come into this world with this science, and are borne so instructed. Therefore, saith he, shall liuing creatures most fitly moue their parts, because if they moued them otherwise, they should feele paine. So as you say, they are compelled, and feare and not will maketh them moue aright, which is false. For they are slow which are enforced by necessitie, agilitie is a volunta∣rie motion. But so farre o••f is it that feare of paine driueth them hereunto, that they endue themselues in their naturall motion, although paine doe prohibite them. So the infant that meditateth how to stand, and is accustomed to keepe himselfe on his feete, as soone as he beginneth to trie his forces, he falleth, and crying riseth againe, so often vntill by meanes of griefe he hath exercised him∣selfe in that which Nature requireth at his hands. There are some liuing crea∣tures of a harder backe, which turned vpon the same, so long time tumble them∣selues, and stretch out their feete and bow them in, till such time as they haue recouered their ordinarie custome and place. The Tortuise being cast vpon her backe feeleth no torment, notwithstanding she ceaseth not to struggle and stirre her selfe, vntill such time as she feeleth her selfe in her naturall estate, and that she hath recouered her feete. Each of them therefore hath a sence of his constitution, and thereby a readie vse of their members: neither haue wee a∣ny more greater token that they came to liue with this knowledge, then for that there is no liuing creature that is ignorant how to vse his bodie. Consti∣tution, saith he, as you define it, is the principall and fairest part of the soule, that in some sort hath some power ouer the bodie. This definition so perplexed and subtill, and such as you your selues can scarcely discouer. How doth an infant vnderstand it? All liuing creatures should haue beene borne Logicians, to the end that they might vnderstand this definition, which might seeme obscure to the chiefest and wisest part of the Citizens. True it were which thou opposest, if I said that the definition of constitution were vnderstood by brute beasts. For constitution it selfe is more easily vnderstood, then taught by Nature. There∣fore that infant knoweth not what constitution is, yet knoweth he his owne constitution•• and what an Animal is, he knoweth not, yet feeleth he himselfe to be an Animal. Besides that, he vnderstandeth his Nature grossely, summari∣ly, and obscurely. We also know well that we haue a soule, but what the soule is, where it is, of what qualitie it is, and whence it is we know not. Such sence of our minde as wee haue attained vnto, although we are ignorant of the na∣ture and seat thereof, such sence haue all liuing creatures of their constitution. For they must needs feele, that by meanes whereof, they haue sence of other things, and they must of necessitie haue a sence of that thing which gouerneth them, and which th••y obey. There is not any one of vs but knoweth that there is a cer••aine thing which stirreth his affections, but no man knoweth what it is, and each man knoweth that he hath an endeuor, but what it is, or whence it is he knoweth not. Euen as infants, so other liuing creatures haue a sence of their principall part, but this resentiment is obscure and not manifest. You say (saith he) that a liuing creature is aboue all things accommodated to his nature and constitution, but that mans constitution is to bee a reasonable soule, and

therefore that man is accomodated to himselfe, not as to a liuing creature on∣ly, but as to a reasonable liuing creature, for hee is deare and precious vnto himselfe, as he is a man. But how therfore may an infant be accomodated to his reasonable constitution, when as yet he is not reasonable? Euery age hath his constitution, an infant hath one, a stripling another, an old man another, for all of them are accomodated to the constitution wherein they remaine. The in∣fant is without teeth, this is a constitution that agreeth with him•• his teeth grow out, and this is agreeable to his age. For euen that herbe that must grow to a stalke and ear••, hath one constitution when it is tender, and scarce appea∣reth aboue the furrow; another when it waxeth stronger, and hath a tender stalke, yet sufficiently able to beare his burthen: another when it waxeth yellow and is readie for haruest, and the eare thereof is hardened into whatsoeuer con∣stitution it commeth, it maintaineth the same, and accomodateth it selfe there∣unto. The age of an infant is one, of a little lad another, of a yong man another, of an old man another; yet am I the same, who both was an infant, a yong lad, and a yong man. So although each ones constitution be different, yet the ac∣cord thereof is alwayes one. For Nature commendeth vnto me not a boy, not a yong man, or an old man, but my selfe. And therefore an infant is accomoda∣ted to that constitution which he hath in being an infant, not which hee shall haue when he is a yong man: because not onely the estate wherein hee is, but that estate which remaineth as yet more great, whereunto he ought to attaine, dependeth vpon his nature. First of all, the liuing creature hath care of him∣selfe, for there must be somewhat whereunto the rest are referred. I seeke plea∣sure: for whom? for my selfe: therefore haue I a care of my selfe, I flie from paine; for whom? for my selfe: therefore haue I a care of my selfe. If I doe all things for the care I haue of my selfe, I haue a care of my selfe aboue all things. This is in all liuing creatures, it is not inferred, but innate: Nature bringeth out her fruit, but casteth them not out, and becaus•• the most assured guard is that which is neerest; each one is committed to the charge and consideration of himselfe. Therefore, as I haue said before, the most tenderest creatures, which either from their dam, or otherwise haue beene brought to light, doe presently know what that is, which is hurtful vnto them, and fly from those things that threaten them with death; and chickens and small fowle, which are exposed for a prey to the grater fowle that liue by rapine, feare the shadow of all those which passe and houer ouer them. There is no creature that entereth life, but hath a feare of death. How (saith he) can a liuing creature that is new borne know that which is healthful or harmefull to him? First, the question is, whe∣ther he vnderstand, not how he vnderstandeth. And that they haue vnderstan∣ding, hereby it appeareth, that they wil do nothing more then they vnderstand: why is it that the Heron flieth not from the Pecock, or a Goose whē she is much lesser, & yet vnknowne to both, & yet hideth her self when she espieth a hauke? Why do chickens feare the cat, and not the dog? It appeareth that they haue a cetain knowledge of that which is hurtful vnto thē, not gathered by experience for they take heed before they can make triall of the danger. Furthermore, lest thou shouldest suppose that this hapneth by chance, they feare none but those whom they ought, neither forget they that such and such are their enemies, and are to be auoided. Besides, they are not made more fearefull by liuing, whereby it appeareth that they attaine the same, not by vse, but by a naturall loue of their safetie. That which vse teacheth is diuers, and encreaseth by little and little. But all that which Nature proposeth is equally and readily com∣municated

to all: Notwithstanding, if thou wilt, I will shew thee how each li∣uing creature enforceth her selfe to know that which is harmeful vnto her. She feeleth that she consisteth of flesh, and consequently knoweth, that by meanes whereof her flesh may be cut, burnt, or b••uised. She reputeth those beasts her contraries and enemies that are armed to hurt. Th••se things are vnited toge∣ther. For euery liuing creature hath a present care to conserue her selfe, shee searcheth that which may solace her, and feareth that which may offend her. If she repulse those things which are contrarie vnto her, Nature teacheth her the same, and that which she teacheth, she knoweth without discourse, and without resolution of will. Seest thou not what subtiltie Bees haue in building their hiues, how maruellous accord they haue in distributing and doing their busi∣nesse? Seest thou not how no mortall creature can imitate the Spiders web? what cunning she hath in disposing her threeds, the one are wouen out-right, in stead of the foundation, the other are twisted round and small, to the end she may surprise and catch, as it were in a net, those flies, for whom she layeth her snares, and on whom she maketh her prey? This arte is borne with the Spider, and not learned. Therefore no creature is more learned then another. Thou shalt see that the Spiders webs are all alike; that the hiues wherin the Bees rest haue enterances alike. That which Arte teacheth is vncertaine and vnequall, but that which nature teacheth is alwayes vniforme: She hath not trained li∣uing creatures in other sort, but to keepe themselues, to know and follow their nature, by meanes whereof, also their sci••nce and their life begin both together. Neither is it to be wondered at, that these liuing creatures are borne with their naturall science, considering, that without the same, they should take their life in vain. Nature hath furnished them with this first instrument, to arrest them in the communion and loue of themselues. They could not maintaine them∣selues except they would, neither could this of it selfe profit, but without this nothing had profited. But in no c••eature shalt thou finde the contempt of her selfe, or the neglect. In those likewise which are silent and brutish, although in respect of the rest they be dull, yet in regard of life they are cunning. Thou shalt see that those things which are vnprofitable for others, forget not the care that they ought to haue of themselues.

EPIST. CXXII.

That the nature of excesse is contrarie to manner. He pleasantly describeth the nature of supping, drinking, sleeping, rising, and such like indirect delights.

THe dayes alreadie hath felt some detriments, they are somewhat diminished; yet so, as there is time enough as yet, if so be a man (if I may so speake it) will rise more officious and better with the day it selfe, then if he should expect the same to go and court o∣thers vpon the day light. Base is that man that lieth slumbering long time after Sunne rise, that awakeneth at noone, and this time to some is earely day. There are many that peruert the offices both of day and night, and that neuer open their eyes (being ouer-burthened by ouer-nights drun∣kennesse) before the euening discouereth it selfe. Such as their condition is said to be, when Nature (as Virgil saith) hath placed subiect, and opposite to our feete.

And when to vs the day-spring doth appeare, And bl••shing mor••e showes PHOE••VS steedes are neere, To them the ruddie euen with weaker light, Kindels the lightsome Tapers of the night.

Such is not the Region, but their life, so that contrary and opposite to that of ours. There are certaine Antipodes in the same Cittie, who, as Cato saith, Neuer saw eyther the rising or setting Sunne. Thinkest thou that these men know how to liue, that know not when they liue? And these are they that feare death, in which they haue buried themselues aliue; as fatall are these as night-runners. Although they passe their nights in wine and perfumes, although they employ the time of their intemperate vp-••itting in feasts and variety of many dishes, yet those which they solemnize are not feasts but funerals. Vndou••tedly by day time men are wont to celebrate the obsequies of the dead; but assuredly there is no day too long to him that trauaileth. Let vs extend our life; the office and argument hereof is action, and let somewhat thereof be reserued to the day. Those birds which are bought to celebrate a feast are kept dark, to the end that by sitting still they may more easily become fat; so such as he without any ex∣ercise, a sluggish swelling in••adeth their bodies, and a soft fat groweth about their members; so deformed doe their bodies seeme that hane dedicated them∣selues to darkenesse. For their colour is no lesse pleasing then theirs that are wearied and made pale with sickenesse, they languish, looke bleach•• and are dis∣coloured, and in their li••e their flesh is corrupted. Yet will I say that this is the least of euils in them, how farre greater darkenesse is there in their minde? The one is stupid, the other is almost blinde, and seemeth to enuie those that see not a whit. Who euer had eyes to vse them in darknes? Askest thou me how this depriuednesse of the minde groweth, by loathing the day and transferring the whole life into night? All vices fight against nature, all of them leaue their owne order. This is the purpose of excesse, to reioyce in peruerse things, and not onely to depart from the right, but to flie a farre off from it, and to bee at length opposite vnto it. Doe not these men in thy iudgement liue contrarie to nature that drinke fasting, that poure in wine into their emptie veynes, and sit downe drunke to their dinners? But this is an ordinary er∣rour in young men, who exercise their strength, who almost in the very en∣trance of the Bath, do not only drinke but gull down wine amongst those that are naked, to the end they might restraine the sweate which they haue moo∣ued by their hote and often quaffings. It is an ordinary matter to drinke after Dinner or Supper; our countrey house keepers doe the like, who are igno∣rant of true pleasure. That wine delighteth which swimmeth not vpon our meates, which freely pierceth vnto the nerues. That drunkennesse delighteth that comes vpon an emptie stomacke. Seeme they not in thy iudgement to liue contrary to nature who are as effeminate in their garments as women? Liue they not against nature, who studie to haue childish beautie vpon a wrinckled forehead? What thing can be more miserable or more horrible? He will neu••r be a man because he may long time suffer a man•• and when as his sex should re∣priue him from con••umely, his age it selfe cannot discharge him. Liue they not against nature that in winter long for a Rose, and by the nourishment of warme waters, and the fit change of heat i•• winter time cause a Lillie & such flowers as are destinated to the spring to flourish? Liue they not against nature that plant

Orchards on their highest Towers, that haue whole Forrests shaking vpon the tops and Turrets of their houses, spreading their roots in such places, where it should suffice them that the tops of their branches should touch? Liue they not against nature that lay the foundations of their bathes in the sea? Neither suppose that they swim delicately enough, except their warm bathes be inuiro∣ned with tempestuous billowes? When as they haue resolued to intend all things against the custome of nature, at last they wholly reuolt from her. Is it day? It is time to goe to bed: it is night, now let vs exercise our selues, now let vs be coached, now let vs dine: doth the morning approach? It is time to goe to supper. We must not liue according to common custome, it is a base, ordinary and vulgar course of life. Let the common day be relinquished, let the mor∣ning be proper and peculiar vnto vs; for mine owne part I ranke these men a∣mongst the dead: for how little are they distant from their funerals, and they most fatall that liue by Torch and waxe light? I remember that at one time di∣uers men led this life. Amongst others Attilius Buta a Praetorian, who after he had spent all his goods in gluttony, which were very great when he complained him of his pouertie to TIBERIVS; Too late (said the Emperiour) art thou awa∣kened. MONTANVS IVLIVS an indifferent Poet, well knowne thorow the fa∣uour and repulse he had at Caesars hands, tooke pleasure to enterlace in his verses these words Ortus and Occasus, which signifie the rising and setting of the Sun, One day a certaine friend of his being displeased because Montanus had not gi∣uen ouer for the space of a whole day to recite som of his compositions, said that a man should not giue ••are to a man, so importunate Natta Prinarius taking fit opportunitie, said, Can I vse him more curteously? I am readie to heare him from the Sunne rise to the Sunne set; when he had recited these Verses,

PHOE••VS begins to show his burnisht light, And blushing day to spread his shining face, And now begins the Swallow with delight To feed her yong, within her neast a space, And to her wings, breed by one and one Yeeld from her neb their food to feed vpon.

Varus a Romane Knight, a companion of Lucius Vinicius an ordinarie smel-feast, who was the better welcome by reason he wittily and bitterly jested at those whom he thought fit, cried out aloude, BVTA begin to sleepe: againe, when after that he had recited,

Now haue the shepheards cloasd their fruitfull Kie Within their stalls, now dull and darksome night Begins to spread her sad and silent eye, Vpon the dulsome earth depriu'd of light.

The same Varus said, What saith he? It is now night, I will goe and salute BVTA. There was nothing more notorious then this preposterous life of Buta, where∣unto diuers applyed themselues in that time, as I haue said. The cause of this disorder is not in that they thinke that the night hath any thing more pleasing in it, because nothing hindereth them, and for that the day is displeasant to an euill conscience; and because the light costeth nothing, it contenteth not him that coueteth or disdaineth all things, according as they cost more or lesse. Be∣sides,

these vnbridled persons will haue their immoderate life spoken of whilst they liue; for if it be obscured, they thinke they loose their labour. They are displeased therefore as often as they doe not that which may make them be spoken of: many of these deuoure their goods, many of them haue their har∣lots; and if thou wilt haue credite amongst these men, thou must needes com∣mit some lasciuious or notable folly. In a Citty so possessed with sin a common and ordinary errour is not looked after nor talked vpon. I haue heard Pedo Albi∣nouanus report (which was a man of a very pleasant discourse) that he dwelt a little aboue Sparius Papinius house, who was one of the company of the night-Owles and light-shunners: About the third houre of the night, saith hee, I heare the lashing of the whips, and I aske what he doth? They answer me that he calleth his seruants to account. About the sixt houre of the night, I heare a shrill voyce, and I aske what it is? and they answer me that he exerciseth his voyce. I aske about the eight houre of the night what that ratling of wheeles meaneth? they answere, that hee will take the ayre. About day light I heare running vp and downe the Pages are called for, the Butlers and Cookes make a stirre; I aske what that meaneth? they answer me that he was come out of his Bath and required broth and drinke. What did his supper, said he, exceed the day? No; for he liued very frugally, and spent nothing but the night. And therefore he oftentimes answered those that called him couetous and a slouen; You would likewise call him, Lichnobius, that is to say, such a one as liueth by the Lampe. Thou must not wonder, although thou findest so many proprieties of vices; they are diuers, and haue innumerable faces, their kindes cannot be comprehended. The managing of that which is good is simple, and that which is euill manifold, and is disposed in all sortes as a man list. The same befalleth manners, such as follow Nature are facile and free, and haue small differences; the rest are extrauagant and neuer accord amongst themselues: but the especial cause of this sicknesse in my opinion, is the hatred of common life. As they di∣stinguish themselues from other men in their garments, as in their great & cost∣ly suppers, and in the richnes of their coaches, so will they be seperated from o∣ther in the disposition of times they will not sinne ordinarily, whose reward in sinning is infamie. This doe all they seeke after, who (if I may say so) liue sini∣sterly. Therefore my Lucilius, we are to follow that way, which nature hath prescribed vs; neyther must we wander out of the same. They that doe this, finde all things facile and expedit, but they that striue against the same, their life is no otherwise then theirs who striue against the streame.

EPIST. CXXIII.

That a thin and simple dyet by the decree of the minde and hunger are made desirable. That rich men are to vse the same likewise; for who knoweth whether he shall haue neede thereof? Let neyther custom or forraine manners seduce vs. Despise all contra∣ry iudgements or opinions.

BEing spent by my iourney more incommodious then long, I came to my Albanum very late in the night, I finde nothing ready but my selfe. For this cause I laide me downe in my bedde to ease my wearinesse, and take in good part this negligence of my Cooke and Baker: for thus debate I vpon this matter with my selfe; There is nothing

so grieuous that can distaste thee if thou endure it patiently, neyther any thing that may displease thee except thou thy selfe cause it by thy fretting. My Ba∣ker hath no bread, but my Farmer hath, my Porter hath, my Plow-man hath. But thou wilt say it is course bread: stay a while it will be made good; hunger I tell thee, will make it more pleasing vnto thee then thy white bread. There∣fore ought we not to eate any thing before hunger commaund vs. I will there∣fore stay and refraine eating till such time as eyther I beginne to haue good, or forbeare to loath bad. It is a necessarie thing to accustome our selues to fruga∣lie: many difficulties of time and place doe sometimes hinder the most richest and greatest Lords from their long desired dinners. No man can haue whatso∣euer he will, yet may he not will that which he hath not, and vse those things that are presented him thankefully. A great part of libertie is a well-gouerned bellie, and patient in all wants. Thou canst not imagine what pleasure I take in this, that my wearinesse is appeased of it selfe. I seeke neyther vnction nor Bath, nor any other remedie, but onely time: for that which labour hath bred rest taketh away. This will be more pleasing then a supper prepared for the gods: for sometimes I haue made a sudden experiment of the forces of my minde, and I finde it to be the most simple and assured; for whereas the minde hath prepared it selfe, and enioyned himselfe patience, a man cannot see how much firmitie it hath: for they are the most certaine arguments which she in∣stantly gaue, if not onely with an equall but a temperate eye hee hath beheld them, if she hath not beene displeased nor hath contested, if that which should be giuen, himselfe ministreth to himselfe by not desiring, & thinketh that there is somewhat wanting to his custome and not vnto himselfe. We neuer vnder∣stood that many things were superfluous, but when they began to be missing: for we vsed them not because we ought, but because we had them. But how many things doe we prepare, because other men haue prepared them? because they are vsual amongst manie? Amongst the causes of our euils, this is one, that we liue by example; neyther are we gouerned by reason, but ledde away by custome, which if few men did, we would not imitate: when as many haue be∣gun to doe the same we follow it as if it were more honest, because it is more fre∣quent, and errour with vs supplieth the place of that which is right, when it is made publique. All men now-a-dayes trauaile in such sort, that a troope of Numidian horsemen leades them the way, and a companie of foot-men attends vpon their stirrop. It should be an indignitie vnto them if they had not some attendants to thrust those out of the way that met them, and that should show in raising much dust, that an honest man came after them. In these dayes all men haue Moiles that beare their vessels of crystall, and such as are made of Cassonie, and enameled by the hands of great Artists: it is a shame for thee if thou seeme to haue those carriages as might not be broken. All the Litters wherein they carrie their Minions are couered, and they themselues haue their faces anoynted, lest eyther the Sunne or colde should harme their tender skins; it is shame that there is no one in the companie of their Minions, that hath a face so faire that it needeth not to be farded. All these mens conference is to be auoided, these are they that teach vices, and conuey them from one place to an∣other. They were reputed the worst sort of men that were tale-carriers, but som there are that beare vices. These mens speech doth much mischiefe; for al∣though it instantly hurteth not, yet leaueth it some seedes in the minde, and it followeth vs euen then when wee haue left them, likely hereafter to enkindle a new euill in vs. Euen as they who haue heard some excellent Musicke beare

away with them in their eares that harmony and sweetnesse of song, which hindereth the thoughts, and suff••reth them not to be intended to serious mat∣ters: so the speech of flatterers, and such as praise vice, sticketh longer time in our mem••ries, then it is ••eard: neither i•• it an easie matter to extinguish so sweet a sound in the minde, it followeth•• and continueth, and returneth againe some∣whiles after into our remembrance. It becommeth vs therefore in the begin∣ning to stop ••p our eares against euill voyces, for when they haue gotten ente∣rance, and are admitted, they are more audac••ous. From thence men grow to this language, Vertue, Philosophie, and Iustice, is but the bruite of vaine words. The only felicitie is to make good cheere, to liue at pleasure, and to haue an am∣ple patrimonie. This it is that is called life, this is to remember that a man is mortall. The daye•• fleete from vs, and our life so posteth away as we may ne∣uer recouer it. Why are we doubtfull to frame our selues according to our fan∣tasie, and to satisfie our flesh her desires, whilest she demandeth them, whilest she will and can take them? Why take we care to spare for the time after our death, and to forbid our selues that for the present, which she will carry away? Thou hast no she friend, no boy, that may moue iealousie in thy mistris. Each day walkest thou out of thy house sober, so suppest thou, as if thou wert accoun∣table to thy father for the expence thou makest euery day. This is not to liue, it is to assist and keepe company with the liuing. What folly is it to heape vp riches for thine heire, and to deny thy selfe all things, that the great goods thou possessest might make thy friend thine enemie; for the more hee enioyeth by thee, the more he reioyceth at thy death. Set not a farthing by these seuere and bold causers of another mans life, enemies to their owne, such men as would re∣gent the whole world: neither doubt thou to make choice of a merrie life be∣fore a good fame. These speeches are no otherwise to be fled, then the songs of the Syrens, which Vlisses would not saile by, ••••fore he had tied himselfe to the mast of his ship. They haue the same power, they take from those that giue eare vnto them, their countrie, their parents, their friends, their vertues, and drag th••se miserable creatures thorow the ordures of a shameful and infamous life. How farre better is it to follow the direct way, and to aime at this end that those things at length may onely seeme pleasing vnto thee which are honest? Which we may attaine, if we shall conceiue two kinds of things, the one wher∣of draw vs, the other driue vs away. Those that inuite vs, are riches, pleasures, beautie, ambition: in briefe, all that which flattereth vs, and is agreeable vnto vs. They that driue vs away are trauaile, death, dolor, ignominie, and want. We must therefore exercise our selues, lest we feare the one or desire the other. Let vs make head against that which is contrarie, and let vs depart from those things which inuite vs, and make warre against those that importune vs. Seest thou not how diuers the habit is of those, that ascend and descend? Those that descend from a steepe place, bend their bodies backward, they that ascend an high place•• lie vpon their bellies. For if in descending thou swayest thy selfe forward, or in ascending thou leanest backward: this (my Lucilius) is to con∣sent with vice. We d••scend into pleasures, we must mount in the incommo∣dities and aduersities of this life. Let vs presse forward in these, and restraine our selues in the other. Thinkest thou now, that I say this, that they only are preiu∣dicious to our eares, who praise voluptuousnes, who encrease the apprehension of paine, a thing that of it selfe is dreadfull enough. Those men likewise, in my opinion, are hurtfull vnto vs, who vnder pretext of being Stoicks, exhort vs vn∣to vices: that a wise-man only is both learned, and a louer, that only he is practi∣sed

in this Arte. The wise-man is as skilfull in drinking, as in banquetting. Let vs enquire vntill what yeares yong men are to be beloued. Let these things be allowed to Grecian custome. Let vs rather addresse our eares to those things that follow. No man is casually good; vertue is to be learned, voluptuousnes is a vile and base thing, and of meane price•• common to man, with brute beasts, and whereunto the least, and most contemptible doe flie. Glory is vaine, and swiftly flieth, and is more inconstant then the winde. Pouertie is displeasing to no man, except to him that heareth it impatiently. Death is no euill. Why complainest thou? She it is alone that dealeth iustly, and carrieth her selfe equal∣ly towards all humane kinde. Superstition is a mad error, it feareth those whom she should loue, and violateth her masters. For what difference is there, whe∣ther thou deniest the gods, or defraudest them? These things are to be lear∣ned, yea they are to be kept continually in remembrance. Philosophie must not suggest excuses vnto vice. That sicke man hath no hope of his health, who is counselled by his Phisitians to intemperance.

EPIST. CXXIIII.

Against the Epicures, that good consisteth in reason, not in sence. And therefore that infants are not as yet capable thereof: neither is it compleate, except it be where reason is compleate. How shall I vnderstand that it is in me, if I seeke nothing without my selfe?

I Can recount, if so thou list to heare, Full many precepts of the ancient wise, Except thou loath to lend thy listning eare, To know from whence the lesser cares arise.

But thou loathest not, neither doth any subtiltie disgust thee. Thy gentle spirit disdaineth not the smallest things, although it comprehend the greatest. I like∣wise approue this in thee also, because thou reducest all things to some vse, & ar•• only offended then, when with much subtiltie nothing is effected, which I will not now endeuour to do. The question is, whether good be comprehended by sence or vnderstanding. Hereunto it is annexed, that it is neither in brute beasts, nor in infants: they that hold voluptuousnesse for the chiefest good, doe iudge good to be sensible. We contrariwise considering it in the soule, maintaine that it is intelligible. If they did iudge of the good of sence, we should reiect no vo∣luptuousnesse, because all of them are both attractiue and pleasing, And con∣trariwise, we should willingly vndergoe no paine, because there is none but of∣fendeth the sence. Besides, they should not be worthy of reprehension, who are too much affected to voluptuousnes, and are too exceedingly afraid of pain. But wee mislike those that are addicted to their belly and lust, and contemne those, who for feare of paine dare attempt nothing couragiously. But wherein doe they offend, if they obey their sences, that are the iudges of good and euill. For to these Masters haue you giuen the power to desire and flie. But reason hath charge of this, and must order as well good and euill, as vertue and honesty. For by these the preheminence is giuen to the baser part, to iudge of the better, and their meaning is, that the sence which is a dimme and dull thing, and more slow in men then in other liuing creatures, should censure what the true good is.

What if a man would discerne the smallest things by sight, and not by touch, to discerne euill from good, a man cannot finde a more sharpe and better intended sight then that of the eye. Thou seest in what ignorance of truth he remai∣neth, and with what ignorance he hath trod••n those things vnder foote which are diuine, who will make the touch to be the iudge of good and euill•• Euen as, saith he, euery Science and Arte ought to haue something in it, which is mani∣fest, and comprehended vnder sence, from whence it may be deriued and en∣crease: euen so a blessed life hath for his foundation and beginning, something which is both apparant and sensible. But you say that a blessed life taketh her beginning from manifest things. Wee say that those things are blessed, which are according to nature, but what is according to nature appeareth cleerely and at the first sight, as that also which is entire. What is that which is according to nature? It is that which befalleth him who is newly borne, I say not good, but the beginning of good. Thou attributest pleasure vnto infancie, as if it were their chiefest good, that at his birth-day he should begin there, whither hee at∣taineth when he is become a man. Thus puttest thou the top of the tree into the place of the roote. If a man should say, that an infant lying in his mothers wombe, and scarce begun, tender, imperfect, and without forme, is alreadie in possession of any good, should he not seeme to erre manifestly? But what dif∣ference is there betwixt an infant, that doth begin to be, and one which is as yet but a hidden burthen in his mothers womb? Both these, in respect of the vnder∣standing of good & euill, haue equall maturitie: & no more is an infant capable of good as yet, then a tree, or any dumbe beast? But why is not good in a tree or dumbe beast? Because reason is not in them, and therefore is it not in an infant, by reason that he wanteth reason, whereunto when he hath attained, he shall approch more goodnesse. There is some creature which is not reasonable•• and some other which is not as yet endued with reason, if it be it is imperfectly. Goodnesse is neither in the one, nor in the other. Reason bringeth that good with himselfe. What difference then is there betwixt the things aboue men∣tioned? Neuer shall good be in a liuing creature which is depriued of reason, neither can it be in him that is not as yet endued with reason, as long as hee re∣maineth in that estate, she may be, but she is not ••s yet. So then I say (my Lu∣cilius) that good is not found in euery bodie, or in all ages, and is as farre estranged from the infant, as that which is last, is distant from that which is first, and the beginning of a thing, from the accomplishing and perfection of the same, and consequently, good is not in a bodie which doth but newly receiue forme in his mothers wombe: no more is there in the seede whence the bodie hath forme: as if thou makest mention of the good of any tree or plant, it is not in the first leafe that buddeth forth. The corne hath some good which is not in the tender blade, nor in the straw, but in the graine which is readie to be rea∣ped. Euen as all nature, except it be consummate, bringeth not forth his good, so the good of a man, is not in a man, except he be possessed of perfect reason. But what this good is, I will tell thee: It is a free and vpright minde, that sub∣iecteth all other things vnder him, and is himselfe subiect to nothing. Too far is infancie from pertaking this good, that the childish age hopeth it not, and youth doth weakely hope the same. Happie is old-age if it attaine thereunto by long and diligent studie, when this is both good and able to be vnderstood. Thou diddest say, sayest thou, that there is a certaine good of a tree, another of an herbe; therefore may an infant haue some good. The true good neither is in trees•• nor in dumbe creatures; that good which is in these is called but a bor∣rowed

good: and what is that, sayest thou? That which is according to the na∣ture of euery thing. There is not one brute beast that may in any sort partici∣pate good, which belongeth to a better and more happy nature: there is no good but there where reason hath place. These foure natures are distinct; that of a Tree, that of a Beast, that of a Man, and that of a God. These two which are without reason are of the same nature, the other two are diuers, the one immortall, the other mortall. Of these the one maketh his owne god ac∣complished, and that is God, & a mans diligence addresseth the other. The rest are perfect in their nature, but not truely perfect if reason be absent from them. For that is finally perfect which is perfect according to cōmon nature, but com∣mon nature is reasonable, the rest may be perfect in their kinde. That wherein happie life cannot be, cannot haue that thing which causeth happie life, but a blessed life is made by good things, and in a dumbe beast that is not that where∣by blessed life is effected, and therefore good cannot be in a dumbe beast. A dumbe beast comprehendeth things that are present, by sense he remembreth those things that are past at such time as that which awakeneth the sense, awa∣keneth it selfe, as a horse remembreth himselfe of his way when he is set into the beginning of it: whilst he standeth in the Stable he hath no remembrance thereof, although he hath trode it ouer many times. But the third time, that is to say, that which is to come appertaineth not to dumbe beasts: how then can their nature seeme to be perfect who haue no vse of perfect time? For time consisteth of three parts, of that which is past, of that which is present, of that which is to come. That which is onely present and shortest, and passeth soonest is giuen to beasts: as touching that which is past, they haue eyther none or little remembrance thereof neyther, but casually thinke they on things that are pre∣sent; thus the good of a perfect nature cannot be in an imperfect nature. Or if by nature she hath it, she hath it as hearbes haue; neither doe I denie but that brute beasts haue their motions very rude and violent towards those things which seeme to be according to nature, but such motions are confused and dis∣ordered, but there cannot be any confusion or disorder in good. Why then sayest thou doe brute beasts moue themselues confusedly and disorderly? I would say that they moued. ••••mselues confusedly and disorderly, if their na∣ture were capable of order: but they haue a motion according to nature. For we call that thing confused, which sometimes may not be confused, and that carefull which may be assured; vice is in nothing wherein vertue may not be; dumbe beasts haue by nature that motion which they haue. But ••est I detaine thee ouer-long, there shall be some good in a dumbe beast, some vertue, some perfection; but what shall it be, but what good? Neyther absolutely good, nei∣ther vertue, neyther perfect; for these priuiledges doe onely appertaine vnto those that are endowed with reason, who haue the knowledge giuen them why, how farre, and how. Thus good is not in any thing, except it be ended with reason. Doost thou aske me whereunto this disputation tendeth, and what profite it shall yeeld vnto thy minde? I will tell thee, it exerciseth it, it whetteth it, and detaineth the same in some honest meditation, since he must employ and occupie himselfe. But that which restraineth the minde that run∣neth after vice, is profitable. But this I say, that the greatest good I can do thee, is to teach thee thy good, to seperate thee from brute beasts, and to lodge thee with God. Why doost thou entertaine and nourish the forces of thy bodie? Nature hath granted brute and sauage beasts greater th••n these? Why doost thou so carefully maintaine thy beautie, when as thou hast done thy vttermost

thou shalt be ouercome by many brute beasts in comelinesse? Why doest thou trim thy haire with so great diligence, when thou hast eyther scattered it after•• the Parthian manner, or tied it vp in knots after the Germane fashion, or let it grow long as the Scithians are wont; in euery horse thou shalt finde a thicker crest, in euery Lion a goodlier. When thou shalt addresse thy selfe to runne, the Hare will outstrip thee, wilt thou leaue these forraine aduantages in pursuit, whereof thou hast alwayes the worst, and returne vnto thy good? And what is this? vndoubtedly it is a reformed minde, pure and imitating good, ex∣tolling himselfe aboue humane things, placing nothing of himselfe without himselfe. Thou art a reasonable creature: what good is there therefore in thy selfe? Perfect reason. Summon thou that to his chiefest perfection, and let it increase as much as it may. Then suppose thy selfe to be blessed when all thy ioy shall proceed from thy selfe, when in th••se things which men long after, wish and desire thou findest nothing I say, not that thou wouldest rather haue, but that thou wouldst haue. I will giue thee a short lesson, wherby thou mayest measure thy selfe, wherby thou mayest perceiue that thou art perfect. Thou shalt possesse thy true good, when thou shalt know that those are most vnhappy who are happy.

The end of SENECAES Epistles.

Notes

• * 1.1

  King of Egypt.
• * 1.2

  Pothinus Eu∣nuchus.
• * 1.3

  Caligula.
• * 1.4

  This accord••n•• to ••he proude d••∣ctrine o•• Sto••••ks•• 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.5

  〈◊〉〈◊〉. 1. de Natu∣••a ••••rum.
• * 1.6

  Vir••••l 3•• Geor∣g••••••••••m.