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.

OF CONSOLATION, WRITTEN BY LVCIVS ANNAEVS SENECA TO MARCIA.

The Argument of IVSTVS LIPSIVS.

MARCIA agracious and rich Matron, as it appeareth the daughter of AVLVS CREMVTIVS CORDVS, a man famous both for his studies and writings, had a sonne who died in his full yeeres, for hee was a husband, a father, and a Priest, and already three yeeres were past as appeareth in the end of the first Chapter, since hee died. I therefore ga∣ther that this booke was published about the beginning of CLAVDIANVS time, and not before. For it is scarse probable that this METELLVS (for such was his name) was raised to honour in TIBERIVS time. Vnder ••ATVS t••erefore, who out of some other acts of TIBERIVS, and namely permitted 〈◊〉〈◊〉 CRE••VTIVS writings to be read: which likewise is touched in the first Chapter and therefore this c••nsolation could not be published before, especially the griefe being 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and after three yeeres space. Nay to him that well considereth the same, 〈…〉〈…〉 may bee sup∣posed to bee written vnder CLAVDIVS, and after his exile•• It matters not much. Touching the Booke, it is one of his best, although it bee not voide of feminine flat∣tery. There are two partes thereof. In the former he prayseth her, and both by his own and other mens examples comforteth her vntil the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Chapter; in the latter hee descendeth to reasons, and first hee alleadgeth the common ••••ason that sorrow pro∣fiteth nothing. Then that is vnnaturall, and rather is grounded on tendernesse, and in∣consideration, because wee foresee not that th••se things which may bee done, are fu∣turely to succeede. And againe, he produceth the examples of men and women. Then passeth hee ouer to the estate and condition of those that are borne, to whome death is annexed, vntill the nineteenth Chapter. Then offereth hee this Dilemma: That neither the mother nor hee are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Of the mother, in short, shee is gra∣cious, and onely vexed by opinion. Of the sonne diuersly, hee is in quiet: and deliuery both from casualties and vices. What if hee had beene inclined to those in so corrupt a City? that hee was therefore taken away in good time, and at last the Fa∣ther

CREMATIVS is in person prouided, comforting and animating his daughter, and inciting her with a constant speech to regard and behold coelestiall and diuine things.

CHAP. I.

EXcept I knew Marcia that thou wert so farre e∣stranged from womannish infirmity of minde,* 1.1 as from other vices, and that euery man obserueth thy manners, as it were some ancient patterne of vertue. I durst not vndertake to encounter with thy sorrow, whereunto men are too willingly inclined & subiect: neither had I conceiued any hope in a time so vnreasonable, before a Iudge so partiall, in a crime so hatefull, that I could ef∣fect this, that thou shouldest complaine of thy fortune: but the approued constancy of thy mind and thy vertue confirmed by many trials, haue animated me, and made mee confident. It is not vnknowne in what sort thou diddest behaue thy selfe in the person of thy Father, whom thou louedst no lesse then thou diddest thy children, except in this that thou diddest not desire that hee should not ouer∣liue thee, yet know I not whether thou diddest wish it mee or no. For a great piety permitteth it selfe some thing, which are not answerable to good and laudable manners of life. Thou hinderest as many as lay in thy power the death of Aulus Crenutius Cordus thy father. But when hee had discouered vnto thee, that hee had but one meanes to escape from seruitude, wherein hee was detained by the vassals of Seianus, thou fauouredst not his counsels, but suffe∣redst thy selfe to bee ouercome, and secretly powredst forth teares, thou de∣uouredst thy sorrow, yet couldest not conceale it with a merry countenance: and this in the age wherein it was great piety to doe nothing impiously. But as soone as the reuolution of time presented thee any occasion, thou brough∣test him to light for the generall good of all men) the testimonies of thy fa∣thers wisdome, who was put to death, and exemptedst him from the graue by publishing and communicating those his bookes vnto the world, which that worthy man had written with his owne bloud. Worthily hast thou deserued of the Romane studies, for the greater part of them was consumed by fire; worthily of posterity, to whom the incorrupted truth of former occurrents shal bee testified to the glory of that great man thy father, who wrote them; wor∣thily at his hands, whose memory shall flourish and liue as long as men are de∣sirous to know the Roman affaires, as long as there shall bee any who will re∣flect & read th•• acts of antiquity, as long as there is any that would know what a braue Romane, who seeing the yoake of Seianus vpon his necke, and his feete treading on the heades of euery man, hath brauely discharged himselfe of that seruitude, and shewed that both in vnderstanding, soule, and hand hee was a free man. Truely the common weale had suffered a great losse, if thou haddest not brought this worthy person to light, who was buried in obliuion, to let vs see two worthy parts in him, to witte, his ••loquence and liberty: hee is read, hee flourisheth, hee is entertained in mens hands and hearts, he feareth no in∣iury of time. But the hainous crimes of those bloudy butchers, who deserue

memorie for nothing but their murthers,* 1.2 shall bee obscured. This greatnesse of thy minde, for bad me to looke backe vnto thy Sexe, for bad me to behold thy countenance, which the continuall sorrowes of so many yeares as it once clou∣ded, it so now couereth it: But consider that I intend not to surprise thee, nei∣ther thinke thou that I will s••eale away thy passions. I haue refreshed the me∣morie of thine ancient euils: And wilt thou know that this wound also is curea∣ble? I haue shewed thee the cicatrice of as great a wound. Let other men ther∣fore dally and flatter with thy sorrowes, I am resolued to combat with thy griefe, and if thou wilt heare a truth, I will drie vp the current of those teares that haue wearied and wasted thine eyes, which rather now flow by custome then any desire or cause, which may bee done if thou fauour those remedies which I present thee: if not, I will doe it against thy will, although thou retai∣nest and entertainest thy griefe, which thou hast reserued to continue in thy Sonnes place. But what end shall there be? All things are attempted in vaine. Thy friends are wearied with talking with thee, thy Allies and other great personages know no more what to speake vnto thee, thy deaff-eares entertain no solace, although a man relate vnto thee that which thou hast learned, and the goodly meanes and demeasnesse that thy father left thee. These are words that stand thee in no vse, but for the time they are a speaking. The naturall re∣medie of time likewise, which appeaseth the greatest sorrowes, hath lost his power in thee alone. Three yeares are already past, and yet the vehemence of this thy passion is no wayes moderated, thy sorrow reneweth and fortifieth it selfe daily by course of time it hath gotten possession; yea, and is growne to that height, that thou reputest it a shamefull thing to dismisse it and giue it ouer. Euen as all vices get possession and preheminence in the heart, except they be oppressed, euen then when they appeare. So likewise these perplexi∣ties and miseries, enraged against them selues, doe feede them selues at last by their owne acerbitie•• and sorrow becommeth a depraued pleasure of the vn∣happie minde. I could haue wished therefore that I could haue ministred a medicine to this sorrow in the beginning, a sleight remedie had beene sufficient to extinguish the furie of this passion vpon the first approach. Where now since the griefes are inueterate, the remedies ought to be more vehement. For those wounds are easily cured which are but newly inflicted; then are they ••ea∣red, s••arched, and indure the touching; yea, they are hardly healed when they are putrified, and that time hath brought them to an inue••erate vlcer. I can not now to please thee, handle thy rebellious wound gently, I must presse out the poison, and clense it with sharpe medicines.

CHAP. II.

* 1.3I Know that all those men, who will admonish any man, beginne with precepts and end in examples; yet must I alter this course. For some are to be handled in one sort, some other in an other. Some there are that will be perswaded by reason, to some wee must oppose the names and authoritie of great persons to stay their mindes, that are astonished at the lustre of things. I will set before thine eyes two famous examples of thy Sexe and of our time; Of one woman that gaue her selfe ouer to griefe, of an other that hauing had no lesse losse but farre greater damage, yet suffered not her sorrow to raigne long time ouer her, but

sudainely setled and pacified her minde. Octauia and ••iuia, the one the sister, the other the wife of Augustus. Lost each of them a Sonne, hauing both of them hope that one day they should haue beene Emperours. Octauias Sonne was called Marcellus, on whom his Vnckle and his wiues father began to build them selues, in committing to his hands the affaires of the Empire, a yong man of sharpe vnderstanding, of a great minde, modest and meruailously continent, and considering his yeares and fortunes, very laborious, enemie of delights, and readie to vndergoe all that which his vnckle would lay vpon him, or (if I may so speake it) build on his backe: Neither failed hee in his choice, for this yong man was sufficiently enabled to vndertake all sortes of burthens. His mo∣ther seeing him dead, ceased not all her life time to mourne and weepe, neither would shee admit any consolation, nor likewise suffer any by any meanes to dis∣swade her from her pensiue thoughts. But intending this one thing, and whol∣ly fixing her minde thereupon, such was shee all her life time as shee was at his funerall. I say not that shee durst not rise, but that shee refused to bee raised, iudging it no lesse then a second orbitie to surcease her weeping. Shee would haue no Image of her deerest Sonne, neither would shee listen to any that made mention of him, shee hated all mothers, and was most mad against Liuia, be∣cause that felicitie that was promised her Sonne, seemed to bee translated to hers. All her pleasure was to liue in darknesse and solitude, shee no wayes thought on her brother, reiecting those Verses that were composed, and those honours which famous men had inuented, in memorie of Marcellus. In briefe, shee shut vp her eares from all comfort, shee retired her selfe from all solemne Offices, and hating that too much resplendent fortune of her brothers great∣nesse, shee hid her selfe, and if I may so speake it, buried her selfe aliue. Al∣though her owne children, and their childrens children came flocking about her, yet would shee not giue ouer her mourning robe, offering out-rage in this respect to all those that were her Allies, because shee thought her selfe alone when they remained in safetie.

CHAP. III.

LIVIA had lost her sonne Drusus, who should haue beene Emper∣our, and was at that time a great Captaine.* 1.4 Hee had already en∣tered very farre into Germanie, and fixed his Ensignes there, where it was scarcely knowne that there were any Romanes. In this expedition hee died a Conquerour, and during his sicknesse his very enemies gaue him great honour, not daring to promise themselues that good which was expedient for them: To this death which hee endured for the Common-weale, there was ioyned a multitude of Romane Citizens, of peoples that were Allies, and of all Italy (who had conducted his body thorow the Cities, and Prouinces which were peopled by the Romans, who had made great moane for him) as farre as Rome, as if Drusus had entred the same in tri∣umph. His mother, that for a long way had followed his body, and being ex∣treamely grieued, by reason that as many Piles as shee saw flaming thorow out all Italy, so many times seemed shee to behold her dead Sonne, had not the meanes to enioy his last kisses, nor heare his sweete and latest words, yet incon∣tinently when the obsequies were performed, and that shee had closed him in his Tombe; shee buried her sorrowe with him, without aggrieuing her selfe

more then either her grauity, or Augustus greatnesse, or the equity of the cause required. Meane while shee ceased not to publish her sonnes prayses in euerie place, to represent him vnto her selfe both priuately and publikly; to speake most willingly of him, and take pleasure in those that recounted his praises, whē as no man could make mention of any other, but incontinently the remem∣brance of Drusus made her perceiue: Choose therefore which of these exam∣ples thou thinkest most probable; if thou wilt follow the first, thou cuttest thy selfe off from the number of the liuing, thou wilt teach both thine owne and other mens children, and wanting him, thou wilt make all mothers afraid that meete with thee. Thou shalt disclaime thine honest and lawfull pleasures, as ill beseeming thy condition, and shall require nought else but to bee sequestred from company: in briefe, thou shalt loath thine owne life, because it endeth not as quickly as thou desirest. Besides, which is a thing estran••ed, and vnwor∣thy thy mind, which hath a far contrary reputation, thou wilt make it known that thou wilt not liue, and that thou canst not die. But if thou fashion thy selfe according to the example of this great woman, which is more milde and moderate, thou shalt not vaile bonnet vnder thy sorrow, neither macerate thy self in afflicting thy self so much: for what folly is this (poor woman as thou art) to drowne thy selfe in sorrow, and to encrease thy miseries? maintaine in this accident the vertue, and moderation which thou hast approued in all the rest of thy former life; for if there bee any conueniency in sorrow, when thou hast alwayes the name of this young man (most worthy of rest) in thy heart and in thy mouth, thou thy selfe shalt place him in a happy abode; if hee appeare before thee merry and ioyfull as he did during his li••e.

CHAP. IIII.

* 1.5NEither will I perswade thee by more forcible pr••cepts, command thee to endure humane accidents with a mind more then hu∣mane, that vpon the very day of the funerall thou shouldest dry vp the teares of a mother. I will doe thee iustice. The question is betweene vs, whether thy griefe ought to be great or perpetu∣all: I assure my selfe•• that the example of Liuia, whom thou hast inwardly both knowne and honoured will please thee more then the other. Shee cals thee to counsaile her. Shee in the first fauour (whome as miseries are most impatient and furious) gaue an eare to the counsels and comforts of the Philosopher, A∣reus that attended her husband; and confessed that it yeeldeth her much more comfort then the Romane people, whom shee would not disgest by her sor∣row, more then Augustus who was troubled, who had lost one of the staies of his Empire (nor was to bee d••iected by the sorrow of any of his) more then Ti∣berius his son, who effected this then, that in that biter & displeasing funerals to all nations,* 1.6 found nothing missing but the number of one. This as I thinke, was the induction of that discourse which hee vsed in regarde of this woman, that was so setled in her opinions. Hitherto liued, and as neerely as I could con••eiue, in as much as I was an inward Counsellor to Augustus thy husband, (who not onely knew thy publike sayings and actions, but also the secret mo∣tions of thy mind, thou hast carefully endured that no man should finde any thing that might giue him cause of exception: Neither hast thou obserued this onely in affaires of importance, but in the smallest things thou hast taken care,

lest thou shouldest doe any thing that might bee afraide of report, which free∣ly consumeth the actions of the greatest in this world. Neither thinke I that there is any thing that is more worthy those that are in high place, then to pardon many things, and to require pardon of nothing. Thou are therefore to obserue in this thing thine accustomed manner, not to limit any thing what∣soeuer, that thou wouldest haue done lesse or otherwise.

CHAP. V.

AFter this, I desire and entreat thee, that thou show not thy selfe froward and intractable to thy friendes.* 1.7 For thou art not to bee ignorant, that all these know not how to behaue themselues, whether they shall speake any thing before thee of Drusus, or no∣thing, lest eyther the obliuion of so noble a young man should doe him iniurie, or his memory and mention wrong thee, when wee are drawn apart, and are assembled together; wee magnifie his deedes and speeches as much as in vs lieth, and hee deserueth, but in thy presence wee make no menti∣on whatsoeuer: you are therefore depriued of a great pleasure, which is the prayses of thy sonne. When I assure my selfe thou wouldest eternize, if thou hadst the meanes, although it cost thee thy life. Suffer therefore, nay more, command men to speake of him, and yeelde thine care to the name and memo∣ry of thy sonne, thinke it no irkesome thing (as other men doe) who in such ca∣ses interprete all thinges to the worst that is spoken to them; if a man propose thee some consolations; thou inclinest now to the other side, and forgetting all the goods thou hast receiued, thou regardest the worser face of fortune, where∣with shee most affrighted thee. In stead of casting thine eyes on the conuersati∣on of thy sonne, vpon his pleasant and gracious entertainment, vpon his chil∣dish and wanton flatteries, vpon the aduancement of his studies, thou securest to bee enchaned to this last apparance of life, and as if it were not monstrous en∣ough of it selfe, thou heapest vp together whatsoeuer may bee possible. Long not I beseech thee after so vnmeasurable a glory, which may make thee being miserable, amongst miserable.

CHAP. VI.

THinke likewise that it is an act of a generous mind to carry a great appearance in prosperity,* 1.8 when as life exhausteth her course with a full fayle. For a peaceable sea and a fauourable wind approue not the sufficiency of a Pilot. There must some storme encoun∣ter vs that may approue the mind. And therefore discourage not thy selfe, but contrariwise stand firme in thy place, and endure euery burthen that is laide vpon thee, being onely affrighted with the first assault: there is nothing that so much confoundeth fortune, as a resolute mind. After this hee shewed her her sonne in safety, hee shewed her her Nephewes, to recompence the losse of her sonne. At that time Marcia thy affaires were in ••and, Areus sate by thee, and comforted thee vnder another name. But thinke Marcia that death hath taken from thee more then euer was taken from any mother (I will not flatter thee, or lessen thy losse) if teares may conquere the destinie, let vs vni••e

our teares, let vs spend euery day in sorrow, let the sleeples night consume it selfe in sadnesse, let our hands violate our torne breastes, and let our nayles imprint our sorrow in our faces,* 1.9 let discontent exercise and extend it selfe in all sorts of cruelty. But if the dead are recalled by no teares, if Fate be immoue∣able, and euerlastingly fixed, no misery is changed, and death possesseth whatsoeuer hee hath taken away; let sorrowes cease because it is vnprofi••a∣ble. For which cause let vs gouerne our selues, neither permit this passion to transport vs beyond measure. It is a shame for a Master of a shippe to suffer his helme to bee beaten out of his hands by the billow, to neglect his Sailes that are shattered in the wind, and leaue his shippe to the mercy of a tempe••t, but hee euen in shipwracke is to bee commended, who holdeth his helme in his hand, though the seas swallow and sinke him.

CHAP. VII.

* 1.10BVt yet there is a natural inclination in vs to bewaile those whom wee loue, who denies it as long as it is moderate? for there is a necessity that presseth vs, and retireth, and astonisheth the most constant hearts, not onely at such time as our friends die, but also when in this life by diuers occasions they are separated from vs. But that which opinion addeth, is more then Nature commandeth. Consider how vnbrideled the desires of bruit beasts are,* 1.11 and yet they are short. Cowes for a day or two lowe after the Bull, neither doth the wanton and wan∣dring course of Mares last long. Wilde beastes after they haue sented the foote of their young ones, and haue searched them sometimes amidst the forrest, when they returne backe againe to their empty dennes, in a few dayes surcease their rage. Birdes with great chattering flie about their empty ne••ts, but in an instant they are appeased, and keepe their accustomed flight. There is no crea∣ture that so long time bewaileth the want of his young ones as man, who ac∣companieth his owne griefe, and is not onely touched with the sense thereof, but also with the conclusion; hee hath taken with himselfe to torment him∣selfe thus and so long time.* 1.12 And to the end thou maiest know, that it is an vn∣naturall thing to bee broken with sorrowes; first one and the same losse is more hurtfull to women then men, to barbarians then ciuill men, to the ig∣norant then the learned. But those that haue receiued their forces from na∣ture keepe the same tenure in all things. That which is diuers, is not natu∣rall: Fire at all times will burne the Inhabitants of all Cities, as well men as women. Iron will shew it selfe in euery body that it hath power to cutte vpon. Why? by reason that nature which doth nothing in vaine hath giuen them this property. One man feeleth pouerty, paine, losse of children in one kind, and that man in another kind as custome teacheth him, and as a feeble o∣pinion of fearing of those things that are terrible, maketh him eyther impati∣ent or constant.

CHAP. VIII.

AGaine that which is naturall decreaseth not by delay, but time consumeth sorrow. Bee shee neuer so rebellious, bee shee ne∣uer so continuall,* 1.13 be shee neuer so obstinate against remedies, yet time which is the most effectuall meanes to mitigate fury, will weaken it. True it is Marcia, that as yet thou art very much affli∣cted, ••nd it seemeth that thy ••orrow (not so v••hement a•• at first, but setled and obstinate) hath contracted a callosity, and is wholly heardned. Yet will time draw this from thee by little and little, as oftentimes as thou sh••lt exercise thy selfe in other things, thy minde shall finde some reliefe. Now thou hast a guard ouer thy selfe: b••t there is a great difference whether thou permittest or com∣mandest thy selfe to mourne. How farre more beseeming is it for thine honest and venerable manner of life to giue an end to thy sorrow, then to expect that it should end of it selfe? neither oughtest thou to attend the day wherein sor∣row should abandon thee against thy will. But beginne thou first to giue him pasport.

CHAP. IX.

WHence grow wee therefore so obstinate in our complaints, if this that is done,* 1.14 bee not by the commandement of nature. It is be∣cause wee thinke that euill shall neuer encounter vs, except then when wee feele the same: but as if wee had a letter of exempti∣on, and that wee were entred into a way more plaine then other men; the sinister accidents of our neighbours cannot teach vs that our danger is as great as theirs. We see so many dead bodies passe before our dores, and so many mourners that attend them with bitter teares, but in stead of thinking our death, wee shape out in our thought a mans garment for our young chil∣dren, wee runne to the warres, and already husband the inheritance and succes∣sion of our fathers. Wee see so many rich men sodainely become poore; yet neuer sinketh it into our hearts, that our riches may as easily slip out of our hands, as these did from them. Our fall therefore must bee the greater, be∣cause wee feele not that wee are subiect to slippe, but then when we are falne and brought vnto the lowest. Those things that are long time foreseene, assault vs more leasurly. Wilt thou know how thou art exposed to all strokes, and that those weapons that haue wounded thee, haue be••ne enforced against thee? Suppose that being disarmed, thou mountest vpon some wall, or some place well defenced by the enemy, hard to bee s••aled, and that thou expectest to be rescued,* 1.15 sodainely wounded, that tho•• makest a certaine account that those ar∣row••s, those stones, those darts that flie in th•• aire ar•• aimed at thee, when thou shalt see that they fall on one side, or behinde thy backe, then maiest thou cry; O fortune thou shalt not deceiue me, neither shalt thou surprise me, ey∣ther secure or negligent. I know thy designes, thou wouldest haue strucken me, but hast wounded another. But what man is he that euer considered his goods as if they should perish? who is he amongst vs that durst be so bold, as to thinke on his exile, his pouerty or sorrow? who is he, that if he bee admonished to thinke vpon his parents security, refuseth it not as a direfull and ominous pre∣sage,

and that prayeth not that this mishappe may sooner fall vpon the head of his enemy,* 1.16 or of that his vntimely Counsellor and admonisher? I thought not that this should come to passe, Thinkest thou that which thou knowest is incident vnto many, and that thou seest befall other men, cannot happen to thee: I hard an excellent verse and worthy Publius;

That which be fortunes one may fall to many.

This man hath lost his children, and thou maiest lose thine. That man i•• con∣demned, and thine innocency is vnder the stroke. This error deceiueth vs; this maketh vs effeminate, whilest we suffer those things which we neuer fore∣see that wee could succour. He taketh away the power of present euils, who foreseeth the future.

CHAP. X.

ALL these accessaries Marcia that shine about vs as children, ho∣nours; riches, large pallaces, and people that expect at our dore to salute and attend vs,* 1.17 a worthy, noble and fayre wife, and other such goods as depend on the inconstancy of mutable fortune, are but forraine and hired ornaments, which are not giuen but lent vs to decke the Theatre wherin the Sceane of our life is acted, and which ought to bee returned to those to whom they appertaine. Some of these must bee brought home the first day, others the next day; few shall perseuer, and continue to the end. Wee are not therefore to esteeme them, as if they were our owne, they are but lent vs. The vse of them is ours, according as it pleaseth him to whom they appertaine. Wee ought to haue in a readinesse those things which were giuen vs for a certaine time, that when they be called for, they may be restored without grudging. Wicked is that debtor that slan∣dereth and iniureth his creditor; so then wee ought to loue those in such sort, who are issued from vs, and whom according to the law of nature wee desire to leaue in this world after vs, and doe not amisse to wish that we may die be∣fore them, as if wee had no promise that they should suruiue vs or continue with vs. Oftimes the manner is to bee admonished to loue them as transitory things, yea as such as are already parting from vs, and let vs possesse all that which fortune hath giuen vs, as a thing that must vanish in an instant: take your pleasure of your children, and let them haue the fruition of yonr selues, and without delay enioy all that pleasure you affect. Let no man builde vpon to morrowes content, I haue giuen you too long, delay nothing of that howre in which we are. Wee are to make hast, death attendeth at our backes, and all this number that attendeth vs shall bee scattered in a moment. In lesse then a watchword,* 1.18 all these secreties shall be dispersed. All things are vanished from vs miserable men; you haue not the spirit to liue in following life; if thou com∣playnest the death of thy sonne, the fault is in the time wherein he was borne, for at that time was hee destinated to die. Hee was giuen thee vpon that con∣dition, and as soone as hee came out of thy wombe, hee ranne after this arrest. We are vnder the rigorous & vnconquered power of fortune, and endure our good or euill according to her pleasure: shee afflicteth, outrageth and tormen∣teth our bodies; some burneth shee with fire, either to ruine them, or to heale

them: some shall she cast into the sea, where after they haue strugled with the waues in stead of casting them on the shore of the sand, shee shall cast them into the bellie of some great fish. Othersome there are that shee shall detaine long time betwixt life & death, hauing tired them by diuers sorts of sicknesses; and likewise tied them to an vnconstant and lasciuious mistris, that maketh no account of her slaues, but sometimes tormenteth and striketh them, some∣times flattereth and rewardeth them. What neede wee complaine of the partes of our life. The whole is lamentable; new incommodities shall vrge thee before thou hast satisfied the olde: you ought therfore to moderate your selues in those things, especially, which you impatiently suffer, applying one part of your thoughts to the apprehension of euils, an other to the sense of them.

CHAP. XI.

BVt whence commeth it that thou thus forgettest thine owne estate,* 1.19 and the condition of the whole world. Thou art borne mortall, and hast brought forth mortall children; thou has•• a body enclined to corruption and distraction, hauing beene bea∣ten with so many accidents and sicknesses; didst thou hope in so fraile and weak a matter that thou crauedst some thing solide and eternall. Thy sonne is departed, that is, hee hath finished his course, to which end they that are more happy then thy sonne doe flocke and hasten. All these that wrangle at the Palace, that fill the Theaters, that pray in the Temp••••s, march th••ther but in a different place. Euen those things which you r••uerence•• and those things which you despise, one death shall make equall•• The same is comman∣ded thee by the inscription of the Oracle of Ap••llo•• Know thy selfe•• What is ma•••• a broken vessell, a thing moore fraile then may bee imagined; there need•• no great tempest to breake thee, wheresoeuer thou art cast thou art shattered. What is man? a weake, fraile, and naked body•• disarmed by nature, that ne••∣deth an others helpe, abandoned to all the outrages of fortu•••• in the greatest vigor of his age, exposed for a pray to wilde beasts•• subiect to bee spoyled by the next that meeteth him, framed of those thinges that haue no firmity or continuance, faire in appearance, and in outward lineame••••, but neither able to endure either colde, heate or trauell. Tending through his one and idlenes, to consume himselfe, fearing that which nourisheth him, because that some∣times the want thereof grieueth him, and sometimes the abundance bursteth him. Careful and suspitious of his security, his soule but borrow••d and loathing his abode, a sodaine noyse and vnexpected, and dreadfull t••••••h of the ••ar•• will driue her from him, and alwayes his nourishment corrupt••••h and humbleth him. Doe wee remember that death which is necessary to all m••n, striketh at one man? was not this building raised to th•• ••nd to bee ruined? His odors, sa∣uors, lassitudes, watchings, humors, meates and other things, without which hee could not liue, are the occasion of his death. On what side soeuer hee tur∣neth himselfe, he incontinently espieth the markes of his infi••mity. Euery ayre is not good for him, the change of waters, an vn••••customed breath of winde, and other light and hurtfull causes make him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that hee is sickly, rotten, broken, and that hee beganne his life with teares: Meane while•• what troubles doth this catife creature cause? how many thoughts ham••ereth hee in his

head being forgetfull of his owne condition? His thoughts wander vppon im∣mortalities and eternities, he disposeth of the affaires of his third and fourth generation, and whilst hee thus swelteth after these long apprehensions, death laies hould on him, and that which wee call age is but a small reuolution of yeeres.

CHAP. XII.

TEll me O Marcia, if thy sorrow haue any ground or reason in it, whether it respecteth thine incommodities or these of thy sonne? Whether art thou moued in the losse of thy Sonne,* 1.20 because thou hast receiued no pleasures by him, or for that thou mightest haue enioyed greater if he had liued longer? If thou say that thou hast receiued none, thou wilt make thy losse more tollerable. For men lesse com∣plaine, the misse of those things that haue giuen them neither ioy not pleasure. And if thou confesse that thy Sonne hath highly contented thee, thou art not to complaine, because hee is taken from thee, but to giue thankes for that thou hast enioyed. Thou hast likewise reaped great fruit of thy labours in his very education, except happily they, who carefully nourish yong whelpes and birds, and such like friuolous delights of the minde, conceiue some pleasure in the sought touch and wanton fawning of mute beasts, and that education it selfe is not the fruit of education, to those that nourish their children. Although therefore his industrie hath profited thee nothing, neither his diligence hath preserued thee, that his prudence hath not employed it selfe to doe thee good, yet that which thou hast had and loued is the fruit of thy labour. But it might either haue beene longer or greater? Yet art thou delt better with all, then if it had not happened at all; for if choice may be giuen, whether it be bet∣ter to be happie for a small time or neuer, it were better for vs to enioy those goods which must quietly passe from vs, then to haue none at all. Hadst thou rather haue had an vnthrift, who had nothing good in him, but the title and name of a Sonne, or this thy Sonne who was of so good a nature? The young man was quickly prudent, quickly pious, quickly a husband, sudainely a father, quickly a magistrate or officer,* 1.21 and sudainely a Priest; In briefe, all good things appeared sudainely in him. Scarcely doth long and great goods befall any man. There is no felicitie that endureth long, and attaineth his period, but that which encreased by little and little. The immortall gods intending to giue thee a Sonne for a little time, did presently giue thee him, such as hee might haue prooued by continuance. Neither canst thou say this, that thou onely art chosen by the gods to enioy thy Sonne a little while. Cast thine eyes euery way amongst thy acquaintance and strangers, thou shalt euery where meete with greater. Great Captaines and Princes haue tasted hereof. The Poets haue not exempted the gods themselues, and I thinke they haue thus made men belieue•• that the gods were deiected, that they might pacifie and lesson the sorrow we conceiue in the losse of our neerest friends. Prie I say into euerie place and thou shalt name me: no house so miserable that shall not finde solace considering another that is farre more afflicted and miserable. Assured∣ly I haue not so ill an opinion of thy manners that I would thinke that thou wilt more easily endure thy crosse, if I should recken vp vnto thee a great num∣ber of mourners. A troope of miserable men, is an enuious kind of solace, yet

some will I recken vp vnto thee, not to the end thou shouldest know, that this is wont to happen vnto men, for it is a ridiculous thing to collect the examples of mortality:* 1.22 but to the end that thou maist know that there were many who haue lessened their aduersities by bearing them patiently. I will begin with a most happie man, Lucius Scilla lost his sonne, neither did this casualty weaken his malice or his extreame rigor both towards enemies & his cittizens, neither was it the cause why hee might not seeme to vsurpe that surname securlie which he tooke vpon him after the losse of his sonne, neither affraide of the hatred of men on whose miseries his ouer fruitefull felicities consisted•• neither of the gods displeasure, whose crime it was that Scilla was so happie. But what Scilla was, let vs leaue amongst those things that are vncertaine, yet will his ene∣mies confesse that he tooke vpon him armes happily and gaue them ouer dis∣creetly. And in regard of that whereof we now speake, it appeareth that it is no great euill which attainteth and attaineth those that ar•• most happie. And no lesse let Greece admire that father, who during the time of his sacrifice recei∣uing tidings of his sonnes death, onely commaunded the musition to hould his peace, and tooke the crowne from his head, and afterwards duely finished the rest of the sacrifice.

CHAP. XIII.

THis did Puluillus the chiefe bishop,* 1.23 who at that time as hee held the post, and dedicated the Capitoll, receiued tidings of his sons death, and yet without making shew of that was tould vnto him, he pronounced the solemne hymme of the pontificall consecra∣tion, without interrupting the same with any sighes, and hearing the name of his sonne, he caused Iupiter to be propitious and fauourable to the cittie & common weale. Wouldst thou thinke that this sorrow which vpon the first day, and the chiefest assault could not draw the father from the publique altars and solemne dedication, should euer haue ceased? vndoubtedly Puluillus was worthy of a memorable dedication, worthy of a high priesthood, who desisted not from worshipping the gods; no not when they were displea∣sed: yet the same man as soone as he came home, and had satisfied his griefe with teares, and powred forth some lamentations, and hauing fulfilled those offices which were accustomably due vnto the dead, returned to the Capitoll with a merrie countenance. Paulus AEmilius about that time of his so renowned, triumph, wherein he led before his chariot the king Perseus as his prisoner, and giuen two of his sonnes to be adopted into another famelie, sawe the two o∣thers buried, whom he had reserued to himselfe? what were these two think∣est thou, when as Scipio was one of these that was giuen to be adopted? yet the Romane people beheld Paulus chariot voide & yet he vnmoued, yet declaimed he, and gaue thankes vnto the Gods, because they had graunted him his wish. For he had besought them often times, that if for so great a victorie some grea∣ter incomoditie might befall him, it might rather redowne to his priuate, then the publique damage. Seest thou with how great a minde he bare it? he gaue them thanks for the death of his children. Could such a change moue any man more? he had lost in one instant his solaces and his staies, and yet Per∣seus had not that credite to see Paulus AEmilius sad or distressed.

CHAP. XIIII.

* 1.24WHy should I leade thee thorow so innumerable examples of great men, and complaine their wretchednesse? as if it bee not a harder matter to finde out happy men? what house is it that hath continually stood at one stay in all respects? wherein there hath not hapned some disaster and perturbation? Consider the yeeres one after another, and marke those that haue beene Consuls, and if thou will Lucius Bibulus, and C••ius Caesar, and thou shalt see betwixt these two com∣panions that were mortall enemies, one and the same fortune. Lucius Bibulus a man more honest then stout, had two of his sonnes slaine at one time. They were both of them a scorne to an Egyptian souldier; so that the Father had more occasion to bewaile the indignity they had receiued at his hands, then the losse of his children; yet Bibulus that during the whole time of his Consu∣late, had kept house by reason of the euill carriages of his fellow Consull, re∣ceiuing tidings of this accident, came abroad and performed his wonted and publike offices. What could hee doe lesse then bestow one day on his two sons? so quickly ended hee his sorrow for his children, who had bewailed the Con∣sulate a whole yeare. Caius Caesar when hee had ouerrunne the whole Country of England, and could not containe his felicity within the Ocean, had tidinges that his daughter was dead, that by her losse drew the publike peace into dan∣ger: he had represented before his eyes his sonne in law, Cnaius Pompey, who could not endure that any other should be reputed or held more great in Rome then him••elfe, and who would haue opposed himselfe against all those which pretended to bee aduanced, although it were not to his disaduantage•• yet not∣withstanding all this, Caesar which three dayes executed that charge which was committed vnto him in being Generall, and ouercame his sorrow so soone as hee was wont to ouercome all other things.

CHAP. XV.

WHy should I relate vnto thee the funerals of the other Caesars, I will onely tell thee this,* 1.25 that in my iudgement fortune hauing so rudely assailed them, hath giuen by this meane•• a profitable in∣struction to the whole world; for shee maketh them see that the children of the gods, and such as should engender gods, haue not their owne fortune in their hands as they haue other mens. Di••••s Augu∣s••us hauing lost his children and nephewes; in briefe the whole Progeny of the Caesars supported his desolate house by adoption; yet endured hee these losses as temperately as if hee had beene already de••fied, and as if some one had done him iniury, if hee should haue come and complained of the Deities. Tiberius Caesar both had lost him whom hee begat, and him whom he had adopted, yet notwithstanding•• hee himselfe pronounced the funerall Oration, in prayse of his sonne in the publike place of declamations, and constantly stoode in the sight of the dead body, and had but a vaile betweene them to conceale the bo∣dy from the sight of the high Bishoppe. Although the Romane people wept, hee changed not his countenance, and made S••ianus know who stood fast by him, that hee was armed with patience to endure the losse of his children. Seest

thou not this great number of men of note, enriched with so many gifts of the mind, and so many honours both publike and particular, whome death (that deuoureth all thinges) spareth not? nay further, this tempest extendeth it selfe ouer the whole world; and without election destroyeth all things, and maketh them as her owne. Command euery man to giue a reason, and thou shalt finde that no man hath entred into this world but to forsake it.

CHAP. XVI.

I Know what thou wilt say. Thou hast forgotten that thou com∣fortest a woman,* 1.26 and onely tellest vs of the examples of men: but who dare maintaine that nature hath shewed her selfe partiall in womens be halfe, and hath restrained their vertues. Belieue mee they haue the same vigor and free faculty of mind, as men haue to apprehend that which is honest, and if they accustome themselues, they en∣dure both labour and sorrow as equally as they doe. Good gods in what City speake wee this? In that where Lucretia and Brutus deliuered the Romanes from the captiuity of Kings: wee must acknowledge our liberty to proceede from Brutus; and wee are indebted to Lucretia for Brutus. In that wh••re wee haue eternized Caelia the virgin in the number of the most valiant of her time, by reason of her vndaunted boldnes, when in despight of the enemy she swam ouer Tiber. Her statue on horsebacke, planted in the midst of that famous and sacred street, reproacheth our young men that are mounted in their Coaches, and enter in that sort into that City, wherein wee haue made presents of hor∣ses vnto women: but if thou wilt haue mee set thee downe an example of wo∣men that haue endured the death of their friends constantly, I will not begge it from dore to dore, I will produce out of our family the two Corneliaes. The first was Scipioes daughter, and mother to the Gracchi. She had twelue children that all of them died before her. As touching ten of them, whom Rome neither ap∣perceiued liuing or dead, if I may so speake it, the losse might in some sort bee borne. But in respect of those her two sonnes Tiberius Gracchus and Gnaius, (whom though men admit not for peaceable men, yet must they acknow∣ledge them for honourable Personages) she saw them slaine and vnburied. And when as some one in comforting her called her poore and desolate mother: Ne∣uer (saith shee) will I call my selfe vnhappy who haue bred the Grac••hi. The other Cornelia lost Liuius Drusus her sonne a yong. Gentleman,* 1.27 well borne of great hope, and one that followed the example of the Gracchi, who hauing le••t some suites of great importance vnperfect, which concerned the common-weale, was slaine in his owne house, and no man knew who did the deed•• yet Cornelia en∣dured the bloody and vnreuenged death of her sonne, that shee her selfe presumed to bee so bold, as to publish certaine Edicts in way of consola∣tion to the people. Now Martia shalt thou become friends with fortune a∣gaine, if thou consider that shee hath darted the like arrowes against thee, as shee did against the Scipios their mothers three children, and Caesars themselues. Life is replenished and broken with diuers accidents, which haue no long re∣pose, and almost no truce. Thou hast had fower children Marcia: but they say that there is no arrow that falleth in vaine that is shot against a troupe of the enemy. Is it so great a wonder that so great a company could not be ouer∣passed without enuy or losse? But in this was Fortune more vniust, because

shee not onely tooke away thy children, but made choice of them, yet say thou not that hee is wronged that hath his equall part and portion with his Lord. Fortune hath left thee two daughters and their children, and of all these shee hath onely borne away thy sonne, whom thou so much bewaylest, ha∣uing forgotten the other that was dead before him. Thou hast by this sonne two daughrers who resemble their father, if thou bring them vp and nourish them against thy heart, they are two mighty burthens; contrariwise if thou take pleasure in them, they will bee great comforts vnto thee. To this end brought hee them thee, that seeing these daughters they should refresh the memory of thy sonne, and not of thy sorrow. The husbandman when hee sees his trees ouerturned, which eyther the winde hath rent vp by the roote, or the violent tempest hath broken by a violent wherry, nourisheth the rest of their siens, and presently setteth the seedes of those plants hee hath lost, and in a moment (for time is as violent and headlong in increases, as she is in losses) they spring more flourishing then those that were lost. Substitute now these daughters of Metillius in his stead, and fill vp the voide place. Relieue thou our sorrow with a double solace. Truely this is the nature of mortall men, that nothing is more pleasing then that which is lost, wee are more partiall to those that are left, and more desirous of those that are taken from vs. But if thou wilt estimate how much fortune spared then, euee then when shee was an∣gry with thee, thou shalt know that thou hast more then comforts, witnesse so many Nephewes and two daughters.

CHAP. XVII.

SAy this likewise Marcia, it would moue mee, if fortune should respect euery one according to his behauiour Good men should neuer be seconded by misfortunes;* 1.28 but now I see without any difference, and after the same manner, that both good and bad are indifferently distressed: yet is it a grieuous matter to lose a young man whom thou hast brought vp, and that now would be both an help and ornament to his father and mother. Who denies that it is a grieuous mat∣ter? yet is it humane. To this wert thou borne, that thou shouldest lose, that thou shouldest die, that thou shouldest hope, that thou shouldest feare, that thou shouldest disquiet both thy selfe and others, that thou shouldest feare & wish death, and that which is worst of all, that thou shouldest neuer know in what estate thou wert. If a man should say to him that would embarke and sayle to Siracusa: Before thou set sayle, consider all the commodities and in∣commodities of thy voyage, then enter thou the shippe. These are the things that thou maiest wonder at. First of all thou shalt see Sicily diuided from Italy by a little arme of the sea, whereas in times past they were of one continent. The sea in that place maketh sodaine insults;* 1.29

Diuiding Italy frem Sicily.

Then shalt thou see (for thou must ouerpasse swiftly that dangerous in∣gate of the sea) that gulfe of Charibdis so renowned amongst the Poets, which as long as it is free from the southerne winds is peaceable and calme; but if any wind breath from that place, shee swalloweth shippes in her

deepe and deuouring billowes. Thou shalt likewise see the fountaine of A∣rethusa, so celebrated amongst the Poets, wonderfully cleere and pure in the bottome and bubling vppe water that is very colde, whether thou draw∣est it from the spring, or where shee stealeth from vnder the earth, when shee looseth her selfe, and passeth vnder the sea without intermixing it selfe loo∣sing her sweetnesse amiddest the salte water. Afterwardes thou shalt arriue in the securest hauen that Nature euer made, or that humane indu∣stry hath accommodated for the security of shippes, so assured and calme that the fury of most greatest tempests cannot any wayes afflict or encrease the same. Thou shalt see the place where the Athenian Nauy was dis∣comfited, when so many thousand men were lost, and lockt vppe in that renowned prison, so immeasurably high and builded of hewen stone. Af∣ter this the great City of Syracusa, and her towred walles of greater extent then are the Confines of diuers Cities, and no day without Sunne-shine. But after you haue seene all these commodities•• on the other side, there presenteth it selfe a most hote and vnholesome Summer time, which cor∣rupteth the benefites that the Winter had caused. There shalt thou find the Tyrant Dionisius sworne enemy of liberty, Iustice, and lawes; desirous of gouernement, and domination, and of life also. After his banishment; some he will burne, othersome he will beate, these vpon a fleight occasion hee wil command to bee beheaded, to satisfie his lusts; hee shall make vse both of male and female•• and amongst the loathsome troupes and attendants of kingly intemperance, it shall bee a small matter at one time to commit pol∣lution both wayes. Thou hast heard what may inuite thee, and what may withdraw thee; therefore eyther sayle onward or stay behind. If after this relation any man should say that hee would enter Siracusa: can hee iustly complayne against any man but himselfe, who should not haue falne vnto these miseries, except willingly and wittingly hee had sought them out? Thus speaketh Nature to vs all. I deceiue no man, thou if thou bearest chil∣dren maist haue them faire, maist haue them deformed, and if happily thou bring forth many, one of them may as well bee a Protector of his Country, as an other a Traitor. Thinke not that they shall mount to that high dig∣nity, that no man dare speake euill of thee for feare of them. But propose this to thy selfe, that they may bee so dissolute and licentious ••that euery one will curse them. Nothing hindreth them to acquite themselues of that deuotion which they owe vnto thee•• neyther are they forbidden to praise thee, Act dispose thy selfe, as if thou wouldest lay them on the Beere, eyther children, young men or olde men; for yeeres concerne this matter nothing at all: because there is no funerall, that is not accompanied with sorrow, and attended by the parents. If after these conditions, which haue been pro∣posed, thou buriest thy children, thou canst in no sort complaine against the gods who haue promised thee nothing.

CHAP. XVIII.

* 1.30NOw therfore let vs apply and compare all the course of our life according to this example; I haue tolde thee since thou art deter∣mined to visite Siracusa, what thing may please thee, and what of∣fend thee, & suppose that now when thou art to enter life I come and giue thee this counsell. Thou art to enter a City, that is common both to gods and men, comprehending all things, obliged to certaine eternall and irreuocable lawes; where the caelestiall bodies performe their course without repose or lassitude. There shalt thou see innumerable stars, and wonder to see one Planet that enlightneth all things; the sunne that by his dai∣ly course diuideth the spaces of day and night, equally distinguishing the yeere into Winter and Summer. There shalt thou see the nocturnall succession of the Moone borrow her milder and remisser heate from her brothers beames; sometimes hidden, and straight againe ouerlooking the whole earth with a full face, admirable in her encreases and decreases, being no one day the same, but altered continually. Thou shalt see the fierie Planets obseruing different courses, and shining oppositely the one against the other in their Spheares: on their so sodaine courses depend the destinies of nations, great and lesser effects doe follow, according to the benignity or malignity of their aspects. Thou wilt admire to behold the clouds that are gathered, the rains that fall, the ob∣lique flashes of lightning, and the thunder in the ayre; when tho•• shalt cast thine eyes vpon the earth that are already glutted with the sight of celestiall wonders; thou shalt be entertained with an other forme of things and wonder∣full in an other kinde. On this side the extent of spacious Planets that the eye cannot apprehend them, on that side the toppes of mountaines enuying the cloudes, charged with snow the downefall of riuers, the floudes issuing from one and the same sowrce, running from east to west, the forrests nodding their bowes vpon the toppes of the highest mountaines, so many woods with the beasts that inhabite them, and such variety of melodious birdes. After these the diuers situation of Cities, the nations separated the one from the other by the difficulty of passages, the one retiring themselues to the mountaines, the o∣ther spared themselues along the riuers sides, lakes, vallies, and marshes: the haruest forwarded by the husbandmans hand: the trees fruitfull without as∣sistance of man, the gentle fleating of breakes and of the lawndes, the pleasant gulfes, the commodious hauens, so many Isles dispersed in the Ocean, which by their situation distinguish the seas. I speake not of pearles or pretious stones, nor of golde that runneth amidst the sands of the most violent riuers, nor of those fires that are enkindled both in the earth and in the seas, nor of the O∣cean, which is the bond of Nations which separateth them with a triple straight, hauing otherwayes her perpetuall flux and reflux. When his billowes are layde, and steale along without any agitation of the winds, thou shalt see terrible ••ishes, and of incredible greatnesse: others more heauie which swimme along vnder the conduct of others, some very ••wift, and more sodaine in their turninges then a vessell with many Oares, others breathing out water to the great daungers of those that are Passengers. Thou shalt obserue on these Seas certaine Vesselles that goe to seeke out new found Landes, thou shalt see that humane boldnesse would know and discouer all thinges and thou thy selfe bee a looker and the greatest

Aduenturer in the voyage thou shalt learne & teach with some tending to the commoditie, other some to the ornament and others to the gouernment of this life. But on the otherside in this cittie there shall be a thousand plagues of bodie and soule, wars, thefts, imprisonings, shipwrackes, heate, could, terrible changes of the aire, and cruell punishment of our bodies and of those whom we loue most; but finally death which thou knowest whether it shall be sweete and easie or accompanied with tortures and grieuous punishments. Deliberate with thy selfe, and ballance carefully which of these two thou wilt entertaine, if thou hast part of those goods that are mentioned before, thou must issue like∣wise thorow the midst of those miseries. Thou wilt answer that thou wilt liue and why not? nay rather I thinke that thou pretendest not to approc•• such a thing whereof thou canst not endure that any one should pull any portion from thee! Liue therefore as it becommeth thee, no man saist thou hath de∣maunded our aduice. Our parents haue consulted about vs, who whereas they knew the condition of life verie well, haue brought vs vp vnto that end.

CHAP. XIX.

BVt to returne to consolations, wee must first of all see what the in∣firmitie is whereunto we ought to applie a remedie. Secondly in what manner.* 1.31 He that mourneth is moued with the losse of him whom he loued, and this appeareth tollerable in it selfe. For wee bewaile not those who during their life time are and ought to bee absent from vs, although we bee depriued of their presence and the aide they might yeelde vs. It is therefore opinion that tormenteth vs, and all affliction is as much to be prised as wee haue rated it at. The remedy is in our owne hands. Wee iudge that our friends, parents, and neere kinsfolke are absent, and wee de∣ceiue our selues? we haue dismissed thē; nay more we haue sent thē before with a purpose to follow them.* 1.32 This likewise moueth him that mourneth; I shal want one to defend me, & protect me frō contempt. To vse a scarce probable but yet a true comfort. In our cittie want of children getteth vs more grace then it ta∣keth from vs. And so much hath solitude enabled ould age that was wont to de∣stroy it; that some faine hatred of their children, some forsweare them, and wil∣lingly make themselues desolate, I know what thou wilt say, my detriments moue me not,* 1.33 for he is vnworthy of solace that taketh it heauily that his sonne is departed from him, as if he had lost a slaue, and that considereth in his sonne any other thing then his owne person. What therefore moueth thee Marcia? whether art thou agreeued because thy sonne is dead? or for that hee liued not long? If because he is dead, thou shouldst haue beene alwaies in griefe, for thou knowest alwaies that he should die.* 1.34 Thinke this that the dead are afflicted with no euils, those things that make hell terrible vnto vs, are but fables, wee know that the dead are not enfoulded in darkenesse, that they are not in prison. Wee beleeue not those flouds flaming with fire, neither the lake of forgetfulnesse, nor the iudgement seate, neither that there are any guilty in that so large liber∣tie, neither likewise that there are tirants. These are poeticall, and thus haue they tormented vs with vaine terrors. Death is both the solution and end of all sorrow, beyond which our euils passe not that reposeth vs in that tranquili∣tie wherein we lay before we were borne. If a man will be sorrowfull for those

that are dead, let him haue compassion likewise on those that are vnborne. Death is neither good nor euill. For that may bee either good or euill which is any thing, but that which of it selfe is nothing, and reduceth all things to no∣thing, betrayeth vs to no fortune. For those things that are good and euill haue relation to some matter. Fortune cannot detaine that, which nature hath dismissed, neither can he bee a miserable man that is no man. Thy sonne is ex∣empted from those bands wherein he was in bondage. He is entertained by a great and eternall peace, he is not afflicted with the feare of pouertie, the care of riches, the prouocations of lust attainting the minde by p••easures, hee is not touched with the enuy of another mans felicity, neither are his modest eares beaten with any slanders, hee beehouldeth neither publique nor priuate slaughters, he taketh not care for that which is to come, neither dependeth he on euents which tend and incline alwaies from euill to worse. At last he is stai∣ed in such a place, from whence nothing may driue him away, and where no∣thing affrighteth him.

CHAP. XX.

* 1.35O How ignorant are men of their miseries, who praise not death which is the best inuention of nature, which whether it include fe∣licitie, or repe calamity, or terminateth sacietie or lassitude of old age, or carries away youth in his flower whilst better things are hoped for, or cutteth off childehood before hee vndergoe dange∣rous courses; The end of al, the remedy of many, the wish of diuers men, deser∣uing better of no men, then of those to whom shee came before she was called. She dismisseth the slaue in dispight of his Lord, she vnchaineth prisoners, shakes off the fetters of those men whom tirants hold captiue. She sheweth banished men that haue alwaies their hearts and eies fixed vpon their country, that it is a small matter amongst whom they are laid and buried. Shee when as fortune hath diuided common goods vnequally. And hath giuen to two brothers diffe∣rent things, maketh them equall. She it is that hath neuer done anie thing ac∣cording to another mans liking, she it is in which no man hath felt his humi∣lity, ••he it is that hath obaied no man, she it is Marcia whom thy father desired. She it is I say that bringeth it to passe that to bee borne is no punishment, that causeth me not to loose my courage when I am threatned by infinite accidents that maketh mee preserue my minde entire and maister of himselfe; I know where I must arriue; I see on this side Iibbets of diuers fashions, some hanging their heads downeward towards the earth, some thrust thorow with stakes, some hauing their armes stretched out vpon the gallowes. I see cords, strap∣adoes, and tortures for euery member of the body, yea likewise I see death. On the oth••rside, I perceiue furious enemies, and proude cittizens, but heere like∣wise see I death.* 1.36 It is no hard matter to serue, when as at suth time as a man cannot endure his maister, he may attane his libertie by stepping one foote for∣ward, against the iniuries of life I haue the benefit of death. Thinke how much good a fit and commodius death affordeth vs, and what euils haue befallen ma∣ny by liuing too long If Pompey that honor and support of our common weale had died at Naples, vndoubtedly a man might haue said, Behold the prince of the Romaine pleople is deported. But now the adiection of a little more time made him fall from the height of his dignitie. Hee saw his legions slaine before

his face, and what miserable remainders were these of that battaile, where the Senators led the armie to their end, that their Generall might be saued? For anon after he saw the AEgyptian murtherer, and presented his so venerable bo∣die to a souldier that slew him. And had his life beene saued, he had repented himselfe. For what a shame had it beene that a King should haue giuen Pom∣pey his life? If Marcus Cicero had died then, when he deliuered himselfe from that massacre, which Catili••e pretended to execute vpon him and Rome, that Common-weale that was defended by him, had called him her protector and safegard. Afterwards had he followed his daughter, then might his death haue beene esteemed happie, hee had not seene those threatning swords that were brandished ouer the heads of his Citizens, nor the goods of those that were murthered, giuen to the murtherers, in such sort that riches were cause of their deathes, who possessed them, he had not vnderstood that those goods that were taken from Consuls were sold at out-cries; nor of the murthers, nor of the spoiles which were recompenced out of the publike treasure, nor of the warres and rapines of three as bloudie as Catiline. Had the sea swallowed vp Cato when he returnd from Cyprus, with those goods which the King had bequeathed by his will to the Roman people, or had he perished with all that siluer which he brought with him, which was afterwards employed in the maintenance of ci∣uill warre, had he not died happily? Surely he had carried away this honour with him, that no man had or durst doe any fault in Catoes presence. But now the adiection of a few yeares constrained this man, who was borne to main∣taine both his owne, and the publike libertie to flie from Caesar, and to follow Pompey.* 1.37 No euill therefore hath vntimely death brought to Metillius. Nay more, he is thereby exempted from all euils; yet died hee too soone and too yong. First presuppose that he liueth yet, and consider how little time is al∣lotted man, in regard of the yeares of his life. And what is this? We are placed in this world for a moment of time, and shall in lesse then an instant dislodge from the same: and hauing entered thereunto vpon this condition, we haue al∣wayes our eye fixed on that place whither we must tend: I speake of our yeares which fleete away with an incredible swiftnesse. Examine how many yeares, Ci∣ties haue stood, and thou shalt see how little while they haue lasted, yea euen those that most glorie in their antiquitie. All humane things are fraile, and scarce occupie any place in this vast extent of infinite time. We say that all this earth, with the people thereof, these Cities, riuers, and that sea which incloseth them, is but a point in respect of the vniuerse. Our life is lesse then a point, if it be compared with all that time which is past, and is to come, which hath farre greater extent then the world, considering that time so oftentimes turneth and measureth himselfe in this so great inclo••ure of the same. What auaileth it vs then, to extend that which being brought to his full extent, will be almost as much as nothing? In one kinde we haue liued enough, and long enough, if it sufficeth vs. And if thou liuest as long as I can desire, and that therein old age be extended so farre as thou mayest make reckoning of ninety or of an hundred yeares: yet if thou wilt fixe thy thought vpon all the time of eternitie, there will be little difference betwixt the shortest and the longest life: if considering how many yeares euery one hath liued,* 1.38 if thou compare them with those wherein he hath not liued. Againe, he died not vntimely, for he liued as long as he should haue liued: for there was no ouerplus of time wherein he should haue liued longer. The age of old men is not alike, no more is that of beasts. Some creatures are a weary of life after fourteene yeares, and this is their longest

age, which to a man is but the first. Each one hath a different facultie of liuing. There is no man dieth too soone, who was not to liue longer then he liued. Eue∣rie mans time is prefixed, it shall alwayes continue where it was setled; neyther shall eyther diligence or care aduance him farther: he knoweth that he breaketh his braines, and looseth his labour that pretendeth the contrary. Thy sonne hath runne his race, and hath attained to the prefixed end of his life. Thou art not therefore to loade thy selfe in this sort. He might haue liued longer. His life was not interrupted, and fortune neuer crossed the course of his yeares. E∣uery one is payed that which is promised him: the des••inies are carried accor∣ding to their proper vehemency: they neyther lengthen or shorten the time: in vaine are they besought or sollicited. Euery one shall haue as much as the first day of his life hath assigned him. From that time he began to see the light, he hath entered the way of death, and approached: destinie those yeares that were added to his youth were s••olne away from life:* 1.39 we are all in this errour, that we thinke that none but olde and aged men are neere vnto death, whereas infancy, youth, and euery other age l••adeth vs thereunto. The Fates ply their businesse, they steale from vs the apprehension of our death; and to the end she may more easily steale vpon vs, she masketh her selfe vnder the name of life. Childehood carrieth away infancy, youth rauisheth childehood, and olde age youth: but if thou calculate well these decreases, they are as many decreases and losses.

CHAP. XXI.

* 1.40THou complainest Martia, that thy sonne liued not so long as hee might, but how knowest thou whether it were expedient for him to liue longer, or mo••e profitable for him that he died thus? What man canst thou finde at this day, whose affairs are so firme and well assured, that he hath no cause to feare that which is to come? Humane a••••aires steale and slip away. Neyther is there any part of our life more declining and incertaine, then that which pleaseth vs most. And ther∣fore the most happy ought to wish for death; because amidst this inconstancy and confusion of things, nothing is certaine but that which is past. Who could assure thee that this faire bodie of thy sonne, and the marueilous care that hee had of his honour, maintayned in the middest of so many eyes of a Cittie, foun∣ded and confounded with dissolutions and excesse, could in such sort warrant himselfe from sickenesse, that vntill olde age his beautie and seemlinesse should haue remained vntouched?

CHAP. XXII.

* 1.41PRopose vnto thy selfe a thousand infirmities of the soule•• for ma∣ny excellent spirits haue not maintained vnto their olde age, that hope that we had conceiued of them in th••ir youth; but often∣times they haue degenerated. In their latter dayes therefore con∣sequently, and to their greater shame, they haue addicted them∣selues to palliardise, which hath made them soile the faire beginnings of their life. Or being plunged in drunkennesse and gourmandise, their principall care

hath beene to know what they should eate or drinke. Adde hereunto the burnings, the ruines, shipwrackes, the operation of Surgeons, who cut off their members, pull out their braines, th••ust their hands into their entrailes, and heale their priuie parts, not without excessiue paine: after these, banishment, for thy sonne was no honester man then was Rutillius: and prison, sure he hath not bin a wiser man then Socrates: and with the stab of a Poinard that was voluntarily buried in his breast, sure he was not more vertuous then Cato. In considering these things thou shalt finde that they are happy whom nature hath retyred in good time into a place of securitie, considering that in the end they could not receiue any other reward of their life, then that or some such like. There is no∣thing so deceitfull as mans life, nothing so tray••••rous. No man would haue ac∣cepted life except it had beene giuen at vnawares: and therfore it is a great hap∣pines not to be born, and another happines that death is neere to shorten that life,* 1.42 and put vs in that estate wherein we were before we liued. Call to thy re∣membrance those wretched times, wherin S••ianus made a present to Atrius Se∣c••••dus his Clyent of the confiscation of thy fathers goods•• which he tooke from him by reason of some confident speeches he had vttered: for thy father could not holde his peace, se••ing that men intended not onely to make vs subiect to S••ianus, but that by degrees he mounted to the soueraigne authority. It was decreed that a statue should be raised for him in Pompei•• Theater, which the Emperour caused to be reedified because it had beene burned. Cardus exclai∣med, That then the Theatre was wholly ruinated. And what heart would not haue burst, seeing S••ianus sit vpon Pompeis Cinders, and a wicked souldier enstalled in the place of a great Captaine? Notwithstanding the sta••u•• was reared with a subscription. On the other side those Masties that this cursed S••ianus nourished with humane bloud, to the end that they should be priuate to himselfe, and in∣raged against all others, began to barke on euery side against thy father, who thought not of them. What should he do••? To maintaine himselfe in life, it behooued him to humble himselfe before S••ianus; to die, to haue licence from thee his daughter. But it was impossible for him to pacifi•• S••i••••••s, and his daughter lesse; yet at the last Cordus resolued with himselfe to deceiue his daughter. Hauing therefore taken his bath, the more easily to deceiue her, he retired himselfe into his chamber, as if he intended to take some re••ection be∣fore his supper; and hauing dispatched his seruants and pages about some bu∣sinesse, he cast some morsels of meat out of the window, to the end it might be thought that he had eaten. Afterwards, as if he had sufficiently nourished him∣selfe in his chamber, he abstained from his supper, continuing the same course the second and third day: vpon the fourth day the infirmitie of his body disco∣uered what he meant. Embracing thee therefore he said, My deerest daughter, I haue concealed nothing from thee during my whole life, but this, I am entred the way of death, and haue almost attained the halfe: thou neyther shouldest, nor canst recall me back againe. After he had spoken this, he commanded the lights to be carried away, and retired himselfe into an obscure place. This act of his being discouered, e∣uery one was glad that the prey was taken out of the throats of those greedie Wolues. His accusers by S••ianus incitation, presented themselues before the siege of the Consuls, complayning that Cordus was a dying, to the end to obtain permission to withdraw him from that whereunto they had compelled him; so much were they aggrieued that Cordus should escape their fingers. The que∣stion was vpon a matter of great importance, whether those that were adiudg∣ed to die should be hindered from procuring their death. Whilst this matter

was in debating, and the accusers goe and come, Cordus was deliuered from their clawes. Seest thou not, Marcia, how vnexpectedly the reuolutions of wretched times doe steale vpon vs? Doest thou weepe because one of thine must needs die? Thou seest how hard a thing it was for him to get this priui∣ledge.

CHAP. XXIII.

* 1.43BEsides this, that euery future thing is vncertaine, and the way to the worse is more assured: it is easier for vs to ascend to heauen, whereas our mindes are quickly dismissed from humane con∣uersation. For they haue gathered lesse drosse and ordure, and being deliuered, before which were confused and ouerwhelmed with the meditation of earthly things, they are more light to flie backe againe to their originall; and more easily ouerpasse all that which may hinder them. For neuer did great wits take pleasure to remaine in their earthly prisons, they are glad to forsake them, and breake thorow them: these so strict limits are dis∣pleasing to them, being accustomed to raise themselues aboue the heauens, and to contemne from aboue all humane and base things. Thence is it that Plato crieth, That a wise mans minde is wholly intended vpon death, that this he willeth, this he meditateth, that he is alwayes possessed with this desire, when he beholdeth exterior things. What thoughtest thou, Marcia, when thou sawest a yong man reple∣nished with aged wisedome, a minde triumphing ouer all pleasures, reformed, deuoid of vice•• rich without auarice, raised to honor without ambition, desi∣rous to haue pleasures without dissolution to keepe him long time? What soe∣uer hath attained his perfection hasteth to his end. Perfect vertue retireth it selfe and vanisheth from our eyes: neither do the fruits expect their Autumne, that are ripe in Summer. The fire the more it shineth, the sooner is it extin∣guished, and that lasteth longest which being mixed with a moist matter and hard to kindle, and smothered in smoke, shineth thorow the smother. For that which nourisheth it, as it were by constraint, is the cause it continueth more long time. So good spirits, the more famous they are, the shorter they liue. For whereas there is no place of encrease, there decrease is the nearer. Fabianus said, and our predecessors also haue seen it, that there was an infant at Rome, as great as an absolute man, but he liued not long, and euery one that had iudge∣ment was of opinion that hee should die shortly. For he could not encrease so much in yeares, as hee had attained by his stature. So maturitie is a token of imminent ouerthrow, and the end aproacheth where encreases are con∣summed.

CHAP. XXIIII.

BEginne to estimate him by his vertues,* 1.44 and not by his yeares. He hath liued enough, he was left a pupill, and vntill the fourteenth yeare of his age he was vnder the gouernment of Tutors, but al∣wayes vnder his mothers custodie: when hee had a house of his owne, yet would he not leaue thine. Being a yong man, both in stature, beautie, and other strength of the bodie, borne to be a souldier, he re∣fused warfare, because hee would not leaue thee desolate. Consider Marcia, how many mothers there bee in diuers houses, that see their children ve∣rie little. Thinke you that those mothers, whose sonnes follow the warres, lose in respect of them whole yeares, and liue solitarilie? then shalt thou know that there is much time remaining thee, in which thou hast lost nothing. Thy sonne neuer departed out of thy sight, hee framed his studies in thy pre∣sence, shewing himselfe of a most excellent spirit, but it was accompanied with a modest feare, the which hath buried many perfections in diuers men. He was one of the goodliest Gentlemen that a man might behold, yet behaued he him∣selfe with so great temperance and modestie, that amiddest so great a troope of men-corrupting women, he gaue no occasion of suspition: and whereas some of their impudence had attempted so far as to tempt him, he blushed and was angrie with himselfe, because he had pleased. This holinesse in his manners was the cause, that so yong as he was, he was thought worthie to be entertained a∣mongst the number of those that intermedled with those things that appertai∣ned to religion, and that by the aid and assistance of his mother. In contempla∣tion of these his vertues so behaue thy selfe, as if he were more conuersant with thee now then euer. Now hath he nothing to withdraw him, he shall neuer put thee in care, or cause thee to sorrow, and all the griefe thou hast conceiued for so good a sonne is finished: the rest being exempted from casualties, are full of pleasures, if thou knowest how to make vse of thy sonne, and if thou knowest that which hath beene most precious in him, thou hast but lost the Image and resemblance of him, although it resembled him not rightly. For he is eternall, and for the present in better estate then euer, despoiled of forren incombran∣ces, and at his full libertie. These bones that thou seest wreathed about with nerues, this skin that couered vs, this countenance, and these ministring hands, and those other members that enclose vs, are the bonds and fetters of the soule which is deiected, obscured, infected, and hindered from knowing the truth of those things that appertaine vnto her, and distracted with error. Shee hath a grieuous combate with this flesh, to the end she may not be made captiue and slaue vnto it. She extendeth and raiseth her selfe to the place from whence she was sent: there is her eternall repose, where in stead of troubles and confusi∣ons of this world, she shall see nothing but that is cleare and pure.

CHAP. XXV.

THou hast no cause therefore to runne vnto thy sonnes sepulchre.* 1.45 There lye his bones and ashes, the worser part of him, and most troublesome vnto him, and are no more parts of him then his raiment and other couertures of his bodie. He is fled away whol∣ly, and is departed wholly out of this world, without leauing a∣ny thing of himselfe vpon the earth: and afterwards hauing made a little pause

aboue vs, to clense him from those spots that were remaining in him, and to shake o••f the rust of this corruptible life, he hath beene carried to farre higher places, where he conuerseth with the happier soules, and hath beene entertai∣ned by that holy company of Scipioes, Catoes, and others that haue contemned this life, and now enioy a full libertie by the benefit of death. There Martia thy father embraceth his nephew (although that there al be parents) ioyfull to see him enlightned with a great brightnesse, and teacheth him the courses of the neighbouring Starres, not by coniecture, but as one that is truely expert, and leadeth him willingly into the secrets of Nature. And as he that showeth the singularities of an vnknowne Citie, is an agreeable guest to that stranger that hath not seene them: so is this domesticall interpreter welcome to his nephew, that examineth the causes of celestiall things, and taketh delight to prie into the secrets of earth.* 1.46 For he hath a singular contentment to behold from on high that which he hath left. Behaue thy selfe therefore in such sort, O Marcia, as if thou wert in the presence of thy father and thy sonne, now such as thou knowest them, but without comparison more excellent and highly raised. Be ashamed to estimate them, so as if they were in some abiect and contemptible estate, bewaile not them who are happie, and who haue attained through ••ree and spacious fields to the place of eternitie. They are not hindered by enter∣course of seas, neither by high mountaines, nor by deepe valleyes, nor by the dangerous straits and quicksands of the sea. Their way is easie euery where, they may change, and end them easily, the one teach the other, and are inter∣mixed with the Starres.

CHAP. XXVI.

* 1.47THinke then, O Marcia, that thy father (who before time had cre∣dit with thee, as thou haddest with thy sonne) addressing him∣selfe vnto thee, from the celestiall tower speaketh thus. But not with that thought wherewith he deplored the ciuill warres, and caused them euer to bee detested, who made vp the rowles of those who were proscribed, but with a sence as farre more cleare, as he is more highly raised. Daughter, why so long time remainest thou in discomfort? Why art thou so long time blinded in the ignorance of the truth? to thinke that thy sonne hath beene hardly dealt withall, in that being wearie of this life, he hath retired himselfe amongst his ancestors. Knowest thou not with what stormes Fortune disturbeth all things? how little fauour shee sheweth, except to those, who haue not in any sort frequented with her. Shall I recount vnto thee by name those Kings that should haue been most happy, if death had more maturely taken them from their instant euils? or those Roman Captains, who wanted nothing of their greatnesses, if somewhat had beene diminished of their yeares? or those noble and famous persons, who haue yeelded their neckes, and expected the stroake of their souldiers swords? Behold thy father and thy grand-father. The one fell into a murth••rers hand, that tooke away his life. I offered my selfe to no other mens hands, and forbearing my meate, made it knowne, with how great a minde I had written. Why is he so long time lamented in our house, who died most happily? We are altogether vnited to∣gether, and see that you that are aliue are inuironed with profound darknesse. There is nothing amongst you that is to bee wished for, nothing excellent

or worthy: but all things are humble, heauie, and incertaine: neither see you but a little parcell of our light. Shall I tell thee that ••eere are no warres, nor battels fought by land or sea, that Parricides are neither imagined nor thought vpon here, that our Courts are not con••used with plea••, bu•• that our daies are perpetuall, that nothing is done in obscuritie, that our mindes are simple, our hearts open, our liues laid open to euery one, and that all ages and euents are manifest? I tooke delight to collect togeth••r all the aduentures of a whole age, in a corner and remote place of the world, and such act••ons as were attempted by a few. Now may I see so many ages, the course and carriage of so many yeares, and whatsoeuer time is past. Heere may I behold those Kingdomes that are rising, and those that ••all to ruine, the ouerturne of mightie Cities, and new courses of the seas. For if it may yeeld thee any comfort to vnderstand the secrets of common destinie. I tell thee, that nothing that standeth shall con∣tinue stedfast: age shall destroy and carrie away all things with it, and shall play her part not onely amongst men (for how slight a portion are they of Fortunes power?) but also in places, countries, and parts of the world. So many moun∣tains shall she suppresse, and enforce others in another place: shee shall sup vp the seas, and turne riuers; and breaking of the commerce of Nations, shall dis∣solue the societie of mankind. In other places she shall deuoure Cities with horrible yawning of the Earth, and shake them with Earth-quakes: shee•• shall cause pestilent exhalations to arise from the earth, and shall couer the inhabited countries with deluges of water, killing euery creature, drowning the whole world, and with vast fires shall terrifie and burne all mortall men. And when the time shall come, that the world shall cease, to the end it may be renewed againe: these things shall beate and breake one another, and all things set on fire•• all that which now shineth by an artificiall brightnesse,* 1.48 shall bee consu∣med by one and the same fire. We also that are blessed soules and partaker•• of eternitie, when it shall seeme good vnto God to warpe these things once againe, when all things shall be confounded; then we who are but a small part of this great ruine, shal returne into our ancient elements. O Mar∣cia, how happie is thy sonne, who al∣readie knoweth all these things.

The End of the Booke of Comfort.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Seneca in this place intending to comfort Mar∣cia in the death of her sonne, pro∣poseth two things in this Preface. The one the greatnesse of her courage in the death of her father. The other the good sh••e did vnto the Romans by producing his ••••stories, which testifie that shee patiently endu∣red such a losse.
• * 1.2

  He excuseth the vehemencie, hee is resolued to vse considering the vigor of Mar••••∣as minde, the time past since her afflictions, and the con∣tempt of those cons••lations that haue beene mi∣nistred vnto her.
• * 1.3

  Entring into the matter, he ••••gin∣neth to ••o••fort her by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fi••••l of Octauia which made her s••lf•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.4

  ••. Liuia contra∣riwise disgesteth the death of her sonne wisely and patiently wherby she was esteemed
• * 1.5

  The th••••d, So••••ow shou••d not be ••xt••eame, or perpetuall.
• * 1.6

  A pro••fe h••re••f by a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wh••ch Areus 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to ••a••a∣••io, Seneca p••odu••e••h ••••re to the end hee may perswade Ma••cia more pow••••••••lly.
• * 1.7

  The ••ourth. Wee must ac∣custome our selu••s in time to yeeld a w••ll••••g care, to those that speake of them•• whose de∣cease we h••ue bewa••••ed in bit∣te•• ••eares.
• * 1.8

  The fifth•• In aduersity one∣ly w••e are to make proo••e of the constancy of our mind.
• * 1.9

  The sixth, Since that sor∣row is vnprofi∣table, because death is not mo∣ued thereby, wee ought to refrain sorrow.
• * 1.10

  The seuenth, Wee must keepe a measure in sorrow.
• * 1.11

  Nature teacheth it not.
• * 1.12

  The eighth, I•• is the proper∣••y of ••••w••rdes ••nd d••generate p••••s••ns to tor∣ment themselues much.
• * 1.13

  The ninth, We must suffer time to extin∣guish sorrow.
• * 1.14

  The tenth, The common condition of all manki••d should m••ke vs resolute otherwi••e af∣fl••ctions would very hardly be disgested.
• * 1.15

  The ele••enth, A••flictions that a••e for seen are sl••ght.
• * 1.16

  The tw••lfth, That which may befall any man may also be for∣tune vs.

  When it is come, let vs endure it.
• * 1.17

  The thirteenth, Al•• our goods are g••uen vs to be re••tored again at Gods plea••ure l••t vs no•• bee aggrieued that he redemand them.
• * 1.18

  The fourteenth, It is Gods ordi∣nance that hath limited our life which wee ••••ll depart witha••l, when it pleaseth him.
• * 1.19

  The fifteenth, Since wee are mortall, let vs not thinke it strange or euill if that which is begotten by vs, be subiect to death.

  The description of the miseries of life.
• * 1.20

  Sixteenth. Whe∣ther it be that those that are deceased, haue beene in ioy lit∣tle or long time, with vs their condition i•• such that we haue no occasion to be∣waile them.
• * 1.21

  The Seuenteenth, The more excellent the goods we haue are, the more willing should we be to restore them because the diuine proui∣dence is not ac∣customed to al∣low vs a long possessio of that, which from the beginning he hath perfected.
• * 1.22

  The eighteenth Other mens af∣flictions should teach vs to dis∣gest our enemie.
• * 1.23

  Other examples of Zenopho•• and Puluillus.
• * 1.24

  The four••teenth, Examples of Lucius ••ibu∣lus.
• * 1.25

  The sixth ex∣ample of Augu∣stus.
• * 1.26

  To satisfie Mar∣cias ob••••ction, that these are the examp••es of m••n, he induceth Lucretia.
• * 1.27

  The nineteenth, He answereth a new complaint of Ma•••• as, and sheweth h••r what occasion shee hath ••o com∣fort her selfe, considering these comfo••ts that are le••t behind, and this is it that wee ought to con∣sider in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a••∣flictions, t••••t God o••ten••••mes leaueth i•• many helpes, w••en hee might take a∣way all.
• * 1.28

  The twentieth, The condition of our life ought to inuite vs to con∣stan••y.
• * 1.29

  Vnder an ex∣cellent descrip∣tion of a voyage by sea in •• Sicily he sheweth to what goods and euils our liues are allotted, to the end in pro∣sperity to pre∣pare vs to ad∣uersity.
• * 1.30

  An application of that he hath spo∣ken of the voy∣age to Syracusa••
• * 1.31

  The One and twentieth, They that are decea∣sed are not ab∣sent, neither haue abandoned vs, but haue gone before vs, and we shall so∣dainely follow after them.
• * 1.32

  The two and•• twentieth, Oft times it is better for vs to be al∣on•• then in com∣panie.
• * 1.33

  The three and twentieth, Since those that are dead were cre∣ated to die, we should not weepe for them.
• * 1.34

  The foure and twenteth, Death is the end of mi∣series, But this must be so vn∣derstood that it is intended onely in respect of the body and till the time assigned wherein the world shall haue an end.
• * 1.35

  The ••i••e and twentieth, He prosecuteth his discourse wh••rein he proueth more perticularly the commodities of death.
• * 1.36

  The sixe and twenti••th, One dea••h dis••har∣geth vs of ••a••y sorrow••s.
• * 1.37

  The seuen and twentie••h, That no man dieth too soone.
• * 1.38

  The eight and twentieth, No man dieth be∣fore his time, be∣cause he hath li∣ued as muc•• as he ought.
• * 1.39

  The nine and twen••••••th, ••e are all in error, there is no man more estranged ••rom 〈◊〉〈◊〉 th••n another.
• * 1.40

  Th•• thirtie••h, It is ••••ly Go•• th••t k••ew••••h wh••n it i•• ••••pedi••n•• ••or v•• ••o leau•• our li••••s.
• * 1.41

  Th•• one ••nd 〈◊〉〈◊〉, No ••an know••th his d••stiny, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 adui••••d cannot fore∣••••e th••t which is t•• come to pass••; we ought not therefore to be∣w••••••e ••hose that d•••• in you••h.
• * 1.42

  A 〈…〉〈…〉 of Cro∣mutius Co••∣dus constancy and death, yet let men temper their iudge∣ment: there is a law about Stoi∣call when that must reforme these resolutions.
• * 1.43

  The two and thirtieth, Our bodies are the prisons of our soules, which conceiue great content to get their recourse to heauen.
• * 1.44

  The three and thirtieth, He that hath liued vertuously, ought not to be bewai∣led in his depar∣ture out of this world, where the longer he had stayed, the more might he haue beene corrupted.
• * 1.45

  The foure and thirtieth, The bo∣dy is not the man but the soule, which leaueth nothing of her selfe vpon the earth.
• * 1.46

  The fiue and thirtieth, We ought not lamēt those, that with out comparis••n are more happie out of the wor••d, th•• in the world.
• * 1.47

  For conclusion and confirmati∣on of all that whi••h is past•• be∣fore ••e induceth Marciaes fa∣th••r to discou••r the ioyes of th••se that are dead, and too Stoically speaketh he of the end of ••he world. ••augh at the absurdities, pitie his igno∣rance, embrace the best.
• * 1.48

  Stoicall conclu∣sions, prayse God that hath giuen thee a better light.