The five days debate at Cicero's house in Tusculum between master and sophister.

SECT. XXI. The manner of subduing our Affections to Rea∣son.

FOR the Soul is distributed into two parts, whereof the one partaketh of Reason, the other is Irrational: when therefore it is enjoyn'd, that we should govern our selves, the Sense of the Injunction is, that our Reason should restrain our Passion. There is in the Souls of all men, in a man∣ner, naturally somewhat lasche, mean, low-spi∣rited, in a sort emasculate and feeble; were there nothing else, man would be the most deformed thing in the World; but Reason the Lady and Em∣press of all things, is at hand to help; which bearing up on her own strength, and advancing farther, becometh, at length, accomplish'd Vertue. The man, therefore, must take care that this may rule that part of the Soul which ought to obey.

How should it do that, say you? why, as a Lord his Slave, as a General his Souldier, as a Parent his Child. If that soft and tender part of the Soul, which I called Lasche, shall give it self over to effeminate Lamentations and Tears; let it be bound and secur'd by the guards of Friends and Allys. For we often see Persons aw'd by Shame, who could not be wrought upon by any Reason. These, therefore, like Slaves, let us bind in Chains, and keep under guard; but those who have some steadiness, but yet are not of the stoutest, these we should call back with like Admonitions, as good Souldiers are rally'd to make head and maintain their ground. That wisest man of Greece, in the Play called Niperiae, maketh no great Lamentation, or rather but a very moderate one, when he saith;

Tread gently, make ev'n steps with ease, Least by the choque, my Pain increase.

Pacuvius hath done this better than Sophocles, for in this latter, Ulysses is brought in making piteous moan over his wound; and yet here, though he do but let fall a groan, those very men who carry him off wounded, regarding the Gravity of the Person, stuck not to say;

Ulysses, though we you behold Sore-wounded, yet let us be bold, You too, almost, faint-hearted are, Of an old beaten Souldier.

The judicious Poet perceives, that acquaintance with trouble, is no mean School-mistress of Pati∣ence. Yet Ulysses, in great Pain, crys out, not out-ragiously.

Hold, stifle, stay me; my wound probe; 'Tis fester'd; Oh! for Pain I sob.

Then is ready to saint away; but soon recovering, quiets himself.

Wrap me warm; presently be gone; Void all the Room; leave me alone; For to handle thus, and jog my Sore, Doth only fret and teize it more.

See you how still he is grown, not upon abate∣ment of his Bodies Pain; but repressing the Vexa∣tion of his mind? Therefore towards the latter end of the same Play he chideth others, and that being ready to dye.

In grief we may complain, but must not vex; That manly is; this like the feebler Sex.

The softer part of his Soul was so rang'd under the Obedience of Reason, as a discreet Souldier under a strict General.