ILl Fortune never crush't that man, whom good Fortune deceived not.

I therefore have counselled my friends, never to trust to her fairer

side, though she seem'd to make peace with them: But to place all things

she gave them so, as she might aske them againe without their trouble;

she might take them from them, not pull them: to keepe alwayes a di-

stance betweene her, and themselves. He knowes not his own strength.

that hath not met Adversity. Heaven prepares good men with crosses;

but no ill can happen to a good man. Contraries are not mixed. Yet,

that which happens to any man, may to every man. But it is in his rea-

son what hee accounts it, and will make it.

Change into extremity is very frequent, and easie. As when a beg-

gar suddenly growes rich, he commonly becomes a Prodigall; for, to

obscure his former obscurity, he puts on riot and excesse.

No man is so foolish, but may give an other good counsell   some-

times; and no man is so wise, but may easily erre, if hee will take no

others counsell, but his owne. But very few men are wise by their

owne counsell; or learned by their owne teaching. For hee that was

onely taught by himselfe, had a foole to his Master.

A Fame that is wounded to the world, would bee better cured by

anothers Apologie, then its owne: For few can apply medicines well

themselves. Besides, the man that is once hated, both his good, and his

evill deeds oppresse him: Hee is not easily emergent.

In great Affaires it is a worke of difficulty to please all. And oft times

wee lose the occasion of carrying a busines well, and thoroughly, by

our too much haste. For Passions are spirituall Rebels, and raise sedi-

tion against the understanding.

There is a Necessity all men should love their countrey: He that profes-

seth the contrary, may be delighted with his words, but his heart is there.

Natures that are hardned to evill, you shall sooner breake, then make

straight; they are like poles that are crooked, and dry:there is no attem-

pting them.

Wee praise the things wee heare, with much more willingnesse, then

those wee see: because wee envy the present, and reverence the past;

thinking our selves instructed by the one, and over-laid by the other.

Opinion is a light, vaine, crude, and imperfect thing, settled in the Ima-

gination; but never arriving at the understanding, there to obtaine the

tincture of Reason. Wee labour with it more then Truth. There is

much more holds us, then presseth us. An ill fact is one thing, an ill

fortune is another: Yet both often times sway us alike, by the error of

our thinking.

Many men beleeve not themselves, what they would perswade

others; and lesse doe the things, which they would impose on others:

but least of all, know what they themselves most confidently boast.

Only they set the signe of the Crosse over their outer doores, and sacri-

fice to their gut, and their groyne in their inner Closets.

What a deale of cold busines doth a man mis-spend the better part of

life in! in scattering complements, tendring visits, gathering and venting

newes, following Feasts and Playes, making a little winter-love in a darke

corner.

Puritanus Hypocrita est Hæreticus, quem opinio propriæ perspicaciæ, quâ sibi

videtur, cum paucis in Ecclesiâ dogmatibus, errores quosdam animadvertisse, de

statu mentis deturbavit: unde sacro furore per citus, phreneticè pugnat contra

Magistratus, sic ratus, obedientiam præstare Deo.

Learning needs rest: Soveraignty gives it. Soveraignty needs coun-

sell: Learning affords it. There is such a Consociation of offices, be-

tweene the Prince, and whom his favour breeds, that they may helpe to

sustaine his power, as hee their knowledge. It is the greatest part of his

Liberality, his Favour: And from whom doth he heare discipline more

willingly, or the Arts discours'd more gladly, then from those, whom

his owne bounty, and benefits have made able and faithfull?

In being able to counsell others, a Man must be furnish'd with an uni-

versall store in himselfe, to the knowledge of all Nature: That is the

matter, and seed-plot; There are the seats of all Argument, and Inven-

tion. But especially, you must be cunning in the nature of Man: There

is the variety of things, which are as the Elements, and Letters, which his

art and wisdome must ranke, and order to the present occasion. For

wee see not all letters in single words; nor all places in particular dis-

courses. That cause seldome happens, wherein a man will use all Arguments.

The two chiefe things that give a man reputation in counsell, are the

opinion of his Honesty; and the opinion of his Wisdome: The authority

of those two will perswade, when the same Counsels utter'd by other

persons lesse qualified, are of no efficacy, or working.

Wisedome without Honesty is meere craft, and coosinage. And there-

fore the reputation of Honesty must first be gotten; which cannot be, but

by living well. A good life is a maine Argument.

Next a good life, to beget love in the persons wee counsell, by dissem-

bling our knowledge of ability in our selves, and avoyding all suspition

of arrogance, ascribing all to their instruction, as an Ambassadour to his

Master, or a Subject to his Soveraigne; seasoning all with humanity and

sweetnesse, onely expressing care and sollicitude. And not to counsell

rashly, or on the suddaine, but with advice and meditation: (Dat nox

consilium.) For many foolish things fall from wise men, if they speake in

haste, or be extemporall. It therefore behooves the giver of counsell to

be circumspect; especially to beware of those, with whom hee is not

throughly acquainted, lest any spice of rashnesse, folly, or selfe-love

appeare, which will be mark'd by new persons, and men of experience

in affaires.

And to the Prince, or his Superiour, to behave himselfe modestly, and

with respect. Yet free from Flattery, or Empire. Not with insolence,

or precept; but as the Prince were already furnished with the parts hee

should have, especially in affaires of State. For in otherthings they will

more easily suffer themselves to be taught, or reprehended: They will

not willingly contend. But heare (with Alexander) the answer the Mu-

sician gave him, Absit ô Rex, ut tu meliùs hæc scias, quàm ego.

A man should so deliver himselfe to the nature of the subject, whereof

hee speakes, that his hearer may take knowledge of his discipline with

some delight: and so apparell faire, and good matter, that the studious

of elegancy be not defrauded; redeeme Arts from their rough, and braky

seates, where they lay hid, and over-growne with thornes, to a pure,

open, and flowry light: where they may take the eye, and be taken by

the hand.

I cannot thinke Nature is so spent, and decay'd, that she can bring forth

nothing worth her former yeares. She is alwayes the same, like her

selfe: And when the collects her strength, is abler still. Men are de-

cay'd, and studies: Shee is not.

I know Nothing can conduce more to letters, then to examine the

writings of the Ancients, and not to rest in their sole Authority, or take

all upon trust from them; provided the plagues of Iudging, and Pronoun-

cing against them, be away; such as are envy, bitternesse, precipitation, im-

pudence, and scurrile scoffing. For to all the observations of the Ancients,

wee have our owne experience: which, if wee will use, and apply, wee

have better meanes to pronounce. It is true they open'd the gates, and

made the way that went before us; but as Guides, not Commanders:

Non Domini nostri, sed Duces fuêre. Truth lyes open to all; it is no mans

severall.Patet omnibus veritas; nondum est occupata. Multum ex illâ, etiam

futuris relicta est.

If in some things I dissent from others, whose Wit, Industry, Dili-

gence, and Iudgement I looke up at, and admire: let me not therefore

heare presently of Ingratitude, and Rashnesse. For I thanke those, that

have taught me, and will ever: but yet dare not thinke the scope of their

labour, and enquiry, was to envy their posterity, what they also could

adde, and find out.

If I erre, pardon me: Nulla ars simul & inventa est, & absoluta. I doe

not desire to be equall to those that went before; but to have my reason

examin'd with theirs, and so much faith to be given them, or me, as those

shall evict. I am neither Author, or Fautor of any sect. I will have no

man addict himselfe to mee; but if I have any thing right, defend it as

Truth's, not mine (save as it conduceth to a common good.) It profits

not me to have any man fence, or fight for me, to flourish, or take a side.

Stand for Truth, and 'tis enough.

Arts that respect the mind, were ever reputed nobler, then those that

serve the body: though wee lesse can bee without them. As Tillage,

Spinning, Weaving, Building, &c. without which, wee could scarce

sustaine life a day. But these were the workes of every hand; the other

of the braine only, and those the most generous, and exalted wits, and

spirits that cannot rest, or acquiesce. The mind of man is still fed with

labour: Opere pascitur.

There is a more secret Cause: and the power of liberall studies lyes

more hid, then that it can bee wrought out by profane wits. It is not

every mans way to hit. They are men (I confesse) that set the Caract, and

Value upon things, as they love them; but Science is not every mans Mi-

stresse. It is as great a spite to be praised in the wrong place, and by a wrong

person, as can be done to a noble nature.

If divers men seeke Fame, or Honour, by divers wayes; so both bee

honest, neither is to be blam'd: But they that seeke Immortality, are not

onely worthy of leave, but of praise.

Hee hath a delicate Wife, a faire fortune, and family to goe to be wel-

come; yet hee had rather be drunke with mine Host, and the Fidlers of

such a Towne, then goe home.

Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray: Prosperity

never.

Many might goe to heaven with halfe the labour they goe to hell, if

they would venture their industry the right way: But the Divell take

all (quoth he) that was choak'd i' the Mill-dam, with his foure last words

in his mouth.

A Criple in the way out-travels a Foot-man, or a Post out of the

way.

Bags of money to a prodigall person, are the same that Cherry-stones

are with some boyes, and so throwne away.

A woman, the more curious she is about her face, is commonly the

more carelesse about her house.

Of this Spilt water, there is little to bee gathered up: it is a desperate

debt.

The Theife^* that had a longing at the Gallowes to commit one Rob-

bery more, before hee was hang'd.

And like the German-Lord, when hee went out of New-gate into the

Cart, tooke order to have his Armes set up in his last Herborough: Said

he was taken, and committed upon suspition of Treason; no witnesse

appearing against him: But the Judges intertain'd him most civilly, dis-

cours'd with him, offer'd him the court'sie of the racke; but he confes-

sed, &c.

I am beholden to Calumny, that shee hath so endeavor'd, and taken

paines to bely mee. It shall make mee set a surer Guard on my selfe, and

keepe a better watch upon my Actions.

A tedious person is one a man would leape a steeple from; gallop down

any steepe Hill to avoid him; forsake his meat, sleepe, nature it selfe,

with all her benefits to shun him. A meere Impertinent: one that touch'd

neither heaven nor earth in his discourse. Hee open'd an entry into a

faire roome; but shut it againe presently. I spake to him of Garlicke,

hee answered Asparagus: consulted him of marriage, hee tels mee of

hanging; as if they went by one, and the same Destiny.

What a sight it is, to see Writers committed together by the eares, for

Ceremonies, Syllables, Points, Colons, Comma's, Hyphens, and the like? fight-

ing, as for their fires, and their Altars; and angry that none are frighted

at their noyses, and loud brayings under their asses skins?

There is hope of getting a fortune without digging in these quarries.

Sed meliore(in omne) ingenio, animo[que] quàm fortunâ, sum usus.

Wits made out their severall expeditions then, for the discovery of

Truth, to find out great and profitable Knowledges, had their severall

instruments for the disquisition of Arts. Now there are certaine

Scioli, or smatterers, that are busie in the skirts, and out-sides of Learning,

and have scarce any thing of solide literature to commend them. They

may have some edging, or trimming of a Scholler, a welt, or so: but it

is no more.

Imposture is a specious thing; yet never worse, then when it faines to

be best, and to none discover'd sooner, then the simplest. For Truth and

Goodnesse are plaine, and open; but Imposture is ever asham'd of the light.

A Puppet-play must be shadow'd, and seene in the darke: For draw the

Curtaine, Et sordet gesticulatio.

There is a great difference in the understanding of some Princes, as in

the quality of their Ministers about them. Some would dresse their

Masters in gold, pearle, and all true Jewels of Majesty: Others furnish

them with feathers, bels, and ribbands; and are therefore esteemed the

fitter servants. But they are ever good men, that must make good the

times: if the men be naught, the times will be such. Finis expectandus

est in unoquo[que] hominum; animali, ad mutationem promptissimo.

It is a quick saying with the Spaniards: Artes inter hæredes non dividi.

Yet these have inherited their fathers lying, and they brag of it. Hee is

an narrow-minded man, that affects a Triumph in any glorious study:

but to triumph in a lye, and a lye themselves have forg'd, is frontlesse.

Folly often goes beyond her bounds; but Impudence knowes none.

Envy is no new thing, nor was it borne onely in our times. The Ages

past have brought it forth, and the comming Ages will. So long as

there are men fit for it, quorum odium virtute relictâ placet, it will never be

wanting. It is a barbarous envy, to take from those mens vertues, which

because thou canst not arrive at, thou impotently despaires to imitate. Is

it a crime in me that I know that, which others had not yet knowne, but

from me? or that I am the Author of many things, which never would

have come in thy thought, but that I taught them? It is a new, but a

foolish way you have found out, that whom you cannot equall, or come

neere in doing, you would destroy, or ruine with evill speaking: As if

you had bound both your wits, and natures prentises to slander, and then

came forth the best Artificers, when you could forme the foulest ca-

lumnies.

Indeed, nothing is of more credit, or request now, then a petulant

paper, or scoffing verses; and it is but convenient to the times and man-

ners wee live with; to have then the worst writings, and studies flourish,

when the best begin to be despis'd. Ill Arts begin, where good end.

The time was, when men would learne, and study good things; not

envie those that had them. Then men were had in price for learning:

now, letters onely make men vile. Hee is upbraydingly call'd a Poet,

as if it were a most contemptible Nick-name. But the Professors (indeed)

have made the learning cheape. Rayling, and tinckling Rimers, whose

Writings the vulgar more greedily reade; as being taken with the scur-

rility,and petulancie of such wits. Hee shall not have a Reader now,

unlesse hee jeere and lye. It is the food of mens natures: the diet of the

times! Gallants cannot sleepe else. The Writer must lye, and the gen-

tle Reader rests happy, to heare the worthiest workes mis-interpreted;

the clearest actions obscured: the innocent'st life traduc'd; And in such

a licence of lying, a field so fruitfull of slanders, how can there be matter

wanting to his laughter? Hence comes the Epidemicall Infection. For

how can they escape the contagion of the Writings, whom the virulen-

cy of the calumnies hath not stav'd off from reading.

Nothing doth more invite a greedy Reader, then an unlook'd for subject.

And what more unlook'd for, then to see a person of an unblam'd life,

made ridiculous, or odious, by the Artifice of lying? but it is the disease

of the Age: and no wonder if the world, growing old, begin to be in-

firme: Old age it selfe is a disease. It is long since the sick world be-

gan to doate, and talke idly: Would she had but doated still; but her

dotage is now broke forth into a madnesse, and become a meere phrency.

This Alastor, who hath left nothing unsearch'd, or unassayl'd, by his

impudent, and licentious lying in his aguish writings (for he was in his

cold quaking fit all the while:) what hath he done more, then a trouble-

some base curre? bark'd, and made a noyse a farre off: had a foole, or

two to spit in his mouth, and cherish him with a musty bone? But they

are rather enemies of my fame, then me, these Barkers.

It is an Art to have so much judgement, as to apparrell a Lye well, to

give it a good dressing; that though the nakednesse would shew deform'd

and odious, the suiting of it might draw their Readers. Some love any

Strumpet (be shee never so shop-like, or meritorious) in good clothes.

But these nature could not have form'd them better, to destroy their

owne testimony; and over-throw their calumny.

That an Elephant, 630. came hither Ambassadour from the great Mo-

gull, (who could both write and reade) and was every day allow'd twelve

cast of bread, twenty Quarts of Canary Sack; besides Nuts and Al-

monds the Citizens wives sent him. That hee had a Spanish Boy to his

Interpreter, and his chiefe negotiation was, to conferre or practise with

Archy, the principall foole of State, about stealing hence Windsor Castle,

and carrying it away on his back if he can.

A wise tongue should not be licentious, and wandring; but mov'd, and

(as it were) govern'd with certaine raines from the heart, and bottome

of the brest: and it was excellently said of that Philosopher; that there

was a Wall, or Parapet of teeth set in our mouth, to restraine the petu-

lancy of our words: that the rashnesse of talking should not only bee

retarded by the guard, and watch of our heart; but be fenced in, and de-

fended by certaine strengths, placed in the mouth it selfe, and within the

lips. But you shall see some, so abound with words without any seaso-

ning or taste of matter, in so profound a security, as while they are

speaking, for the most part, they confesse to speake they know not what.

Of the two (if either were to bee wisht) I would rather have a plaine

downe-right wisdome, then a foolish and affected eloquence. For

what is so furious, and Bet'lem like, as a vaine sound of chosen and ex-

cellent words, without any subject of sentence, or science mix'd?

Whom the disease of talking still once possesseth, hee can never hold

his peace. Nay, rather then hee will not discourse, hee will hire men

to heare him. And so heard, not hearkn'd unto, hee comes off most

times like a Mountebanke, that when hee hath prais'd his med'cines, finds

none will take them, or trust him. Hee is like Homers Thersites.

A'μετροεπῆς Αϰριτόμοθος: speaking without judgement, or measure.

Vlysses in Homer, is made a long thinking man, before hee speaks; and

Epaminondas is celebrated by Pindar, to be a man, that though he knew

much, yet hee spoke but little. Demacatus, when on the Bench he was

long silent, and said nothing; one asking him, if it were folly in him, or

want of language? hee answer'd: A foole could never hold his peace. For

too much talking is ever the Indice of a foole.

Nor is that worthy speech of Zeno the Philosopher to be past over,

without the note of ignorance: who being invited to a feast in Athens,

where a great Princes Ambassadours were entertain'd, and was the onely

person had said nothing at the table; one of them with courtesie asked

him; What shall we returne from thee, Zeno, to the Prince our Master, if

hee aske us of thee? Nothing, he replyed, more, but that you found an

old man in Athens, that knew to be silent amongst his cups. It was nere a

Miracle, to see an old man silent; since talking is the disease of Age:

but amongst cups makes it fully a wonder.

It was wittily said upon one that was taken for a great, and grave man,

so long as hee held his peace: This man might have beene a Counsellor

of State till he spoke: But having spoken, not the Beadle of the Ward

E'χεμυθία. Pythag. quàm laudabilis! γλωσσῆς πρὸ τῶν ἀλλῶν κράτει, θεοῖς ἑπό-.

μενος. Linguam cohibe, præ aliis omnibus, ad Deorum exemplum, ^*Digito com-

pesce labellum.

There is almost no man, but hee sees clearlier, and sharper, the vices in a

speaker, then the vertues. And there are many, that with more ease, will

find fault with what is spoken foolishly, then that can give allowance to

wherein you are wise silently. The treasure of a foole is alwayes in his

tongue (said the witty comick Poet) and it appeares not in any thing more,

then in that nation; whereof one when hee had got the inheritance of an

unlucky old Grange, would needs sell it; and to draw buyers, proclaim'd,

the vertues of it. Nothing ever thriv'd on it (saith he.) No owner of it, ever

dyed in his bed; some hung, some drown'd themselves; some were ba-

nisht, some starv'd; the trees were all blasted; the Swyne dyed of the Mea-

sils, the Cattell of the Murren, the Sheepe of the Rot; they that stood,

were ragg'd, bare, and bald as your hand; nothing was ever rear'd

there; not a Duckling, or a Goose. Hospitium fuerat calamitatis. Was not

this man like to sell it?

Expectation of the Vulgar is more drawne, and held with newnesse, then

goodnesse; wee see it in Fencers, in Players, in Poets, in Preachers, in all,

where Fame promiseth any thing; so it be new, though never so naught,

and depraved, they run to it, and are taken. Which shewes, that the only

decay, or hurt of the best mens reputation with the people, is, their wits

have out-liv'd the peoples palats. They have beene too much, or too

long a feast.

Greatnesse of name in the Father, oft times helpes not forth, but o're-

whelmes the Sonne: they stand too neere one another. The shadow kils

the growth; so much, that wee see the Grand-child come more, and oft-

ner to be the heire of the first, then doth the second: He dies betweene;

the Possession is the thirds.

Eloquence is a great, and diverse thing: Nor did she yet ever favour any

man so much, as to become wholly his. Hee is happy, that can arrive to

any degree of her grace. Yet there are, who prove themselves Masters

of her, and absolute Lords: but I beleeve, they may mistake their evi-

dence: For it is one thing to be eloquent in the Schooles, or in the Hall;

another at the Barre, or in the Pulpit. There is a difference betweene

Mooting, and Pleading; betweene Fencing, and Fighting. To make Ar-

guments in my Study, and confute them is easie; where I answer my

selfe, not an Adversary. So, I can see whole volumes dispatch'd by the

vmbraticall Doctors on all sides: But draw these forth into the just lists;

let them appeare sub dio, and they are chang'd with the place, like bodies

bred i' the shade; they cannot suffer the Sunne, or a Showre; nor beare the

open Ayre: they scarce can find themselves, that they were wont to do-

mineere so among their Auditors: but indeed I would no more chuse a

Rhetorician, for reigning in a Schoole; then I would a Pilot, for rowing in a

Pond.

Love, that is ignorant, and Hatred have almost the same ends: many

foolish Lovers wish the same to their friends, which their enemies would:

As to wish a friend banish't, that they might accompany him in exile: or

some great want, that they might relieve him: or a disease, that they might

sit by him. They make a Cawsway to their countrey by Injury; as if it were

not honester to do nothing, then to seek a way to doe good by a Mischiefe.

Injuries doe not extinguish courtesies: they only suffer them not to

appeare faire. For a man that doth me an injury after a courtesie, takes

not away the courtesie, but defaces it: As he that writes other verses

upon my verses, takes not away the first Letters, but hides them.

Nothing is a >courtesie, unlesse it be meant us; and that friendly, and lo-

vingly. Wee owe no thankes to Rivers, that they carry our boats; or

Winds, that they be favouring, and fill our sayles; or meats, that they be

nourishing. For these are, what they are necessarily. Horses carry us,

Trees shade us; but they know it not. It is true, some man may re-

ceive a Courtesie, and not know it; but never any man received it

from him, that knew it not. Many men have beene cur'd of

diseases by Accidents; but they were not Remedies. I my selfe have

knowne one help'd of an Ague, by falling into a water; another whip'd

out of a Fever: but no man would ever use these for med'cines. It is the

mind, and not the event, that distinguisheth the courtesie from wrong.

My Adversary may offend the Judge with his pride, and impertinences,

and I win my cause: but he meant it not me, as a Courtesie. I scap'd Py-

rats, by being ship-wrack'd, was the wrack a benefit therefore? No: The

doing of Courtesies aright, is the mixing of the respects for his owne sake,

and for mine. He that doth them meerly for his owne sake, is like one that

feeds his Cattell to sell them: he hath his Horse well drest for Smithfield.

The price of many things is farre above, what they are bought and

sold for. Life, and Health, which are both inestimable, we have of the Phy-

sician: As Learning, and Knowledge, the true tillage of the mind, from

our Schoole-masters. But the fees of the one, or the salary of the other, never

answer the value of what we received; but serv'd to gratifie their labours.

Memory of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate, and fraile: it is

the first of our faculties, that Age invades. Seneca, the father, the Rhetorician,

confesseth of himselfe, hee had a miraculous one; not only to receive,

but to hold. I my selfe could in my youth, have repeated all, that ever I

had made; and so continued, till I was past fortie: Since, it is much decay'd

in me. Yet I can repeate whole books that I have read, and Poems, of some

selected friends, which I have lik'd to charge my memory with. It was

wont to be faithfull to me, but shaken with age now, and sloath (which

weakens the strongest abilities) it may performe somewhat, but cannot

promise much. By exercise it is to be made better, and serviceable. What-

soever I pawn'd with it, while I was young, and a boy, it offers me rea-

dily, and without stops: but what I trust to it now, or have done of later

yeares, it layes up more negligently, and often times loses; so that I

receive mine owne (though frequently call'd for) as if it were new, and

borrow'd. Nor doe I alwayes find presently from it, what I doe seek;

but while I am doing another thing, that I labour'd for, will come: And

what I sought with trouble, will offer it selfe, when I am quiet. Now in

some men I have found it as happy as nature, who, whatsoever they

reade, or pen, they can say without booke presently; as if they did then

write in their mind. And it is more a wonder in such, as have a swift stile;

for their memories are commonly slowest; such as torture their writings,

and go into councell for every word, must needs fixe somewhat, and make

it their owne at last, though but through their owne vexation.

Suffrages in Parliament are numbred; not weigh'd: nor can it bee

otherwise in those publike Councels, where nothing is so unequall, as the

equality: for there, how odde soever mens braines, or wisdomes are,

their power is alwayes even, and the same.

Some Actions be they never so beautifull, and generous, are often ob-

scur'd by base, and vile mis-constructions; either out of envy, or ill na-

ture, that judgeth of others, as of it selfe. Nay, the times are so wholly

growne, to be either partiall, or malitious; that, if hee be a friend, all sits

well about him; his very vices shall be vertues: if an enemy, or of the

contrary faction; nothing is good, or tolerable in him: insomuch, that

wee care not to discredit, and shame our judgements, to sooth our pas-

sions.

Man is read in his face: God in his creatures; but not as the Philosopher,

the creature of glory reads him: But, as the Divine, the servant of hu-

mility: yet even hee must take care, not to be too curious. For to utter

Truth of God (but as hee thinkes onely) may be dangerous; who is best

knowne, by our not knowing. Some things of him, so much as hee

hath revealed, or commanded, it is not only lawfull, but necessary for

us to know: for therein our ignorance was the first cause of our wicked-

nesse.

Truth is mans proper good; and the onely immortall thing, was given

to our mortality to use. No good Christian, or Ethnick, if he be honest,

can misse it: no States-man, or Patriot should. For without truth all the

Actions of man-kind, are craft, malice, or what you will, rather

then Wisdome. Homer sayes, hee hates him worse then hell-mouth,

that utters one thing with his tongue, and keepes another in his brest.

Which high expression was grounded on divine Reason. For a lying mouth

is a stinking pit, and murthers with the contagion it venteth. Beside, no-

thing is lasting that is fain'd; it will have another face then it had, ere

long: As Euripides saith, No lye ever growes old.

It is strange, there should be no vice without his patronage, that (when

wee have no other excuse) wee will say, wee love it; wee cannot for-

sake it: as if that made it not more a fault. Wee cannot, because wee

thinke wee cannot: and wee love it, because wee will defend it. Wee

will rather excuse it, then be rid of it. That wee cannot, is pretended;

but that wee will not, is the true reason. How many have I knowne,

that would not have their vices hid? Nay, and to bee noted, live like

Antipodes, to others in the same Citie; never see the Sunne rise, or set, in

so many yeares; but be as they were watching a Corps by Torch-light;

would not sinne the common way; but held that a kind of Rusticity;

they would doe it new, or contrary, for the infamy? They were am-

bitious of living backward; and at last arrived at that, as they would

love nothing but the vices; not the vitious customes. It was impos-

sible to reforme these natures; they were dry'd, and hardned in their

ill. They may say, they desir'd to leave it; but doe not trust them; and

they may thinke they desir'd it, but they may lye for all that; they are

a little angry with their follies, now and then; marry they come into

grace with them againe quickly. They will confesse, they are offended

with their manner of living: like enough, who is not? When they

can put me in security, that they are more then offended; that they hate

it: then Ile hearken to them; and, perhaps, beleeve them: But many

now a dayes, love and hate their ill together.

I doe heare them say often: Some men are not witty; because they

are not every where witty; then which nothing is more foolish. If an

eye or a nose bee an excellent part in the face, therefore be all eye or

nose? I thinke the eye-brow, the fore-head, the cheeke, chyn, lip, or

any part else, are as necessary, and naturall in the place. But now no-

thing is good that is naturall: Right and naturall language seeme to

have least of the wit in it; that which is writh'd and tortur'd, is coun-

ted the more exquisite. Cloath of Bodkin, or Tissue, must be imbro-

dered as if no face were faire, that were not pouldred, or painted?

No beauty to be had, but in wresting, and writhing our owne tongue?

Nothing is fashionable, till it bee deform'd; and this is to write like a

Gentleman. All must bee as affected, and preposterous as our Gallants

cloathes, sweet bags, and night-dressings: in which you would thinke

our men lay in; like Ladies: it is so curious.

Nothing in our Age, I have observ'd, is more preposterous, then the

running Iudgements upon Poetry, and Poets; when wee shall heare those

things commended, and cry'd up for the best writings, which a man

would scarce vouchsafe, to wrap any wholsome drug in; hee would ne-

ver light his Tobacco with them. And those men almost nam'd for Mira-

cles, who yet are so vile, that if a man should goe about, to examine, and

correct them, hee must make all they have done, but one blot. Their

good is so intangled with their bad, as forcibly one must draw on the

others death with it. A Sponge dipt in Inke will doe all:

Et paulò post,

Yet their vices have not hurt them: Nay, a great many they have

profited; for they have beene lov'd for nothing else. And this false

opinion growes strong against the best men: if once it take root with the

Ignorant.Cestius in his time, was preferr'd to Cicero; so farre, as the Igno-

rant durst. They learn'd him without booke, and had him often in their

mouthes: But a man cannot imagine that thing so foolish, or rude, but

will find, and enjoy an Admirer; at least, a Reader, or Spectator. The

Puppets are seene now in despight of the Players: Heath's Epigrams, and

the Skullers Poems have their applause. There are never wanting, that dare

preferre the worst Preachers, the worst Pleaders, the worst Poets: not

that the better have left to write, or speake better, but that they that

heare them judge worse; Non illi pejus dicunt, sed hi corruptiùs judicant.

Nay, if it were put to the question of the Water-rimers workes, against

Spencers; I doubt not, but they would find more Suffrages; because

the most favour common vices, out of a Prerogative the vulgar have,

to lose their judgements; and like that which is naught.

Poetry in this latter Age, hath prov'd but a meane Mistresse, to such as

have wholly addicted themselves to her; or given their names up to her

family. They who have but saluted her on the by; and now and then

tendred their visits, shee hath done much for, and advanced in the way

of their owne professions (both the Law, and the Gospel) beyond all they

could have hoped, or done for themselves, without her favour. Wherein

she doth emulate the judicious, but preposterous bounty of the times Gran-

des: who accumulate all they can upon the Parasite, or Fresh-man in

their friendship; but thinke an old Client, or honest servant, bound by

his place to write, and starve.

Indeed, the multitude commend Writers, as they doe Fencers; or

Wrastlers; who if they come in robustiously, and put for it, with a

deale of violence, are received for the braver-fellowes: when many

times their owne rudenesse is a cause of their disgrace; and a slight

touch of their Adversary, gives all that boisterous force the foyle. But

in these things, the unskilfull are naturally deceiv'd, and judging wholly

by the bulke, thinke rude things greater then polish'd; and scatter'd

more numerous, then compos'd: Nor thinke thisonly to be true in the

sordid multitude but the neater sort of our Gallants: for all are the

multitude; only they differ in cloaths, not in judgement or under-

standing.

I remember, the Players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shake-

speare, that in his writing, (whatsoever he penn'd) hee never blotted out

line. My answer hath beene, would he had blotted a thousand. Which

they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this, but for

their ignorance, who choose that circumstance to commend their friend

by, wherein he most faulted. And to justifie mine owne candor, (for I

lov'd the man, and doe honour his memory (on this side Idolatry) as

much as any.) Hee was (indeed) honest, and of an open, and free na-

ture: had an excellent Phantsie; brave notions, and gentle expressions:

wherein hee flow'd with that facility, that sometime it was necessary he

should be stop'd: Sufflaminandus erat; as Augustus said of Haterius. His

wit was in his owne power; would the rule of it had beene so too. Many

times hee fell into those things, could not escape laughter: As when hee

said in the person of Cæsar, one speaking to him; Cæsar thou dost me wrong.

Hee replyed: Cæsar did never wrong, but with just cause: and such like;

which were ridiculous. But hee redeemed his vices, with his vertues.

There was ever more in him to be praysed, then to be pardoned.

In the difference of wits, I have observ'd; there are many notes: And

it is a little Maistry to know them: to discerne, what every nature, every

disposition will beare: For, before wee sow our land, we should plough

it. There are no fewer formes of minds, then of bodies amongst us.

The variety is incredible; and therefore wee must search. Some are fit

to make Divines, some Poets, some Lawyers, some Physicians; some to be

sent to the plough, and trades.

There is no doctrine will doe good, where nature is wanting. Some

wits are swelling, and high; others low and still: Some hot and fiery;

others cold and dull: One must have a bridle, the other a spurre.

There be some that are forward, and bold; and these will doe every

little thing easily: I meane that is hard by, and next them; which they

will utter, unretarded without any shamefastnesse. These never per-

forme much, but quickly. They are, what they are on the sudden; they

shew presently like Graine, that, scatter'd on the top of the ground, shoots

up, but takes no root; has a yellow blade, but the eare empty. They

are wits of good promise at first, but there is an ^*Ingeni-stitium: They

stand still at sixteene, they get no higher.

You have others, that labour onely to ostentation; and are ever more

busie about the colours, and surface of a worke, then in the matter, and

foundation: For that is hid, the other is seene.

Others, that in composition are nothing, but what is rough, and bro-

ken: Quæ per salebras, alta[que] saxa cadunt. And if it would come gently,

they trouble it of purpose. They would not have it run without rubs,

as if that stile were more strong and manly, that stroke the eare with a

kind of unevenesse. These men erre not by chance, but knowingly, and

willingly; they are like men that affect a fashion by themselves, have

some singularity in a Ruffe, Cloake, or Hat-band; or theirbeards, speci-

ally: cut to provoke beholders, and set a marke upon themselves. They

would be reprehended, while they are look'd on. And this vice, one

that is in authority with the rest, loving, delivers over to them to bee

imitated: so that oft-times the faults which he fell into, the others seeke

for: This is the danger, when vice becomes a Precedent.

Others there are, that have no composition at all; but a kind of tune-

ing, and riming fall, in what they vvrite. It runs and slides, and onely

makes a sound. Womens-Poets they are call'd. as you have womens-

Taylors.

You may sound these wits, and find the depth of them, with your

middle finger. They are Cream-bowle, or but puddle deepe.

Some that turne over all bookes, and are equally searching in all papers,

that write out of what they presently find or meet, without choice; by

which meanes it happens, that what they have discredited, and impug-

ned in one worke, they have before, or after extolled the same in ano-

ther. Such are all the Essayists, even their Master Mountaigne. These in

all they write, confesse still what bookes they have read last; and there-

in their owne folly, so much, that they bring it to the Stake raw, and un-

digested: not that the place did need it neither; but that they thought

themselves furnished, and would vent it.

Some againe, who (after they have got authority, or, which is lesse, opi-

nion, by their writings, to have read much) dare presently to faine whole

bookes, and Authors, and lye safely. For what never was, will not

easily be found; not by the most curious.

And some, by a cunning protestation against all reading, and false ven-

ditation of their owne naturals, thinke to divert the sagacity of their Rea-

ders from themselves, and coole the sent of their owne fox-like thefts;

when yet they are so ranke, as a man may find whole pages together

usurp'd from one Author. Their necessities compelling them to read for

present use, which could not be in many books; and so come forth more

ridiculously, and palpably guilty, then those; who because they cannot

trace; they yet would slander their industry.

But the Wretcheder are the obstinate contemners of all helpes, and

Arts: such as presuming on their owne Naturals (which perhaps are ex-

cellent) dare deride all diligence, and seeme to mock at the termes, when

they understand not the things; thinking that way to get off wittily,

with their Ignorance. These are imitated often by such, as are their Peeres

in negligence, though they cannot be in nature: And they utter all they

can thinke, with a kind of violence, and indisposition; unexamin'd, with-

out relation, either to person, place, or any fitnesse else; and the more

wilfull, and stubborne, they are in it, the more learned they are esteem'd

of the multitude, through their excellent vice of Judgement: Who thinke

those things the stronger, that have no Art: as if to breake, were better

then to open; or to rent asunder, gentler then to loose.

It cannot but come to passe, that these men, who commonly seeke to

doe more then enough, may sometimes happen on some thing that is

good, and great; but very seldome: And when it comes, it doth not

recompence the rest of their ill. For their jests, and their sentences

(which they onely, and ambitiously seeke for) sticke out, and are more

eminent; because all is sordid, and vile about them; as lights are more

discern'd in a thick darkenesse, then a faint shadow. Now because they

speake all they can (how ever unfitly) they are thought to have the grea-

ter copy; Where the learned use ever election, and a meane; they looke

back to what they intended at first, and make all an even, and propor-

tion'd body. The true Artificer will not run away from nature, as hee

were afraid of her; or depart from life, and the likenesse of Truth; but

speake to the capacity of his hearers. And though his language differ

from the vulgar somewhat; it shall not fly from all humanity, with the

Tamerlanes, and Tamer-Chams of the late Age, which had nothing in

them but the scenicall strutting, and furious vociferation, to warrant

them to the ignorant gapers. Hee knowes it is his onely Art, so to carry

it, as none but Artificers perceive it. In the meane time perhaps hee is

call'd barren, dull, leane, a poore Writer (or by what contumelious

word can come in their cheeks) by these men, who without labour,

judgement, knowledge, or almost sense, are received, or preferr'd before

him. He gratulates them, and their fortune. An other Age, or juster

men, will acknowledge the vertues of his studies: his wisdome, in divi-

ding: his subtilty, in arguing: with what strength hee doth inspire his

Readers; with what sweetnesse hee strokes them: in inveighing, what

sharpenesse; in Jest, what urbanity hee uses. How he doth raigne in mens

affections; how invade, and breake in upon them; and makes their minds

like the thing he writes. Then in his Elocution to behold, what word is

proper: which hath ornament: which height: what is beautifully tran-

slated: where figures are fit: which gentle, which strong to shew the

composition Manly. And how hee hath avoyded faint, obscure, ob-

scene, sordid, humble, improper, or effeminate Phrase; which is not only

prais'd of the most, but commended, (which is worse) especially for that

it is naught.

I know no disease of the Soule, but Ignorance; not of the Arts, and Sci-

ences, but of it selfe: Yet relating to those, it is a pernicious evill: the

darkner of mans life: the disturber of his Reason, and common Con-

founder of Truth: with which a man goes groping in the darke, no

otherwise, then if hee were blind. Great understandings are most

wrack'd and troubled with it: Nay, sometimes they will rather choose

to dye, then not to know the things they study for. Thinke then what

an evill it is; and what good the contrary.

Knowledge is the action of the Soule; and is perfect without the sen-

ses, as having the seeds of all Science, and Vertue in its selfe; but not with-

out the service of the senses: by those Organs, the Soule workes: She is a

perpetuall Agent, prompt and subtile; but often flexible, and erring;

intangling her selfe like a Silke-worme: But her Reason is a weapon

with two edges, and cuts through. In her Indagations of-times new

Sents put her by; and shee takes in errors into her, by the same conduits

she doth Truths.

Ease, and relaxation, are profitable to all studies. The mind is like a

Bow, the stronger by being unbent. But the temper in Spirits is all,

when to command a mans wit; when to favour it. I have knowne a

man vehement on both sides; that knew no meane, either to intermit his

studies, or call upon them againe. When hee hath set himselfe to wri-

ing, hee would joyne night to day; presse upon himselfe without re-

lease, not minding it, till hee fainted: and when hee left off, resolve

himselfe into all sports, and loosenesse againe; that it was almost a de-

spaire to draw him to his booke: But once got to it, hee grew stronger,

and more earnest by the ease. His whole Powers were renew'd:he would

worke out of himselfe, what hee desired; but with such excesse, as his

study could not bee rul'd: hee knew not how to dispose his owne Abili-

ties, or husband them, hee was of that immoderate power against him-

selfe. Nor was hee only a strong, but an absolute Speaker, and Writer:

but his subtilty did not shew it selfe; his judgement thought that a vice.

For the ambush hurts more that is hid. Hee never forc'd his language,

nor went out of the high way of speaking; but for some great necessity,

or apparent profit. For hee denied Figures to be invented for ornament,

but for ayde; and still thought it an extreme madnesse to bend, or wrest

that which ought to be right.

It is no Wonder, mens eminence appeares but in their owne way.

Virgils felicity left him in prose, as Tullies forsooke him in verse. Salusts

Orations are read in the honour of Story: yet the most eloquent Plato's

speech, which he made for Socrates, is neither worthy or the Patron, or the

Person defended. Nay, in the same kind of Oratory, and where the matter

is one, you shall have him that reasons strongly, open negligently: an-

ther that prepares well, not fit so well: and this happens, not onely to

braines, but to bodies. One can wrastle well; another runne well; a

third leape, or throw the barre; a fourth lift, or stop a Cart going: Each

hath his way of strength. So in other creatures; some dogs are for the

Deere: some for the wild Boare: some are Fox-hounds: some Otter-

hounds. Nor are all horses for the Coach, or Saddle; some are for the

Cart, and Panniers.

I have knowne many excellent men, that would speake suddenly, to the

admiration of their hearers; who upon study, and premeditation have

beene forsaken by their owne wits; and no way answered their fame:

Their eloquence was greater, then their reading: and the things they

uttered, better then those they knew. Their fortune deserved better of

them, then their care. For men of present spirits, and of greater wits,

then study, doe please more in the things they invent, then in those they

bring. And I have heard some of them compell'd to speake, out of ne-

cessity, that have so infinitly exceeded themselves, as it was better, both

for them, and their Auditory, that they were so surpriz'd, not prepar'd.

Nor was it safe then to crosse them, for their adversary, their anger made

them more eloquent. Yet these men I could not but love, and admire,

that they return'd to their studies. They left not diligence (as many

doe) when their rashnesse prosper'd. For diligence is a great ayde, even

to an indifferent wit; when wee are not contented with the examples of

our owne Age, but would know the face of the former. Indeed, the

more wee conferre with, the more wee profit by, if the persons be cho-

sen.

One, though hee be excellent, and the chiefe, is not to bee imitated

alone. For never no Imitator, ever grew up to his Author; likenesse is

alwayes on this side Truth: Yet there hapn'd, in my time, one noble

Speaker, who was full of gravity in his speaking. His language, (where

hee could spare, or passe by a jest) was nobly censorious. No man ever

spake more neatly, more presly, more weightily, or suffer'd lesse emp-

tinesse, lesse idlenesse, in what hee utter'd. No member of his speech,

but consisted of the owne graces: His hearers could not cough, or looke

aside from him, without losse. Hee commanded where hee spoke;

and had his Judges angry, and pleased at his devotion. No man had their

affections more in his power. The feare of every man that heard him,

was, lest hee should make an end.

Cicero is said to bee the only wit, that the people of Rome had equall'd

to their Empire. Ingenium par imperio. We have had many, and in their

severall Ages, (to take in but the former Seculum.) Sir Thomas Moore, the

elder Wiat; Henry, Earle of Surrey; Chaloner, Smith, Cliot, B. Gardiner,

were for their times admirable: and the more, because they began Elo-

quence with us. Sir Nico: Bacon, was singular, and almost alone, in the

beginning of Queene Elizabeths times. Sir Philip Sidney, and Mr. Hooker

(in different matter) grew great Masters of wit, and language; and in

whom all vigour of Invention, and strength of judgement met. The

Earle of Essex, noble and high; and Sir Walter Rawleigh, not to be con-

temn'd, either for judgement, or stile. Sir Henry Savile grave, and truly

letter'd; Sir Edwin Sandes, excellent in both: Lo: Egerton, the Chan-

cellor, a grave, and great Orator; and best, when hee was provok'd.

But his learned, and able (though unfortunate) Successor) is he, who hath

fill'd up all numbers; and perform'd that in our tongue, which may be

compar'd, or preferr'd, either to insolent Greece, or haughty Rome. In

short, within his view, and about his times, were all the wits borne, that

could honour a language, or helpe study. Now things daily fall: wits

grow downe-ward, and Eloquence growes back-ward: So that hee may

be nam'd, and stand as the marke, and ἀκμὴ of our language.

I have ever observ'd it, to have beene the office of a wise Patriot, a-

mong the greatest affaires of the State, to take care of the Common-wealth

of Learning. For Schooles, they are the Seminaries of State: and no-

thing is worthier the study of a States-man, then that part of the Repub-

licke, which wee call the advancement of Letters. Witnesse the care of

Iulius Cæsar; who in the heat of the civill warre, writ his bookes of Ana-

logie, and dedicated them to Tully. This made the late Lord S. Albane,

entitle his worke, nouum Organum. Which though by the most of su-

perficiall men; who cannot get beyond the Title of Nominals, it is not

penetrated, nor understood: it really openeth all defects of Learning,

whatsoever; and is a Booke.

My conceit of his Person was never increased toward him, by his

place, or honours. But I have, and doe reverence him for the great-

nesse, that was onely proper to himselfe, in that hee seem'd to mee ever,

by his worke one of the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration,

that had beene in many Ages. In his adversity I ever prayed, that God

would give him strength: for Greatnesse hee could not want. Neither

could I condole in a word, or syllable for him; as knowing no Acci-

dent could doe harme to vertue; but rather helpe to make it manifest.

There cannot be one colour of the mind; an other of the wit. If the

mind be staid, grave, and compos'd; the wit is so, that vitiated, the other

is blowne, and deflowr'd. Doe wee not see, if the mind languish, the

members are dull? Looke upon an effeminate person: his very gate

confesseth him. If a man be fiery, his motion is so: if angry, 'tis trou-

bled, and violent. So that wee may conclude: Wheresoever, manners,

and fa shions are corrupted; Language is. It imitates the publicke riot.

The excesse of Feasts, and apparell, are the notes of a sick State; and

the wantonnesse of language, of a sick mind.

If wee would consider, what our affaires are indeed; not what they

are call'd, wee should find more evils belong us, then happen to us. How

often doth that, which was call'd a calamity, prove the beginning, and

cause of a mans happinesse? And on the contrary: that which hapned,

or came to an other with great gratulation, and applause, how it hath

lifted him, but a step higher to his ruine! As, if hee stood before,

where hee might fall safely.

The vulgar are commonly ill-natur'd; and alwayes grudging against

their Governours: which makes, that a Prince has more busines, and

trouble with them, then ever Hercules had with the Bull, or any other

beast: by how much they have more heads, then will be rein'd with one

bridle. There was not that variety of beasts in the Arke; as is of beastly

natures in the multitude; especially when they come to that iniquity, to

censure their Soveraign's actions. Then all the Counsels are made good,

or bad by the events. And it falleth out, that the same facts receive from

them the names; now of diligence; now, of vanity; now of Maje-

sty; now of fury: where they ought wholy to hang on his mouth;

as hee to consist of himselfe; and not others counsels.

After God, nothing is to be lov'd of man like the Prince: He violates

nature, that doth it not with his whole heart. For when hee hath put on

the care of the publike good, and common safety; I am a wretch, and

put of man, if I doe not reverence, and honour him: in whose charge

all things divine and humane are plac'd. Doe but aske of nature, why

all living creatures are lesse delighted with meat, and drinke, that sustaines

them, then with Venery, that wastes them. And she will tell thee, the

first respects but a private; the other, a common good, Propagation.

Hee is the Arbiter of life, and death: when hee finds no other sub-

ject for his mercy, hee should spare himselfe. All his punishments are

rather to correct, then to destroy. Why are prayers with Orpheus said

to be the daughters of Iupiter; but that Princes are thereby admonished,

that the petitions of the wretched, ought to have more weight with

them, then the Lawes themselves.

It was a great acculation to his Majesties deserved prayse; that men

might openly visit, and pitty those, whom his greatest prisons had at

any time received, or his Lawes condemned.

Wise, is rather the Attribute of a Prince, then learned, or good. The

learned man profits others, rather then himselfe: the good man, rather

himselfe then others: But the Prince commands others, and doth him-

selfe. The wise Licurgus gave no Law, but what himselfe kept. Sylla,

and Lysander, did not so: the one living, extreamely dissolute himselfe,

inforced frugality by the Lawes: the other permitted those Licences to

others, which himselfe abstained from. But the Princes Prudence is his

chiefe Art, and safety. In his Counsels, and deliberations hee foresees

the future times. In the equity of his judgement, hee hath remembrance

of the past, and knowledge of what is to bee done, or avoyded for the

present. Hence the Persians gave out their Cyrus, to have beene nurs'd

by a Bitch, a creature to encounter it: as of sagacity to seeke out good;

shewing that Wisdome may accompany fortitude, or it leaves to be, and

puts on the name of Rashnesse.

There be some men are borne only to sucke out the poyson of bookes:

Habent venenum pro victu: imò, pro deliciis. And such are they that only

rellish the obscene, and foule things in Poets: Which makes the profes-

sion taxed. But by whom? men, that watch for it, (and had they not

had this hint) are so unjust valuers of Letters; as they thinke no Lear-

ning good, but what brings in gaine. It shewes they themselves would

never have beene of the professions they are; but for the profits and

fees. But, if an other Learning, well used, can instruct to good life, in-

forme manners; no lesse perswade, and leade men, then they threaten,

and compell, and have no reward, is it therefore the worse study? I

could never thinke the study of Wisdome confin'd only to the Philoso-

pher: or of Poetry to the Divine: or of State to the Politicke. But that he

which can faine a Common-wealth (which is the Poet) can gowne it with

Counsels, strengthen it with Lawes, correct it with Iudgements, informe

it with Religion, and Morals; is all these. Wee doe not require in him

meere Elocution; or an excellent faculty in verse; but the exact know-

ledge of all vertues; and their Contraries; with ability to render the

one lov'd, the other hated, by his proper embattaling them. The Phi-

losophers did insolently, to challenge only to themselves that which

the greatest Generals, and gravest Counsellors never durst. For such had

rather doe, then promise the best things.

Some Controverters in Divinity are like Swaggerers in a Taverne, that

catch that which stands next them; the candlesticke, or pots; turne

every thing into a weapon: oft times they fight blind-fold; and both

beate the Ayre. The one milkes a Hee-goat, the other holds under a Sive.

Their Arguments are as fluxive as liquour spilt upon a Table; which

with your finger you may draine as you will. Such Controversies,

or Disputations, (carried with more labour, then profit) are odious:

where most times the Truth is lost in the midst; or left untouch'd. And

the fruit of their fight is; that they spit one upon another, and are both

defil'd. These Fencers in Religion, I like not.

The Body hath certaine diseases, that are with lesse evill tolerated,

then remov'd. As if to cure a Leprosie, a man should bathe himselfe with

the warme blood of a murthered Child: So in the Church, some errors

may be dissimuled with lesse inconvenience, then can be discover'd.

Men that talke of their owne benefits, are not beleev'd to talke of

them, because they have done them: but to have done them, because

they might talke of them. That which had beene great, if another had

reported it of them, vanisheth; and is nothing, if hee that did it speake

of it. For men, when they cannot destroy the deed, will yet be glad to

take advantage of the boasting, and lessen it.

I have seene, that Poverty makes men doe unfit things; but honest men

should not doe them: they should gaine otherwise. Though a man bee

hungry, hee should not play the Parasite. That houre, wherein I would

repent me to be honest: there were wayes enow open for me to be rich.

But Flattery is a fine Pick-lock of tender eares: especially of those, whom

fortune hath borne high upon their wings, that submit their dignity,

and authority to it, by a soothing of themselves. For indeed men could

never be taken, in that abundance, with the Sprindges of others Flattery,

if they began not there; if they did but remember, how much more

profitable the bitternesse of Truth were, then all the honey distilling

from a whorish voice; which is not praise, but poyson. But now it is

come to that extreme folly, or rather madnesse with some: that he that

flatters them modestly, or sparingly, is thought to maligne them. If

their friend consent not to their vices, though hee doe not contradict

them; hee is neverthelesse an enemy. When they doe all things the

worst way, even then they looke for praise. Nay, they will hire fel-

lowes to flatter them with suites, and suppers, and to prostitute their

judgements. They have Livery-friends, friends of the dish, and of the

Spit, that waite their turnes, as my Lord has his feasts, and guests.

I have considered, our whole life is like a Play: Wherein every man

forgetfull of himselfe, is in travaile with expression of another. Nay,

wee so insist in imitating others, as wee cannot (when it is necessary) re-

turne to our selves: like Children, that imitate the vices of Stammerers

so long, till at last they become such; and make the habit to another na-

ture, as it is never forgotten.

Good men are the Stars the Planets of the Ages wherein they live,

and illustrate the times. God did never let them be wanting to the world:

As Abel, for an example, of Innocency; Enoch of Purity, Noah of Trust

in Gods mercies, Abraham of Faith, and so of the rest. These sensuall

men thought mad, because they would not be partakers, or practisers of

their madnesse. But they plac'd high on the top of all vertue, look'd

downe on the Stage of the world, and contemned the Play of Fortune.

For though the most be Players, some must be Spectators.

I have discovered, that a fain'd familiarity in great ones, is a note of

certaine usurpation on the lesse. For great and popular men, faine them-

selves to bee servants to others, to make those slaves to them. So the

Fisher provides baits for the Trowte, Roch, Dace, &c. that they may

be food to him.

The Complaint of Caligula, was most wicked, of the condition of his

times: when hee said; They were not famous by any publike calamity,

as the reigne of Augustus was, by the defeat of Varus, and the Legions;

and that of Tiberius, by the falling of the Theater at Iidenæ: whilst his

oblivion was eminent, through the prosperity of his affaires. As that

other voice of his, was worthier a heads-man, then a head; when hee

wished the people of Rome had but one neck. But he found (when he sell)

they had many hands. A Tyranne, how great and mighty soever hee

may seeme to Cowards and Sluggards; is but one creature, one Animal.

I have mark'd among the Nobility, some are so addicted to the service of

the Prince, and Common-wealth, as they looke not for spoyle; such are

to be honour'd, and lov'd. There are others, which no obligation will

fasten on; and they are of two sorts. The first are such as love their

owne ease: or, out of vice, of nature, or selfe-direction, avoide busines

and care. Yet, these the Prince may use with safety. The other remove

themselves upon craft, and designe (as the Architects say) with a preme-

ditated thought to their owne, rather then their Princes profit. Such let

the Prince take heed of, and not doubt to reckon in the List of his open

enemies.

There is a great variation betweene him, that is rais'd to the Soveraigni-

ty, by the favour of his Peeres; and him that comes to it by the suffrage

of the people. The first holds with more difficulty; because hee hath

to doe with many, that thinke themselves his equals; and rais'd him for

their owne greatnesse, and oppression of the rest. The latter hath no up-

braiders; but was rais'd by them, that sought to be defended from op-

pression: whose end is both the easier, and the honester to satisfie. Be-

side, while he hath the people to friend, who are a multitude, he hath the

lesse feare of the Nobility, who are but few. Nor let the common Pro-

verbe of (Hee that builds on the people, builds on the dirt) discredit my

opinion: For that hath only place, where an ambitious, and private

person, for some popular end, trusts in them against the publike Justice,

and Magistrate. There they will leave him. But when a Prince governs

them, so as they have still need of his Administration (for that is his Art)

hee shall ever make, and hold them faithfull.

A Prince should exercise his cruelty, not by himselfe, but by his Mi-

nisters: so hee may save himselfe, and his dignity with his people, by sa-

crificing those, when he list, saith the great Doctor of State, Macchiavell.

But I say, he puts off man, and goes into a beast, that is cruell. No vertue

is a Princes owne; or becomes him more, then this Clemency: And no

glory is greater, then to be able to save with his power. Many punish-

ments sometimes, and in some cases as much discredit a Prince, as many

Funerals a Physician. The state of things is secur'd by Clemency; Seve-

rity represseth a few, but it irritates more.^* The lopping of trees makes

the boughes shoote out thicker; And the taking away of some kind of

enemies, increaseth the number. It is then, most gracious in a Prince to

pardon, when many about him would make him cruell; to thinke then,

how much he can save, when others tell him, how much he can destroy:

not to consider, what the impotence of others hath demolish'd; but

what his owne greatnesse can sustaine. There are a Princes vertues; And

they that give him other counsels, are but the Hangmans Factors.

Hee that is cruell to halfes, (saith the said St. Nicolas) looseth no lesse

the opportunity of his cruelty, then of his benefits: For then to use his

cruelty, is too late; and to use his favours will be interpreted feare and

necessity; and so hee looseth the thankes. Still the counsell is cruelty.

But Princes by harkning to cruell counsels, become in time obnoxious to

the Authors, their Flatterers, and Ministers; and are brought to that,

that when they would, they dare not change them; they must goe on,

and defend cruelty with cruelty: they cannot alter the Habit. It is then

growne necessary, they must be as ill, as those have made them: And in

the end, they will grow more hatefull to themselves, then to their Sub-

jects. Whereas, on the contrary, the mercifull Prince is safe in love, not

in feare. Hee needs no Emissaries, Spies, Intelligencers, to intrap true

Subjects. Hee feares no Libels, no Treasons. His people speake, what

they thinke; and talke openly, what they doe in secret. They have no-

thing in their brests, that they need a Cipher for. He is guarded with his

owne benefits.

The strength of Empire is in Religion. What else is the Palladium,

(with Homer) that kept Troy so long from sacking? Nothing more com-

mends the Soveraigne to the Subject, then it. For hee that is religious,

must be mercifull and just necessarily. And they are too strong ties upon

mankind. Justice is the vertue, that Innocence rejoyceth in. Yet even

that is not alwayes so safe; but it may love to stand in the sight of mercy.

For sometimes misfortune is made a crime, and then Innocence is succor'd,

no lesse then vertue. Nay, often times vertue is made Capitall: and

through the condition of the times, it may happen, that that may be pu-

nish'd with our praise. Let no man therefore murmure at the Actions of

the Prince, who is plac'd so farre above him. If hee offend, he hath his

Discoverer. God hath a height beyond him. But where the Prince is good,

Euripides saith: God is a Guest in a humane body.

There is nothing with some Princes sacred above their Majesty; or

prophane, but what violates their Scepters. But a Prince with such

Counsell, is like the God Terminus, of Stone, his owne Land-marke; or

(as it is in the Fable) a crowned Lyon. It is dangerous offending such an

one; who being angry, knowes not how to forgive. That cares not to

doe any thing, for maintaining, or inlarging of Empire; kils not men, or

Subjects; but destroyeth whole Countries, Armies, mankind, male, and

female; guilty or not guilty, holy or prophane: Yea, some that have

not seene the light. All is under the Law of their spoyle, and licence.

But Princes that neglect their proper office thus, their fortune is often

times to draw a Seianus, to be neere about him; who will at last affect to

get above 'him, and put them in a worthy feare, of rooting both them

out, and their family. For no men hate an evill Prince more, then they,

that help'd to make him such. And none more boastingly, weepe his

ruine, then they, that procur'd and practis'd it. The same path leads to

ruine, which did to rule, when men professe a Licence in governing. A

good King is a publike Servant.

A Prince without Letters, is a Pilot without eyes. All his Government

is groping. In Soveraignity it is a most happy thing, not to be compelled;

but so it is the most miserable not to be counsell'd. And how can he be

counsell'd that cannot see to read the best Counsellors(which are books.)

For they neither flatter us, nor hide from us? Hee may heare, you will say.

But how shall he alwayes be sure to heare Truth? or be counsell'd the best

things, not the sweetest? They say Princes learne no Art truly, but the

Art of Horse-manship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. Hee

will throw a Prince, as soone, as his Groome. Which is an Argument,

that the good Counsellors to Princes are the best instruments of a good

Age. For though the Prince himselfe be of most prompt inclination to

to all vertue: Yet the best Pilots have need of Mariners, beside Sayles,

Anchor, and other Tackle.

If men did know, what shining fetters, guilded miseries, and painted

happinesse, Thrones and Scepters were. There would not bee so fre-

quent strife about the getting, or holding of them. There would

be more Principalities, then Princes. For a Prince is the Pastor of the

people. Hee ought to sheere, no to flea his sheepe; to take their fleeces,

not their fels. Who were his enemies before, being a private man, be-

come his children, now hee is publike. Hee is the soule of the Common-

wealth; and ought to cherish it, as his owne body. Alexander the

Great was wont to say: Hee hated that Gardiner, that pluck'd his herbes, or

flowers up by the roots. A man may milke a beast, till the blood come:

Churne milke, and it yeeldeth butter: but wring the nose, and the blood

followeth. Hee is an ill Prince, that so puls his Subjects feathers, as hee

would not have them grow againe: that makes his Exchequer a receipt for

the spoyles of those hee governs. No, let him keepe his owne, not affect

his Subjects: strive rather to be call'd just, then powerfull. Not, like

the Romans Tyrans, affect the Surnames that grow by humane slaughters:

Neither to seeke warre in peace, or peace in warre; but to observe faith

given, though to an Enemy. Study Piety toward the Subject: Shew

care to defend him. Bee slow to punish in diverse cases; but be a sharpe,

and severe Revenger of open crimes. Breake no decrees, or dissolve no

orders, to slacken the strength of Lawes. Choose neither Magistrates

civill, or Ecclesiastick, by favour, or Price: but with long disquisition,

and report of their worth, by all Suffrages. Sell no honours, nor give

them hastily; but bestow them with counsell, and for reward; If hee

doe acknowledge it, (though late) and mend it. For Princes are easie to

be deceiv'd. And what wisdome can escape it; where so many Court-

Arts are studied? But above all, the Prince is to remember, that when

the great day of Account comes, which neither Magistrate, nor Prince

can shunne, there will be requir'd of him a reckoning for those, whom

hee hath trusted; as for himselfe, which hee must provide. And if Piety

be wanting in the Priests, Equity in the Iudges, or the Magistrate be found

rated at a price; what Iustice or Religion is to be expected? which are

the only two Attributes make Kings a kinne to Gods; and is the Del-

phick sword, both to kill Sacrifices, and to chastise offenders.

When a vertuous man is rais'd, it brings gladnesse to his friends: griefe

to his enemies, and glory to his Posterity. Nay his honours are a great

part of the honour of the times: when by this meanes he is growne to

active men, an example; to the sloathfull, a spurre; to the envious, a Pu-

nishment.

Hee, which is sole heire to many rich men, having (beside his Fathers,

and Vncles) the states of diverse his kindred come to him by accession;

must needs bee richer then Father, or Gran-father: So they which are

left heires ex Asse, of all their Ancestors vices; and by their good hus-

bandry improve the old, and daily purchase new; must needs be weal-

thier in vice, and have a greater revenue, or stock of ill to spend on.

The great theeves of a State are lightly the officers of the Crowne; they

hang the lesse still; play the Pikes in the Pond; eate whom they list.

The Net was never spread for the Hawke or Buzzard that hurt us, but

the harmelesse birds, they are good meate.

But they are not alwayes safe, though especially, when they meet with

wise Masters. They can take downe all the huffe, and swelling of their

lookes; and like dexterous Auditors, place the Counter, where he shall

value nothing. Let them but remember Lewis the eleventh, who to a

Clarke of the Exchequer, that came to be Lord treasurer, and had (for his

device) represented himselfe sitting upon fortunes wheele: told him, hee

might doe well to fasten it with a good strong nayle, lest turning about, it

might bring him, where hee was againe. As indeed it did.

A good man will avoide the spot of any sinne. The very aspersion is

grievous: which makes him choose his way in his life, as hee would in

his journey. The Ill-man rides through all confidently; hee is coated,

and booted for it. The oftner hee offends, the more openly; and the

fowler, the fitter in fashion. His modesty like a riding Coat, the more

it is worne, is the lesse car'd for. It is good enough for the durt still; and

the wayes he travels in. An Innocent man needs no Eloquence: his Inno-

cence is in stead of it: else I had never come off so many times from these

Precipices, whether mens malice hath pursued me. It is true, I have beene

accus'd to the Lords, to the King; and by great ones: but it hap'ned

my accusers had not thought of the Accusation with themselves; and

so were driven for want of crimes, to use invention, which was found

slander: or too late, (being entred so farre) to seeke starting holes for

their rashnesse, which were not given them. And then they may thinke,

what accusation that was like to prove, when they, that were the Ingi-

neers, fear'd to be the Authors. Nor were they content, to faine things

against mee, but to urge things fain'd by the Ignorant, against my pro-

fession; which though from their hired, and mercenary impudence, I

might have past by, as granted to a Nation of Barkers, that let out their

tongues to lick others sores; yet I durst not leave my selfe undefended,

having a paire of eares unskilfull to heare lyes; or have those things said

of me, which I could truly prove of them. They objected, making of

verses to me, when I could object to most of them, their not being able

to reade them, but as worthy of scorne. Nay, they would offer to urge

mine owne Writings against me; but by pieces, (which was an excellent

way of malice) as if any mans Context, might not seeme dangerous, and

offensive, if that which was knit, to what went before, were defrauded

of his beginning; or that things by themselves utter'd, might not seeme

subject to Calumnie, which read entire, would appeare most free. At

last they upbraided my poverty; I confesse, shee is my Domestick; so-

ber of diet, simple of habit; frugall, painefull; a good Counsellor to

me; that keepes me from Cruelty, Pride, or other more delicate imper-

tinences; which are the Nurse-children of Riches. But let them looke

over all the great, and monstruous wickednesses, they shall never find

those in poore families. They are the issue of the wealthy Giants, and

the mighty Hunters: Whereas no great worke, or worthy of praise, or

memory, but came out of poore cradles. It was the ancient poverty,

that founded Common-weales; built Cities, invented Arts, made

wholesome Lawes; armed men against vices; rewarded them with

their owne vertues; and preserv'd the honour, and state of Nations, till

they betray'd themselves to Riches.

Money never made any man rich, but his mind. He that can order himselfe

to the Law of nature, is not onely without the sense, but the feare of

poverty. O! but to strike blind the people with our wealth, and pompe,

is the thing! what a wretchednesse is this, to thrust all our riches out-

ward, and be beggars within: to contemplate nothing, but the little,

vile, and sordid things of the world; not the great, noble, and pretious?

wee serve our avarice, and not content with the good of the Earth, that

is offer'd us; wee search, and digge for the evill that is hidden. God

offer'd us those things, and plac'd them at hand, and neere us, that hee

knew were profitable for us; but the hurtfull hee laid deepe, and hid.

Yet doe wee seeke onely the things, whereby wee may perish; and

bring them forth, when God and nature hath buried them. Wee co-

vet super-fluous things; when it were more honour for us, if wee

could contemne necessary. What need hath nature of silver dishes,

multitudes of Waiters, delicate Pages, perfum'd Napkins? She re-

quires meat only, and hunger is not ambitious. Can wee thinke no

wealth enough, but such a state, for which a man may be brought into a

Præmunire, beg'd, proscrib'd, or poyson'd? O! if a man could restraine

the fury of his gullet, and groyne, and thinke how many fires, how

many kitchins, Cookes, Pastures, and plough'd Lands; what Or-

chards, Stewes, Ponds, and Parkes, Coupes, and Garners he could spare:

What Velvets, Tissues, Imbroderies, Laces he could lacke; and then

how short, and uncertaine his life is; Hee were in a better way to happi-

nesse, then to live the Emperour of these delights; and be the Dictator

of fashions? But wee make our selves slaves to our pleasures; and wee

serve Fame, and Ambition, which is an equall slavery. Have not I seen

the pompe of a whole Kingdome, and what a forraigne King could

bring hither. Also to make himselfe gaz'd, and wonder'd at, laid forth as

it were to the shew, and vanish all away in a day? And shall that which

could not fill the expectation of few houres, entertaine, and take up our

whole lives? when even it appear'd as superfluous to the Possessors, as

to me that was a Spectator. The bravery was shewne, it was not possess'd

while it boasted it selfe, it perish'd. It is vile, and a poor thing to place our

happinesse on these desires. Say we wanted them all. Famine ends famine.

There is nothing valiant, or solid to bee hop'd for from such, as are

alwayes kempt'd, and perfum'd; and every day smell of the Taylor.

The exceedingly curious, that are wholly in mending such an imperfe-

ction in the face, in taking away the Morphew in the neck; or bleach-

ing their hands at Mid-night, gumming, and bridling their beards, or

making the waste small, binding it with hoopes, while the mind runs at

waste: Too much pickednesse is not manly. Not from those that will

jeast at their owne outward imperfections, but hide their ulcers within,

their Pride, Lust, Envie, ill nature, with all the art and authority they

can. These persons are in danger; For whilst they thinke to justifie

their ignorance by impudence; and their persons by clothes, and out-

ward ornaments, they use but a Commission to deceive themselves.

Where, if wee will looke with our understanding, and not our senses,

wee may behold vertue, and beauty, (though cover'd with rags) in

their brightnesse; and vice, and deformity so much the fowler, in ha-

ving all the splendor of riches to guild them, or the false light of honour

and power to helpe them. Yet this is that, wherewith the world is ta-

ken, and runs mad to gaze on: Clothes and Titles, the Birdlime of Fools.

What petty things they are, wee wonder at? like children, that

esteeme every trifle; and preferre a Fairing before their Fathers: what

difference is betweene us, and them? but that we are dearer Fooles,

Cockscombes, at a higher rate? They are pleas'd with Cockleshels,

Whistles, Hobby-horses, and such like: wee with Statues, marble

Pillars, Pictures, guilded Roofes, where under-neath is Lath, and

Lyme; perhaps Lome. Yet, wee take pleasure in the lye, and are glad,

wee can cousen our selves. Nor is it onely in our wals, and seelings;

but all that wee call happinesse, is meere painting, and guilt: and all

for money: what a thinne Membrane of honour that is? and how

hath all true reputation falne, since money began to have any? yet the

great heard, the multitude; that in all other things are divided; in this

alone conspire, and agree: To love money. They wish for it, they

embrace it, they adore it; while yet it is possest with greater stirre, and

torment, then it is gotten.

Some men, what losses soever they have, they make them greater:

and if they have none, even all, that is not gotten, is a losse. Can

there be creatures of more wretched condition, then these; that conti-

nually labour under their owne misery, and others envie? A man

should study other things, not to covet, not to feare, not to repent

him: To make his Base such, as no Tempest shall shake him: to be se-

cure of all opinion; and pleasing to himselfe, even for that, wherein he

displeaseth others. For the worst opinion gotten for doing well, should

delight us: would'st not thou be just, but for fame; thou ought'st to

beit with infamy: Hee that would have his vertue published, is not the

servant of vertue, but glory.

It is a dangerous thing, when mens minds come to sojourne with

their affections, and their diseases eate into their strength: that when

too much desire, and greedinesse of vice, hath made the body unfit,

or unprofitable; it is yet gladded with the sight, and spectacle of it in

others: and for want of ability to be an Actor; is content to be a Wit-

nesse. It enjoyes the pleasure of sinning, in beholding others sinne; as

in Dicing, Drinking, Drabbing, &c. Nay, when it cannot doe all

these, it is offended with his owne narrownesse, that excludes it from

the universall delights of Man-kind; and oft times dies of a Melancholy,

that it cannot be vitious enough.

I am glad, when I see any man avoid the infamy of a vice; but to shun

the vice it selfe were better. Till hee doe that, he is but like the Pren-

tise, who being loth to bee spied by his Master, comming forth of

Black-Lucis, went in againe; to whom his Master cried; the more thou

runnest that way to hide thy selfe, the more thou art in the Place. So are

those, that keepe a Taverne all day; that they may not bee seene at

night. I have knowne Lawyers, Divines; yea, great ones of this

Heresy.

There is a greater Reverence had of things remote, or strange to us,

then of much better, if they bee neerer, and fall under our sense. Men,

and almost all sort of creatures, have their reputation by distance. Ri-

vers, the farther they runne, and more from their spring, the broader,

they are, and greater. And where our originall is knowne, we are the

lesse confident: Among strangers wee trust fortune. Yet a man may

live as renown'd at home, in his owne countrey, or a private Village, as

in the whole world. For it is vertue that gives glory: That will ende-

nizon a man every where. It is onely that can naturalize him. A native,

if hee be vitious, deserves to bee a stranger, and cast out of the Com-

mon-wealth, as an Alien.

A dejected countenance, and meane clothes, beget often a contempt;

but it is with the shallowest creatures: Courtiers commonly looke up even

with them in a new suite; you get above 'hem streight. Nothing is more

short-liv'd then Pride: It is but while their clothes last; stay but while

these are worne out, you cannot wish the thing more wretched, or de-

jected.

Poetry, and Picture, are Arts of a like nature; and both are busie about

imitation. It was excellently said of Plutarch, Poetry was a speaking Pi-

cture, and Picture a mute Poesie. For they both invent, faine, and devise

many things, and accommodate all they invent to the use, and service of

nature. Yet of the two, the Pen is more noble, then the Pencill. For

that can speake to the Understanding; the other, but to the Sense. They

both behold pleasure, and profit, as their common Object; but should

abstaine from all base pleasures, lest they should erre from their end: and

while they seeke to better mens minds, destroy their manners. They both

are borne Artificers, not made. Nature is more powerfull in them then

study.

Whosoever loves not Picture, is injurious to Truth: and all the wis-

dome of Poetry. Picture is the invention of Heaven: the most ancient,

and most a kinne to Nature. It is it selfe a silent worke: and alwayes of

one and the same habit: Yet it doth so enter, and penetrate the inmost

affection (being done by an excellent Artificer) as sometimes it orecomes

the power of speech, and oratory. There are diverse graces in it; so

are there in the Artificers. One excels in care, another in reason, a third

in easinesse, a fourth in nature and grace. Some have diligence, and

comelinesse: but they want Majesty. They can expresse a humane forme

in all the graces, sweetnesse, and elegancy; but they misse the Authority.

They can hit nothing but smooth cheeks; they cannot expresse rough-

nesse, or gravity. Others aspire to Truth so much, as they are rather Lo-

vers of likenesse, then beauty. Zeuxis, and Parrhasius, are said to be con-

temporaries: The first, found out the reason of lights, and shadowes

in Picture: the other, more subtily examined the lines.

In Picture, light is requir'd no lesse then shadow: so in stile, height,

as well as humblenesse. But beware they be not too humble; as Pliny

pronounc'd of Regulus writings. You would thinke them written, not

on a child, but by a child. Many, out of their owne obscene Apprehen-

sions, refuse proper and fit words; as occupie, nature, and the like: So the

curious industry in some of having all alike good, hath come neerer a vice,

then a vertue.

Picture tooke her faining from Poetry: from Geometry her rule, com-

passe, lines, proportion, and the whole Symmetry. Parrhasius was the first

wan reputation, by adding Symmetry to Picture: hee added subtilty to

the countenance, elegancy to the haire, love-lines to the face; and, by

the publike voice of all Artificers, deserved honour in the outer lines.

Eupompus gave it splendor by numbers, and other elegancies. From the

Opticks it drew reasons; by which it considered, how things plac'd at

distance, and a farre off, should appeare lesse: how above, or beneath

the head, should deceive the eye, &c. So from thence it tooke shadowes,

recessor, light, and heightnings. From morall Philosophy it tooke the

soule, the expression of Senses, Perturbations, Manners, when they

would paint an angry person, a proud, an inconstant, an ambitious, a

brave, a magnanimous, a just, a mercifull, a compassionate, an humble,

a dejected, a base, and the like. They made all heightnings bright, all

shadowes darke, all swellings from a plane; all solids from breaking. See

^*where he complaines of their painting Chimæra's, by the vulgar unaptly

called Grottesque: Saying, that men who were borne truly to study, and

emulate nature, did nothing but make monsters against nature; which ^aHo-

race so laught at. The Art Plasticke was moulding in clay, or potters earth

anciently. This is the Parent of Statuary sculpture, Graving and Picture; cut-

ting in brasse, and marble, all serve under her. ^bSocrates taught Parrhasius,

and Clito (two noble Statuaries) first to expresse manners by their looks in

Imagery. ^cPolygnotus, and Aglaophon were ancienter. After them ^d Zeuxis,

who was the Law-giver to all Painters: after ^eParrhasius. They were con-

temporaries, and liv'd both about Philips time, the Father of Alexander

the Great. There liv'd in this latter Age six famous Painters in Italy: who

were excellent, and emulous of the Ancients: ^fRaphael de Vrbino, Michel

Angelo Buonarota, Titian, Antonie of Correggio, Sebastian of Venice, Iulio

Romano, and Andrea Sartorio.

These are Flatterers for their bread, that praise all my oraculous Lord

do's or sayes, be it true or false: invent tales that shall please: make

baites for his Lordships eares: and if they be not receiv'd in what they

offer at, they shift a point of the Compasse, and turne their tale presently

tacke about; deny what they confest, and confesse what they denied;

fit their discourse to the persons, and occasions. What they snatch up,

and devoure at one table, utter at another: and grow suspected of the

Master, hated of the servants, while they inquire, and reprehend, and

compound, and delate busines of the house they have nothing to doe

with: They praise my Lords wine, and the sauce he likes; observe the

Cooke, and Bottle-man, while they stand in my Lords favour, speake

for a pension for them: but pound them to dust upon my Lords least dis-

taste, or change of his palate.

How much better is it, to bee silent; or at least, to speake sparingly!

For it is not enough to speake good, but timely things. If a man be

asked a question, to answer, but to repeat the Question, before hee an-

swer, is well, that hee be sure to understand it, to avoid absurdity.

For it is lesse dishonour, to heare imperfectly, then to speake imperfectly.

The eares are excus'd, the understanding is not. And in things unknown

to a man, not to give his opinion, lest by affectation of knowing too

much, hee lose the credit hee hath by speaking, or knowing the wrong

way, what hee utters. Nor seeke to get his Patrons favour, by imbark-

ing himselfe in the Factions of the Family: to inquire after domesticke

simulties, their sports, or affections. They are an odious, and vile kind

of creatures, that fly about the house all day; and picking up the filth of

the house, like Pies or Swallowes, carry it to their nest (the Lords

eares) and oftentimes report the lyes they have fain'd, for what they

have seene and heard.

These are call'd instruments of grace, and power, with great persons;

but they are indeed the Organs of their impotencie, and markes of

weaknesse. For sufficient Lords are able to make these Discoveries

themselves. Neither will an honourable person inquire, who eats, and

drinkes together, what that man playes, whom this man loves; with

whom such a one walkes; what discourse they held, who sleepes, with

whom. They are base, and servile natures, that busie themselves about

these disquisitions. How often have I seene, (and worthily) these

Censors of the family, undertaken by some honest Rustick, and cudgel'd

thriftily? These are commonly the off-scowring, and dregs of men,

that doe these things, or calumniate others: Yet I know not truly which

is worse; hee that malignes all, or that praises all. There is as great a

vice in praising, and as frequent, as in detracting.

It pleas'd your Lordship of late, to aske my opinion, touching the edu-

cation of your sonnes, and especially to the advancement of their stu-

dies. To which, though I return'd somewhat for the present; which

rather manifested a will in me, then gave any just resolution to the thing

propounded: I have upon better cogitation call'd those ayds about mee,

both of mind, and memory; which shall venter my thoughts clearer, if

not fuller, to your Lordships demand. I confesse, my Lord, they will

seeme but petty, and minute things I shall offer to you, being writ for

children, and of them. But studies have their Infancie, as well as creatures.

Wee see in men, even the strongest compositions had their beginnings

from milke, and the Cradle; and the wisest tarried sometimes about

apting their mouthes to Letters, and syllables. In their education

therefore, the care must be the greater had of their beginnings, to know,

examine, and weigh their natures; which though they bee proner in

some children to some disciplines; yet are they naturally prompt to

taste all by degrees, and with change. For change is a kind of refresh-

ing in studies, and infuseth knowledge by way of recreation. Thence the

Schoole it selfe is call'd a Play, or Game: and all Letters are so best

taught to Schollers. They should not be afrighted, or deterr'd in their

Entry, but drawne on with exercise, and emulation. A youth should

not be made to hate study, before hee know the causes to love it: or

taste the bitternesse before the sweet; but call'd on, and allur'd, intrea-

ted and praised: Yea, when hee deserves it not. For which cause I wish

them sent to the best schoole, and a publike; which I thinke the best.

Your Lordship I feare hardly heares of that, as willing to breed them in

your eye, and at home; and doubting their manners may bee corrupted

abroad. They are in more danger in your owne Family, among ill ser-

vants, (allowing, they be safe in their Schoole-Master) then amongst a

thousand boyes, however immodest: would wee did not spoyle our

owne children, and overthrow their manners our selves by too much

Indulgence. To breed them at home, is to breed them in a shade;

where in a schoole they have the light, and heate of the Sunne. They

are us'd, and accustom'd to things, and men. When they come forth

into the Common-wealth, they find nothing new, or to seeke. They

have made their friendships and ayds; some to last till their Age. They

heare what is commanded to others, as well as themselves. Much ap-

prov'd, much corrected; all which they bring to their owne store, and

use; and learne as much, as they heare. Eloquence would be but a poore

thing, if wee should onely converse with singulars; speake, but man

and man together. Therefore I like no private breeding. I would send

them where their industry should be daily increas'd by praise; and that

kindled by emulation. It is a good thing to inflame the mind: And

though Ambition it selfe be a vice, it is often the cause of great vertue.

Give me that wit, whom praise excites, glory puts on, or disgrace grieves:

hee is to bee nourish'd with Ambition, prick'd forward with honour;

check'd with Reprehension; and never to bee suspected of sloath.

Though hee be given to play, it is a signe of spirit, and livelinesse; so

there be a meane had of their sports, and relaxations. And from the

rodde, or ferule, I would have them free, as from the menace of them:

for it is both deformed, and servile.

For a man to write well, there are required three Necessaries. To

reade the best Authors, observe the best Speakers: and much exercise

of his owne style. In style to consider, what ought to be written; and

after what manner; Hee must first thinke, and excogitate his matter;

then choose his words, and examine the weight of either. Then take

care in placing, and ranking both matter, and words, that the composi-

tion, be comely; and to doe this with diligence, and often. No matter

how slow the style be at first, so it be labour'd, and accurate; seeke the

best, and be not glad of the forward conceipts, or first words, that offer

themselves to us, but judge of what wee invent; and order what wee

approve. Repeat often, what wee have formerly written; which be-

side, that it helpes the consequence, and makes the juncture better, it

quickens the heate of imagination, that often cooles in the time of setting

downe, and gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier, by the going

back. As wee see in the contention of leaping, they jumpe farthest, that

fetch their race largest: or, as in throwing a Dart, or Iavelin, wee force

back our armes, to make our loose the stronger. Yet, if we have a faire

gale of wind, I forbid not the steering out of our sayle, so the favour of

the gale deceive us not. For all that wee invent doth please us in the con-

ception, or birth; else we would never set it downe. But the safest is to

returne to our Judgement, and handle over againe those things, the easi-

nesse of which might make them justly suspected. So did the best Wri-

ters in their beginnings; they impos'd upon themselves care, and in-

dustry. They did nothing rashly. They obtain'd first to write well,

and then custome made it easie, and a habit. By little and little, their

matter shew'd it selfe to 'hem more plentifully; their words answer'd,

their composition followed; and all, as in a well-order'd family, pre-

sented it selfe in the place. So that the summe of all is: Ready writing

makes not good writing; but good writing brings on ready writing:

Yet when wee thinke wee have got the faculty, it is even then good to re-

sist it: as to give a Horse a check sometimes with bit, which doth not

so much stop his course, as stirre his mettle. Againe, whether a mans

Genius is best able to reach thither, it should more and more contend, lift

and dilate it selfe, as men of low stature, raise themselves on their toes;

and so oft times get even, if not eminent. Besides, as it is fit for grown

and able Writers to stand of themselves, and worke with their owne

strength, to trust and endeavour by their owne faculties: so it is fit for

the beginner, and learner, to study others, and the best. For the mind,

and memory are more sharpely exercis'd in comprehending an other

mans things, then our owne; and such as accustome themselves, and are

familiar with the best Authors, shall ever and anon find some what of

them in themselves, and in the expression of their minds, even when

they feele it not, be able to utter something like theirs, which hath

an Authority above their owne. Nay, sometimes it is the reward of a

mans study, the praise of quoting an other man fitly: And though a

man be more prone, and able for one kind of writing, then another, yet

hee must exercise all. For as in an Instrument, so in style, there must be

a Harmonie, and consent of parts.

I take this labour in teaching others, that they should not be alwayes

to bee taught; and I would bring my Precepts into practise. For rules

are ever of lesse force, and valew, then experiments. Yet with this

purpose, rather to shew the right way to those that come after, then to

detect any that have slipt before by errour, and I hope it will bee more

profitable. For men doe more willingly listen, and with more favour

to precept, then reprehension. Among diverse opinions of an Art, and

most of them contrary in themselves, it is hard to make election; and

therefore, though a man cannot invent new things after so many, he may

doe a welcome worke yet to helpe posterity to judge rightly of the old.

But Arts and Precepts availe nothing, except nature be beneficiall, and

ayding. And therefore these things are no more written to a dull dispo-

sition, then rules of husbandry to a barren Soyle. No precepts will pro-

fit a Foole; no more then beauty will the blind, or musicke the deafe.

As wee should take care, that our style in writing, be neither dry, nor

empty: wee should looke againe it be not winding, or wanton with far-

fetcht-descriptions; Either is a vice. But that is worse which proceeds

out of want, then that which riots out of plenty. The remedy of fruit-

fullnesse is easie, but no labour will helpe the contrary; I will like, and

praise some things in a young Writer; which yet if hee continue in, I

cannot, but justly hate him for the same. There is a time to bee given

all things for maturity; and that even your Countrey-husband-man

can teach; who to a young plant will not put the proyning knife, because

it seemes to feare the iron, as not able to admit the scarre. No more

would I tell a greene Writer all his faults, lest I should make him grieve

and faint, and at last despaire. For nothing doth more hurt, then to make

him so afraid of all things, as hee can endeavour nothing. Therefore

youth ought to be instructed betimes, and in the best things: for we hold

those longest, wee take soonest. As the first sent of a Vessell lasts: and

that tinct the wooll first receives. Therefore a Master should temper

his owne powers, and descend to the others infirmity. If you powre a

glut of water upon a Bottle, it receives little of it; but with a Funnell,

and by degrees, you shall fill many of them, and spill little of your

owne; to their capacity they will all receive, and be full. And as it is fit

to reade the best Authors to youth first, so let them be of the openest,

and clearest. As Livy before Salust, Sydney before Donne: and beware of

letting them taste Gower, or Chaucer at first, lest falling too much in love

with Antiquity, and not apprehending the weight, they grow rough

and barren in language onely. When their judgements are firme, and

out of danger, let them reade both, the old and the new: but no lesse

take heed, that their new flowers, and sweetnesse doe not as much cor-

rupt, as the others drinesse, and squallor, if they choose not carefully.

Spencer, in affecting the Ancients writ no Language: Yet I would have

him read for his matter; but as Virgil read Ennius. The reading of

Homer and Virgil is counsell'd by Quintilian, as the best way of infor-

ming youth, and confirming man. For besides that, the mind is rais'd

with the height, and sublimity of such a verse, it takes spirit from the

greatnesse of the matter, and is tincted with the best things. Tragicke,

and Liricke Poetry is good too: and Comicke with the best, if the man-

ners of the Reader be once in safety. In the Greeke Poets, as also in

Plautus, wee shall see the Oeconomy, and disposition of Poems, better

observed then in Terence, and the later: who thought the sole grace, and

vertue of their Fable, the sticking in of sentences, as ours doe the forcing

in of jests.

Wee should not protect our sloath with the patronage of difficulty.

It is a false quarrell against nature, that shee helpes understanding; but

in a few, when the most part of mankind are inclin'd by her thither, if

they would take the paines; no lesse then birds to fly, horses to run, &c.

Which if they lose, it is through their owne sluggishnesse, and by that

meanes become her prodigies, not her children. I confesse, nature in

children is more patient of labour in study, then in Age; for the sense

of the paine, the judgement of the labour is absent, they doe not mea-

sure what they have done. And it is the thought, and consideration,

that affects us more, then the wearinesse it selfe. Plato was not content

with the Learning, that Athens could give him, but sail'd into Italy for

Pythagora's knowledge: And yet not thinking himselfe sufficiently in-

form'd, went into Egypt to the Priests, and learned their mysteries. Hee

labour'd, so must wee. Many things may be learn'd together, and per-

form'd in one point of time; as Musicians exercise their memory, their

voice, their fingers, and sometime their head, and feet at once. And

so a Preacher in the invention of matter, election of words, composition

of gesture, looke, pronunciation, motion, useth all these faculties at once.

And if wee can expresse this variety together, why should not diverse

studies, at diverse houres delight, when the variety is able alone to re-

fresh, and repaire us? As when a man is weary of writing, to reade; and

then againe of reading, to write. Wherein, howsoever wee doe many

things, yet are wee (in a sort) still fresh to what wee begin: wee are

recreated with change, as the stomacke is with meats. But some will say,

this variety breeds confusion, and makes, that either wee loose all, or

hold no more then the last. Why doe wee not then perswade husband-

men, that they should not till Land, helpe it with Marle, Lyme, and

Compost? plant Hop-gardens, prune trees, looke to Bee-hives, reare

sheepe, and all other Cattell at once? It is easier to doe many things, and

continue, then to doe one thing long.

It is not the passing through these Learnings that hurts us, but the

dwelling and sticking about them. To descend to those extreame anxie-

ties, and foolish cavils of Grammarians, is able to breake a wit in pieces;

being a worke of manifold misery, and vainenesse, to bee Elementarij

senes. Yet even Letters are as it were the Banke of words, and restore

themselves to an Author, as the pawnes of Language: But talking and

Eloquence are not the same: to speake, and to speake well, are two

things. A foole may talke, but a wise man speakes, and out of the ob-

servation, knowledge, and use of things. Many Writers perplexe their

Readers, and Hearers with meere Non-sense. Their writings need sun-

shine. Pure and neat Language I love, yet plaine and customary. A

barbarous Phrase hath often made mee out of love with a good sense;

and doubtfull writing hath wrackt mee beyond my patience. The rea-

son why a Poet is said, that hee ought to have all knowledges, is that hee

should not be ignorant of the most, especially of those hee will handle.

And indeed when the attaining of them is possible, it were a sluggish, and

base thing to despaire. For frequent imitation of any thing, becomes a

habit quickly. If a man should prosecute as much, as could be said of

every thing; his worke would find no end.

Speech is the only benefit man hath to expresse his excellencie of mind

above other creatures. It is the Instrument of Society. Therefore

Mercury, who is the President of Language, is called Deorum hominum[que]

interpres. In all speech, words and sense, are as the body, and the soule.

The sense is as the life and soule of Language, without which all words

are dead. Sense is wrought out of experience, the knowledge of hu-

mane life, and actions, or of the liberall Arts, which the Greeks call'd

E'νκυκλοπαιδείαν. Words are the Peoples; yet there is a choise of them to

be made. For Verborum delectus, origo est eloquentiæ. They are to be chose

according to the persons wee make speake, or the things wee speake of.

Some are of the Campe, some of the Councell-board, some of the Shop,

some of the Sheepe-coat, some of the Pulpit, some of the Barre, &c.

And herein is seene their Elegance, and Propriety, when wee use them

fitly, and draw them forth to their just strength and nature, by way of

Translation, or Metaphore. But in this Translation wee must only serve

necessity (Nam temerè nihil transfertur à prudenti) or commodity, which

is a kind of necessity; that is, when wee either absolutely want a word

to expresse by, and that is necessity; or when wee have not so fit a word,

and that is commodity. As when wee avoid losse by it, and escape ob-

scenenesse, and gaine in the grace and property, which helpes signifi-.

cance. Metaphors farfet hinder to be understood, and affected, lose their

grace. Or when the person fetcheth his translations from a wrong

place. As if a Privie-Counsellor should at the Table take his Metaphore

from a Dicing-house, or Ordinary, or a Vintners Vault; or a Justice of

Peace draw his similitudes from the Mathematicks; or a Divine from a

Bawdy-house, or Tavernes; or a Gentleman of Northampton-shire, War-

wick-shire, or the Mid-land, should fetch all his Illustrations to his coun-

trey neighbours from shipping, and tell them of the maine sheat, and the

Boulin. Metaphors are thus many times deform'd, as in him that said,

Castratam morte Aphricani Rempublicam. And an othet, stercus curiæ Glau-

ciam. And Canâ nive conspuit Alpes. All attempts that are new in this

kind, are dangerous, and somewhat hard, before they be softned with

use. A man coynes not a new word without some perill, and lesse fruit;

for if it happen to be received, the praise is but moderate; if refus'd, the

scorne is assur'd. Yet wee must adventure, for things at first, hard and

rough, are by use made tender and gentle. It is an honest errour that is

committed, following great Chiefes.

Custome is the most certaine Mistresse of Language, as the pub-

licke stampe makes the current money. But wee must not be too fre-

quent with the mint, every day coyning. Nor fetch words from

the extreme and utmost ages; since the chiefe vertue of a style is perspi-

cuitie, and nothing so vitious in it, as to need an Interpreter. Words

borrow'd of Antiquity, doe lend a kind of Majesty to style, and are not

without their delight sometimes. For they have the Authority of

yeares, and out of their intermission doe win to themselves a kind of

grace-like newnesse. But the eldest of the present, and newnesse of the

past Language is the best. For what was the ancient Language, which

some men so doate upon, but the ancient Custome? Yet when I name

Custome, I understand not the vulgar Custome: For that were a pre-

cept no lesse dangerous to Language, then life, if wee should speake or

live after the manners of the vulgar: But that I call Custome of speech,

which is the consent of the Learned; as Custome of life, which is the

consent of the good. Virgill was most loving of Antiquity; yet how

rarely doth hee insert aquai, and pictai! Lucretius is scabrous and rough

in these; hee seekes 'hem: As some doe Chaucerismes with us, which

were better expung'd and banish'd. Some words are to be cull'd out for

ornament and colour, as wee gather flowers to straw houses, or make

Garlands; but they are better when they grow to our style; as in a Mea-

dow, where though the meere grasse and greennesse delights; yet the

variety of flowers doth heighten and beautifie. Marry we must not play,

or riot too much with them, as in Paranomasies: Nor use too swelling, or

ill-sounding words; Quæ per salebras, alta[que] saxa cadunt. It is true, there is no

sound but shall find some Lovers, as the bitter'st confections are gratefull

to some palats. Our composition must bee more accurate in the begin-

ning and end, then in the midst; and in the end more, then in the begin-

ning; for through the midst the streame beares us. And this is attain'd

by Custome more then care, or diligence. Wee must expresse readily,

and fully, not profusely. There is difference betweene a liberall, and a

prodigall hand. As it is a great point of Art, when our matter requires

it, to enlarge, and veere out all sayle; so to take it in, and contract it, is of

no lesse praise when the Argument doth aske it. Either of them hath their

fitnesse in the place. A good man alwayes profits by his endeavour, by

his helpe; yea, when he is absent; nay when he is dead by his example

and memory. So good Authors in their style: A strict and succinct style

is that, where you can take away nothing without losse, and that losse to

be manifest. The briefe style is that which expresseth much in little. The

concise style, which expresseth not enough, but leaves somewhat to bee

understood. The abrupt style, which hath many breaches, and doth

not seeme to end, but fall. The congruent, and harmonious fitting

of parts in a sentence, hath almost the fastning, and force of knit-

ting, and connexion: As in stones well squar'd, which will rise

strong a great way without mortar. Periods are beautifull; when

they are not too long; for so they have their strength too, as in a

Pike or Javelin. As wee must take the care that our words and

sense bee cleare; so if the obscurity happen through the Hearers,

or Readers want of understanding, I am not to answer for them;

no more then for their not listning or marking; I must neither find

them eares, nor mind. But a man cannot put a word so in sense,

but some thing about it will illustrate it, if the Writer understand

himselfe. For Order helpes much to Perspicuity, as Confusion hurts.

Rectitudo lucem adfert; obliquitas et circumductio offuscat. We should therefore

speake what wee can, the neerest way, so as wee keepe our gate, not leape;

for too short may as well be not let into the memory, as too long not

kept in. Whatsoever looseth the grace. and clearenesse, converts into

a Riddle; the obscurity is mark'd, but not the valew. That perisheth,

and is past by, like the Pearle in the Fable. Our style should be like a

skeine of silke to be carried, and found by the right thred, not ravel'd,

and perplex'd; then all is a knot, a heape. There are words, that doe

as much raise a style, as others can depresse it. Superlation, and over-

muchnesse amplifies. It may be above faith, but never above a meane. It

was ridiculous in Cestius, when hee said of Alexander:

But propitiously from Virgil:--Credas innate reuulsas Cycladas.

Hee doth not say it was so, but seem'd to be so. Although it be some-

what incredible, that is excus'd before it be spoken. But there are Hy-

perboles, which will become one Language, that will by no meanes ad-

mit another. As Eos esse P. R. exercitus, qui cœlum possint perrumpere: who

would say this with us, but a mad man? Therefore wee must consider

in every tongue what is us'd, what receiv'd. Quintilian warnes us, that

in no kind of Translation, or Metaphore, or Allegory, wee make a turne

from what wee began; As if wee fetch the originall of our Metaphore

from sea, and billowes; wee end not in flames and ashes; It is a most

fowle inconsequence. Neither must wee draw out our Allegory too long,

lest either wee make our selves obscure, or fall into affectation, which is

childish. But why doe men depart at all from the right, and naturall

wayes of speaking? Sometimes for necessity, when wee are driven, or

thinke it fitter to speake that in obscure words, or by circumstance, which

utter'd plainely would offend the hearers. Or to avoid obscenenesse, or

sometimes for pleasure, and variety; as Travailers turne out of the

high way, drawne, either by the commodity of a foot-path, or the de-

licacy, or freshnesse of the fields. And all this is call'd ἐσχατιςμένην, or

figur'd Language.

Language most shewes a man: speake that I may see thee. It springs

out of the most retired, and inmost parts of us, and is the Image of the

Parent of it, the mind. No glasse renders a mans forme, or likenesse,

so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man; and as we consider

feature, and composition in a man; so words in Language: in the great-

nesse, aptnesse, sound, structure, and harmony of it. Some men are tall,

and bigge, so some Language is high and great. Then the words are

chosen, their sound ample, the composition full, the absolution plente-

ous, and powr'd out, all grave, sinnewye and strong. Some are little,

and Dwarfes: so of speech it is humble, and low, the words poore and

flat; the members and Periods, thinne and weake without knitting, or

number. The middle are of a just stature. There the Language is plaine,

and pleasing: even without stopping, round without swelling; all well-

torn'd, compos'd, elegant, and accurate. The vitious Language is vast,

and gaping, swelling, and irregular; when it contends to be high, full of

Rocke, Mountaine, and pointednesse: As it affects to be low, it is abject,

and creeps, full of bogs, and holes. And according to their Subject,

these stiles vary, and lose their names: For that which is high and lofty,

declaring excellent matter, becomes vast and tumorous: Speaking of

petty and inferiour things: so that which was even, and apt in a meane

and plaine subject, will appeare most poore and humble in a high Argu-

ment. Would you not laugh, to meet a great Counsellor of state in a

flat cap, with his trunck hose, and a hobby-horse Cloake, his Gloves un-

der his girdle, and yond Haberdasher in a velvet Gowne, furr'd with

sables? There is a certaine latitude in these things, by which wee find the

degrees. The next thing to the stature, is the figure and feature in Lan-

guage: that is, whether it be round, and streight, which consists of short

and succinct Periods, numerous, and polish'd, or square and firme; which

is to have equall and strong patts, every where answerable, and weighed.

The third is the skinne, and coat, which rests in the well-joyning, cemen-

ting, and coagmentation of words; when as it is smooth, gentle, and

sweet; like a Table, upon which you may runne your finger without

rubs, and your nayle cannot find a joynt; not horrid, rough, wrinck-

led, gaping, or chapt: After these the flesh, blood, and bones come in

question. Wee say it is a fleshy style, when there is much Periphrases,

and circuit of words; and when with more then enough, it growes fat

and corpulent; Arvina orationis, full of suet and tallow. It hath blood,

and juyce, when the words are proper and apt, their sound sweet, and

the Phrase neat and pick'd. Oratio uncta, & benè pasta. But where there is

Redundancy, both the blood and juyce are faulty, and vitious. Redundat

sanguine, quâ multò plus dicit, quàm necesse est. Juyce in Language is some-

what lesse then blood; for if the words be but becomming, and signify-

ing, and the sense gentle, there is Juyce: but where that wanteth, the

Language is thinne, flagging, poore, starv'd; scarce covering the bone,

and shewes like stones in a sack. Some men to avoid Redundancy, runne

into that; and while they strive to have no ill blood, or Juyce, they loose

their good. There be some styles againe, that have not lesse blood, but

lesse flesh, and corpulence. These are bony, and sinnewy: Ossa habent, et

nervos.

It was well noted by the late L. St. Alban, that the study of words is

the first distemper of Learning: Vaine matter the second: And a third

distemper is deceit, or the likenesse of truth. Imposture held up by cre-

dulity. All these are the Cobwebs of Learning, and to let them grow

in us, is either sluttish or foolish. Nothing is more ridiculous, then to

make an Author a Dictator, as the schooles have done Aristotle. The

dammage is infinite, knowledge receives by it. For to many things a

man should owe but a temporary beliefe, and a suspension of his owne

Judgement, not an absolute resignation of himselfe, or a perpetuall cap-

tivity. Let Aristotle, and others have their dues; but if wee can make

farther Discoveries of truth and fitnesse then they, why are we envied?

Let us beware, while wee strive to adde, wee doe not diminish, or de-

face; wee may improve, but not augment. By discrediting falshood,

Truth growes in request. Wee must not goe about like men anguish'd,

and perplex'd, for vitious affectation of praise: but calmely study the

separation of opinions, find the errours have intervened, awake Anti-

quity, call former times into question; but make no parties with the

present, nor follow any fierce undertakers, mingle no matter of doubt-

full credit, with the simplicity of truth, but gently stirre the mould about

the root of the Question, and avoid all digladiations, facility of credit,

or superstitious simplicity; seeke the consonancy, and concatenation of

Truth; stoope only to point of necessity; and what leads to convenience.

Then make exact animadversion where style hath degenerated,

where flourish'd, and thriv'd in choisenesse of Phrase, round and cleane

composition of sentence, sweet falling of the clause, varying an illustra-

tion by tropes and figures, weight of Matter, worth of Subject, sound-

nesse of Argument, life of Invention, and depth of Judgement. This

is Monte potiri, to get the hill. For no perfect Discovery can bee made

upon a flat or a levell.

Now, that I have informed you in the knowing these things; let mee

leade you by the hand a little farther, in the direction of the use; and

make you an able Writer by practice. The conceits of the mind are

Pictures of things, and the tongue is the Interpreter of those Pictures.

The order of Gods creatures in themselves, is not only admirable, and

glorious, but eloquent; Then he who could apprehend the consequence

of things in their truth, and utter his apprehensions as truly, were the

best Writer, or Speaker. Therefore Cicero said much, when hee said,

Dicere rectè nemo potest, nisi qui prudenter intelligit. The shame of speaking

unskilfully were small, if the tongue onely thereby were disgrac'd: But as

the Image of a King, in his Seale ill-represented, is not so much a ble-

mish to the waxe, or the Signet that seal'd it, as to the Prince it represen-

teth; so disordered speech is not so much injury to the lips that give it

forth, as to the disproportion, and incoherence of things in themselves,

so negligently expressed. Neither can his mind be thought to be in tune,

whose words doe jarre; nor his reason in frame, whose sentence is prepo-

sterous; nor his Elocution cleare and perfect, whose utterance breakes

it selfe into fragments and uncertainties: Were it not a dishonour to a

mighty Prince, to have the Majesty of his embassage spoyled by a care-

lesse Ambassadour? and is it not as great an Indignity, that an excellent

conceit and capacity, by the indiligence of an idle tongue should be dis-

grac'd? Negligent speech doth not onely discredit the person of the

Speaker, but it discrediteth the opinion of his reason and judgement; it

discrediteth the force and uniformity of the matter, and substance. If it

be so then in words, which fly and escape censure, and where one good

Phrase begs pardon for many incongruities, and faults; how shall he then

be thought wise, whose penning is thin and shallow? How shall you

looke for wit from him, whose leasure and head, assisted with the exami-

nation of his eyes, yeeld you no life, or sharpenesse in his writing.

In writing there is to be regarded the Invention, and the Fashion. For

the Invention, that ariseth upon your busines; whereof there can bee no

rules of more certainty, or precepts of better direction given, then con-

jecture can lay downe, from the severall occasions of mens particular

lives, and vocations: But sometimes men make basenesse of kindnesse:

As (I could not satisfie my selfe, till 1 had discharged my remembrance, and

charged my Letters with commendations to you.) Or, [My busines is no other,

then to testifie my love to you, and to put you in mind of my willingnesse to doe you all

kind offices.] Or, [Sir, have you leasure to descend to the remembring of that

assurance you have long possest in your servant; and upon your next opportunity,

make him happy with some commands from you?] Or, the like; that goe a

begging for some meaning, and labour to be deliver'd of the great bur-

then of nothing. When you have invented, and that your busines bee

matter, and not bare forme, or meere Ceremony, but some earnest: then

are you to proceed to the ordering of it, and digesting the parts, which is

had out of two circumstances. One is the understanding of the Persons,

to whom you are to write; the other is the coherence of your Sentence.

For mens capacity to weigh, what will be apprehended with greatest at-

tention, or leisure; what next regarded, and long'd for especially; and

what last will leave satisfaction, and (as it were)the sweetest memoriall,

and beliefe of all that is past in his understanding, whom you write to.

For the consequence of Sentences, you must bee sure, that every clause

doe givethe Q. one to the other, and be bespoken ere it come. So much

for Invention and order. Now for fashion it consists in foure things, which

are Qualities of your style. The first is Brevity. For they must not be

Treatises, or Discourses (your Letters) except it be to learned men. And

even among them, there is a kind of thrift, and saving of words. There-

fore you are to examine the clearest passages of your understanding, and

through them to convey the sweetest, and most significant words you

can devise; that you may the easier teach them the readiest way to an

other mans apprehension, and open their meaning fully, roundly, and

distinctly. So as the Reader may not thinke a second view cast away

upon your letter. And though respect bee a part following this; yet

now here, and still I must remember it, if you write to a man, whose

estate and cense as senses, you are familiar with, you may the bolder (to

set a taske to his braine) venter on a knot. But if to your Superior, you

are bound to measure him in three farther points: First, your interest in

him: Secondly, his capacity in your Letters: Thirdly, his leasure to

peruse them. For your interest, or favour with him, you are to bee the

shorter, or longer, more familiar, or submisse, as hee will afford you

time. For his capacity you are to be quicker, and fuller of those reaches,

and glances of wit, or learning, as hee is able to entertaine them. For

his leasure, you are commanded to the greatcr briefnesse, as his place is

of greater discharges, and cares. But with your betters, you are not

to put Riddles of wit, by being too scarse of words: not to cause the

trouble of making Breviates, by writing too riotous, and wastingly.

Brevity is attained in matter, by avoiding idle Complements, Prefaces,

Protestations, Parentheses, superfluous circuit of figures, and digressions:

In the composition, by omitting Conjunctions, [Not onely; But Also]

Both the one, and the other, whereby it commeth to passe] and such like idle

Particles, that have no great busines in a serious Letter, but breaking of

sentences; as often times a short journey is made long, by unnecessary

baits.

But as Quintilian saith, there is a briefnesse of the parts sometimes,

that makes the whole long, as I came to the staires, I tooke a paire of

oares, they launch'd out, rowed a pace, I landed at the Court-gate, I

paid my fayre, went up to the Presence, ask'd for my Lord, I was ad-

mitted. All this is but, I went to the Court, and speake with my Lord.

This is the fault of some Latine Writers, within these last hundred years,

of my reading, and perhaps Seneca may be appeacht of it; I accuse him

not. The next property of Epistolarie style is Perspicuity, and is often

times by affectation of some wit ill angled for, or ostentation of some

hidden termes of Art. Few words they darken speech, and so doe too

many: as well too much light hurteth the eyes, as too little; and a long

Bill of Chancery confounds the understanding, as much as the shortest

note. Therefore, let not your Letters be penn'd like English Statutes, and

this is obtain'd. These vices are eschewed by pondering your busines

well, and distinctly concerning your selfe, which is much furthered by

uttering your thoughts, and letting them as well come forth to the light,

and Judgement of your owne outward senses, as to the censure of other

mens eares: For that is the reason, why many good Schollers speake

but fumblingly; like a rich man, that for want of particular note and

difference, can bring you no certaine ware readily out of his shop. Hence

it is, that talkative shallow men doe often content the Hearers, more then

the wise. But this may find a speedier redresse in writing; where all comes

under the last examination of the eyes. First mind it well, then pen it,

then examine it, then amend it; and you may bee in the better hope of

doing reasonably well. Vnder this vertue may come Plainenesse, which

is not to be curious in the order, as to answer a letter, as if you were to

answer to Intergatories. As to the first, first; and to the second, secondly,

&c. But both in method to use (as Ladies doe in their attyre) a diligent

kind of negligence, and their sportive freedome; though with some

men you are not to jest, or practise tricks: yet the delivery of the most

important things, may be carried with such a grace, as that it may yeeld

a pleasure to the conceit of the Reader. There must bee store, though

no excesse of termes; as if you are to name Store, sometimes you may

call it choyse, sometimes plenty; sometimes copiousnesse, or variety:

but ever so, that the word which comes in lieu, have not such difference

of meaning, as that it may put the sense of the first in hazard to be mista-

ken. You are not to cast a Ring for the perfumed termes of the time, as

Accommodation, Complement, Spirit, amp;c. But use them properly in their

place, as others. There followeth Life, and Quicknesse, which is the

strength and sinnewes (as it were) of your penning by pretty Sayings,

Similitudes, and Conceits, Allusions, some knowne History, or other

common place, such as are in the Courtier, and the second booke of

Cicero de oratore. The last is; Respect to discerne, what fits your selfe;

him to whom you write; and that which you handle, which is a quality

fit to conclude the rest, because it doth include all. And that must pro-

ceed from ripenesse of judgement, which as one truly saith, is gotten by

foure meanes, God, Nature, Diligence, and Conversation. Serve the first

well, and the rest will serve you.

We have spoken sufficiently of Oratory; let us now make a diversion to

Poetry. Poetry in the Primogeniture had many peccant humours, and is

made to have more now, through the Levity, and inconstancie of mens

Judgements. Whereas indeed, it is the most prevailing Eloquence, and of

the most exalted Charact. Now the discredits and disgraces are many

it hath receiv'd, through mens study of Depravation or Calumny:

their practise being to give it diminution of Credit, by lessening the Pro-

fessors estimation, and making the Age afraid of their Liberty: And

the Age is growne so tender of her fame, as she cals all writings Asper-

sions.

That is the State word, the Phrase of Court, (Placentia Colledge) which

some call Parasites Place, the Inne of Ignorance.

Whilst I name no persons, but deride follies; why should any man con-

fesse, or betray himselfe? why doth not that of S. Hierome come into their

minde; Vbi generalis est de vitiis disputatio, ibi nullius esse personæ injuriam? It is

such an inexpiable crime in Poets, to taxe vices generally; and no offence in

them who, by their exception, confesse they have committed them parti-

cularly. Are wee fal'ne into those times that wee must not

Remedii votum semper verius erat, quàm spes. If men may by no meanes write

freely, or speake truth, but when it offends not; why doe Physicians cure

with sharpe medicines, or corrosives? Is not the same equally lawfull in the

cure of the minde, that is in the cure of the body? Some vices, (you will

say) are soe foule, that it is better they should bee done, then spoken. But

they that take offence where no Name, Character, or Signature doth blazon

them, seeme to mee like affected as woemen; who, if they heare any thing

ill spoken of the ill of their Sexe, are presently mov'd, as if the contumely

respected their particular: and, on the contrary, when they heare good of

good woemen, conclude, that it belongs to them all. If I see any thing that

toucheth mee, shall I come forth a betraier of my selfe, presently? No; if I

be wise i'le dissemble it; if honest, i'le avoid it: lest I publish that on my

owne forehead, which I saw there noted without a title. A man, that is on

the mending hand, will either ingeniously confesse, or wisely dissemble his

disease. And, the wise, and vertuous, will never thinke any thing belongs

to themselves that is written, but rejoyce that the good are warn'd not to

bee such; and the ill to leave to bee such. The Person offended hath no rea-

son to bee offended with the writer, but with himselfe; and so to declare that

properly to belong to him, which was so spoken of all men, as it could bee

no mans severall but his that would willfully and desperately clayme it.

It sufficeth I know, what kinde of persons I displease, men bred in the decli-

ning, and decay of vertue, betroth'd to their owne vices; that have abando-

ned, or prostituted their good names; hungry and ambitious of infamy,

invested in all deformity, enthrall'd to ignorance and malice, of a hidden

and conceal'd malignitie, and that hold a concomitancy with all evill.

A Poet is that, which by the Greeks is call'd κατ᾽ ἐξοχὴν, ὁ Ποιητὴς, a Ma-

ker, or a fainer: His Art, an Art of imitation, or faining; expressing the life

of man in fit measure, numbers, and harmony, according to Aristotle: From

the word ποιεῖν, which signifies to make or fayne. Hence, hee is call'd a

Poet, not hee which writeth in measure only; but that fayneth and formeth

a fable, and writes things like the Truth. For, the Fable and Fiction is (as

it were) the forme and Soule of any Poeticall worke, or Poeme.

A Poeme is not alone any worke, or composition of the Poets in many,

or few verses; but even one alone verse sometimes makes a perfect Poeme.

As, when Aeneas hangs up, and consecrates the Armes of Abas, with this In-

scription;        Aeneas hæc de Danais victoribus arma.      And calls

it a Poeme, or Carmen. Such are those in Martiall.

So were Horace his Odes call'd, Carmina; his Lirik, Songs. And Lucretiusde-

signes a whole booke, in his sixt:

And anciently, all the Oracles were call'd, Carmina; or, what ever Sentence

was express'd, were it much, or little, it was call'd, an Epick, Dramatick, Li-

rike, Elegiake, or Epigrammatike-Poeme

A Poeme, as I have told you is the worke of the Poet; the end, and fruit

of his labour, and studye. Poesy is his skill, or Crafte of making: the very

Fiction it selfe, the reason, or forme of the worke. And these three voices

differ, as the thing done, the doing, and the doer; the thing fain'd, the fai-

ning, and the fainer: so the Poeme, the Poesy, and the Poet. Now, the Poesy is the

habit, or the Art: nay, rather the Queene of Arts: which had her Originall

from heaven, received thence from the 'Ebrewes, and had in prime estimati-

on with the Greeks, transmitted to the Latines, and all Nations, that profess'd

Civility. The Study of it (if wee will trust Aristotle) offers to mankinde a

certaine rule, and Patterne of living well, and happily; disposing us to all

Civill offices of Society. If wee will beleive Tully, it nourisheth, and instru-

cteth our Youth; delights our Age; adornes our prosperity; comforts our

Adversity; entertaines us at home; keepes us company abroad, travailes

with us; watches; devides the times of our earnest, and sports; shares in our

Country recesses, and recreations; insomuch as the wisest, and best learned

have thought her the absolute Mistresse of manners; and neerest of kin to

Vertue. And, wheras they entitle Philosophy to bee a rigid, and austere Poesie:

they have (on the contrary)stiled Poesy, a dulcet, and gentle Philosophy, which

leades on, and guides us by the hand to Action, with a ravishing delight, and

incredible Sweetnes. But, before wee handle the kindes of Poems, with their

speciall differences; or make court to the Art it selfe, as a Mistresse, I would

leade you to the knowledge of our Poet, by a perfect Information, what he is,

or should bee by nature, by exercise, by imitation, by Studie; and so bring

him downe through the disciplines of Grammar, Logicke, Rhetoricke, and the

Ethicks, adding somewhat, out of all, peculiar to himselfe, and worthy of

your Admittance, or reception.

First, wee require in our Poet, or maker, (for that Title our Language af-

fordes him, elegantly, with the Greeke)a goodnes of naturall wit. For, wher-

as all other Arts consist of Doctrine, and Precepts: the Poet must bee able

by nature, and instinct, to powre out the Treasure of his minde; and, as Se-

neca saith, Aliquando secundum Anacreontem insanire, jucundum esse: by which

hee understands, the Poeticall Rapture. And according to that of Plato; Frustrà

Poeticas fores sui compos pulsavit: And of Aristole; Nullum magnum ingenium

sine mixturâ dementiæ fuit. Nec potest grande aliquid, & supra cæteros loqui, nisi

mota mens. Then it riseth higher, as by a devine Instinct, when it contemnes

common, and knowne conceptions. It utters somewhat above a mortall

mouth. Then it gets a loft, and flies away with his Ryder, whether, be-

fore, it was doubtfull to ascend. This the Poets understood by their Helicon,

Pegasus, or Parnassus; and this made Ovid to boast:

And Lipsius, to affirme; Scio, Poetam neminem præstantem fuisse, sine parte quadam

uberiore divinæ auræ. And, hence it is, that the comming up of good Poets,

(for I minde not mediocres, or imos) is so thinne and rare among us; Every

beggerly Corporation affoords the State a Major, or two Bailiffs, yearly:

but, solus Rex, aut Poeta, non quotannis nascitur. To this perfection of Nature

in our Poet, wee require Exercise of those parts, and frequent. If his wit will

not arrive soddainly at the dignitie of the Ancients, let him not yet fall out

with it, quarrell, or be over hastily Angry: offer, to turne it away from Stu-

dy, in a humor; but come to it againe upon better cogitation; try an other

time, with labour. If then it succeed not, cast not away the Quills, yet: nor

scratch the Wainescott, beate not the poore Deske; but bring all to the forge,

and file, againe; tourne it a newe. There is no Statute Law of the Kingdome

bidds you bee a Poet, against your will; or the first Quarter. If it come, in a

yeare, or two, it is well. The common Rymers powre forth Verses, such as

they are, (ex tempore) but there never come from them one Sense, worth the

life of a Day. A Rymer, and a Poet, are two things. It is said of the incom-

parableVirgil, that he brought forth his verses like a Beare, and after form'd

them with licking. Scaliger, the Father, writes it of him, that he made a quan-

titie of verses in the morning, which a fore night hee reduced to a lesse num-

ber. But, that which Valerius Maximus hath left recorded of Euripides, the

tragicke Poet, his answer to Alcestis, an other Poet, is as memorable, as modest:

who, when it was told to Alcestis, that Euripides had in three daies brought

forth, but three verses, and those with some difficultie, and throwes; Alcestis,

glorying hee could with ease have sent forth a hundred in the space; Euripi-

des roundly repl'd, like enough. But, here is the difference; Thy verses will

not last those three daies; mine will to all time. Which was, as to tell him; he

could not write a verse. I have met many of these Rattles, that made a noyse,

and buz'de. They had their humme; and, no more. Indeed, things, wrote

with labour, deserve to be so read, and will last their Age. The third requi-

site in our Poet, or Maker, is Imitation, to bee able to convert the substance, or

Riches of an other Poet, to his owne use. To make choise of one excellent

man above the rest, and so to follow him, till he grow very Hee: or, so like

him, as the Copie may be mistaken for the Principall. Not, as a Creature,

that swallowes, what it takes in, crude, raw, or indigested; but, that feedes

with an Appetite, and hath a Stomacke to concoct, devide, and turne all into

nourishment. Not, to imitate servilely, as Horace saith, and catch at vices, for

vertue: but, to draw forth out of the best, and choisest flowers, with the Bee,

and turne all into Honey, worke it into one relish, and savour: make our Imi-

tation sweet: observe, how the best writers have imitated, and follow them.

How Virgil, and Statius have imitated Homer: how Horace, Archilochus; how,

Alcæus, and the other Liricks: and so of the rest. But, that, which wee espe-

cially require in him is an exactnesse of Studie, and multiplicity of reading,

which maketh a full man, not alone enabling him to know the History, or

Argument of a Poeme, and to report it: but so to master the matter, and Stile,

as to shew, hee knowes, how to handle, place, or dispose of either, with ele-

gancie, when need shall bee. And not thinke, hee can leape forth suddainely

a Poet, by dreaming hee hath been in Parnassus, or, having washt his lipps(as

they say)in Helicon. There goes more to his making, then so. For to Na-

ture, Exercise, Imitation, and Studie, Art must bee added, to make all these

perfect. And, though these challenge to themselves much, in the making up

of our Maker, it is Art only can lead him to perfection, and leave him there

in possession, as planted by her hand. It is the assertion of Tully, If to an ex-

cellent nature, there happen an accession, or confirmation of Learning, and

Discipline, there will then remaine somewhat noble, and singular. For, as

Simylus saith in Stobæus;

Ὄυτε φύσις ἰκανὴ γίνεται τέχνης ἂτερ, οὗτε πᾶν τέχνη μὴ φύσιν

κεκτημένη· without Art, Nature can nere bee perfect; &, without Nature, Art

can clayme no being. But, our Poet must beware, that his Studie bee not

only to learne of himself; for, hee that shall affect to doe that, confesseth his

ever having a Foole to his master. Hee must read many; but, ever the best,

and choisest: those, that can teach him any thing, hee must ever account his

masters, and reverence: among whom Horace, and (hee that taught him)

Aristotle, deserv'd to bee the first in estimation. Aristotle, was the first accu-

rateCriticke, and truest Judge; nay, the greatest Philosopher, the world ever

had: for, hee noted the vices of all knowledges, in all creatures, and out of

many mens perfections in a Science, hee formed still one Art. So hee taught

us two Offices together, how we ought to judge rightly of others, and what

wee ought to imitate specially in our selves. But all this in vaine, without a

naturall wit, and a Poeticall nature in chiefe. For, no man, so soone as hee

knowes this, or reades it, shall be able to write the better; but as he is adapted

to it by Nature, he shall grow the perfecter Writer. Hee must have Civil

prudence, and Eloquence, & that whole; not taken up by snatches, or peeces, in

Sentences, or remnants, when he will handle businesse, or carry Counsells,

as if he came then out of the Declamors Gallerie, or Shadowe, furnish'd but

out of the body of the State, which commonly is the Schoole of men. The

Poet is the neerest Borderer upon the Orator, and expresseth all his vertues,

though he be tyed more to numbers; is his equall in ornament, and above

him in his strengths. And, (of the kind)the Comicke comes neerest: Because,

in moving the minds of men, and stirring of affections (in which Oratory

shewes, and especially approves her eminence) hee chiefly excells. What fi-

gure of a Body was Lysippus, ever able to forme with his Graver; or Apelles

to paint with his Pencill, as the Comedy to life expresseth so many, and

various affections of the minde? There shall the Spectator see some, insul-

ting with Joy; others, fretting with Melancholy; raging with Anger; mad

with Love; boiling with Avarice; undone with Riot; tortur'd with expecta-

tion; consum'd with feare: no perturbation in common life, but the Orator

findes an example of it in the Scene. And then, for the Elegancy of Lan-

guage, read but this Inscription on the Grave of a Comicke Poet:

Or, that modester Testimonie given by Lucius Aelius. Stilo upon Plautus; who

affirmed, Musas, si latinè loqui voluissent, Plautino sermone fuisse loquuturas. And

that illustrious judgement by the most learned M. Varro of him; who pro-

nounced him the Prince of Letters, and Elegancie, in the Roman Language.

I am not of that opinion to conclude a Poets liberty within the narrowe

limits of lawes, which either the Grammarians, or Philosophers prescribe. For,

before they found out those Lawes, there were many excellent Poets, that

fulfill'd them. Amongst whome none more perfect then Sophocles, who liv'd

a little before Aristotle.

Which of the Greekelings durst ever give precepts to Demosthenes? or to

Pericles, (whom the Age surnam'd heavenly) because he seem'd to thunder,

and lighten, with his Language? or to Alcibiades, who had rather Nature

for his guide, then Art for his master?

But, whatsoever Nature at any time dictated to the most happie; or long

exercise to the most laborious, that the wisdome, and Learning of Aristotle,

hath brought into an Art: because, he understood the Causes of things: and

what other men did by chance or custome, he doth by reason; and not only

found out the way not to erre, but the short way we should take, not to erre.

Many things in Euripides hath Aristophanes wittily reprehended; not out

of Art, but out of Truth. For, Euripides is sometimes peccant, as he is most

times perfect. But, Judgement when it is greatest, if reason doth not accom-

pany it, is not ever absolute.

To judge of Poets is only the facultie of Poets; and not of all Poets, but

the best. Nemo infæliciùs de Poetis judicavit, quàm qui de Poetis scripsit. But, some

will say, Criticks are a kind of Tinkers; that make more faults, then they

mend ordinarily. See their diseases, and those of Grammarians. It is true,

many bodies are the worse for the medling with: And the multitude of Physi-

cians hath destroyed many sound patients, with their wrong practise. But the

office of a true Critick, or Censor, is, not to throw by a letter any where, or

damne an innocent Syllabe, but lay the words together, and amend them;

judge sincerely of the Author, and his matter, which is the signe of solid, and

perfect learning in a man. Such was Horace, an Author of much Civilitie;

and (if any one among the heathen can be) the best master, both of vertue,

and wisdome; an excellent, and true judge upon cause, and reason; not be-

cause he thought so; but because he knew so, out of use and experience.

Cato, the Grammarian, a defender of Lucilius.

Quintilian of the same heresie, but rejected.

Horace his judgement of Chœrillus, defended against Ioseph Scali-

ger. And, of Laberius, against Julius.

But chiefly his opinion of Plautus, vindicated against many, that are offen-

ded, and say, it is a hard Censure upon the parent of all conceipt, and sharp-

nesse. And, they wish it had not fallen from so great a master, and Censor in

the Art:whose bondmen knew better how to judge of Plautus, then any that

dare patronize the family of learning in this Age; who could not bee igno-

rant of the judgement of the times, in which hee liv'd, when Poetrie, and the

Latin Language were at the height: especially, being a man so conversant,

and inwardly familiar with the censures of great men, that did discourse of

these things daily amongst themselves. Againe, a man so gratious, and in

high favour with the Emperour, as Augustus often called him his wittie Man-

ling, (for the littlenes of his stature;) and (if wee may trust Antiquity) had

design'd him for a Secretary of Estate; and invited him to the place, which he

modestly praid off, and refus'd.

Horace did so highly esteeme Terence his Comedies, as he ascribes the Art

in Comedie to him alone, among the Latines, and joynes him with Menander.

Now, let us see what may be said for either, to defend Horace his judge-

ment to posterity; and not wholly to condemne Plautus.

The parts of a Comedie are the same with a Tragedie, and the end is partly

the same. For, they both delight, and teach; the Comicks are call'd διδάσκαλοι,

of the Greekes; no lesse then the Tragicks.

Nor, is the moving of laughter alwaies the end of Comedy, that is rather

a fowling for the peoples delight, or their fooling. For, as Aristotle saies

rightly, the moving of laughter is a fault in Comedie, a kind of turpitude,

that depraves some part of a mans nature without a disease. As a wry face

without paine moves laughter, or a deformed vizard, or a rude Clowne,

drest in a Ladies habit, and using her actions, wee dislike, and scorne such re-

presentations; which made the ancient Philosophers ever thinke laughter

unfitting in a wise man. And this induc'd Plato to esteeme of Homer, as a sa-

crilegious Person; because the presented the Gods sometimes laughing. As,

also it is divinely said of Aristotle, that to seeme ridiculous is a part of disho-

nesty, and foolish.

So that, what either in the words, or Sense of an Author, or in the lan-

guage, or Actions of men, is a wry, or depraved, doth strangely stirre meane

affections, and provoke for the most part to laughter. And therfore it was

cleare that all insolent, and obscene speaches, jest upon the best men; injuries

to particular persons; perverse, and sinister Sayings (and the rather unexpe-

cted) in the old Comedy did move laughter; especially, where it did imitate

any dishonesty; and scurrility came forth in the place of wit: which who

understands the nature and Genius of laughter, cannot but perfectly know.

Of which Aristophanes affords an ample harvest, having not only out,

gone Plautus, or any other in that kinde; but express'd all the moods, and fi-

gures, of what is ridiculous, oddly. In short, as Vinegar is not accounted

good, untill the wine be corrupted: so jests that are true and naturall, sel-

dome raise laughter, with the beast, the multitude. They love nothing, that

is right, and proper. The farther it runs from reason, or possibility with

them, the better it is.

What could have made them laugh, like to see Socrates presented, that

Example of all good life, honesty, and vertue, to have him hoisted up with

a Pullie, and there play the Philosopher, in a basquet. Measure, how many

foote a Flea could skip Geometrically, by a just Scale, and edifie the people

from the ingine. This was Theatricall wit, right Stage-jesting, and relishing

a Play-house; invented for scorne, and laughter; whereas, if it had savour'd

of equity, truth, perspicuity, and Candor, to have tasten a wise, or a learned

Palate, spit it out presantly; this is bitter and profitable, this instructs, and

would informe us: what neede wee know any thing, that are nobly borne,

more then a Horse-race, or a hunting-match, our day to breake with Citi-

zens, and such innate mysteries.

This is truly leaping from the Stage, to the Tumbrell againe, reducing

all witt to the Originall Dungcart.

To the resolving of this Question, wee must first agree in the definition of

the Fable. The Fable is call'd the Imitation of one intire, and perfect Action;

whose parts are so joyned, and knitt together, as nothing in the structure can

be chang'd; or taken away, without imparing, or troubling the whole; of

which there is a proportionable magnitude in the members. As for ex-

ample; if a man would build a house, he would first appoint a place to build

it in, which he would define within certaine bounds: So in the Constitution

of a Poeme, the Action is aym'd at by the Poet, which answers Place in a buil-

ding; and that Action hath his largenesse compasse, and proportion. But, as

a Court or Kings Palace requires other dimensions then a private house:

So the Epick askes a magnitude, from other Poëms. Since, what is Place in

the one, is Action in the other, the difference is in space. So that by this de-

finition wee conclude the fable, to be the imitation of one perfect, and intire

Action; as one perfect, and intire place is requir'd to a building. By perfect,

wee understand that, to which nothing is wanting; as Place to the building,

that is rais'd, and Action to the fable, that is form'd. It is perfect, perhaps,

not for a Court, or Kings Palace, which requires a greater ground; but for

the structure wee would raise, so the space of the Action, may not prove

large enough for the Epick Fable, yet bee perfect for the Dramatick, and

whole.

Whole, wee call that, and perfect, which hath a beginning, a mid'st, and an

end. So the place of any building may be whole, and intire, for that worke;

though too little for a palace. As, to a Tragedy or a Comedy, the Action may

be convenient, and perfect, that would not fit an Epicke Poeme in Magnitude.

So a Lion is a perfect creature in himselfe, though it bee lesse, then that of a

Buffalo, or a Rhinocerote. They differ; but in specie: either in the kinde is abso-

lute. Both have their parts, and either the whole. Therefore, as in every

body; so in every Action, which is the subject of a just worke, there is re-

quir'd a certaine proportionable greatnesse, neither too vast, nor too minute.

For that which happens to the Eyes, when wee behold a body, the same

happens to the Memorie, when wee contemplate an action. I looke upon a

monstrous Giant, as Tityus, whose body cover'd nine Acres of Land, and

mine eye stickes upon every part; the whole that consists of those parts, will

never be taken in at one intire view. So in a Fable, if the Action be too great

wee can never comprehend the whole together in our Imagination. Againe,

if it be too little, there ariseth no pleasure out of the object, it affords the

view no stay: It is beheld and vanisheth at once. As if wee should looke upon

an Ant or Pismyre, the parts fly the sight,and the whole considered is almost

nothing. The same happens in Action, which is the object of Memory, as

the body is of sight. Too vast oppresseth the Eyes, and exceeds the Memo-

ry: too little scarce admits either.

Now, in every Action it behooves the Poet to know which is his utmost

bound, how farre with fitnesse, and a necessary proportion, he may produce,

and determine it. That is, till either good fortune change into the worse,

or the worse into the better. For as a body without proportion cannot be

goodly, no more can the Action, either in Comedy, or Tragedy without

his fit bounds. And every bound for the nature of the Subject, is esteem'd

the best that is largest, till it can increase no more: so it behooves the Action

in Tragedy, or Comedy, to be let grow, till the necessity aske a Conclusion:

wherin two things are to be considered; First, that it exceed not the com-

passe of one Day: Next, that there be place left for digression, and Art. For

the Episodes, and digressions in a Fable, are the same that houshold stuffe, and

other furniture are in a house. And so farre for the measure, and extent of a

Fable Dramaticke.

Now, that it should be one, and intire. One is considerable two waies: ei-

ther, as it is only separate, and by itself:or as being compos'd of many parts,

it beginnes to be one, as those parts grow, or are wrought together. That it

should be one the first way alone, and by it self, no man that hath tasted let-

ters ever would say, especially having required before a just Magnitude,

and equall Proportion of the parts in themselves. Neither of which can

possibly bee, if the Action be single and separate, not compos'd of parts,

which laid together in themselves, with an equall and fitting proportion,

tend to the same end; which thing out of Antiquitie it selfe, hath deceiv'd

many; and more this Day it doth deceive.

So many there be of old, that have thought the Action of one man to be

one: As of Hercules, Theseus, Achilles, Ulysses, and other Heroes; which is both

foolish and false; since by one and the same person many things may be se-

verally done, which cannot fitly be referred, or joyned to the same end:

which not only the excellent Tragick-Poets, but the best Masters of the E-

pick, Homer, and Virgil saw. For though the Argument of an Epick-Poeme be

farre more diffus'd, & powr'd out, then that of Tragedy; yet Virgil writing of

Aeneas hath pretermitted many things. He neither tells how he was borne,

how brought up; how he fought with Achilles; how he was snatch'd out of

the battaile by Venus; but that one thing, how he came into Italie, he prose-

cutes in twelve bookes. The rest of his journey, his error by Sea, the Sacke

of Troy, are put not as the Argument of the worke, but Episodes of the Argu-

ment. So Homer lai'd by many things of Ulysses and handled no more, then

he saw tended to one and the same end.

Contrarie to which and foolishly those Poets did, whom the Philosopher

taxeth; Of whom one gather'd all the Actions of Theseus: another put all

the Labours of Hercules in one worke. So did he, whom Juvenal mentions in

the begining, hoarse Codrus, that recited a volume compil'd, which he call'd

his Theseide, not yet finish'd, to the great trouble both of his hearers and

himself: Amongst which there were many parts had no coherence, nor kin-

dred one with other, so farre they were from being one Action, one Fable.

For as a house, consisting of diverse materialls, becomes one structure, and

one dwelling; so an Action, compos'd of diverse parts, may become one

Fable Epicke, or Dramaticke. For example, in a Tragedy looke upon Sophocles

his Ajax: Ajax depriv'd of Achilles's Armour, which he hop'd from the suf-

frage of the Greekes, disdaines; and, growing impatient of the Injurie, rageth,

and turnes mad. In that humour he doth many senslesse things; and at last

falls upon the Grecian flocke, and kills a great Ramme for Ulysses: Returning

to his Sense, he growes asham'd of the scorne, and kills himself; and is by

the Chiefes of the Greekes forbidden buriall. These things agree, and hang

together, not as they were done; but as seeming to be done, which made the

Action whole, intire, and absolute.

For the whole, as it consisteth of parts; so without all the parts it is not the

whole; and to make it absolute, is requir'd, not only the parts, but such parts

as are true. For a part of the whole was true; which if you take away, you

either change the whole, or it is not the whole. For if it be such a part, as be-

ing present or absent, nothing concernes the whole, it cannot be call'd a part

of the whole: and such are the Episodes, of which hereafter. For the present,

here is one example; The single Combat of Ajax with Hector, as it is at

large describ'd in Homer, nothing belongs to this Ajax of Sophocles.

You admire no Poems, but such as run like a Brewers-cart upon the stones,

hobling,