[Illustration: MILTON, BACON, CHAUCER, and SHAKESPEARE. ]

 THE BEST

 _of the_

 WORLD'S CLASSICS

 RESTRICTED TO PROSE

 HENRY CABOT LODGE

 _Editor-in-Chief_

 FRANCIS W. HALSEY

 _Associate Editor_

 With an Introduction, Biographical and Explanatory Notes, etc. 

 IN TEN VOLUMES

 Vol. III

 GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND--I

 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

 NEW YORK AND LONDON

 COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY

 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

 * * * * *

The Best of the World's Classics

VOL. III

GREAT BRITAIN AND

IRELAND--I

1281-1745

 * * * * *

CONTENTS

VOL. III--GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND--I

 RICHARD DE BURY--(Born in 1281, died in 1345. )

 In Praise of Books. (From the "Philobiblon")

 SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE--(Reputed author. )

I The Route from England to Constantinople. (From the "Travels")

II At the Court of the Great Chan. (From the "Travels")

 JOHN WYCLIF--(Born about 1324, died in 1384. )

 The Baptism of Christ. (Being a translation from the Gospel of Mark)

 GEOFFREY CHAUCER--(Born about 1340, died in 1400. )

 Of Acquiring and Using Riches. (One of the prose "Canterbury Tales")

 WILLIAM CAXTON--(Born about 1422, died in 1491. )

 Of True Nobility and Chivalry. (From the "Game and Playe of Chesse. " Translated by Caxton from the French original)

 SIR THOMAS MALORY--(Born about 1430, died after 1470. )

 Of the Finding of a Sword for Arthur. (From the "Morte d'Arthur")

 SIR THOMAS MORE--(Born in 1478, died in 1535. )

 Life in Utopia. (From the "Utopia")

 JOHN KNOX--(Born in 1505, died in 1572. )

 An Interview with Mary Queen of Scots. (From the "History of the Reformation in Scotland")

 ROGER ASCHAM--(Born in 1515, died in 1568. )

 Of Gentle Methods in Teaching. (From the "Schoolmaster")

 JOHN FOXE--(Born in 1516, died in 1587. )

 The Death of Anne Boleyn. (From the "Book of Martyrs")

 SIR WALTER RALEIGH--(Born in 1552, died in 1618. )

 The Mutability of Human Affairs. (From the Preface to the "History of the World")

 FRANCIS BACON--(Born in 1561, died in 1626. )

I Of Travel. (From the "Essays")

II Of Riches. (From the "Essays")

III Of Youth and Age. (From the "Essays")

IV Of Revenge. (From the "Essays")

V Of Marriage and Single Life. (From the "Essays")

VI Of Envy. (From the "Essays")

VII Of Goodness and Goodness of Nature. (From the "Essays")

VIII Of Studies. (From the "Essays")

IX Of Regiment of Health. (From the "Essays")

 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE--(Born in 1564, died in 1616. )

I Brutus to His Countrymen. (From "Julius Cæsar")

II Shylock in Defense of His Race. (From the "Merchant of Venice")

III Hamlet to the Players. (From "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark")

 BEN JONSON--(Born in 1573, died in 1637. )

 Shakespeare and Other Wits. (From "Timber; or, Discoveries Made Upon Men and Matter")

 IZAAK WALTON--(Born in 1593, died in 1683. )

I The Antiquity of Angling. (From Part I, Chapter IV, of "The Compleat Angler")

II Of the Trout. (From Part I, Chapter IV, of "The Compleat Angler")

III The Death of George Herbert. (From the "Lives")

 JAMES HOWELL--(Born in 1595, died in 1666. )

I The Bucentaur Ceremony in Venice. (From the "Familiar Letters")

II The City of Rome in 1621. (From the "Familiar Letters")

 SIR THOMAS BROWNE--(Born in 1605, died in 1682. )

I Of Charity in Judgments. (From the "Religio Medici")

II Nothing Strictly Immortal. (From Chapter V of "Urn Burial")

 JOHN MILTON--(Born in 1608, died in 1674. )

I Of His Own Literary Ambition. (From "The Reason of Church Government")

II A Complete Education Defined. (From the "Tractate on Education")

III On Reading in His Youth. (From the "Apology for Smectymnus")

IV In Defense of Books. (From the "Areopagitica")

V A Noble and Puissant Nation. (From the "Areopagitica")

VI Of Fugitive and Cloistered Virtue. (From the "Areopagitica")

 LORD CLARENDON--(Born in 1608, died in 1674. )

 Of Charles I. (From the "History of the Rebellion")

 THOMAS FULLER--(Born in 1608, died in 1661. )

 Qualities of the Good Schoolmaster. (From "The Holy and Profane State")

 JEREMY TAYLOR--(Baptized in 1613, died in 1667. )

 The Benefits of Adversity. (From the "Rules and Exercises of Holy Dying")

 ABRAHAM COWLEY--(Born in 1618, died in 1667. )

I Of Obscurity. (From the "Essays")

II Of Procrastination. (From the "Essays")

 GEORGE FOX--(Born in 1624, died in 1691. )

 An Interview with Oliver Cromwell. (From the "Journal")

 JOHN BUNYAN--(Baptized in 1628, died in 1668. )

I A Dream of the Celestial City. (From "The Pilgrim's Progress")

II The Death of Valiant-for-truth and of Stand-fast. (From "The Pilgrim's Progress")

III Ancient Vanity Fair. (From "The Pilgrim's Progress")

 JOHN DRYDEN--(Born in 1631, died in 1700. )

 Of Elizabethan Dramatists. (From the "Essay on Dramatic Poetry")

 SAMUEL PEPYS--(Born in 1633, died in 1703. )

I Of Various Doings of Mr. And Mrs. Pepys. (From the "Diary")

II England Without Cromwell. (From the "Diary")

 GILBERT BURNET--(Born in 1643, died in 1715. )

 Charles II. (From the "History of Our Own Times")

 DANIEL DEFOE--(Born in 1661, died in 1731. )

I The Shipwreck of Crusoe. (From "The Life and Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe")

II The Rescue of Man Friday. (From "The Life and Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe")

III In the Time of the Great Plague. (From the "History of the Great Plague")

 JONATHAN SWIFT--(Born in 1667, died in 1745. )

I On Pretense in Philosophers. (From "Gulliver's Travels")

II On the Hospitality of the Vulgar. (From No. 1 of _The Tatler_)

III The Art of Lying in Politics. (From _The Examiner_)

IV A Meditation upon a Broomstick

V Gulliver Among the Giants. (From "Gulliver's Travels")

 JOSEPH ADDISON--(Born in 1672, died in 1719. )

I In Westminster Abbey. (From No. 26 of _The Spectator_)

II Will Honeycomb and His Marriage. (From Nos. 105 and 530 of _The Spectator_)

III Pride of Birth. (From No. 137 of _The Guardian_)

IV Sir Roger and His Home. (From Nos. 2 and 106 of _The Spectator_)

 * * * * *

GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND--I

1281-1745

RICHARD DE BURY

 Born in 1281, died in 1345; the son of Sir Richard Aungerville, his own name being taken from his birthplace, Bury St. Edmonds; educated at Oxford, and became a Benedictine monk; tutor to Edward III; dean of Wells Cathedral in 1333; bishop of Durham the same year; high chancellor of England in 1334; founded a library at Oxford; his "Philobiblon" first printed at Cologne in 1473. 

IN PRAISE OF BOOKS[1]

The desirable treasure of wisdom and knowledge, which all men covetfrom the impulse of nature, infinitely surpasses all the riches of theworld; in comparison with which, precious stones are vile, silver isclay, and purified gold grains of sand; in the splendor of which, thesun and moon grow dim to the sight; in the admirable sweetness ofwhich, honey and manna are bitter to the taste. The value of wisdomdecreaseth not with time; it hath an ever-flourishing virtue thatcleanseth its possession from every venom. O celestial gift of divineliberality, descending from the Father of light to raise up therational soul even to heaven; thou art the celestial alimony ofintellect, of which whosoever eateth shall yet hunger, and whosodrinketh shall yet thirst; a harmony rejoicing the soul of thesorrowful, and never in any way discomposing the hearer. Thou art themoderator and the rule of morals, operating according to which noneerr. By thee kings reign, and lawgivers decree justly. Through thee, rusticity of nature being cast off, wits and tongues being polished, and the thorns of vice utterly eradicated, the summit of honor isreached and they become fathers of their country and companions ofprinces, who, without thee, might have forged their lances into spadesand plowshares, or perhaps have fed swine with the prodigal son. 

Where, then, most potent, most longed-for treasure, art thouconcealed? and where shall the thirsty soul find thee? Undoubtedly, indeed, thou hast placed thy desirable tabernacle in books, where theMost High, the Light of light, the Book of Life, hath establishedthee. There then all who ask receive, all who seek find thee, to thosewho knock thou openest quickly. In books Cherubim expand their wings, that the soul of the student may ascend and look around from pole topole, from the rising to the setting sun, from the north and from thesouth. In them the Most High, Incomprehensible God himself iscontained and worshiped. In them the nature of celestial, terrestrial, and infernal beings is laid open. In them the laws by which everypolity is governed are decreed, the offices of the celestial hierarchyare distinguished, and tyrannies of such demons are described as theideas of Plato never surpassed, and the chair of Crito neversustained. 

In books we find the dead as it were living: in books we foreseethings to come; in books warlike affairs are methodized; the rights ofpeace proceed from books. All things are corrupted and decay withtime. Satan never ceases to devour those whom he generates, insomuchthat the glory of the world would be lost in oblivion, if God had notprovided mortals with a remedy in books. Alexander, the ruler of theworld; Julius[2] the invader of the world and the city, the first whoin unity of person assumed the empire in arms and arts; the faithfulFabricius, [3] the rigid Cato, would at this day have been without amemorial if the aid of books had failed them. Towers are razed to theearth, cities overthrown, triumphal arches moldered to dust; nor canthe king or pope be found, upon whom the privilege of a lasting namecan be conferred more easily than by books. A book made renderssuccession to the author; for as long as the book exists, the author, remaining immortal, can not perish; as Ptolemy witnesseth; in theprolog of his Almagest, [4] he (he says) is not dead, who gave life toscience. 

What learned scribe, therefore, who draws out things new and old froman infinite treasury of books, will limit their price by any otherthing whatsoever of another kind? Truth, overcoming all things, whichranks above kings, wine, and women, to honor which above friendsobtains the benefit of sanctity, which is the way that deviates not, and the life without end, to which the holy Boethius attributes athreefold existence in the mind, in the voice, and in writing, appearsto abide most usefully and fructify most productively of advantage inbooks. For the truth of the voice perishes with the sound. Truth, latent in the mind, is hidden wisdom and invisible treasure; but thetruth which illuminates books, desires to manifest itself to everydisciplinable sense, to the sight when read, to the hearing whenheard; it, moreover, in a manner commends itself to the touch, whensubmitting to be transcribed, collated, corrected, and preserved. Truth confined to the mind, tho it may be the possession of a noblesoul, while it wants a companion and is not judged of, either by thesight or the hearing, appears to be inconsistent with pleasure. Butthe truth of the voice is open to the hearing only, and latent to thesight (which shows as many differences of things fixt upon by a mostsubtle motion), beginning and ending as it were simultaneously. Butthe truth written in a book being not fluctuating, but permanent, shows itself openly to the sight passing through the spiritual ways ofthe eyes, as the porches and halls of common sense and imagination; itenters the chamber of intellect, reposes itself upon the couch ofmemory, and there congenerates the eternal truth of the mind. 

Lastly, let us consider how great a commodity of doctrine exists inbooks, how easily, how secretly, how safely they expose the nakednessof human ignorance without putting it to shame. These are the mastersthat instruct us without rods and ferulas, without hard words andanger, without clothes or money. If you approach them, they are notasleep; if investigating you interrogate them, they conceal nothing;if you mistake them, they never grumble, if you are ignorant, they cannot laugh at you. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: From the "Philobiblon, " a treatise on books, translatedfrom the original Latin into English in 1852 by John Englis. The Latintext and a new translation by Andrew J. West were printed by theGrolier Club of New York in 1887. ]

[Footnote 2: The reference is to Julius Cæsar. ]

[Footnote 3: The Roman Consul, general and ambassador to Pyrrhus in280, who was noted for inflexible honesty. ]

[Footnote 4: The best-known work of Ptolemy of Alexandria, astronomerand mathematician, who lived in the first half of the second century. ]

SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE

 Reputed author of a book of "Travels" of the fourteenth century, a compilation intended as a guide to pilgrims in the Holy Land, and based upon works by William of Boldensele (1336) and Friar Odoric of Pordenone (1330). 

I. 

THE ROUTE FROM ENGLAND TO CONSTANTINOPLE[5]

He that will pass over the sea and come to land, to go to the city ofJerusalem, he may wend many ways, both on sea and land, after thecountry that he cometh from; for many of them come to one end. Buttrow not that I will tell you all the towns, and cities and castlesthat men shall go by; for then should I make too long a tale; but allonly some countries and most principal steads that men shall gothrough to go the right way. 

First, if a man come from the west side of the world, as England, Ireland, Wales, Scotland, or Norway, he may, if that he will, gothrough Almayne and through the kingdom of Hungary, that marches tothe land of Polayne, and to the land of Pannonia, [6] and so toSilesia. 

And the King of Hungary is a great lord and a mighty, and holds greatlordships and much land in his hand. For he holds the kingdom ofHungary, Sclavonia, and of Comania a great part, and of Bulgaria thatmen call the land of Bougiers, and of the realm of Russia a greatpart, whereof he has made a duchy, that lasts unto the land ofNyfland, [7] and marches to Prussia. And men go through the land ofthis lord, through a city that is called Cypron, [8] and by the castleof Neasburghe, and by the evil town, that sit toward the end ofHungary. And there pass men the river Danube. This river of Danube isa full great river, and it goeth into Almayne, under the hills ofLombardy, and it receives into him forty other rivers, and it runsthrough Hungary and through Greece and through Thrace, and it entersinto the sea, toward the east so rudely and so sharply, that the waterof the sea is fresh and holds its sweetness twenty mile within thesea. 

And after, go men to Belgrade, and enter into the land of Bourgiers;and there pass men a bridge of stone that is upon the river ofMarrok. [9] And men pass through the land of Pyncemartz and come toGreece to the city of Nye, and to the city of Fynepape, [10] and afterto the city of Dadrenoble, [11] and after to Constantinople, that waswont to be called Bezanzon. [12] And there dwells commonly the Emperorof Greece. And there is the most fair church and the most noble of allthe world; and it is of Saint Sophie. And before that church is theimage of Justinian the emperor, covered with gold, and he sits upon ahorse crowned. And he was wont to hold a round apple of gold in hishand; but it is fallen out thereof. And men say there, that it is atoken that the emperor has lost a great part of his lands and of hislordships; for he was wont to be Emperor of Roumania and of Greece, ofall Asia the less, and of the land of Syria, of the land of Judea inthe which is Jerusalem, and of the land of Egypt, of Persia, and ofArabia. But he has lost all but Greece; and that land he holds allonly. And men would many times put the apple into the image's handagain, but it will not hold it. This apple betokens the lordship thathe had over all the world, that is round. And the other hand he liftsup against the East, in token to menace the misdoers. This imagestands upon a pillar of marble at Constantinople. 

II

AT THE COURT OF THE GREAT CHAN[13]

The men of Tartary have let make another city that is called Caydon. And it has twelve gates, and between the two gates there is always agreat mile; so that the two cities, that is to say, the old and thenew, have in circuit more than twenty mile. 

In this city is the court of the great Chan in a full great palace andthe most passing fair in all the world, of the which the walls be incircuit more than two mile. And within the walls it is full of otherpalaces. And in the garden of the great palace there is a great hill, upon the which there is another palace; and it is the most fair andthe most rich that any man may devise. And all about the palace andthe hill be many trees bearing many diverse fruits. And all about thehill be ditches great and deep, and beside them be great fish ponds onthat one part and on that other. And there is a full fair bridge topass over the ditches. And in these vivaries be so many wild geese andganders and wild ducks and swans and herons that it is without number. And all about these ditches and vivaries is the great garden full ofwild beasts. So that when the great Chan will have any disport onthat, to take any of the wild beasts or of the fowls, he will letchase them and take them at the windows without going out of hischamber. 

This palace, where his court is, is both great and passing fair. Andwithin the palace, in the hall, there be twenty-four pillars of finegold. And all the walls be covered within of red skins of beasts thatmen call panthers, that be fair beasts and well smelling; so that forthe sweet odor of those skins no evil air may enter into the palace. Those skins be as red as blood, and they shine so bright against thesun, that scarcely no man may behold them. And many folk worship thesebeasts, when they meet them first at morning, for their great virtueand for the good smell that they have. And those skins they prize morethan tho they were plate of fine gold. 

And in the midst of this palace is the reservoir for the great Chan, that is all wrought of gold and of precious stones and great pearls. And at four corners of the reservoir be four serpents of gold. And allabout there is made large nets of silk and gold and great pearlshanging all about the reservoir. And under the reservoir be conduitsof beverage that they drink in the emperor's court. And beside theconduits be many vessels of gold, by the which they that be ofhousehold drink at the conduit. 

And the hall of the palace is full nobly arrayed, and fullmarvellously attired on all parts in all things that men apparel withany hall. And first, at the chief of the hall is the emperor's throne, full high, where he sits at the meat. And that is of fine preciousstones, bordered all about with pure gold and precious stones, andgreat pearls. And the steps that he goes up to the table be ofprecious stones mingled with gold. 

And at the left side of the emperor's seat is the seat of his firstwife, one degree lower than the emperor; and it is of jasper, borderedwith gold and precious stones. And the seat of his second wife is alsoanother seat more lower than his first wife; and it is also of jasper, bordered with gold, as that other is. And the seat of the third wifeis also more low, by a degree, than the second wife. For he has alwaysthree wives with him, where that ever he be. 

And after his wives, on the same side, sit the ladies of his lineageyet lower, after that they be of estate. And all those that be marriedhave a counterfeit made like a man's foot upon their heads, a cubitlong, all wrought with great pearls, fine and orient, and above madewith peacocks' feathers and of other shining feathers; and that standsupon their heads like a crest, in token that they be under man's footand under subjection of man. And they that be unmarried have nonesuch. [14]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: From the "Travels, " the earliest extant book written inEnglish. In this specimen the spelling has been in part modernized. First printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1429. "Mandeville" has been calledthe "Father of English Prose. "]

[Footnote 6: An old name for Hungary. ]

[Footnote 7: Now known as Livonia, one of the Baltic provinces ofRussia. ]

[Footnote 8: Now Oedenburg, a city of Hungary. ]

[Footnote 9: The Morava, one of the chief rivers of Servia. ]

[Footnote 10: Philippolis. ]

[Footnote 11: Adrianople. ]

[Footnote 12: An old form of the word Byzantium, a town founded byMegariaus in the seventh century B. C. When Constantine founded thecity to which he gave his own name, Byzantium, lying east of it, wasincluded within the city limits. ]

[Footnote 13: From the "Travels. "]

[Footnote 14: The quaint words in which "Mandeville" concludes hisbook are these: "And I, John Mandeville, knight, above said (altho Ibe unworthy), that departed from our countries and passed the sea, theyear of grace a thousand three hundred and twenty-two, that havepassed many lands and many isles and countries, and searched many fullstrange places, and have been in many a full good honorable company, and at many a fair deed of arms (albeit that I did none myself, formine unable insuffisance), now I am come home, in spite of myself, torest, for gouts arthritic that me distrain, that define the end of mylabor; against my will (God knows). "]

JOHN WYCLIF

 Born about 1324, died in 1384; "The Morning Star of the Reformation"; educated at Oxford; rector in Lincolnshire and Buckinghamshire; Royal ambassador to papal nuncios at Bruges in 1374; in sermons attacked the Church of Rome; five papal bulls, authorizing his imprisonment, signed against him; threw off allegiance to the Church and wrote fearlessly against papal claims; died of paralysis; his bones in 1428 exhumed and burnt and his ashes cast into the river Swift by order of the synod of Constance; his translation of the Bible from the Vulgate, completed about 1382 was the first complete translation ever made. 

THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST[15]

1. The bigynnynge of the gospel of Jhesu Crist, the sone of God. 

2. As it is writun in Ysaie, the prophete, Lo! I send myn angel biforethi face, that schal make thi weye redy before thee. 

3. The voyce of oon cryinge in desert. Make ye redy the weye of theLord, make ye his pathis rihtful. 

4. Jhon was in desert baptisynge, and prechinge the baptym ofpenaunce, into remiscioun of synnes. 

5. And alle men of Jerusalem wenten out to him, and al the cuntree ofJudee; and weren baptisid of him in the flood of Jordan, knowlechingeher synnes. 

6. And John was clothid with heeris of camelis, and a girdil of skynabowte his leendis; and he eet locusts, and hony of the wode, andprechide, seyinge:

7. A strengere than I schal come aftir me, of whom I knelinge am notworthi for to vndo, _or vnbynde_, the thwong of his schoon. 

8. I have baptisid you in water; forsothe he shal baptise you in theHoly Goost. 

9. And it is don in thoo dayes, Jhesus came fro Nazareth of Galilee, and was baptisid of Joon in Jordan. 

10. And anoon he styinge vp of the water, sayth heuenes openyd, andthe Holy Goost cummynge doun as a culuere, and dwellynge in hym. 

11. And a voys is maad fro heuenes, thou art my sone loued, in thee Ihaue plesid. 

12. And anon the Spirit puttide hym in to desert. 

13. And he was in desert fourty dayes and fourty nightis, and wastemptid of Sathanas, and was with beestis and angelis mynstriden tohym. 

14. Forsothe aftir that Joon was taken, Jhesus came in to Galilee, prechinge the gospel of the kyngdam of God, 15. And seiynge, For tyme is fulfillid, and the kyngdam of God shalcome niy; forthinke yee, _or do yee penaunce_, and bileue yee to thegospel. 

16. And he passynge bisidis the see of Galilee, say Symont, andAndrew, his brother, sendynge nettis into the see; sothely thei werenfishers. 

17. And Jhesus seide to hem, Come yee after me; I shal make you to bemaad fishers of men. 

18. And anoon the nettis forsaken, thei sueden hym. 

19. And he gon forth thennes a litil, say James of Zebede, and Joon, his brother, and hem in the boot makynge nettis. 

20. And anoon he clepide him; and Zebede, her fadir, left in the bootwith hirid seruantis, their sueden hym. 

21. And thei wenten forth in to Cafarnaum, and anoon in the sabotis hegon yn into the synagoge, taughte them. 

22. And thei wondreden on his techynge; sothely he was techynge hem, as hauynge power, and not as scribis. 

23. And in the synagoge of hem was a man in an vnclene spirit, and hecried, 24. Seyinge, What to vs and to thee, thou Jhesu of Nazareth? hastethou cummen bifore the tyme for to destroie vs? Y woot thot thou artthe holy of God. 

25. And Jhesus thretenyde to hym, seyinge, Wexe dowmb, and go out ofthe man. 

26. And the vnclene goost debrekynge hym, and cryinge with grete vois, wente awey fro hym. 

27. And alle men wondriden, so that thei soughten togidre among hem, seyinge, What is this thinge? what is this newe techyng? for in powerhe comaundith to vnclene spirits, and thei obeyen to hym. 

28. And the tale, or _tything_, of hym wente forth anoon in to al thecuntree of Galilee. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 15: Part of Chapter I of the Gospel of St. Mark, astranslated by Wyclif. It will be noted that Wyclif's orthography isirregular, the same word being often spelled differently on the samepage. This selection is printed in the original as a specimen of theEnglish of Wyclif's time. ]

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

 Born about 1340, died in 1400; son of a London vintner; taken prisoner in Brittany in 1359 while serving with the king's army; sent to Italy on a royal embassy in 1374 and again in 1378; besides the "Canterbury Tales, " wrote many books; a large number once attributed to him are now considered spurious. 

OF ACQUIRING AND USING RICHES[16]

When Prudence had heard her husband avaunt himself of his riches andof his money, disparaging the power of his adversaries, she spake andsaid in this wise: Certes, dear sir, I grant you that ye are rich andmighty, and that riches are good to 'em that have well obtained 'em, and that well can use 'em; for, just as the body of a man may not livewithout soul, no more may it live without temporal goods, and byriches may a man get him great friends; and therefore saith Pamphilus:If a neatherd's daughter be rich, she may chose of a thousand menwhich she will take to her husband; for of a thousand men one will notforsake her nor refuse her. And this Pamphilus saith also: If thou beright happy, that is to say, if thou be right rich, thou shalt find agreat number of fellows and friends; and if thy fortune change, thatthou wax poor, farewell friendship and fellowship, for thou shalt beall alone without any company, except it be the company of poor folk. And yet saith this Pamphilus, moreover, that they that are bond andthrall of linage should be made worthy and noble by riches. 

And just as by riches there come many goods, so by poverty come theremany harms and evils; and therefore says Cassiodore, [17] poverty themother of ruin, that is to say, the mother of overthrowing or fallingdown; and therefore saith Piers Alphonse: One of the greatestadversities of the world is when a free man by kind, or of birth, isconstrained by poverty to eat the alms of his enemy. And the samesaith Innocent in one of his books; he saith that sorrowful andmishappy is the condition of a poor beggar, for if he asks not hismeat he dieth of hunger, and if he ask he dieth for shame; and direnecessity constraineth him to ask; and therefore saith Solomon: Thatbetter it is to die than for to have such poverty; and, as the sameSolomon saith: Better it is to die of bitter death, than for to livein such wise. 

By these reasons that I have said unto you, and by many other reasonsthat I could say, I grant you that riches are good to 'em that wellobtained them, and to him that well uses riches; and therefore will Ishew you how ye should behave you in gathering of your riches, and inwhat manner ye should use 'em. First, ye should get 'em without greatdesire, by good leisure, patiently, and not over hastily, for a manthat is too desiring to get riches abandoneth him first to theft andto all other evils; and therefore saith Solomon: He that hasteth himtoo busily to wax rich, he shall be not innocent: he saith also, thatthe riches that hastily cometh to a man soon lightly goeth and passethfrom a man, but that riches that cometh little and little waxeth alwayand multiplieth. And, sir, ye should get riches by your wit and byyour travail, unto your profit, and that without wrong or harm doingto any other person; for the law saith: There maketh no man himselfrich, if he do harm to another wight; that is to say, that Naturedefendeth and forbiddeth by right, that no man make himself rich untothe harm of another person. 

And Tullius[18] saith: That no sorrow, no dread of death, nothing thatmay fall unto a man, is so much against nature as a man to increasehis owyn profit to harm of another man. And though the great men andthe mighty men get riches more lightly than thou, yet shalt thou notbe idle nor slow to do thy profit, for thou shalt in all wise fleeidleness; for Solomon saith: That idleness teacheth a man to do manyevils; and the same Solomon saith: That he that travaileth and busiethhimself to till his land, shall eat bread, but he that is idle, andcasteth him to no business nor occupation, shall fall into poverty, and die for hunger. And he that is idle and slow can never findconvenient time for to do his profit; for there is a versifier whosaith, that the idle man excuseth him in winter because of the greatcold, and in summer then by reason of the heat. 

For these causes, saith Cato, waketh and inclineth you not over muchto sleep, for over much rest nourisheth and causeth many vices; andtherefore saith St. Jerome: Do some good deeds, that the devil, whichis our enemy, find you not unoccupied, for the devil he taketh notlightly unto his working such as he findeth occupied in good works. 

Then thus in getting riches ye must flee idleness; and afterward yeshould use the riches which ye have got by your wit and by yourtravail, in such manner, that men hold you not too scarce, nor toosparing, nor fool-large, that is to say, over large a spender; forright as men blame an avaricious man because of his scarcity andniggardliness, in the same wise he is to blame that spendeth overlargely; and therefore saith Cato: Use (saith he) the riches that thouhast obtained in such manner, that men have no matter nor cause tocall thee neither wretch nor miser, for it is a great shame to a manto have a poor heart and a rich purse; he saith also: The goods thatthou hast obtained, use 'em by measure, that is to say, spendmeasurably, for they that foolishly waste and squander the goods thatthey have, when they have no more proper of 'eir own, that theyprepare to take the goods of another man. I say, then, that ye shouldflee avarice, using your riches in such manner, that men say not thatyour riches are buried, but that ye have 'em in your might and in yourwielding; for a wise man reproveth the avaricious man, and saith thusin two verse: Whereto and why burieth a man his goods by his greatavarice, and knoweth well that needs must he die, for death is theend of every man as in this present life. 

And for what cause or reason joineth he him, or knitteth he him sofast unto his goods, that all his wits will not dissever him or departhim from his goods, and knoweth well, or ought to know, that when heis dead he shall nothing bear with him out of this world? Andtherefore saith St. Augustine, that the avaricious man is likened untohell, that the more it swalloweth the more desire it hath to swallowand devour. And as well as ye would eschew to be called an avariciousman or a chinch, as well should ye keep you and govern you in suchwise, that men call you not fool-large; therefore, saith Tullius: Thegoods of thine house should not be hid nor kept so close, but thatthey might be opened by pity and debonnairety, that is to say, to give'em part that have great need; but the goods should not be so open tobe every man's goods. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 16: One of the only two "Canterbury Tales" that were writtenin prose, its title being "The Tale of Melibæus. " The spelling herehas been partly modernized. ]

[Footnote 17: Statesman and historian; born about 464 A. D. ; anadministrative officer under Odoacer Theodoric, whose works werepublished in 1679. ]

[Footnote 18: Cicero. ]

WILLIAM CAXTON

 Born about 1422, died in 1491; the first English printer; began to translate the "Histories de Troye" in 1469 and issued the work in 1474, either at Cologne or Bruges; translated and had printed in 1475 "The Game and Playe of Chesse, " the second printed English book; set up a press in Westminster, London, in 1476, where he continued to print books until his death. 

OF TRUE NOBILITY AND CHIVALRY[19]

The knight ought to be made all armed upon an apt horse, in such wisethat he have an helmet on his head, and a spear in his right hand, andcovered with his shield; a sword and a mace on his left side; cladwith an hauberk and plates before his breast; leg harness on his legs;spurs on his heels; on his hands his gauntlets. His horse well brokenand taught, and apt to battle, and covered with his arms. When theknights be made they be bayned or bathed. That is the sign that theyshould lead a new life and new manners; also they wake all the nightin prayers and orisons unto God that he will give them grace that theymay get that thing that they may not get by nature. The king or princegirdeth about them a sword, in sign that they should abide and keephim of whom they take their dispences and dignity. 

Also a knight ought to be wise, liberal, true, strong, and full ofmercy and pity, and keeper of the people, and of the law, and right aschivalry passeth other in virtue, in dignity, in honor, and inreverence, right so ought he to surmount all other in virtue; forhonor is nothing else but to do reverence to another person for thegood and virtuous disposition that is in him. A noble knight ought tobe wise and proved before he be made knight; it behoveth him that hehad long time used the war and arms; that he may be expert and wisefor to govern others. For since a knight is captain of a battle, thelife of them that shall be under him lieth in his hand, and thereforebehooveth him to be wise and well advised. For sometimes art, craftand engine is more worth than strength of hardiness of a man that isnot proved in arms, for otherwhile it happeneth that when the princeof the battle relies on and trusteth in his hardiness and strength, and will not use wisdom and engine for to run upon his enemies, he isvanquished and his people slain. Therefore saith the philosopher thatno man should choose young people to be captains and governors, forasmuch as there is no certainty in their wisdom. Alexander ofMacedon vanquished and conquered Egypt, Judæa, Chaldee, Africa, andAssyria unto the marches of Bragmans more by the counsel of old menthan by the strength of the young men. 

The very true love of the common weal and profit now-a-days is seldomfound. Where shalt thou find a man in these days that will exposehimself for the worship and honor of his friend or for the commonweal. Seldom or never shall he be found. Also the knights should belarge and liberal, for when a knight hath regard unto his singularprofit by his covetousness, he despoileth his people. For when thesoldiers see that they put them in peril, and their master will notpay them their wages liberally, but intendeth to his own proper gainand profit, then, when the enemies come, they turn soon their backsand flee oftentimes. And thus it happeneth by him that intendeth moreto get money than victory, that his avarice is ofttimes cause of hisconfusion. 

Then let every knight take heed to be liberal, in such wise that heween not nor suppose that his scarcity be to him a great winning orgain. And for this cause he be the less loved of his people, and thathis adversary withdraw to him them by large giving. For ofttime battleis advanced more for getting of silver than by the force and strengthof men. For men see all day that such things as may not be achieved byforce of nature be gotten and achieved by force of money. Andforsomuch it behooveth to see well to that when the time of battlecometh, that he borrow not, nor make no curtailment. For no man may berich that leaveth his own, hoping to get and take of others. Thenalway all their gain, and winning ought to be common among them excepttheir arms. For in like wise as the victory is common, so should thedespoil and booty be common unto them. And therefore David, thatgentle knight in the first book of Kings in the last chapter, made alaw: that he that abode behind by malady or sickness in the tentsshould have as much part of the booty as he that had been in thebattle. And for the love of this law he was made afterward king ofIsrael. 

Alexander of Macedon came in a time like a simple knight unto thecourt of Porus, king of Ind, for to espy the estate of the king andof the knights of the court. And the king received him rightworshipfully and demanded many things of Alexander and of hisconstancy and strength, nothing weening that he had been Alexander, but Antigone, one of his knights. And after he had him to dinner; andwhen they had served Alexander in vessel of gold and silver withdiverse meats, after that he had eaten such as pleased him, he voidedthe meat and took the vessel and held it to himself and put it in hisbosom or sleeves. Whereof he was accused unto the king. After dinnerthen the king called him and demanded wherefore he had taken hisvessel, and he answered: Sir King, my lord, I pray thee to understandand take heed thyself and also thy knights. I have heard much of thygreat highness, and that thou art more mighty and puissant in chivalryand in dispences than is Alexander, and therefore I am come to thee, apoor knight, which am named Antigone, for to serve thee. Then it isthe custom in the court of Alexander that what thing a knight isserved with, all is his, meat and vessel and cup. And therefore I hadsupposed that this custom had been kept in thy court, for thou artricher than he. When the knights heard this, anon they left Porus, andwent to serve Alexander, and thus he drew to him the hearts of them bygifts, which afterward slew Porus that was king of Ind, and they madeAlexander king thereof. Therefore remember, knight, alway that with aclosed and shut purse thou shalt never have victory. Ovid saith thathe that taketh gifts, he is glad therewith, for they win with giftsthe hearts of the gods and of men. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 19: From the "Game and Playe of Chesse, " translated byCaxton from the French original. ]

SIR THOMAS MALORY

 Born about 1430, died after 1470; compiler and translator of the "Morte d'Arthur" from French prose romances which had been built up on earlier poems dealing with the life and death of King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table; the "Morte d'Arthur" printed by Caxton in 1485. 

OF THE FINDING OF A SWORD FOR ARTHUR[20]

And so Merlin and he departed, and as they rode King Arthur said, "Ihave no sword. " "No matter, " said Merlin; "hereby is a sword thatshall be yours and I may. " So they rode till they came to a lake, which was a fair water and a broad; and in the midst of the lake KingArthur was aware of an arm clothed in white samite, that held a fairsword in the hand. "Lo, " said Merlin unto the King, "yonder is thesword that I spake of. "

With that they saw a damsel going upon the lake. "What damsel isthat?" said the King. "That is the Lady of the Lake, " said Merlin;"and within that lake is a reach, and therein is as fair a place asany is on earth, and richly beseen; and this damsel will come to youanon, and then speak fair to her that she will give you that sword. "Therewith came the damsel to King Arthur, and saluted him, and he heragain. "Damsel, " said the King, "what sword is that which the armholdeth yonder above the water? I would it were mine, for I have nosword. " "Sir King, " said the damsel of the lake, "that sword is mine, and if ye will give me a gift when I ask it you, ye shall have it. ""By my faith, " said King Arthur, "I will give you any gift that youwill ask or desire. " "Well, " said the damsel, "go ye into yonderbarge, and row yourself unto the sword, and take it and the scabbardwith you; and I will ask my gift when I see my time. "

So King Arthur and Merlin alighted, tied their horses to two trees, and so they went into the barge. And when they came to the sword thatthe hand held, King Arthur took it up by the handles, and took it withhim; and the arm and the hand went under the water, and so came to theland and rode forth. 

Then King Arthur saw a rich pavilion. "What signifieth yonderpavilion?" "That is the knight's pavilion that ye fought withlast--Sir Pellinore; but he is out; for he is not there: he hath hadto do with a knight of yours, that hight Eglame, and they havefoughten together a great while, but at the last Eglame fled, and elsehe had been dead; and Sir Pellinore hath chased him to Carlion, and weshall anon meet with him in the highway. " "It is well said, " quothKing Arthur; "now have I a sword, and now will I wage battle with himand be avenged on him. " "Sir, ye shall not do so, " said Merlin: "forthe knight is weary of fighting and chasing; so that ye shall have noworship to have a do with him. Also he will not lightly be matched ofone knight living: and therefore my counsel is, that yet let him pass;for he shall do you good service in short time, and his sons after hisdays. Also ye shall see that day in short space, that ye shall beright glad to give him your sister to wife. " "When I see him, " saidKing Arthur, "I will do as ye advise me. "

Then King Arthur looked upon the sword and liked it passing well. "Whether liketh you better, " said Merlin, "the sword or the scabbard?""Me liketh better the sword, " said King Arthur. "Ye are more unwise, "said Merlin; "for the scabbard is worth ten of the sword: for while yehave the scabbard upon you, ye shall lose no blood, be ye never sosore wounded--therefore keep well the scabbard alway with you. " Sothey rode on to Carlion. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 20: From the "Morte d'Arthur. "]

SIR THOMAS MORE

 Born in 1478, died in 1535; met Erasmus in London in 1497; after 1503 devoted himself mainly to politics; entered Parliament in 1504; ambassador to Flanders in 1515; published "Utopia" in 1516; privy counsellor to Henry VIII in 1518; present with the King at the Field of the Cloth of Gold in 1520; speaker of the House of Commons in 1523; defended the papacy against Luther; succeeded Wolsey as chancellor in 1529; refused in 1534 to take the oath of adherence to the act vesting the succession in the issue of Anne Boleyn and committed to the Tower, indicted for high treason and executed July 6th, 1535. 

LIFE IN UTOPIA[21]

There are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built, the manners, customs, and laws of which are the same, and they are allcontrived as near in the same manner as the ground on which they standwill allow. The nearest lie at least twenty-four miles' distance fromone another, and the most remote are not so far distant but that a mancan go on foot in one day from it to that which lies next it. Everycity sends three of their wisest senators once a year to Amaurot, toconsult about their common concerns; for that is the chief town of theisland, being situated near the center of it, so that it is the mostconvenient place for their assemblies. The jurisdiction of every cityextends at least twenty miles; and where the towns lie wider, theyhave much more ground. No town desires to enlarge its bounds, for thepeople consider themselves rather as tenants than landlords. 

They have built, over all the country, farmhouses for husbandmen;which are well contrived, and furnished with all things necessary forcountry labor. Inhabitants are sent, by turns, from the cities todwell in them; no country family has fewer than forty men and women init, besides two slaves. There is a master and a mistress set overevery family, and over thirty families there is a magistrate. Everyyear twenty of this family come back to the town after they havestayed two years in the country, and in their room there are othertwenty sent from the town, that they may learn country work from thosethat have been already one year in the country, as they must teachthose that come to them the next from the town. By this means such asdwell in those country farms are never ignorant of agriculture, and socommit no errors which might otherwise be fatal and bring them under ascarcity of corn. But tho there is every year such a shifting of thehusbandmen, to prevent any man being forced against his will to followthat hard course of life too long, yet many among them take suchpleasure in it that they desire leave to continue in it many years. 

These husbandmen till the ground, breed cattle, hew wood and convey itto the towns either by land or water, as is most convenient. Theybreed an infinite multitude of chickens in a very curious manner: forthe hens do not sit and hatch them, but a vast number of eggs are laidin a gentle and equal heat in order to be hatched; and they are nosooner out of the shell, and able to stir about, but they seem toconsider those that feed them as their mothers, and follow them asother chickens do the hen that hatched them. They breed very fewhorses, but those they have are full of mettle, and are kept only forexercising their youth in the art of sitting and riding them; for theydo not put them to any work, either of plowing or carriage, in whichthey employ oxen. For tho their horses are stronger, yet they findoxen can hold out longer; and as they are not subject to so manydiseases, so they are kept upon a less charge and with less trouble. And even when they are so worn out that they are no more fit forlabor, they are good meat at last. They sow no corn but that which isto be their bread: for they drink either wine, cider, or perry, andoften water, sometimes boiled with honey or licorice, with which theyabound; and tho they know exactly how much corn will serve every townand all that tract of country which belongs to it, yet they sow muchmore, and breed more cattle, than are necessary for their consumption, and they give that overplus of which they make no use to theirneighbors. 

When they want anything in the country which it does not produce, theyfetch that from the town, without carrying anything in exchange forit. And the magistrates of the town take care to see it given them;for they meet generally in the town once a month, upon a festival day. When the time of harvest comes, the magistrates in the country sendto those in the towns, and let them know how many hands they will needfor reaping the harvest; and the number they call for being sent tothem, they commonly dispatch it all in one day. 

He that knows one of their towns knows them all--they are so like oneanother, except where the situation makes some difference. I shalltherefore describe one of them, and none is so proper as Amaurot; foras none is more eminent (all the rest yielding in precedence to this, because it is the seat of their supreme council), so there was none ofthem better known to me, I having lived five years all together in it. 

It lies upon the side of a hill, or rather a rising ground. Its figureis almost square: for from the one side of it, which shoots up almostto the top of the hill, it runs down, in a descent for two miles, tothe river Anider; but it is a little broader the other way that runsalong by the bank of that river. The Anider rises about eighty milesabove Amaurot, in a small spring at first. But other brooks fallinginto it, of which two are more considerable than the rest, as it runsby Amaurot it is grown half a mile broad; but it still grows largerand larger, till after sixty miles' course below it, it is lost in theocean. Between the town and the sea, and for some miles above thetown, it ebbs and flows every six hours with a strong current. Thetide comes up about thirty miles so full that there is nothing butsalt water in the river, the fresh water being driven back with itsforce; and above that, for some miles, the water is brackish; but alittle higher, as it runs by the town, it is quite fresh; and whenthe tide ebbs, it continues fresh all along to the sea. There is abridge cast over the river, not of timber, but of fair stone, consisting of many stately arches; it lies at that part of the townwhich is farthest from the sea, so that the ships, without anyhindrance, lie all along the side of the town. 

There is likewise another river that runs by it, which, tho it is notgreat, yet it runs pleasantly, for it rises out of the same hill onwhich the town stands, and so runs down through it and falls into theAnider. The inhabitants have fortified the fountain-head of thisriver, which springs a little without the towns; that so, if theyshould happen to be besieged, the enemy might not be able to stop ordivert the course of the water, nor poison it; from thence it iscarried in earthen pipes to the lower streets. And for those places ofthe town to which the water of that small river can not be conveyed, they have great cisterns for receiving the rain-water, which suppliesthe want of the other. 

The town is compassed with a high and thick wall, in which there aremany towers and forts; there is also a broad and deep dry ditch, setthick with thorns, cast round three sides of the town, and the riveris instead of a ditch on the fourth side. The streets are veryconvenient for all carriage, and are well sheltered from the winds. Their buildings are good, and are so uniform that a whole side of astreet looks like one house. The streets are twenty feet broad. Therelie gardens behind all their houses; these are large, but inclosedwith buildings, that on all hands face the streets, so that everyhouse has both a door to the street and a back door to the garden. Their doors have all two leaves, which, as they are easily opened, sothey shut of their own accord; and there being no property among them, every man may freely enter into any house whatsoever. At every tenyears' end they shift their houses by lots. They cultivate theirgardens with great care, so that they have both vines, fruits, herbs, and flowers in them; and all is so well ordered and so finely keptthat I never saw gardens anywhere that were both so fruitful and sobeautiful as theirs. And this humor of ordering their gardens so wellis not only kept up by the pleasure they find in it, but also by anemulation between the inhabitants of the several streets, who vie witheach other. And there is, indeed, nothing belonging to the whole townthat is both more useful and more pleasant. So that he who founded thetown seems to have taken care of nothing more than of their gardens;for they say the whole scheme of the town was designed at first byUtopus, but he left all that belonged to the ornament and improvementof it to be added by those that should come after him, that being toomuch for one man to bring to perfection. 

Their records, that contain the history of their town and state, arepreserved with an exact care, and run backward seventeen hundred andsixty years. From these it appears that their houses were at first lowand mean, like cottages, made of any sort of timber, and were builtwith mud walls and thatched with straw. But now their houses are threestories high; the fronts of them are faced either with stone, plastering, or brick, and between the facings of their walls theythrow in their rubbish. Their roofs are flat; and on them they lay asort of plaster, which costs very little, and yet is so tempered thatit is not apt to take fire, and yet resists the weather more thanlead. They have great quantities of glass among them, with which theyglaze their windows; they use also in their windows a thin linencloth, that is so oiled or gummed that it both keeps out the wind andgives free admission to the light. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 21: The "Utopia" was written originally in Latin. It derivedits name from an imaginary island, the seat of an ideal state. RalphRobinson made a translation into English in 1551. Another translationwas made by Bishop Burnet in 1633. ]

JOHN KNOX

 Born in 1505, died in 1572; early influenced by George Wishart, a Lutheran refugee who had found an asylum in Scotland; a royal chaplain in 1550; assisted in the revision of the Prayer-book; fled to the Continent after the accession of Mary Tudor and visited Calvin; preached for a time at Frankfort and afterward traveled and preached in Scotland; occupied himself with the organization of the Presbyterian Church, having frequent dramatic encounters with Mary, Queen of Scots, whose sympathies were Catholic. 

AN INTERVIEW WITH MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS[22]

The queen, in a vehement fume, began to cry out that never prince washandled as she was. "I have, " said she, "borne with you in all yourrigorous manner of speaking, both against myself and against myuncles; yea, I have sought your favors by all possible means. Ioffered unto you presence and audience, whensoever it pleased you toadmonish me, and yet I cannot be quit of you. I avow to God I shall beanes [once] revenged. " And with these words scarcely could Marnock, her secret chamber-boy, get napkins to hold her eyes dry for thetears; and the owling, besides womanly weeping, stayed her speech. 

The said John did patiently abide all the first fume, and atopportunity answered: "True it is, Madam, your Grace and I have beenat diverse controversies, into the which I never perceived your Graceto be offended at me. But when it shall please God to deliver you fromthat bondage of darkness and error, in the which ye have beennourished, for the lack of true doctrine, your majesty will find theliberty of my tongue nothing offensive. Without the preaching-place, Madam, I think few have occasion to be offended at me, and there, Madam, I am not master of myself, but man [must] obey Him who commandsme to speak plain, and to flatter no flesh upon the face of theearth. "

"But what have ye to do, " said she, "with my marriage?"

"If it please your majesty, " said he, "patiently to hear me, I shallshew the truth in plain words. I grant your Grace offered me more thanever I required; but my answer was then, as it is now, that God hathnot sent me to await upon the courts of princesses, nor upon thechambers of ladies; but I am sent to preach the evangel of JesusChrist to such as please to hear it; and it hath two parts--repentanceand faith. And now, Madam, in preaching repentance, of necessity itis, that the sins of men be so noted, that they may know wherein theyoffend; but so it is, that the most part of your nobility are soaddicted to your affections, that neither God, His word, nor yet theircommonwealth, are rightly regarded. And therefore, it becomes me soto speak that they may know their duty. "

"What have ye to do, " said she, "with my marriage? Or what are yewithin this commonwealth?"

"A subject born within the same, " said he, "Madam. And, albeit Ineither be earl, lord, nor baron within it, yet has God made me--howabject that ever I be in your eyes--a profitable member within thesame. Yea, Madam, to me it appertains no less to forewarn of suchthings as may hurt it, if I foresee them, than it does to any of thenobility; for both my vocation and conscience craves plainness of me. And therefore, Madam, to yourself I say that which I speak in publicplace: whensoever that the nobility of this realm shall consent thatye be subject to an unfaithful husband, they do as much as in themlieth to renounce Christ, to banish His truth from them, to betray thefreedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfortto yourself. "

At these words, owling was heard, and tears might have been seen ingreater abundance than the matter required. John Erskine of Dun--a manof meek and gentle spirit--stood beside, and entreated what he couldto mitigate her anger, and gave unto her many pleasing words of herbeauty, of her excellence, and how that all the princes of Europewould be glad to seek her favors. But all that was to cast oil in theflaming fire. The said John stood still, without any alteration ofcountenance, for a long season, while that the queen gave place to herinordinate passion, and in the end he said: "Madam, in God's presenceI speak: I never delighted in the weeping of any of God's creatures;yea, I can scarcely well abide the tears of my own boys, whom my ownhand corrects, much less can I rejoice in your majesty's weeping. But, seeing that I have offered unto you no just occasion to be offended, but have spoken the truth, as my vocation craves, I may sustain, albeit unwillingly, your majesty's tears, rather than hurt myconscience, or betray my commonwealth. "

Herewith was the queen more offended, and commanded the said John topass forth of the cabinet, and to abide further of her pleasure in thechamber. The Laird of Dun tarried, and Lord John of Coldingham cameinto the cabinet, and so they both remained with her near the space ofan hour. The said John stood in the chamber, as one whom men had neverseen--so were all effrayed--except that the Lord Ochiltree bare himcompany; and therefore began he to forge talking of the ladies, whowere there sitting in all their gorgeous apparel, which espied, hemerrily said: "O fair ladies, how pleasant were this life of yours ifit should ever abide, and then in the end that we might pass to heavenwith all this gay gear! But fie upon that knave Death, that will comewhether we will nor not! And when he has laid on his arrest, the foulworms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so tender; and thesilly soul, I fear, shall be so feeble, that it can neither carry withit gold, garnishing, targeting, pearl, nor precious stones. " And bysuch means procured he the company of women; and so passed the timetill that the Laird of Dun willed him to depart to his house. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 22: From the "History of the Reformation in Scotland. " Thespelling has been modernized. After the arrival of Mary in Scotland in1561, Knox had several interviews with her, followed by an openrupture with her party in the government of Scotland, and by hisretirement into comparative privacy. Burton, the historian ofScotland, believes that the dialog here given took place in French, rather than in the language in which Knox reports it. Mary's habitualspeech was French and Knox knew the language well. ]

ROGER ASCHAM

 Born in 1515, died in 1568; educated at Cambridge, where he taught Greek; became a tutor to Princess Elizabeth, afterward to the Queen, in 1548; served as Latin Secretary to Queens Mary and Elizabeth, 1563-68; his work, "The Schoolmaster, " published in 1570. 

OF GENTLE METHODS IN TEACHING[23]

Yet some will say that children, of nature, love pastime, and mislikelearning; because, in their kind, the one is easy and pleasant, theother hard and wearisome. Which is an opinion not so true as some menween. For the matter lieth not so much in the disposition of them thatbe young, as in the order and manner of bringing up by them that beold; nor yet in the difference of learning and pastime. For, beat achild if he dance not well, and cherish him tho he learn not well, youshall have him unwilling to go to dance, and glad to go to his book;knock him always when he draweth his shaft ill, and favor him againtho he fault at his book, you shall have him very loth to be in thefield, and very willing to be in the school. Yea, I say more, and notof myself, but by the judgment of those from whom few wise men willgladly dissent; that if ever the nature of man be given at any time, more than other, to receive goodness, it is in innocency of youngyears, before that experience of evil have taken root in him. For thepure clean wit of a sweet young babe is like the newest wax, mostable to receive the best and fairest printing; and like a new brightsilver dish never occupied, to receive and keep clean any good thingthat is put into it. 

And thus, will in children, wisely wrought withal, may easily be wonto be very well willing to learn. And wit in children, by nature, namely memory, the only key and keeper of all learning, is readiest toreceive and surest to keep any manner of thing that is learned inyouth. This, lewd and learned, by common experience know to be mosttrue. For we remember nothing so well when we be old as those thingswhich we learned when we were young. And this is not strange, butcommon in all nature's works. "Every man seeth (as I said before) newwax is best for printing, new clay fittest for working, new-shorn woolaptest for soon and surest dyeing, new fresh flesh for good anddurable salting. " And this similitude is not rude, nor borrowed of thelarder-house, but out of his school-house, of whom the wisest ofEngland need not be ashamed to learn. "Young grafts grow not onlysoonest, but also fairest, and bring always forth the best andsweetest fruit; young whelps learn easily to carry; young popinjayslearn quickly to speak. " And so, to be short, if in all other things, tho they lack reason, sense, and life, the similitude of youth isfittest to all goodness, surely nature in mankind is most beneficialand effectual in their behalf. 

Therefore, if to the goodness of nature be joined the wisdom of theteacher, in leading young wits into a right and plain way oflearning; surely children kept up in God's fear, and governed by Hisgrace, may most easily be brought well to serve God and their country, both by virtue and wisdom. 

But if will and wit, by farther age, be once allured from innocency, delighted in vain sights, filled with foul talk, crooked withwilfulness, hardened with stubbornness, and let loose to disobedience;surely it is hard with gentleness, but impossible with severe cruelty, to call them back to good frame again. For where the one perchance maybend it, the other shall surely break it: and so, instead of somehope, leave an assured desperation, and shameless contempt of allgoodness; the furthest point in all mischief, as Xenophon doth mosttruly and most wittily mark. 

Therefore, to love or to hate, to like or to contemn, to ply this wayor that way to good or to bad, ye shall have as ye use a child in hisyouth. 

And one example whether love or fear doth work more in a child forvirtue and learning, I will gladly report; which may be heard withsome pleasure, and followed with more profit. 

Before I went into Germany, I came to Broadgate in Leicestershire, totake my leave of that noble lady, Jane Grey, to whom I was exceedingmuch beholding. Her parents, the duke and duchess, with all thehousehold, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. Ifound her in her chamber, reading Phædo Platonis in Greek, and thatwith as much delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale inBoccace. After salutation and duty done, with some other talk, Iasked her why she would leese [lose] such pastime in the park? Smilingshe answered me: "I wisse, all their sport in the park is but a shadowto that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas! good folk, they neverfelt what true pleasure meant. " "And how came you, madame, " quoth I, "to this deep knowledge of pleasure? and what did chiefly allure youunto it, seeing not many women, but very few men, have attainedthereunto?" "I will tell you, " quoth she, "and tell you a truth, whichperchance ye will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that everGod gave me, is, that He sent me so sharp and severe parents, and sogentle a schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either of father ormother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry, or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing anything else, I must do it, as it were, in such weight, measure, and number, even soperfectly, as God made the world; or else I am so sharply taunted, socruelly threatened, yea, presently, sometimes with pinches, nibs, andbobs, and other ways which I will not name, for the honor I bear them, so without measure misordered, that I think myself in hell, till timecome that I must go to Mr. Elmer; who teacheth me so gently, sopleasantly, with such fair allurements to learning, that I think allthe time nothing whiles I am with him. And when I am called from him, I fall on weeping, because whatsoever I do else but learning, is fullof grief, trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me. And thus my bookhath been so much my pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more pleasureand more, that in respect of it, all other pleasures, in very deed, be but trifles and troubles unto me. "

I remember this talk gladly, both because it is so worthy of memory, and because also it was the last talk that ever I had, and the lasttime that ever I saw that noble and worthy lady. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 23: From "The Schoolmaster. "]

JOHN FOXE

 Born in 1516, died in 1587; educated at Oxford; became in 1584 tutor to the children of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey; in order to escape persecution as a Protestant, fled to the Continent at the accession of Mary Tudor; returned to England in 1559, becoming in 1563 prebendary in Salisbury Cathedral; his "Book of Martyrs" first published in 1563. 

THE DEATH OF ANNE BOLEYN[24]

In certain records thus we find, that the king, being in his justs atGreenwich, suddenly, with a few persons, departed to Westminster; andthe next day after, Queen Anne, his wife, was had to the Tower, withthe Lord Rochford, her brother, and certain other, and the nineteenthday after, was beheaded. The words of this worthy and Christian lady, at her death, were these: "Good Christian people, I am come hither todie; for, according to the law, and by the law, I am judged to death, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither toaccuse no man, nor to speak anything of that whereof I am accused, andcondemned to die; but I pray God save the king, and send him long toreign over you, for a gentler or a more merciful prince was therenever; and to me he was a very good, a gentle, and a sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judgethe best. And thus I take my leave of the world, and of you all; and Iheartily desire you all to pray for me. The Lord have mercy on me; toGod I recommend my soul. " And so she kneeled down, saying, "To ChristI commend my soul; Jesus, receive my soul, " repeating the same diverstimes, till at length the stroke was given, and her head was strickenoff. 

And this was the end of that godly lady and queen. Godly I call her, for sundry respects, whatsoever the cause was, or quarrel objectedagainst her. First, her last words, spoken at her death, declared noless her sincere faith and trust in Christ than did her quiet modestyutter forth the goodness of the cause and matter, whatsoever it was. Besides that, to such as wisely can judge upon cases occurrent, thisalso may seem to give a great clearing unto her, that the king, thethird day after, was married in his whites unto another. Certain thiswas, that for the rare and singular gifts of her mind, so wellinstructed, and given toward God, with such a fervent desire unto thetruth, and setting forth of sincere religion, joined with likegentleness, modesty, and pity toward all men, there have not many suchqueens before her borne the crown of England. Principally, this onecommendation she left behind her, that, during her life, the religionof Christ most happily flourished, and had a right prosperous course. 

Many things might be written more of the manifold virtues, and thequiet moderation of her mild nature; how lowly she would bear, notonly to be admonished, but also of her own accord would require herchaplains plainly and freely to tell whatsoever they saw in heramiss. Also, how bountiful she was to the poor, passing not only thepoor example of other queens, but also the revenues almost of herestate: insomuch that the alms which she gave in three-quarters of ayear, in distribution, is summed to the number of fourteen or fifteenthousand pounds; besides the great piece of money which her Graceintended to impart into four sundry quarters of the realm, as for astock, there to be employed to the behoof of poor artificers andoccupiers. Again, what a zealous defender she was of Christ's gospelall the world doth know, and her acts do and will declare to theworld's end. Amongst which other her acts, this is one, that sheplaced Master Hugh Latimer in the bishopric of Worcester, and alsopreferred Dr. Sharton to his bishopric, being then accounted a goodman. Furthermore, what a true faith she bore unto the Lord, this oneexample may stand for many: for that, when King Henry was with her atWoodstock, [25] and there being afraid of an old blind prophecy, forthe which neither he nor other kings before him durst hunt in the saidpark of Woodstock, nor enter into the town of Oxford, at last, throughthe Christian and faithful counsel of that queen, he was so armedagainst all infidelity, that both he hunted in the aforesaid park, andalso entered into the town of Oxford, and had no harm. But becausetouching the memorable virtues of this worthy queen, partly we havesaid something before, partly because more also is promised to bedeclared of her virtuous life (the Lord so permitting), by other whothen were about her, I will cease in this matter further to proceed. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 24: From the "Book of Martyrs. "]

[Footnote 25: At Woodstock was one of the residences of Henry VIII andearlier kings. The Black Prince was born there and Elizabeth was thereimprisoned by Queen Mary. After the battle of Blenheim, the place wasgiven in perpetuity to Marlborough, and his famous residence Blenheimerected there. It is about eight miles from Oxford. ]

SIR WALTER RALEIGH

 Born in 1552, died in 1618; educated at Oxford; commanded an English Company in Ireland in 1580; a favorite of Queen Elizabeth; obtained a charter to colonize Virginia in 1584, and sent out several expeditions, none of which founded permanent settlements; introduced tobacco into Europe, and the potato into Ireland; took an active part against the Armada in 1588; explored the Oronoko in 1595; charged with having plotted to place Arabella Stuart on the throne in 1603, and sent to the Tower, where he wrote his "History of the World"; sailed again for the Oronoko in 1616; and on his return, the expedition having failed, condemned and executed. 

THE MUTABILITY OF HUMAN AFFAIRS[26]

If we truly examine the difference of both conditions--to wit, of therich and mighty, whom we call fortunate, and of the poor and opprest, whom we count wretched--we shall find the happiness of the one, andthe miserable estate of the other, so tied by God to the very instant, and both so subject to interchange (witness the sudden downfall of thegreatest princes, and the speedy uprising of the meanest persons), asthe one hath nothing so certain whereof to boast, nor the other souncertain whereof to bewail itself. 

For there is no man so assured of his honor, of his riches, health, orlife but that he may be deprived of either, or all, the very next houror day to come. _Quid vesper vehat, incertum est_; what the eveningwill bring with it is uncertain. 

And yet ye can not tell, saith St. James, what shall be to-morrow. To-day he is set up, and to-morrow he shall not be found, for he isturned into dust, and his purpose perisheth. And altho the air whichcompasseth adversity be very obscure, yet therein we better discernGod than in that shining light which environeth worldly glory; throughwhich, for the clearness thereof, there is no vanity which escapethour sight. And let adversity seem what it will--to happy men, ridiculous, who make themselves merry at other men's misfortunes; andto those under the cross, grievous--yet this is true, that for allthat is past, to the very instant, the portions remaining are equal toeither. For, be it that we have lived many years (according toSolomon), "and in them all we have rejoiced"; or be it that we havemeasured the same length of days, and therein have evermore sorrowed;yet, looking back from our present being, we find both the one and theother--to wit, the joy and the wo--sailed out of sight; and death, which doth pursue us and hold us in chase from our infancy, hathgathered it. _Quicquid ætatis retro est, mors tenet_; whatsoever ofour age is past, death holds it. 

So as, whosoever he be to whom fortune hath been a servant, and thetime a friend, let him but take the account of his memory (for we haveno other keeper of our pleasures past), and truly examine what it hathreserved, either of beauty and youth, or foregone delights; what ithath saved, that it might last, of his dearest affections, or ofwhatever else the amorous springtime gave his thoughts of contentment, then invaluable, and he shall find that all the art which his elderyears have can draw no other vapor out of these dissolutions thanheavy, secret, and sad sighs. He shall find nothing remaining butthose sorrows which grow up after our fast-springing youth, overtakeit when it is at a stand, and overtop it utterly when it begins towither; insomuch as, looking back from the very instant time, and fromour now being, the poor, diseased, and captive creature hath as littlesense of all his former miseries and pains as he that is most blest, in common opinion, hath of his forepast pleasures and delights. Forwhatsoever is cast behind us is just nothing; and what is to come, deceitful hope hath it. _Omniæ quæ eventura sunt in incerto jacent. _Only those few black swans I must except who, having had the grace tovalue worldly vanities at no more than their own price, do, byretaining the comfortable memory of a well-acted life, behold deathwithout dread, and the grave without fear, and embrace both asnecessary guides to endless glory. .. . 

If we seek a reason of the succession and continuance of boundlessambition in mortal men, we may add, that the kings and princes of theworld have always laid before them the actions, but not the ends ofthose great ones which preceded them. They are always transported withthe glory of the one, but they never mind the misery of the other, till they find the experience in themselves. They neglect the adviceof God while they enjoy life, or hope it, but they follow the counselof death upon his first approach. It is he that puts into man all thewisdom of the world without speaking a word, which God, with all thewords of His law, promises, or threats, doth not infuse. Death, whichhateth and destroyeth man, is believed; God, which hath made him andloves him, is always deferred. "I have considered, " saith Solomon, "all the works that are under the sun, and, behold, all is vanity andvexation of spirit"; but who believes it, till death tells it us? Itwas death, which, opening the conscience of Charles V. Made him enjoinhis son Philip to restore Navarre, and King Francis I. Of France tocommand that justice should be done upon the murderers of theProtestants in Merindol and Cabrieres, which till then he neglected. 

It is therefore death alone that can suddenly make man to knowhimself. He tells the proud and insolent that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the instant, makes them cry, complain, and repent, yea, even to hate their forepassed happiness. He takes the account ofthe rich, and proves him a beggar, a naked beggar, which hath interestin nothing but in the gravel that fills his mouth. He holds a glassbefore the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see thereintheir deformity and rottenness, and they acknowledge it. 

O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hastpersuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all theworld hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world anddespised; thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all overwith these two narrow words, _Hic jacet_!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 26: From the preface to the "History of the World. "]

FRANCIS BACON

 Born in 1561, died in 1626; commonly styled "Lord" Bacon, but incorrectly, his title being Baron Verulam and Viscount St. Albans; educated at Cambridge; entered Parliament in 1584; solicitor-general in 1607; privy counsellor in 1616; lord keeper in 1617; lord chancellor in 1618; tried for bribery, condemned, fined and removed from office in 1621; one of the chief founders of modern inductive science; author of "Advancement of Learning" (1605), the "Novum Organum" (1620), "Essays" (1597-1625), a "History of Henry VII" (1622) and other works. 

I

OF TRAVEL[27]

Travel, in the younger sort, is a part of education, in the elder, apart of experience. He that traveleth into a country before he hathsome entrance into the language, goeth to school, and not to travel. That young men travel under some tutor, or grave servant, I allowwell; so that he be such a one that hath the language, and hath beenin the country before; whereby he may be able to tell them what thingsare worthy to be seen in the country where they go; what acquaintancesthey are to seek; what exercises or discipline the place yieldeth. Forelse young men shall go hooded, and look abroad little. It is astrange thing, that in sea voyages, where there is nothing to be seenbut sky and sea, men should make diaries; but in land-travel, whereinso much is to be observed, for the most part they omit it; as ifchance were fitter to be registered than observation. Let diariestherefore be brought in use. The things to be seen and observed are:the courts of princes, specially when they give audience toambassadors; the courts of justice, while they sit and hear causes;and so of consistories ecclesiastic; the churches and monasteries, with the monuments which are therein extant; the walls andfortifications of cities and towns, and so the havens and harbors;antiquities and ruins; libraries, colleges, disputations, andlectures, where any are; shipping and navies; houses and gardens ofstate and pleasure, near great cities; armories; arsenals; magazines;exchanges; burses; warehouses; exercises of horsemanship, fencing, training of soldiers, and the like; comedies, such whereunto thebetter sort of persons do resort; treasuries of jewels and robes;cabinets and rarities; and, to conclude, whatsoever is memorable inthe places where they go. After all which the tutors or servants oughtto make diligent study. As for triumphs, masks, feasts, weddings, funerals, capital executions, and such shows, men need not to be putin mind of them; yet are they not to be neglected. 

If you will have a young man to put his travel into a little room, andin short time to gather much, this you must do. First, as was said, hemust have some entrance into the language before he goeth. Then hemust have such a servant or tutor as knoweth the country, as waslikewise said. Let him carry with him also some card or bookdescribing the country where he traveleth; which will be a good key tohis inquiry. Let him keep also a diary. Let him not stay long in onecity or town; more or less as the place deserveth, but not long; nay, when he stayeth in one city or town, let him change his lodging fromone end and part of the town to another; which is a great adamant ofacquaintance. Let him sequester himself from the company of hiscountrymen, and diet in such places where there is good company of thenation where he traveleth. Let him, upon his removes from one place toanother, procure recommendation to some person of quality residing inthe place whither he removeth; that he may use his favor in thosethings he desireth to see or know. Thus he may abridge his travel withmuch profit. 

As for the acquaintance which is to be sought in travel; that which ismost of all profitable is acquaintance with the secretaries andemployed men of ambassadors: for so in traveling in one country heshall suck the experience of many. Let him also see and visit eminentpersons in all kinds, which are of great name abroad; that he may beable to tell how the life agreeth with the fame. For quarrels, theyare with care and discretion to be avoided. They are commonly formistresses, healths, place, and words. And let a man beware how hekeepeth company with choleric and quarrelsome persons; for they willengage him into their own quarrels. When a traveler returneth home, let him not leave the countries where he hath traveled altogetherbehind him; but maintain a correspondence by letters with those of hisacquaintance which are of most worth. And let his travel appear ratherin his discourse than in his apparel or gesture; and in his discourselet him be rather advised in his answers, than forwards to tellstories; and let it appear that he doth not change his countrymanners for those of foreign parts; but only prick in some flowers ofthat he hath learned abroad into the customs of his own country. 

II

OF RICHES

I cannot call riches better than the baggage of virtue. The Roman wordis better, _impedimenta_. For as the baggage is to an army, so isriches to virtue. It cannot be spared nor left behind, but ithindereth the march; yea, and the care of it sometimes loseth ordisturbeth the victory. Of great riches there is no real use, exceptit be in the distribution; the rest is but conceit. So saith Solomon, "Where much is, there are many to consume it; and what hath the ownerbut the sight of it with his eyes?" The personal fruition in any mancannot reach to feel great riches: there is a custody of them; or apower of dole and donative of them; or a fame of them; but no soliduse to the owner. Do you not see what feigned prices are set uponlittle stones and rarities? and what works of ostentation areundertaken, because there might seem to be some use of great riches?But then you will say, they may be of use to buy men out of dangers ortroubles. As Solomon saith, "Riches are as a stronghold, in theimagination of the rich man. "

But this is excellently exprest, that it is in imagination, and notalways in fact. For certainly great riches have sold more men thanthey have bought out. Seek not proud riches, but such as thou mayestget justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly. Yet have no abstract or friarly contempt of them. But distinguish asCicero saith well of Rabirius Posthumus, _In studio rei amplificandæapparebat, non avaritiæ prædam, sed instrumentum bonitari quæri_. [28]Harken also to Solomon, and beware of hasty gathering of riches: _Quifestinat ad divitias, non erit insons_. [29] The poets feign, that whenPlutus (which is Riches) is sent from Jupiter, he limps and goesslowly; but when he is sent from Pluto, he runs and is swift of foot. Meaning that riches gotten by good means and just labor pace slowly;but when they come by the death of others (as by the course ofinheritance, testaments, and the like), they come tumbling upon a man. But it might be applied likewise to Pluto, taking him for the devil. For when riches come from the devil (as by fraud and oppression andunjust means), they come upon speed. 

The ways to enrich are many, and most of them foul. Parsimony is oneof the best, and yet is not innocent; for it withholdeth men fromworks of liberality and charity. The improvement of the ground is themost natural obtaining of riches; for it is our great mother'sblessing, the earth's; but it is slow. And yet where men of greatwealth do stoop to husbandry, it multiplieth riches exceedingly. Iknew a nobleman in England, that had the greatest audits of any man inmy time; a great grazier, a great sheep-master, a great timber man, agreat collier, a great corn-master, a great lead-man, and so of iron, and a number of the like points of husbandry. So as the earth seemed asea to him, in respect of the perpetual importation. It was trulyobserved by one, that himself came very hardly to a little riches, andvery easily to great riches. For when a man's stock is come to that, that he can expect the prime of markets, and overcome those bargainswhich for their greatness are few men's money, and be partner in theindustries of younger men, he cannot but increase mainly. 

The gains of ordinary trades and vocations are honest; and furtheredby two things chiefly: by diligence, and by a good name for good andfair dealing. But the gains of bargains are of a more doubtful nature;when men shall wait upon others' necessity, broke by servants andinstruments to draw them on, put off others cunningly that would bebetter chapmen, and the like practises, which are crafty and naught. As for the chopping of bargains, when a man buys not to hold but tosell over again, that commonly grindeth double, both upon the sellerand upon the buyer. Sharings do greatly enrich, if the hands be wellchosen that are trusted. Usury is the certainest means of gain, thoone of the worst; as that whereby a man doth eat his bread in _sudorevultus alieni_;[30] and besides, doth plough upon Sundays. But yetcertain tho it be, it hath flaws; for that the scriveners and brokersdo value unsound men to serve their own turn. The fortune in being thefirst in an invention or in a privilege doth cause sometimes awonderful overgrowth in riches; as it was with the first sugar man inthe Canaries. [31] Therefore if a man can play the true logician, tohave as well judgment as invention, he may do great matters;especially if the times be fit. 

He that resteth upon gains certain shall hardly grow to great riches;and he that puts all upon adventures doth oftentimes break and come topoverty: it is good therefore to guard adventures with certainties, that may uphold losses. Monopolies, and co-emption of wares forre-sale, where they are not restrained, are great means to enrich;especially if the party have intelligence what things are like to comeinto request, and so store himself beforehand. Riches gotten byservice, tho it be of the best rise, yet when they are gotten byflattery, feeding humors, and other servile conditions, they may beplaced amongst the worst. As for fishing for testaments andexecutorships (as Tacitus saith of Seneca, _testamenta et orbostamquam indagine capi_, [32]) it is yet worse; by how much men submitthemselves to meaner persons than in service. Believe not much themthat seem to despise riches; for they despise them that despair ofthem; and none worse when they come to them. Be not penny-wise; richeshave wings, and sometimes they fly away of themselves, sometimes theymust be set flying to bring in more. Men leave their riches either totheir kindred, or to the public; and moderate portions prosper best inboth. A great estate left to an heir, is as a lure to all the birds ofprey round about to seize on him, if he be not the better establishedin years and judgment. Likewise glorious gifts and foundations arelike sacrifices without salt; and but the painted sepulchers of alms, which soon will putrefy and corrupt inwardly. Therefore measure notthine advancements by quantity, but frame them by measure: and defernot charities till death; for, certainly, if a man weigh it rightly, he that doth so is rather liberal of another man's than of his own. 

III

OF YOUTH AND AGE

A man that is young in years may be old in hours, if he have lost notime. But that happeneth rarely. Generally, youth is like the firstcogitations, not so wise as the second. For there is a youth inthoughts, as well as in ages. And yet the invention of young men ismore lively than that of old; and imaginations stream into their mindsbetter, and as it were more divinely. Natures that have much heat andgreat and violent desires and perturbations are not ripe for actiontill they have passed the meridian of their years; as it was withJulius Cæsar and Septimius Severus. Of the latter of whom it is said, _Juventutem egit erroribus, imo furoribus, plenam_. [33] And yet he wasthe ablest emperor, almost, of all the list. But reposed natures maydo well in youth. As it is seen in Augustus Cæsar, Cosmus Duke ofFlorence, Gaston de Foix, and others. On the other side, heat andvivacity in age is an excellent composition for business. 

Young men are fitter to invent than to judge; fitter for executionthan for counsel; and fitter for new projects than for settledbusiness. For the experience of age, in things that fall within thecompass of it, directeth them; but in new things, abuseth them. Theerrors of young men are the ruin of business; but the errors of agedmen amount but to this, that more might have been done, or sooner. Young men, in the conduct and manage of actions, embrace more thanthey can hold; stir more than they can quiet; fly to the end, withoutconsideration of the means and degrees; pursue some few principleswhich they have chanced upon absurdly; care not to innovate, whichdraws unknown inconveniences; use extreme remedies at first; and thatwhich doubleth all errors will not acknowledge or retract them; likean unready horse, that will neither stop nor turn. Men of age objecttoo much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, andseldom drive business home to the full period, but content themselveswith a mediocrity. 

Certainly it is good to compound employments of both; for that will begood for the present, because the virtues of either age may correctthe defects of both; and good for succession, that young men may belearners, while men in age are actors; and, lastly, good for externaccidents, because authority followeth old men, and favor andpopularity youth. But for the moral part, perhaps youth will have thepreeminence, as age hath for the politic. A certain rabbin, upon thetext, _Your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dreamdreams_, inferreth that young men are admitted nearer to God than old, because vision is a clearer revelation than a dream. And certainly, the more a man drinketh of the world, the more it intoxicateth; andage doth profit rather in the powers of understanding, than in thevirtues of the will and affections. There be some have an over-earlyripeness in their years, which fadeth betimes. These are, first, suchas have brittle wits, the edge whereof is soon turned; such as wasHermogenes[34] the rhetorician, whose books are exceeding subtle; whoafterwards waxed stupid. 

A second sort is of those that have some natural dispositions whichfind better grace in youth than in age; such as is a fluent andluxuriant speech; which becomes youth well, but not age: so Tullysaith of Hortensius, [35] _Idem manebat, neque idem decebat_. Thethird is of such as take too high a strain at the first, and aremagnanimous more than tract of years can uphold. As was ScipioAfricanus, of whom Livy saith[36] in effect, _Ultima primis cedebant_. 

IV

OF REVENGE

Revenge is a kind of wild justice; which the more man's nature runsto, the more ought law to weed it out. For as for the first wrong, itdoth but offend the law; but the revenge of that wrong putteth the lawout of office. Certainly, in taking revenge, a man is but even withhis enemy; but in passing it over, he is superior; for it is aprince's part to pardon. And Solomon, I am sure, saith, _It is theglory of a man to pass by an offense. _ That which is past is gone, andirrevocable; and wise men have enough to do with things present and tocome; therefore they do but trifle with themselves, that labor in pastmatters. There is no man doth a wrong for the wrong's sake; butthereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure, or honor, or thelike. Therefore why should I be angry with a man for loving himselfbetter than me? And if any man should do wrong merely out ofill-nature, why, yet it is but like the thorn or brier, which prickand scratch, because they can do no other. 

The most tolerable sort of revenge is for those wrongs which there isno law to remedy; but then let a man take heed the revenge be such asthere is no law to punish; else a man's enemy is still beforehand, andit is two for one. Some, when they take revenge, are desirous theparty should know whence it cometh. This is the more generous. For thedelight seemeth to be not so much in doing the hurt as in making theparty repent. But base and crafty cowards are like the arrow thatflieth in the dark. Cosmus, [37] Duke of Florence, had a desperatesaying against perfidious or neglecting friends, as if those wrongswere unpardonable: _You shall read_ (saith he) _that we are commandedto forgive our enemies; but you never read that we are commanded toforgive our friends. _ But yet the spirit of Job was in a better tune:_Shall we_ (saith he) _take good at God's hands, and not be content totake evil also?_ And so of friends in a proportion. This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green, whichotherwise would heal and do well. Public revenges are for the mostpart fortunate; as that for the death of Cæsar; for the death ofPertinax;[38] for the death of Henry the Third of France;[39] and manymore. But in private revenges it is not so. Nay rather, vindictivepersons live the life of witches; who, as they are mischievous, so endthey infortunate. 

V

OF MARRIAGE AND SINGLE LIFE

He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; forthey are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue ormischief. Certainly the best works, and of greatest merit for thepublic, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men; which bothin affection and means have married and endowed the public. Yet itwere great reason that those that have children should have greatestcare of future times; unto which they know they must transmit theirdearest pledges. Some there are, who tho they lead a single life, yettheir thoughts do end with themselves, and account future timesimpertinences. Nay, there are some other that account wife andchildren but as bills of charges. Nay more, there are some foolishrich covetous men, that take a pride in having no children, becausethey may be thought so much the richer. For perhaps they have heardsome talk, _Such an one is a great rich, man_, and another except toit, _Yea, but he hath a great charge of children_; as if it were anabatement to his riches. 

But the most ordinary cause of a single life is liberty, especially incertain self-pleasing and humorous minds, which are so sensible ofevery restraint, as they will go near to think their girdles andgarters to be bonds and shackles. Unmarried men are best friends, bestmasters, best servants; but not always best subjects; for they arelight to run away; and almost all fugitives are of that condition. Asingle life doth well with churchmen; for charity will hardly waterthe ground where it must first fill a pool. It is indifferent forjudges and magistrates; for if they be facile and corrupt, you shallhave a servant five times worse than a wife. For soldiers, I find thegenerals commonly in their hortatives put men in mind of their wivesand children; and I think the despising of marriage among the Turksmaketh the vulgar soldier more base. 

Certainly wife and children are a kind of discipline of humanity; andsingle men, tho they may be many times more charitable, because theirmeans are less exhaust, yet, on the other side, they are more crueland hard-hearted (good to make severe inquisitors), because theirtenderness is not so oft called upon. 

Grave natures, led by custom, and therefore constant, are commonlyloving husbands, as was said of Ulysses, [40] _vetulam suam prætulitimmortalitati_. Chaste women are often proud and froward, as presumingupon the merit of their chastity. It is one of the best bonds both ofchastity and obedience in the wife, if she think her husband wise;which she will never do if she find him jealous. Wives are young men'smistresses; companions for middle age; and old men's nurses. So as aman may have a quarrel to marry when he will. But yet he was reputedone of the wise men, that made answer to the question, when a manshould marry--_A young man not yet, an elder man not at all. _ It isoften seen that bad husbands have very good wives; whether it be thatit raiseth the price of their husband's kindness when it comes; orthat the wives take a pride in their patience. But this never fails, if the bad husbands were of their own choosing, against their friends'consent; for then they will be sure to make good their own folly. 

VI

OF ENVY

There be none of the affections which have been noted to fascinate orbewitch, but love and envy. They both have vehement wishes; they framethemselves readily into imaginations and suggestions; and they comeeasily into the eye, especially upon the presence of the objects;which are the points that conduce to fascination, if any such thingthere be. We see likewise the Scripture calleth envy an evil eye; andthe astrologers call the evil influences of the stars evil aspects; sothat still there seemeth to be acknowledged, in the act of envy, anejaculation or irradiation of the eye. Nay some have been so curiousas to note that the times when the stroke or percussion of an enviouseye doth most hurt are when the party envied is beheld in glory ortriumph; for that sets an edge upon envy: and besides, at such timesthe spirits of the person envied do come forth most into the outwardparts, and so meet the blow. 

But leaving these curiosities (tho not unworthy to be thought on infit place), we will handle, what persons are apt to envy others; whatpersons are most subject to be envied themselves; and what is thedifference between public and private envy. 

A man that hath no virtue in himself, ever envieth virtue in others. For men's minds will either feed upon their own good or upon others'evil; and who wanteth the one will prey upon the other; and whoso isout of hope to attain to another's virtue, will seek to come at evenhand by depressing another's fortune. 

A man that is busy and inquisitive is commonly envious. For to knowmuch of other men's matters cannot be because all that ado may concernhis own estate; therefore it must needs be that he taketh a kind ofplay-pleasure in looking upon the fortunes of others. Neither can hethat mindeth but his own business find much matter for envy. For envyis a gadding passion, and walketh the streets, and doth not keep home:_Non est curiosus, guin idem sit malevolus. _[41]

Men of noble birth are noted to be envious towards new men when theyrise. For the distance is altered; and it is like a deceit of the eye, that when others come on they think themselves go back. 

Deformed persons, and eunuchs, and old men, and bastards, are envious. For he that can not possibly mend his own case will do what he can toimpair another's; except these defects light upon a very brave andheroical nature, which thinketh to make his natural wants part of hishonor; in that it should be said, that an eunuch, or a lame man, didsuch great matters; affecting the honor of a miracle; as it was inNarses[42] the eunuch, and Agesilaus[43] and Tamberlanes, [44] thatwere lame men. 

The same is the case of men that rise after calamities andmisfortunes. For they are as men fallen out with the times; and thinkother men's harms a redemption of their own sufferings. 

They that desire to excel in too many matters, out of levity andvainglory, are ever envious. For they can not want work; it beingimpossible but many in some one of those things should surpass them. Which was the character of Adrian[45] the Emperor; that mortallyenvied poets and painters and artificers, in works wherein he had avein to excel. 

Lastly, near kinsfolks, and fellows in office, and those that havebeen bred together, are more apt to envy their equals when they areraised. For it doth upbraid unto them their own fortunes, and pointethat them, and cometh oftener into their remembrance, and incurrethlikewise more into the note of others; and envy ever redoubleth fromspeech and fame. Cain's envy was the more vile and malignant towardshis brother Abel, because when his sacrifice was better accepted therewas no body to look on. Thus much for those that are apt to envy. 

Concerning those that are more or less subject to envy: First, personsof eminent virtue, when they are advanced, are less envied. For theirfortune seemeth but due unto them; and no man envieth the payment of adebt, but rewards and liberality rather. Again, envy is ever joinedwith the comparing of a man's self; and where there is no comparison, no envy; and therefore kings are not envied but by kings. Neverthelessit is to be noted that unworthy persons are most envied at their firstcoming in, and afterwards overcome it better; whereas contrariwise, persons of worth and merit are most envied when their fortunecontinueth long. For by that time, tho their virtue be the same, yetit hath not the same luster; for fresh men grow up that darken it. 

Persons of noble blood are less envied in their rising. For it seemethbut right done to their birth. Besides, there seemeth not much addedto their fortune; and envy is as the sunbeams, that beat hotter upon abank or steep rising ground, than up a flat. And for the same reasonthose that are advanced by degrees are less envied than those that areadvanced suddenly and _per saltum_ [at a bound]. 

Those that have joined with their honor great travels, cares, orperils, are less subject to envy. For men think that they earn theirhonors hardly, and pity them sometimes; and pity ever healeth envy. Wherefore you shall observe that the more deep and sober sort ofpolitic persons, in their greatness, are ever bemoaning themselves, what a life they lead; chanting a _quanta patimur_. Not that they feelit so, but only to abate the edge of envy. But this is to beunderstood of business that is laid upon men, and not such as theycall unto themselves. For nothing increaseth envy more than anunnecessary and ambitious engrossing of business. And nothing dothextinguish envy more than for a great person to preserve all otherinferior officers in their full rights and preeminences of theirplaces. For by that means there be so many screens between him andenvy. 

Above all, those are most subject to envy, which carry the greatnessof their fortunes in an insolent and proud manner; being never wellbut while they are showing how great they are, either by outward pomp, or by triumphing over all opposition or competition; whereas wise menwill rather do sacrifice to envy, in suffering themselves sometimes ofpurpose to be crossed and overborne in things that do not much concernthem. Notwithstanding, so much is true, that the carriage of greatnessin a plain and open manner (so it be without arrogancy and vain glory)doth draw less envy than if it be in a more crafty and cunningfashion. For in that course a man doth but disavow fortune; andseemeth to be conscious of his own want in worth; and doth but teachothers to envy him. 

Lastly, to conclude this part; as we said in the beginning that theact of envy had somewhat in it of witchcraft, so there is no othercure of envy but the cure of witchcraft; and that is, to remove the_lot_ (as they call it) and to lay it upon another. For whichpurpose, the wiser sort of great persons bring in ever upon the stagesomebody upon whom to derive the envy that would come upon themselves;sometimes upon ministers and servants; sometimes upon colleagues andassociates; and the like; and for that turn there are never wantingsome persons of violent and undertaking nature, who, so they may havepower and business, will take it at any cost. 

Now, to speak of public envy. There is yet some good in public envy, whereas in private there is none. For public envy is as an ostracism, that eclipseth men when they grow too great. And therefore it is abridle also to great ones, to keep them within bounds. 

This envy, being in the Latin word _invidia_, goeth in the modernlanguages by the name of _discontentment_; of which we shall speak inhandling sedition. It is a disease in a state like to infection. Foras infection spreadeth upon that which is sound, and tainteth it; sowhen envy is gotten once into a state, it traduceth even the bestactions thereof, and turneth them into an ill odor. And thereforethere is little won by intermingling of plausible actions. For thatdoth argue but a weakness and fear of envy, which hurteth so much themore, as it is likewise usual in infections; which if you fear them, you call them upon you. 

This public envy seemeth to beat chiefly upon principal officers orministers, rather than upon kings and estates themselves. But this isa sure rule, that if the envy upon the minister be great, when thecause of it in him is small; or if the envy be general in a mannerupon all the ministers of an estate; then the envy (tho hidden) istruly upon the state itself. And so much of public envy ordiscontentment, and the difference thereof from private envy, whichwas handled in the first place. 

We will add this in general, touching the affection of envy; that ofall other affections it is the most importune and continual. For ofother affections there is occasion given but now and then; andtherefore it was well said, _Invidia festos dies non agit_:[46] a forit is ever working upon some or other. And it is also noted that loveand envy do make a man pine, which other affections do not, becausethey are not so continual. It is also the vilest affection, and themost depraved; for which cause it is the proper attribute of thedevil, who is called _the envious man, that soweth tares amongst thewheat by night_; as it always cometh to pass, that envy workethsubtilly, and in the dark; and to the prejudice of good things, suchas is the wheat. 

VII

OF GOODNESS AND GOODNESS OF NATURE

I take goodness in this sense, the affecting of the weal of men, whichis that the Grecians call _philanthropia_; and the word _humanity_ (asit is used) is a little too light to express it. Goodness I call thehabit, and goodness of nature the inclination. This of all virtues anddignities of the mind is the greatest; being the character of theDeity: and without it man is a busy, mischievous, wretched thing; nobetter than a kind of vermin. Goodness answers to the theologicalvirtue charity, and admits no excess, but error. The desire of powerin excess caused the angels to fall; the desire of knowledge in excesscaused man to fall: but in charity there is no excess; neither canangel or man come in danger by it. The inclination to goodness isimprinted deeply in the nature of man; insomuch that if it issue nottowards men, it will take unto other living creatures; as it is seenin the Turks, a cruel people, who nevertheless are kind to beasts, andgive alms to dogs and birds; insomuch as Busbechius[47] reporteth, aChristian boy in Constantinople had like to have been stoned forgagging in a waggishness a long-billed fowl. Errors indeed in thisvirtue of goodness or charity may be committed. The Italians have anungracious proverb, _Tanto buon che val niente_. [48] And one of thedoctors of Italy, Nicholas Machiavel, [49] had the confidence to put inwriting, almost in plain terms, _That the Christian faith had given upgood men in prey to those that are tyrannical and unjust_. Which hespake, because indeed there was never law or sect or opinion did somuch, magnify goodness as the Christian religion doth. 

Therefore, to avoid the scandal and the danger both, it is good totake knowledge of the errors of an habit so excellent. Seek the goodof other men, but be not in bondage to their faces or fancies; forthat is but facility or softness; which taketh an honest mindprisoner. Neither give thou Æsop's cock a gem, who would be betterpleased and happier if he had had a barley-corn. The example of Godteacheth the lesson truly: _He sendeth his rain and maketh his sun toshine upon the just and unjust_; but He doth not rain wealth, norshine honor and virtues, upon men equally. Common benefits are to becommunicate with all; but peculiar benefits with choice. And bewarehow in making the portraiture thou breakest the pattern. For divinitymaketh the love of ourselves the pattern; the love of our neighborsbut the portraiture. _Sell all thou hast, and give it to the poor, andfollow me_: but sell not all thou hast, except thou come and followme; that is, except thou have a vocation wherein thou mayest do asmuch good with little means as with great; for otherwise in feedingthe streams thou driest the fountain. 

Neither is there only a habit of goodness, directed by right reason;but there is in some men, even in nature, a disposition towards it; ason the other side there is a natural malignity. For there be that intheir nature do not affect the good of others. The lighter sort ofmalignity turneth but to a crossness, or frowardness, or aptness tooppose, or difficilness, or the like; but the deeper sort to envy andmere mischief. Such men in other men's calamities are, as it were, inseason, and are ever on the loading part: not so good as the dogs thatlicked Lazarus' sores; but like flies that are still buzzing uponanything that is raw; _misanthropi_ [haters of men], that make ittheir practise to bring men to the bough, and yet have never a treefor the purpose in their gardens, as Timon[50] had. Such dispositionsare the very errors of human nature; and yet they are the fittesttimber to make great politics of; like to knee timber, that is goodfor ships, that are ordained to be tossed; but not for buildinghouses, that shall stand firm. The parts and signs of goodness aremany. If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he isa citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off fromother lands, but a continent that joins to them. If he becompassionate towards the afflictions of others, it shows that hisheart is like the noble tree that is wounded itself when it gives thebalm. If he easily pardons and remits offenses, it shows that his mindis planted above injuries; so that he cannot be shot. If he bethankful for small benefits, it shows that he weighs men's minds, andnot their trash. But above all, if he have St. Paul's perfection, thathe would wish to be an _anathema_ from Christ for the salvation of hisbrethren, it shows much of a divine nature, and a kind of conformitywith Christ Himself. 

VIII

OF STUDIES

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chiefuse for delight is in privateness and retiring; for ornament is indiscourse; and for ability is in the judgment and disposition ofbusiness. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge ofparticulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots andmarshaling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spendtoo much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humorof a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience:for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need proyning, [51]by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much atlarge, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemnstudies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teachnot their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believeand take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh andconsider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, andsome few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be readonly in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few tobe read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also maybe read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that wouldbe only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books;else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing anexact man. 

And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory;if he confer little, he had need have a present wit: and if he readlittle, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he dothnot. Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathematics subtile;natural philosophy deep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric able tocontend. _Abeunt studia in mores. _[52] Nay, there is no stond orimpediment in the wit but may be wrought out by fit studies; like asdiseases of the body may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is goodfor the stone and reins; shooting for the lungs and breast; gentlewalking for the stomach; riding for the head; and the like. So if aman's wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for indemonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he mustbegin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him study the Schoolmen; for they are _cymini sectores_ [splittersof hairs]. If he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up onething to prove and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers'cases. So every defect of the mind may have a special receipt. 

IX

OF REGIMENT OF HEALTH

There is a wisdom in this beyond the rules of physic: a man's ownobservation, what he finds good of, and what he finds hurt of, is thebest physic to preserve health. But it is a safer conclusion to say, _This agreeth not well with me, therefore I will not continue it_;than this, _I find no offense of this, therefore I may use it. _ Forstrength of nature in youth passeth over many excesses, which areowing a man till his age. Discern of the coming on of years, and thinknot to do the same things still; for age will not be defied. Beware ofsudden change in any great point of diet, and if necessity inforce it, fit the rest to it. For it is a secret in nature and state, that it issafer to change many things than one. Examine thy customs of diet, sleep, exercise, apparel, and the like; and try, in any thing thoushalt judge hurtful, to discontinue it by little and little; but so, as if thou dost find any inconvenience by the change, thou come backto it again: for it is hard to distinguish that which is generallyheld good and wholesome, from that which is good particularly, and fitfor thine own body. 

To be free-minded and cheerfully disposed at hours of meat and ofsleep and of exercise, is one of the best precepts of long lasting. Asfor the passions and studies of the mind; avoid envy; anxious fears, anger fretting inwards; subtle and knotty inquisitions; joys andexhilarations in excess; sadness not communicated. Entertain hopes;mirth rather than joy; variety of delights, rather than surfeit ofthem; wonder and admiration, and therefore novelties; studies thatfill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories, fables, and contemplations of nature. If you fly physic in healthaltogether, it will be too strange for your body when you shall needit. If you make it too familiar, it will work no extraordinary effectwhen sickness cometh. I commend rather some diet for certain seasons, than frequent use of physic, except it be grown into a custom. Forthose diets alter the body more, and trouble it less. 

Despise no new accident in your body, but ask opinion of it. Insickness, respect health principally; and in health, action. For thosethat put their bodies to endure in health, may in most sicknesses, which are not very sharp, be cured only with diet and tendering. Celsus[53] could never have spoken it as a physician, had he not beena wise man withal, when he giveth it for one of the great precepts ofhealth and lasting, that a man do vary and interchange contraries, butwith an inclination to the more benign extreme: use fasting and fulleating, but rather full eating; watching and sleep, but rather sleep;sitting and exercise, but rather exercise; and the like. So shallnature be cherished, and yet taught masteries. Physicians are some ofthem so pleasing and conformable to the humor of the patient, as theypress not the true cure of the disease; and some other are so regularin proceeding according to art for the disease, as they respect notsufficiently the condition of the patient. Take one of a middletemper; or if it may not be found in one man, combine two of eithersort; and forget not to call as well the best acquainted with yourbody, as the best reputed of for his faculty. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 27: The selections here given from Bacon are all from the"Essays"]

[Footnote 28: Cicero's meaning is that Rabirius was not prompted byavarice so much as by a desire to obtain the means whereby he could dogood. ]

[Footnote 29: This has commonly been translated as "He that makethhaste to become rich shall not remain innocent. "]

[Footnote 30: The meaning is in the sweat of another man's brow ratherthan one's own. ]

[Footnote 31: Sugar is one of the chief products of the CanaryIslands. These islands are supposed to be identical with those knownto the ancients as the Fortunate Islands. ]

[Footnote 32: The remark of Tacitus means that Seneca took profitableplaces of trust in such numbers that it was as if he had gathered themin with a net. ]

[Footnote 33: The meaning is that Severus passed his youth, not onlyin errors, but that his youth was so full of them as to have beenalmost one of madness. ]

[Footnote 34: Hermogenes, a native of Tarsus, lived in the secondcentury A. D. ]

[Footnote 35: Hortensius was a Roman orator of Cicero's time and anearly rival of his. The remark here quoted from Tully (Cicero) meansthat Hortensius continued a line of action until it was not becoming. ]

[Footnote 36: Livy's remark means that Scipio in old age was not equalto himself in his youth in the things he performed. ]

[Footnote 37: Now written Cosmo, or Cosimo. He became duke in 1537. ]

[Footnote 38: Pertinax, the Roman emperor, was murdered by thePretorian Guards in 193 A. D. The guards were put to death by order ofSeptimius Severus, his successor. ]

[Footnote 39: Henry was murdered by a monk named Clement, who was putto death for the crime. ]

[Footnote 40: This refers to the refusal of Ulysses to wed a goddess, preferring his own wife, who was no longer young. ]

[Footnote 41: The meaning is that no man is possest by curiosityunless some malevolence inspires him. ]

[Footnote 42: Narses was the associate of Belisarius in command of theRoman army in Italy in 538-539, and greatly distinguished himself asthe sole commander in later years. ]

[Footnote 43: Agesilaus was a famous king of Sparta. ]

[Footnote 44: Now commonly written Tamerlane, which stands for Timourthe Lame, Timour being his real name. ]

[Footnote 45: Adrian, now commonly called Hadrian, emperor of Rome, was born in 76, and died in 138. ]

[Footnote 46: This saying has been translated "Envy keeps noholidays. "]

[Footnote 47: Busbechius, scholar and diplomat of Flanders, was bornin 1522 and died in 1592. ]

[Footnote 48: The meaning is that one may be so good as to be good fornothing. ]

[Footnote 49: Machiavelli, the famous author of "The Prince. "]

[Footnote 50: The reference is to Timon of Athens, a real person, whois the subject of one of Shakespeare's plays. ]

[Footnote 51: An early form of the word pruning, which once had awider meaning than now. ]

[Footnote 52: The meaning is that manners are deeply influenced byone's studies. ]

[Footnote 53: Aulus Celsus, a Roman writer on medicine, who lived inthe first half of the first century A. D. ]

SHAKESPEARE

 Born in 1564; died in 1616; married Anne Hathaway in 1582; went to London and became an actor in 1587; began to revise, or write, plays in 1589; bought "New Place" at Stratford in 1597; retired from the theater in 1610; his plays first collected in the Folio of 1623. 

I

BRUTUS TO HIS COUNTRYMEN[54]

_Brutus. _ Be patient till the last. 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear; believe me for mine honor, and have respect to minehonor, that you may believe; censure me in your wisdom, and awake yoursenses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in thisassembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say, that Brutus' loveto Cæsar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutusrose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that I lov'd Cæsar less, but that I lov'd Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living and dieall slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsarlov'd me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as hewas valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. Thereis tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honor for his valor; anddeath for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a bondman?If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that wouldnot be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here sovile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have Ioffended. I pause for reply. 

_All. _ None, Brutus, none. 

_Brutus. _ Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar thanyou shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enroll'd in theCapitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor hisoffenses enforc'd, for which he suffered death. 

 --_Enter Antony (and others), with Cæsar's body. _

Here comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Antony; who, tho he had no handin his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in thecommonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart, that, asI slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger formyself, when it shall please my country to need my death. 

II

SHYLOCK IN DEFENSE OF HIS RACE[55]

_Shylock. _ There I have another bad match. A bankrupt, a prodigal, whodare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a beggar, that was us'd tocome so smug upon the mart; let him look to his bond. He was wont tocall me usurer; let him look to his bond. He was wont to lend moneyfor a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond. 

_Salarino. _ Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take hisflesh. What's that good for?

_Shylock. _ To bait fish withal. If it will feed nothing else, it willfeed my revenge. He hath disgrac'd me, and hind'red me half a million;laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my nation, thwartedmy bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what's hisreason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurtwith the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by thesame means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as aChristian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, dowe not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resembleyou in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility?Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be byChristian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I willexecute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. 

III

HAMLET TO THE PLAYERS[56]

_Hamlet. _ Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your playersdo, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw theair too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the verytorrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, youmust acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, itoffends me to the soul to see a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear apassion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of thegroundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing butinexplicable dumb-shows and noise. I could have such a fellow whipp'dfor o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. 

_First Player. _ I warrant your honor. 

_Hamlet. _ Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be yourtutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with thisspecial observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. Foranything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, bothat the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up tonature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and thevery age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now thisoverdone, or come tardy off, tho it make the unskilful laugh, can notbut make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must, inyour allowance, o'erweigh a whole theater of others. O, there beplayers that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and thathighly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent ofChristians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so struttedand bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had mademen and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 

_First Player. _ I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir. 

_Hamlet. _ O, reform it altogether. And let those that play your clownsspeak no more than is set down for them; for there be of them thatwill themselves laugh to set on some quantity of barren spectators tolaugh too tho in the mean time some necessary question of the play bethen to be considered. That's villainous, and shows a most pitifulambition in the Fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 

 [_Exeunt Players. _

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 54: From "Julius Cæsar, " Act III, Sc. Ii. ]

[Footnote 55: From "The Merchant of Venice. " Act III, Sc. Ii. ]

[Footnote 56: From "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, " Act III, Sc. Ii. ]

BEN JONSON

 Born in 1573; died in 1637; became a player in 1597; his first play, "Everyman in His Humor, " performed at the Globe Theater in 1598, Shakespeare taking one of the parts; went to France in 1613 as tutor to a son of Raleigh; visited Drummond of Hawthornden in 1618; his library, one of the finest in England, burned about 1621; his works first collected in 1616; buried in Poet's Corner, Westminster, Abbey. 

OF SHAKESPEARE AND OTHER WITS[57]

I remember the players that have often mentioned it as an honor toShakespeare, that in his writing, whatsoever he penned, he neverblotted out a line. My answer hath been, "Would he had blotted athousand, " which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not toldposterity this, but for their ignorance who chose that circumstance tocommend their friend by wherein he most faulted; and to justify mineown candor, for I loved the man, and do honor his memory on this sideidolatry as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and of an open andfree nature; had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and gentleexpressions, wherein he flowed with that facility, that sometimes itwas necessary he should be stopt. _Sufflaminandus erat_, as Augustussaid of Haterius. His wit was in his own power: would the rule of ithad been so too. Many times he fell into those things which could notescape laughter, as when he said in the person of Cæsar, one speakingto him, "Cæsar, thou dost me wrong. " He replied, "Cæsar did neverwrong but with just cause"; and such like, which were ridiculous. Buthe redeemed his vices with his virtues. There was ever more in him tobe praised than to be pardoned. 

In the difference of wits I have observed there are many notes; and itis a little maistry to know them, to discern what every nature, everydisposition will bear; for before we sow our land we should plough it. There are no fewer forms of minds than of bodies amongst us. Thevariety is incredible, and therefore we must search. Some are fit tomake divines, some poets, some lawyers, some physicians, some to besent to the plow, and trades. 

There is no doctrine will do good where nature is wanting. Some witsare swelling and high; others low and still; some hot and fiery;others cold and dull; one must have a bridle, the other a spur. Therebe some that are forward and bold; and these will do every littlething easily. I mean that is hard by and next them, which they willutter unretarded without any shame-facedness. These never performmuch, but quickly. They are what they are on the sudden; they showpresently like grain that, scattered on the top the ground, shoots up, but takes no root; has a yellow blade, but the ear empty. They arewits of good promise at first, but there is an _ingenistitium_; theystand still at sixteen, they get no higher. You have others that laboronly to ostentation; and are ever more busy about the colors andsurface of a work than in the matter and foundation, for that is hid, the other is seen. 

Others that in composition are nothing but what is rough and broken. _Quæ per salebras, altaque saxa cadunt. _ And if it would come gently, they trouble it of purpose. They would not have it run without rubs, as if that style were more strong and manly that struck the ear with akind of unevenness. These men err not by chance, but knowingly andwillingly; they are like men that affect a fashion by themselves; havesome singularity in a ruff, cloak, or hatband; or their beardsspecially cut to provoke beholders, and set a mark upon themselves. They would be reprehended while they are looked on. And this vice, onethat is authority with the rest, loving, delivers over to them to beimitated; so that ofttimes the faults which he fell into, the othersseek for. This is the danger, when vice becomes a precedent. 

Others there are that have no composition at all; but a kind of tuningand riming fall in what they write. It runs and slides, and only makesa sound. Women's poets they are called, as you have women's tailors. 

 "They write a verse as smooth, as soft as cream, In which there is no torrent, nor scarce stream. "

You may sound these wits and find the depth of them with your middlefinger. They are cream-bowl, or but puddle-deep. 

Some that turn over all books, and are equally searching in allpapers; that write out of what they presently find or meet, withoutchoice. By which means it happens that what they have discredited andimpugned in one week, they have before or after extolled the same inanother. Such are all the essayists, even their master Montaigne. These, in all they write, confess still what books they have readlast, and therein their own folly so much that they bring it to thestake raw and undigested; not that the place did need it neither, butthat they thought themselves furnished and would vent it. .. . 

It cannot but come to pass that these men who commonly seek to do morethan enough may sometimes happen on something that is good and great;but very seldom: and when it comes it doth not recompense the rest oftheir ill. For their jests, and their sentences (which they only andambitiously seek for) stick out and are more eminent because all issordid and vile about them; as lights are more discerned in a thickdarkness than a faint shadow. Now, because they speak all they can(however unfitly), they are thought to have the greater copy; wherethe learned use ever election and a mean, they look back to what theyintended at first, and make all an even and proportioned body. Thetrue artificer will not run away from Nature as he were afraid of her, or depart from life and the likeness of truth, but speak to thecapacity of his hearers. And tho his language differ from the vulgarsomewhat, it shall not fly from all humanity, with the Tamerlanes andTamer-chams of the late age, which had nothing in them but thescenical strutting and furious vociferation to warrant them to theignorant gapers. He knows it is his only art so to carry it as nonebut artificers perceive it. In the meantime, perhaps, he is calledbarren, dull, lean, a poor writer or by what contumelious word cancome in their cheeks, by these men who, without labor, judgment, knowledge, or almost sense, are received or preferred before him. Hegratulates them and their fortune. Another age, or juster men, willacknowledge the virtues of his studies, his wisdom in dividing, hissubtlety in arguing, with what strength he doth inspire his readers, with what sweetness he strokes them; in inveighing, what sharpness; injest, what urbanity he uses; how he doth reign in men's affections;how invade and break in upon them, and makes their minds like thething he writes. Then in his elocution to behold what word is proper, which hath ornaments, which height, what is beautifully translated, where figures are fit, which gentle, which strong, to show thecomposition manly; and how he hath avoided faint, obscure, obscene, sordid, humble, improper, or effeminate phrase; which is not onlypraised of the most, but commended (which is worse), especially forthat it is naught. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 57: From "Timber; or Discoveries Made upon Men and Matter. "]

IZAAK WALTON

 Born in 1593, died in 1683; an ironmonger in London in 1618; his home in Fleet Street in 1624, and from 1628 to 1644 in Chancery Lane, where he had Dr. John Donne, whose life he wrote, for friend and neighbor; living at Clerkenwell in 1653, when he published "The Compleat Angler"; after the Restoration lived at Winchester and Salisbury; wrote lives of Donne, Wotton, Hooker, Herbert and Sanderson. 

I

THE ANTIQUITY OF ANGLING[58]

_Piscator_--O sir, doubt not that angling is an art: is it not an artto deceive a trout with an artificial fly? a trout that is moresharp-sighted than any hawk you have named, and more watchful andtimorous than your high-mettled merlin is bold; and yet I doubt not tocatch a brace or two to-morrow for a friend's breakfast. Doubt not, therefore, sir, but that angling is an art, and an art worth yourlearning. The question is rather, whether you be capable of learningit? for angling is somewhat like poetry--men are to be born so: Imean, with inclinations to it, tho both may be heightened by discourseand practise; but he that hopes to be a good angler must not onlybring an inquiring, searching, observing wit, but he must bring alarge measure of hope and patience, and a love and propensity to theart itself; but having once got and practised it, then doubt not butangling will prove to be so pleasant that it will prove to be likevirtue, a reward to itself. 

_Venator_--Sir, I am now become so full of expectation, that I longmuch to have you proceed, and in the order you propose. 

_Piscator_--Then first, for the antiquity of angling, of which I shallnot say much, but only this: some say it is as ancient as Deucalion'sflood, [59] others, that Belus, [60] who was the first inventor of godlyand virtuous recreations, was the first inventor of angling; and someothers say--for former times have had their disquisitions about theantiquity of it--that Seth, one of the sons of Adam, taught it to hissons, and that by them it was derived to posterity; others say that heleft it engraven on those pillars which he erected, and trusted topreserve the knowledge of the mathematics, music, and the rest of thatprecious knowledge and those useful arts, which by God's appointmentor allowance and his noble industry were thereby preserved fromperishing in Noah's flood. 

These, sir, have been the opinions of several men that have possiblyendeavored to make angling more ancient than is needful, or may wellbe warranted; but for my part, I shall content myself in telling youthat angling is much more ancient than the Incarnation of our Savior:for in the prophet Amos, mention is made of fish-hooks; and in thebook of Job, which was long before the days of Amos--for that book issaid to be writ by Moses--mention is made also of fish-hooks, whichmust imply anglers in those times. 

But, my worthy friend, as I would rather prove myself a gentleman bybeing learned and humble, valiant and inoffensive, virtuous andcommunicable, than by any fond ostentation of riches; or, wantingthose virtues myself, boast that these were in my ancestors (and yet Igrant that where a noble and ancient descent and such merit meet inany man, it is a double dignification of that person);--so if thisantiquity of angling, which for my part I have not forced, shall, likean ancient family, be either an honor or an ornament to this virtuousart which I profess to love and practise, I shall be the gladder thatI made an accidental mention of the antiquity of it, of which I shallsay no more, but proceed to that just commendation which I think itdeserves. 

And for that, I shall tell you that in ancient times a debate hatharisen, and it remains yet unresolved: whether the happiness of man inthis world doth consist more in contemplation or action?

Concerning which, some have endeavored to maintain their opinion ofthe first, by saying that the nearer we mortals come to God by way ofimitation, the more happy we are. And they say that God enjoys himselfonly by a contemplation of his own infiniteness, eternity, power, andgoodness, and the like. And upon this ground, many cloisteral men ofgreat learning and devotion prefer contemplation before action. Andmany of the fathers seem to approve this opinion, as may appear intheir commentaries upon the words of our Savior to Martha (Luke x: 41, 42). 

And on the contrary, there want not men of equal authority and credit, that prefer action to be the more excellent; as namely, experiments inphysic, and the application of it, both for the ease and prolongationof man's life; by which each man is enabled to act and do good toothers, either to serve his country or do good to particular persons. And they say also that action is doctrinal, and teaches both art andvirtue, and is a maintainer of human society; and for these, and otherlike reasons, to be preferred before contemplation. 

Concerning which two opinions, I shall forbear to add a third bydeclaring my own; and rest myself contented in telling you, my veryworthy friend, that both these meet together, and do most properlybelong to the most honest, ingenious, quiet, and harmless art ofangling. 

And first I shall tell you what some have observed, and I have foundit to be a real truth--that the very sitting by the river's side isnot only the quietest and fittest place for contemplation, but willinvite an angler to it; and this seems to be maintained by the learnedPeter Du Moulin, who in his discourse on the fulfilling of prophecies, observes that when God intended to reveal any future events or highnotions to His prophets, He then carried them either to the deserts orthe sea-shore, that having so separated them from amidst the press ofpeople and business, and the cares of the world, He might settle theirmind in a quiet repose, and there make them fit for revelation. 

II

OF THE TROUT[61]

The trout is a fish highly valued both in this and foreign nations; hemay be justly said, as the old poet said of wine, and we English sayof venison, to be a generous fish: a fish that is so like the buckthat he also has his seasons; for it is observed, that he comes in andgoes out of season with the stag and buck. Gesner says his name is ofGerman offspring, and says he is a fish that feeds clean and purely, in the swiftest streams, and on the hardest gravel; and that he mayjustly contend with all fresh-water fish, as the mullet may with allsea-fish, for precedency and daintiness of taste, and that being inright season, the most dainty palates have allowed precedency to him. 

And before I go further in my discourse, let me tell you, that you areto observe, that as there be some barren does that are good in summer, so there be some barren trouts that are good in winter; but there arenot many that are so, for usually they be in their perfection in themonth of May, and decline with the buck. Now you are to take notice, that in several countries, as in Germany and in other parts, comparedto ours, fish differ much in their bigness and shape, and other ways, and so do trouts: It is well known that in Lake Leman, the lake ofGeneva, there are trouts taken of three cubits long, as is affirmed byGesner, a writer of good credit; and Mercator says, the trouts thatare taken in the lake of Geneva are a great part of the merchandise ofthat famous city. And you are further to know, that there be certainwaters, that breed trouts remarkable both for their number andsmallness. I know a little brook in Kent that breeds them to a numberincredible, and you may take them twenty or forty in an hour, but nonegreater than about the size of a gudgeon: there are also in diversrivers, especially that relate to or be near to the sea, asWinchester, or the Thames about Windsor, a little trout called samlet, or skegger trout (in both which places I have caught twenty or fortyat a standing), that will bite as fast and as freely as minnows; thesebe by some taken to be young salmon; but in those waters they nevergrow to be bigger than a herring. 

There is also in Kent, near to Canterbury, a trout called there aFordidge trout, a trout that bears the name of the town where it isusually caught, that is accounted the rarest of fish; many of themnear the bigness of a salmon, but known by their different color; andin their best season they cut very white; and none of these have beenknown to be caught with an angle, unless it were one that was caughtby Sir George Hastings, an excellent angler, and now with God: and hehath told me, he thought _that_ trout bit not for hunger butwantonness; and it is rather to be believed, because both he, then, and many others before him, have been curious to search into theirbellies, what the food was by which they lived, and have found outnothing by which they might satisfy their curiosity. 

Concerning which you are to take notice, that it is reported by goodauthors, that grasshoppers, and some fish, have no mouths, but arenourished and take breath by the porousness of their gills, man knowsnot how: and this may be believed, if we consider that when the ravenhath hatched her eggs, she takes no further care, but leaves her youngones to the care of the God of nature, who is said, in the Psalms, "tofeed the young ravens that call upon Him. " And they be kept alive andfed by dew, or worms that breed in their nests, or some other waysthat we mortals know not; and this may be believed of the Fordidgetrout, which, as it is said of the stork (Jerem. Viii: 7), that "heknows his season, " so he knows his times, I think almost his day ofcoming into the river out of the sea, where he lives, and, it is like, feeds nine months of the year, and fasts three in the river ofFordidge. And you are to note that those townsmen are very punctual inobserving the time of beginning to fish for them, and boast much thattheir river affords a trout that exceeds all others. And just so doesSussex boast of several fish; as namely, a Shelsey cockle, aChichester lobster, an Arundel mullet, and an Amerly trout. 

And now for some confirmation of the Fordidge trout: you are to knowthat this trout is thought to eat nothing in the fresh water; and itmay be better believed, because it is well known, that swallows andbats and wagtails, which are called half-year birds, and not seen tofly in England for six months in the year, but about Michaelmas leaveus for a better climate than this; yet some of them that have beenleft behind their fellows, have been found many thousands at a time, in hollow trees, or clay caves; where they have been observed to liveand sleep out the whole winter without meat; and so Albertus observes, that there is one kind of frog that hath her mouth naturally shut upabout the end of August, and that she lives so all the winter; and thoit be strange to some, yet it is known to too many among us to bedoubted. 

And so much for these Fordidge trouts, which never afford an anglersport, but either live their time of being in the fresh water by theirmeat formerly got in the sea (not unlike the swallow or frog), or bythe virtue of the fresh water only; or, as the birds of Paradise andthe chameleon are said to live, by the sun and the air. 

There is also in Northumberland a trout called a bull trout, of a muchgreater length and bigness than any in the southern parts. And thereare, in many rivers that relate to the sea, salmon trouts, as muchdifferent from others, both in shape and in their spots, as we seesheep in some countries differ one from another in their shape andbigness, and in the fineness of their wool. And certainly, as somepastures breed larger sheep, so do some rivers, by reason of theground over which they run, breed larger trouts. 

Now the next thing that I will commend to your consideration is, thatthe trout is of a more sudden growth than other fish. Concerningwhich, you are also to take notice, that he lives not so long as theperch and divers other fishes do, as Sir Francis Bacon hath observedin his "History of Life and Death. "[62]

And now you are to take notice, that he is not like the crocodile, which if he lives never so long, yet always thrives till his death. And you are to know, that he will about, especially before, the timeof his spawning, get almost miraculously through weirs and flood-gatesagainst the streams; even through such high and swift places as isalmost incredible. Next, that the trout usually spawns about Octoberor November, but in some rivers a little sooner or later; which is themore observable, because most other fish spawn in the spring orsummer, when the sun hath warmed both the earth and the water, andmade it fit for generation. And you are to note, that he continuesmany months out of season; for it may be observed of the trout, thathe is like the buck or the ox, that he will not be fat in many months, tho he go in the very same pasture that horses do, which will be fatin one month; and so you may observe, that most other fishes recoverstrength, and grow sooner far and in season, than the trout doth. 

And next you are to note, that till the sun gets to such a height asto warm the earth and the water, the trout is sick and lean, andlousy, and unwholesome; for you shall in winter find him to have a bighead, and then to be lank, and thin, and lean; at which time many ofthem have sticking on them sugs, or trout-lice, which is a kind ofworm, in shape like a clove or pin, with a big head, and sticks closeto him and sucks his moisture; those I think the trout breeds himself, and never thrives till he frees himself from them, which is when warmweather comes; and then, as he grows stronger, he gets from the dead, still water, into the sharp streams, and the gravel, and there tubsoff these worms or lice; and then as he grows stronger, so he gets himinto swifter and swifter streams, and there lies at the watch for anyfly or minnow that comes near to him; and he especially loves theMay-fly, which is bred of the cod-worm or caddis; and these make thetrout bold and lusty, and he is usually fatter and better meat at theend of that month (May) than at any time of the year. 

III

THE DEATH OF GEORGE HERBERT[63]

At the time of Mr. Duncon's leaving Mr. Herbert--which was about threeweeks before his death--his old and dear friend Mr. Woodnot came fromLondon to Bemerton, and never left him till he had seen him draw hislast breath, and closed his eyes on his death-bed. In this time of hisdecay, he was often visited and prayed for by all the clergy thatlived near to him, especially by his friends the Bishop and Prebendsof the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; but by none more devoutly thanhis wife, his three nieces--then a part of his family--and Mr. Woodnot, who were the sad witnesses of his daily decay; to whom hewould often speak to this purpose:

"I now look back upon the pleasures of my life past, and see thecontent I have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and pleasantconversation, are now all past by me like a dream, or as a shadow thatreturns not, and are now all become dead to me, or I to them; and Isee, that as my father and generation hath done before me, so I alsoshall now suddenly (with Job) make my bed also in the dark; and Ipraise God I am prepared for it; and I praise Him that I am not tolearn patience now I stand in such need of it; and that I havepractised mortification, and endeavored to die daily, that I might notdie eternally; and my hope is, that I shall shortly leave this valleyof tears, and be free from all fevers and pain; and, which will be amore happy condition, I shall be free from sin, and all thetemptations and anxieties that attend it: and this being past, I shalldwell in the New Jerusalem; dwell there with men made perfect; dwellwhere these eyes shall see my Master and Savior Jesus; and with Himsee my dear mother, and all my relations and friends. But I must die, or not come to that happy place. And this is my content, that I amgoing daily towards it: and that every day which I have lived, hathtaken a part of my appointed time from me; and that I shall live theless time, for having lived this and the day past. "

These, and the like expressions, which he uttered often, may be saidto be his enjoyment of Heaven before he enjoyed it. The Sunday beforehis death, he rose suddenly from his bed or couch, called for one ofhis instruments, took it into his hand and said, My God, my God, My music shall find Thee, And every string Shall have His attribute to sing. 

and having tuned it, he played and sung:

 The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King: On Sundays Heaven's door stands ope; Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope. 

Thus he sung on earth such hymns and anthems, as the angels, and he, and Mr. Farrer, now sing in heaven. Thus he continued meditating, andpraying, and rejoicing, till the day of his death; and on that daysaid to Mr. Woodnot, "My dear friend, I am sorry I have nothing topresent to my merciful God but sin and misery; but the first ispardoned, and a few hours will now put a period to the latter; for Ishall suddenly go hence, and be no more seen. " Upon which expressionMr. Woodnot took occasion to remember him of the reedifying LaytonChurch, and his many acts of mercy. To which he made answer, saying, "They be good works, if they be sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and not otherwise. "

After this discourse he became more restless, and his soul seemed tobe weary of her earthly tabernacle; and this uneasiness became sovisible, that his wife, his three nieces, and Mr. Woodnot, stoodconstantly about his bed, beholding him with sorrow, and anunwillingness to lose the sight of him, whom they could not hope tosee much longer. As they stood thus beholding him, his wife observedhim breathe faintly, and with much trouble, and observed him to fallinto a sudden agony; which so surprized her, that she fell into asudden passion, and required of him to know how he did. To which hisanswer was, "that he had passed a conflict with his last enemy, andhad overcome him by the merits of his Master Jesus. " After whichanswer, he looked up, and saw his wife and nieces weeping to anextremity, and charged them, if they loved him to withdraw into thenext room, and there pray every one alone for him; for nothing buttheir lamentations could make his death uncomfortable. To whichrequest their sighs and tears would not suffer them to make any reply;but they yielded him a sad obedience, leaving only with him Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock. 

Immediately after they had left him, he said to Mr. Bostock, "Pray, Sir, open that door, then look into that cabinet, in which you mayeasily find my last will, and give it into my hand"; which being done, Mr. Herbert delivered it into the hand of Mr. Woodnot, and said, "Myold friend, I here deliver you my last will, in which you will findthat I have made you my sole executor for the good of my wife andnieces; and I desire you to show kindness to them, as they shall needit; I do not desire you to be just; for I know you will be so for yourown sake: but I charge you, by the religion of our friendship, to becareful of them. " And having obtained Mr. Woodnot's promise to be so, he said, "I am now ready to die. " After which words, he said, "Lord, forsake me not now my strength faileth me: but grant me mercy for themerits of my Jesus. And now, Lord--Lord, now receive my soul. " Andwith those words he breathed forth his divine soul, without anyapparent disturbance, Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock attending his lastbreath, and closing his eyes. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 58: From Part I, Chap. I of "The Compleat Angler. "]

[Footnote 59: Deucalion was a legendary king of Phythia in Thessaly. According to the legend, a deluge having been sent by Zeus, Deucalion, by advice of his father, built a wooden chest in which he and his wifewere saved, landing after nine days on Mt. Parnassus. By them thehuman race, destroyed in the deluge, was renewed. ]

[Footnote 60: A mythological person, son of Poseidon. ]

[Footnote 61: From Chapter IV of "The Compleat Angler. "]

[Footnote 62: The "Historia Vitæ et Mortis, " published in 1623. ]

[Footnote 63: Author of "The Temple; Sacred Poems and PrivateEjaculations, " published in 1633, the year of Herbert's death. ]

JAMES HOWELL

 Born in 1595, died in 1666; best known as author of the "Letters" (1645-1655); edited a French and English dictionary; and compiled a polyglot dictionary. 

I

THE BUCENTAUR CEREMONY IN VENICE[64]

These wishes come to you from Venice, a place where there is nothingwanting that heart can wish; renowned Venice, the admired'st city inthe world, a city that all Europe is bound unto, for she is hergreatest rampart against that huge eastern tyrant, the Turk, by sea;else, I believe, he had overrun all Christendom by this time. Againsthim this city hath performed notable exploits, and not only againsthim, but divers others: she hath restored emperors to their thrones, and popes to their chairs, and with her galleys often preserved St. Peter's bark from sinking: for which, by way of reward, one of hissuccessors espoused her to the sea, which marriage is solemnly renewedevery year in solemn procession by the Doge and all the Clarissimos, and a gold ring cast into the sea out of the great galeasse, calledthe Bucentoro, [65] wherein the first ceremony was performed by thepope himself, above three hundred years since, and they say it is theself-same vessel still, tho often put upon the careen and trimmed. This made me think of that famous ship at Athens; nay, I fell upon anabstracted notion in philosophy, and a speculation touching the bodyof men, which being in perpetual flux, and a kind of succession ofdecays, and consequently requiring, ever and anon, a restoration ofwhat it loseth of the virtue of the former aliment, and what wasconverted after the third concoction into a blood and fleshysubstance, which, as in all other sublunary bodies that have internalprinciples of heat, useth to transpire, breathe out, and waste awaythrough invisible pores, by exercise, motion, and sleep, to make roomstill for a supply of new nurriture: I fell, I say, to considerwhether our bodies may be said to be of like condition with thisBucentoro, which, tho it be reputed still the same vessel, yet Ibelieve there's not a foot of that timber remaining which it had uponthe first dock, having been, as they tell me, so often planked andribbed, caulked and pieced. 

In like manner, our bodies may be said to be daily repaired by newsustenance, which begets new blood, and consequently new spirits, newhumors, and, I may say, new flesh; the old, by continual deperditionand insensible perspirations, evaporating still out of us, and givingway to fresh; so that I make a question whether, by reason of theseperpetual reparations and accretions, the body of man may be said tobe the same numerical body in his old age that he had in his manhood, or the same in his manhood that he had in his youth, the same in hisyouth that he carried about with him in his childhood, or the same inhis childhood which he wore first in the womb. I make a doubt whetherI had the same identical, individually numerical body, when I carrieda calf-leather satchel to school in Hereford, as when I wore alambskin hood in Oxford; or whether I have the same mass of blood inmy veins, and the same flesh, now in Venice, which I carried about methree years since, up and down London streets, having, in lieu of beerand ale, drunk wine all this while, and fed upon different viands. Now, the stomach is like a crucible, for it hath a chemical kind ofvirtue to transmute one body into another, to transsubstantiate fishand fruits into flesh within and about us; but tho it be questionablewhether I wear the same flesh which is fluxible, I am sure my hair isnot the same, for you may remember I went flaxen-haired out ofEngland, but you shall find me returned with a very dark brown, whichI impute not only to the heat and air of those hot countries I haveeat my bread in, but to the quality and difference of food: you willsay that hair is but an excrementitious thing, and makes not to thispurpose; moreover, methinks I hear thee say that this may be true onlyin the blood and spirits, or such fluid parts, not in the solid andheterogeneal parts. 

But I will press no further at this time this philosophical notion, which the sight of Bucentoro infused into me, for it hath already mademe exceed the bounds of a letter, and, I fear me, to trespass too muchupon your patience; I leave the further disquisition of this point toyour own contemplations, who are a far riper philosopher than I, andhave waded deeper into and drunk more of Aristotle's well. But toconclude, tho it be doubtful whether I carry about me the same body orno in all points that I had in England, I am well assured I bear stillthe same mind, and therein I verify the old verse:

 "Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt. " "The air, but not the mind, they change, Who in outlandish countries range. "

For, what alterations soever happen in this microcosm, in this littleworld, this small bulk and body of mine, you may be confident thatnothing shall alter my affections, specially towards you, but that Iwill persevere still the same--the very same. 

II

THE CITY OF ROME IN 1621[66]

I am now come to Rome, and Rome, they say, is every man's country; sheis called _Communis Patria_, for every one that is within the compassof the Latin Church finds himself here, as it were, at home, and inhis mother's house, in regard of interest in religion, which is thecause that for one native there be five strangers that sojourn in thiscity; and without any distinction or mark of strangeness, they come topreferments and offices, both in church and state, according to merit, which is more valued and sought after here than anywhere. 

But whereas I expected to have found Rome elevated upon seven hills, Imeet her rather spreading upon a flat, having humbled herself, sinceshe was made a Christian, and descended from those hills to CampusMartius; with Trastevere and the suburbs of Saint Peter, she hath yetin compass about fourteen miles, which is far short of that vastcircuit she had in Claudius his time; for Vopiscus[67] writes she wasthen of fifty miles' circumference, and she had five hundred thousandfree citizens in a famous cense that was made, which, allowing but sixto every family in women, children, and servants, came to threemillions of souls; but she is now a wilderness in comparison of thatnumber. 

The pope is grown to be a great temporal prince of late years, for thestate of the church extends above three hundred miles in length, andtwo hundred miles in breadth; it contains Ferrara, Bologna, Romagnia, the Marquisate of Ancona, Umbria, Sabina, Perugia, with a part ofTuscany, the patrimony, Rome herself, and Latium. In these there areabove fifty bishoprics; the pope hath also the duchy of Spoleto, andthe exarchate of Ravenna; he hath the town of Benevento in the kingdomof Naples, and the country of Venissa, called Avignon, in France. Hehath title also good enough to Naples itself; but, rather than offendhis champion, the king of Spain, he is contented with a white mule, and purse of pistoles about the neck, which he receives every year fora heriot or homage, or what you will call it; he pretends also to beLord-paramount of Sicily, Urbia, Parma, and Masseran; of Norway, Ireland, and England, since King John did prostrate our crown atPandulfo his legate's feet. [68]

The state of the apostolic see here in Italy lieth 'twixt two seas, the Adriatic and the Tyrrhene, and it runs through the midst of Italy, which makes the pope powerful to do good or harm, and more capablethan any other to be an umpire or an enemy. His authority being mixed'twixt temporal and spiritual, disperseth itself into so many members, that a young man may grow old here before he can well understand theform of government. 

The consistory of cardinals meet but once a week, and once a week theysolemnly wait all upon the pope. I am told there are now inChristendom but sixty-eight cardinals, whereof there are six cardinalbishops, fifty-one cardinal priests, and eleven cardinal deacons. Thecardinal bishops attend and sit near the pope, when he celebrates anyfestival; the cardinal priests assist him at mass; and the cardinaldeacons attire him. A cardinal is bade by a short breve or writ fromthe pope in these words: "_Creamus te socium regibus, superioremducibus, et fratrem nostrum. _"[69] If a cardinal bishop should bequestioned for any offense, there must be twenty-four witnessesproduced against him. The Bishop of Ostia hath most privilege of anyother, for he consecrates and installs the pope, and goes always nextto him. All these cardinals have the repute of princes, and besidesother incomes, they have the annats of benefices to support theirgreatness. 

For point of power, the pope is able to put 50, 000 men in the field, in case of necessity, besides his naval strength in galleys. We readhow Paul III sent Charles III twelve thousand foot and five hundredhorse. Pius V sent a greater aid to Charles IX; and for riches, besides the temporal dominions he hath in all the countries beforenamed, the datany or dispatching of bulls, the triennial subsidies, annats, and other ecclesiastical rights, mount to an unknown sum; andit is a common saying here, that as long as the pope can finger a pen, he can want no pence. Pius V, notwithstanding his expenses inbuildings, left four millions in the Castle of Saint Angelo in lessthan five years; more, I believe, than this Gregory XV will, for hehath many nephews; and better is it to be the pope's nephew, than tobe a favorite to any prince in Christendom. 

Touching the temporal government of Rome, and oppidan affairs, thereis a pretor and some choice citizens, which sit in the Capitol. Amongother pieces of policy, there is a synagog of Jews permitted here--asin other places of Italy--under the pope's nose, but they go with amark of distinction in their hats; they are tolerated for advantage ofcommerce, wherein the Jews are wonderful dexterous--tho most of thembe only brokers and Lombardeers; and they are held to be here as thecynic held women to be--_malum necessarium_. .. . 

Present Rome may be said to be but a monument of Rome past, when shewas in that flourish that St. Austin desired to see her in. She whotamed the world, tamed herself at last, and falling under her ownweight, fell to be a prey to time; yet there is a providence seems tohave a care of her still; for tho her air be not so good, nor hercircumjacent soil so kindly as it was, yet she hath wherewith to keeplife and soul together still, by her ecclesiastical courts, which isthe sole cause of her peopling now; so that it may be said, when thepope came to be her head, she was reduced to her first principles; foras a shepherd was founder, so a shepherd is still governor andpreserver. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 64: From the "Familiar Letters, " the date of this letterbeing "Venice, 25th June, 1621. "]

[Footnote 65: Now written Bucentaur, the state ship of the Venetianrepublic. The ceremony of "espousing the sea" dates from the twelfthcentury. The last of the Bucentaur ships of Venice was destroyed byNapoleon in 1798. It was the third that had been built for Venice. ]

[Footnote 66: From the "Familiar Letters. "]

[Footnote 67: The historian who lived early in the fourth centuryA. D. ]

[Footnote 68: King John, in 1213, had made peace with the Pope (whohad deposed him) by consenting to hold his kingdom in fief for thePope and to pay to him an annual tribute of 1, 000 marks. ]

[Footnote 69: These words mean "We create thee companion to kings, superior to dukes, and our brother. "]

SIR THOMAS BROWNE

 Born in 1605, died in 1682; educated at Oxford, Padua and Leyden; in 1633 made Doctor of Medicine; settled at Norwich in 1637; knighted in 1671; his "Religio Medici" published in 1643; author of several other works. 

I

OF CHARITY IN JUDGMENTS[70]

Now for that other virtue of charity, without which faith is a merenotion and of no existence, I have ever endeavored to nourish themerciful disposition and humane inclination I borrowed from myparents, and regulate it to the written and prescribed laws ofcharity: and if I hold the true anatomy of myself, I am delineated andnaturally framed to such a piece of virtue; for I am of a constitutionso general that it consorts and sympathizeth with all things: I haveno antipathy, or rather idiosyncrasy, in diet, humor, air, anything. Iwonder not at the French for their dishes of frogs, snails, andtoadstools; nor at the Jews for locusts and grasshoppers; but beingamongst them, make them my common viands, and I find they agree withmy stomach as well as theirs. I could digest a salad gathered in achurchyard as well as in a garden. I cannot start at the presence of aserpent, scorpion, lizard, or salamander: at the sight of a toad orviper I find in me no desire to take up a stone to destroy them. Ifeel not in myself those common antipathies that I can discover inothers; those national repugnances do not touch me, nor do I beholdwith prejudice the French, Italian, Spaniard, or Dutch; but where Ifind their actions in balance with my countrymen's, I honor, love, andembrace them in the same degree. 

I was born in the eighth climate, but seem for to be framed andconstellated unto all: I am no plant that will not prosper out of agarden; all places, all airs, make unto me one country; I am inEngland, everywhere, and under any meridian; I have been shipwrecked, yet am not enemy with the sea or winds; I can study, play or sleep ina tempest. In brief, I am averse from nothing: my conscience wouldgive me the lie if I should absolutely detest or hate any essence butthe devil; or so at least abhor anything but that we might come tocomposition. If there be any among those common objects of hatred I docontemn and laugh at, it is that great enemy of reason, virtue, andreligion--the multitude: that numerous piece of monstrosity which, taken asunder, seem men and the reasonable creatures of God, butconfused together, make but one great beast and a monstrosity moreprodigious than Hydra: it is no breach of charity to call these fools;it is the style all holy writers have afforded them, set down bySolomon in canonical Scripture, and a point of our faith to believeso. Neither in the name of multitude do I only include the base andminor sort of people: there is a rabble even amongst the gentry, asort of plebeian heads, whose fancy moves with the same wheel asthese; men in the same level with mechanics, tho their fortunes dosomewhat gild their infirmities, and their purses compound for theirfollies. 

II

NOTHING STRICTLY IMMORTAL[71]

Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares withmemory a great part even of our living beings; we slightly rememberour felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but shortsmart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy usor themselves. To weep into stones are fables. Afflictions inducecallosities; miseries are slippery, or fall like snow upon us, whichnotwithstanding is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils tocome, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision in nature, whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days, and, ourdelivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrowsare not kept raw by the edge of repetitions. 

A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of subsistency with atransmigration of their souls--a good way to continue their memories, while having the advantage of plural successions, they could not butact something remarkable in such variety of beings, and enjoying thefame of their passed selves, make accumulation of glory unto theirlast durations. Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable nightof nothing, were content to recede into the common being, and make oneparticle of the public soul all things, which was no more than toreturn into their unknown and divine original again. Egyptianingenuity was more unsatisfied, contriving their bodies in sweetconsistencies, to attend the return of their souls. But all wasvanity, feeding the wind, and folly. The Egyptian mummies, whichCambyses[72] or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy isbecome merchandise, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold forbalsams. 

In vain do individuals hope for immortality, or any patent fromoblivion, in preservations below the moon; men have been deceived evenin their flatteries, above the sun, and studied conceits to perpetuatetheir names in heaven. The various cosmography of that part hathalready varied the names contrived constellations; Nimrod is lost inOrion, and Osiris in the Dog-star. While we look for incorruption inthe heavens, we find they are like the earth--durable in their mainbodies, alterable in their parts; whereof, beside comets and newstars, perspective begin to tell tales, and the spots that wanderabout the sun, with Phaeton's favor, would make clear conviction. 

There is nothing strictly immortal but immortality. Whatever hath nobeginning, may be confident of no end--which is the peculiar of thatnecessary essence that can not destroy itself--and the highest strainof omnipotency, to be so powerfully constituted as not to suffer evenfrom power of itself; all others have a dependent being and within thereach of destruction. But the sufficiency of Christian immortalityfrustrates all earthly glory, and the quality of either states afterdeath, makes a folly of posthumous memory. God, who can only destroyour souls, and hath assured our resurrection, either of our bodies ornames, hath directly promised no duration. Wherein there is so much ofchance, that the boldest expectants have found unhappy frustration;and to hold long subsistences, seems but a scape in oblivion. But manis a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave, solemnizing nativities and deaths with equal luster, nor omittingceremonies of bravery in the infamy of nature. 

Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sum within us. Asmall fire sufficeth for life, great flames seemed too little afterdeath, while men vainly affected precious pyres, and to burn likeSardanapalus; but wisdom of funeral laws found the folly of prodigalblazes, and reduced undoing fires unto the rule of sober obsequies, wherein few could be so mean as not to provide wood, pitch, a mourner, and an urn. 

Five languages secured not the epitaph of Gordianus. [73] The man ofGod lives longer without a tomb than any by one, invisibly interred byangels, and adjudged to obscurity, tho not without some marksdirecting human discovery. Enoch and Elias, without either tomb orburial, in an anomalous state of being, are the great examples ofperpetuity, in their long and living memory, in strict account beingstill on this side death, and having a late part yet to act upon thisstage of earth. If in the decretory term of the world we shall not alldie but be changed, according to received translation, the last daywill make but few graves; at least quick resurrections will anticipatelasting sepultures. Some graves will be opened before they be quiteclosed, and Lazarus be no wonder. When many that feared to die, shallgroan that they can die but once, the dismal state is the second andliving death, when life puts despair on the damned; when men shallwish the coverings of mountains, not of monuments, and annihilationsshall be courted. 

While some have studied monuments, others have studiously declinedthem, and some have been so vainly boisterous, that they durst notacknowledge their graves; wherein Alaric seems most subtle, who had ariver turned to hide his bones at the bottom. Even Sylla, that thoughthimself safe in his urn, could not prevent revenging tongues, andstones thrown at his monument. Happy are they whom privacy makesinnocent, who deal so with men in this world, that they are not afraidto meet them in the next; who, when they die, make no commotion amongthe dead, and are not touched with that poetical taunt of Isaiah. 

Pyramids, arches, obelisks, were but the irregularities of vainglory, and wild enormities of ancient magnanimity. But the most magnanimousresolution rests in the Christian religion, which trampleth uponpride, and sits on the neck of ambition, humbly pursuing thatinfallible perpetuity, unto which all others must diminish theirdiameters, and be poorly seen in angles of contingency. 

Pious spirits who passed their days in raptures of futurity, madelittle more of this world, than the world that was before it, whilethey lay obscure in the chaos of pre-ordination, and night of theirfore-beings. And if any have been so happy as truly to understandChristian annihilation, ecstasies, exolution, liquefaction, transformation, the kiss of the spouse, gustation of God, andingression into the divine shadow, they have already had an handsomeanticipation of heaven; the glory of the world is surely over, and theearth is ashes unto them. 

To subsist in lasting monuments, to live in their productions, toexist in their names and predicament of chimeras, was largesatisfaction unto old expectations, and made one part of theirelysiums. But all this is nothing in the metaphysicks of true belief. To live indeed, is to be again ourselves, which being not only a hope, but an evidence in noble believers, 'tis all one to lie in St. Innocent's churchyard, as in the sands of Egypt. Ready to be anything, in the ecstasy of being ever, and as content with six foot as themoles of Hadrianus. [74]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 70: From the "Religio Medici. "]

[Footnote 71: From Chapter V of "Urn Burial; or, a Discourse of theSepulchral Urns Lately Found in Norfolk. "]

[Footnote 72: Cambyses III, king of Persia who conquered Egypt in 525B. C. ]

[Footnote 73: A Roman emperor whose epitaph was cut in Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Egyptian and Arabic. ]

[Footnote 74: Now the Castle of St. Angelo in Rome. ]

JOHN MILTON

 Born in 1608, died in 1674; visited Italy in 1638; began his poetical writings in 1640; Latin Secretary to the Commonwealth in 1649; became totally blind in 1652; spared at the Restoration under the Indemnity Act; published "Paradise Lost" in 1667. 

I

ON HIS OWN LITERARY AMBITION[75]

After I had, from my first years, by the ceaseless diligence and careof my father (whom God recompense!), been exercised to the tongues, and some sciences, as my age would suffer, by sundry masters andteachers, both at home and at the schools, it was found that whetheraught was imposed me by them that had the overlooking, or betaken toof my own choice in English, or other tongue, prosing or versing, butchiefly the latter, the style, by certain vital signs it had, waslikely to live. But much latelier, in the private academies of Italy, whither I was favored to resort, perceiving that some trifles which Ihad in memory, composed at under twenty or thereabout--for the manneris, that every one must give some proof of his wit and readingthere--met with acceptance above what was looked for; and other thingswhich I had shifted, in scarcity of books and conveniences, to patchup among them, were received with written encomiums, which theItalian is not forward to bestow on men of this side the Alps, I beganthus far to assent both to them and divers of my friends here at home;and not less to an inward prompting, which now grew daily upon me, that by labor and intent study, which I take to be my portion in thislife, joined to the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leavesomething so written, to after-times, as they should not willingly letit die. 

These thoughts at once possest me, and these other, that if I werecertain to write as men buy leases, for three lives and downward, there ought no regard be sooner had than to God's glory, by the honorand instruction of my country. For which cause, and not only for thatI knew it would be hard to arrive at the second rank among the Latins, I applied myself to that resolution which Ariosto followed against thepersuasions of Bembo, [76] to fix all the industry and art I couldunite to the adorning of my native tongue; not to make verbalcuriosities the end--that were a toilsome vanity; but to be aninterpreter, and relater of the best and sagest things among mine owncitizens throughout this island, in the mother dialect. That what thegreatest and choicest wits of Athens, Rome, or modern Italy, and thoseHebrews of old did for their country, I, in my proportion, with thisover and above, of being a Christian, might do for mine; not caringto be once named abroad, tho perhaps I could attain to that, butcontent with these British islands as my world; whose fortune hathhitherto been, that if the Athenians, as some say, made their smalldeeds great and renowned by their eloquent writers, England hath hadher noble achievements made small by the unskilful handling of monksand mechanics. 

Time serves not now, and perhaps I might seem too profuse, to give anycertain account of what the mind at home, in the spacious circuits ofher musing, hath liberty to propose to herself, tho of highest hopeand hardest attempting. Whether that epic form, whereof the two poemsof Homer, and those other two of Virgil and Tasso are a diffuse, andthe book of Job a brief, model; or whether the rules of Aristotleherein are strictly to be kept, or nature to be followed, which inthem that know art, and use judgment, is no transgression, but anenriching of art. And, lastly, what king or knight before the Conquestmight be chosen, in whom to lay the pattern of a Christian hero. Andas Tasso gave to a prince of Italy his choice, whether he wouldcommand him to write of Godfrey's[77] expedition against the infidels, or Belisarius against the Goths, or Charlemagne against the Lombards;if to the instinct of nature and the emboldening of art aught may betrusted, and that there be nothing adverse in our climate, or the fateof this age, it haply would be no rashness, from an equal diligenceand inclination, to present the like offer in our own ancientstories. Or whether those dramatic constitutions, wherein Sophoclesand Euripides reign, shall be found more doctrinal and exemplary to anation. 

The Scripture also affords us a fine pastoral drama in the Song ofSolomon, consisting of two persons, and a double chorus, as Origen[78]rightly judges; and the Apocalypse of St. John is the majestic imageof a high and stately tragedy, shutting up and intermingling hersolemn scenes and acts with a seven-fold chorus of hallelujahs andharping symphonies. And this my opinion, the grave authority ofParæus, commenting that book, is sufficient to confirm. Or if occasionshall lead, to imitate those magnific odes and hymns, wherein Pindarusand Callimachus are in most things worthy, some others in their framejudicious, in their matter most, and end faulty. But those frequentsongs throughout the law and prophets, beyond all these, not in theirdivine argument alone, but in the very critical art of composition, may be easily made appear, over all the kinds of lyric poesy, to beincomparable. 

These abilities, wheresoever they be found, are the inspired gift ofGod, rarely bestowed, but yet to some--tho most abuse--in everynation: and are of power, besides of the office of a pulpit, toinbreed and cherish in a great people the seeds of virtue and publiccivility; to allay the perturbations of the mind, and set theaffections in right tune; to celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns thethrone and equipage of God's almightiness, and what he suffers to bewrought with high providence in his church; to sing victorious agoniesof martyrs and saints, the deeds and triumphs of just and piousnations, doing valiantly through faith against the enemies of Christ;to deplore the general relapses of kingdoms and states from justiceand God's true worship. 

Lastly, whatsoever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue amiableor grave, whatsoever hath passion or admiration in all the changes ofthat which is called fortune from without, or the wily subtleties andrefluxes of man's thoughts from within; all these things, with a solidand treatable smoothness, to paint out and describe; teaching over thewhole book of sanctity and virtue, through all the instances ofexample, with such delight to those, especially of soft and delicioustemper, who will not so much as look upon Truth herself, unless theysee her elegantly drest, that whereas the paths of honesty and goodlife appear now rugged and difficult, tho they be indeed easy andpleasant, they would then appear to all men both easy and pleasant, tho they were rugged and difficult indeed. 

II

A COMPLETE EDUCATION DEFINED[79]

And seeing every nation affords not experience and tradition enoughfor all kind of learning, therefore we are chiefly taught thelanguages of those people who have at any time been most industriousafter wisdom; so that language is but the instrument conveying to usthings useful to be known. And tho a linguist should pride himself tohave all the tongues that Babel cleft the world into, yet, if he havenot studied the solid things in them, as well as the words andlexicons, he were nothing so much to be esteemed a learned man, as anyyeoman or tradesman competently wise in his mother dialect only. Henceappear the many mistakes which have made learning generally sounpleasing and so unsuccessful: first, we do amiss to spend seven oreight years merely in scraping together so much miserable Latin andGreek, as might be learned otherwise easily and delightfully in oneyear. 

And that which casts our proficiency therein so much behind, is ourtime lost partly in too oft idle vacancies given both to schools anduniversities; partly in a preposterous exaction, forcing the emptywits of children to compose themes, verses, and orations, which arethe acts of ripest judgment, and the final work of a head filled bylong reading and observing, with elegant maxims and copious invention. These are not matters to be wrung from poor striplings, like bloodout of the nose, or the plucking of untimely fruit; besides the illhabit which they get of wretched barbarizing against the Latin andGreek idiom, with their untutored Anglicisms, odious to be read, yetnot to be avoided without a well-continued and judicious conversingamong pure authors digested, which they scarce taste: whereas, ifafter some preparatory grounds of speech by their certain forms gotinto memory, they were led to the praxis thereof in some chosen shortbook lessoned thoroughly to them, they might then forthwith proceed tolearn the substance of good things and arts in due order, which wouldbring the whole language quickly into their power. This I take to bethe most rational and most profitable way of learning languages, andwhereby we may best hope to give account to God of our youth spentherein. 

And for the usual method of teaching arts, I deem it to be an olderror of universities, not yet well recovered from the scholasticgrossness of barbarous ages, that instead of beginning with arts mosteasy--and those be such as are most obvious to the sense--they presenttheir young unmatriculated novices at first coming with the mostintellective abstractions of logic and metaphysics, so that theyhaving but newly left those grammatic flats and shallows where theystuck unreasonably to learn a few words with lamentable construction, and now on the sudden transported under another climate, to be tossedand turmoiled with their unballasted wits in fathomless and unquietdeeps of controversy, do for the most part grow into hatred andcontempt of learning, mocked and deluded all this while with raggednotions and babblements, while they expected worthy and delightfulknowledge; till poverty or youthful years call them importunatelytheir several ways, and hasten them, with the sway of friends, eitherto an ambitious and mercenary, or ignorantly zealous divinity; someallured to the trade of law, grounding their purposes, not on theprudent and heavenly contemplation of justice and equity, which wasnever taught them, but on the promising and pleasing thoughts oflitigious terms, fat contentions, and flowing fees; others betake themto state affairs, with souls so unprincipled in virtue and truegenerous breeding, that flattery and courtshifts, and tyrannousaphorisms, appear to them the highest points of wisdom; instillingtheir barren hearts with a conscientious slavery; if, as I ratherthink, it be not feigned. Others, lastly, of a more delicious and airyspirit, retire themselves, knowing no better, to the enjoyments ofease and luxury, living out their days in feasts and jollity; which, indeed, is the wisest and the safest course of all these, unless theywere with more integrity undertaken. And these are the errors, andthese are the fruits of misspending our prime youth at schools anduniversities as we do, either in learning mere words, or such thingschiefly as were better unlearned. 

I shall detain you now no longer in the demonstration of what weshould do, but straight conduct you to a hillside, while I will pointyou out the right path of a virtuous and noble education; laborious, indeed, at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full ofgoodly prospect and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp ofOrpheus was not more charming. I doubt not but ye shall have more adoto drive our dullest and laziest youth, our stocks and stubs, from theinfinite desire of such a happy nurture, than we have now to hale anddrag our choicest and hopefulest wits to that asinine feast of sowthistles and brambles which is commonly set before them, as all thefood and entertainment of their tenderest and most docile age. 

I call, therefore, a complete and generous education, that which fitsa man to perform justly, skilfully, and magnanimously, all theoffices, both private and public, of peace and war. 

III

ON READING IN HIS YOUTH[80]

He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter inlaudable things ought himself to be a true poem; that is, acomposition and pattern of the best and honorablest things; notpresuming to sing high praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unlesshe have in himself the experience and the practise of all that whichis praiseworthy. These reasonings, together with a certain niceness ofnature, an honest haughtiness, and self-esteem either of what I was, or what I might be (which let envy call pride), and lastly thatmodesty, whereof, tho not in the title-page, yet here I may be excusedto make some beseeming profession; all these uniting the supply oftheir natural aid together kept me still above those low descents ofmind, beneath which he must deject and plunge himself, that can agreeto salable and unlawful prostitutions. 

Next (for hear me out now, readers), that I may tell ye whither myyounger feet wandered; I betook me among those lofty fables andromances, which recount in solemn cantos the deeds of knighthoodfounded by our victorious kings, and from hence had in renown over allChristendom. There I read it in the oath of every knight, that heshould defend to the expense of his best blood, or of his life, if itso befell him, the honor and chastity of virgin or matron; from whenceeven then I learned what a noble virtue chastity sure must be, to thedefense of which so many worthies, by such a dear adventure ofthemselves, had sworn. And if I found in the story afterward, any ofthem, by word or deed, breaking that oath, I judged it the same faultof the poet, as that which is attributed to Homer, to have writtenindecent things of the gods. Only this my mind gave me, that everyfree and gentle spirit, without that oath, ought to be born a knight, nor needed to expect the gilt spur, or the laying of a sword upon hisshoulder to stir him up both by his counsel and his arms, to secureand protect the weakness of any attempted chastity. So that even thesebooks, which to many others have been the fuel of wantonness and looseliving, I can not think how, unless by divine indulgence, proved tome so many incitements, as you have heard to the love and stedfastobservation of that virtue which abhors the society of bordelloes. 

IV

IN DEFENSE OF BOOKS[81]

I deny not, but that it is of greatest concernment in the Church andCommonwealth, to have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves aswell as men; and thereafter to confine, imprison, and do sharpestjustice on them as malefactors. For books are not absolutely deadthings, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active asthat soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in avial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect thatbred them. I know they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, asthose fabulous dragon's teeth; and being sown up and down, may chanceto spring up armed men. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness beused, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a mankills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a goodbook, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in theeye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is theprecious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up onpurpose to a life beyond life. 'Tis true, no age can restore a life, whereof perhaps there is no great loss; and revolutions of ages do notoft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for the want of which wholenations fare the worse. 

We should be wary therefore what persecution we raise against theliving labors of public men, how we spill that seasoned life of man, preserved and stored up in books; since we see a kind of homicide maybe thus committed, sometimes a martyrdom, and if it extend to thewhole impression, a kind of massacre; whereof the execution ends notin the slaying of an elemental life, but strikes at that ethereal andfifth essence, the breath of reason itself, slays an immortalityrather than a life. But lest I should be condemned of introducinglicense, while I oppose licensing, I refuse not the pains to be somuch historical, as will serve to show what hath been done by ancientand famous commonwealths against this disorder, till the very timethat this project of licensing crept out of the inquisition, wascatched up by our prelates and hath caught some of our presbyters. 

In Athens, where books and wits were ever busier than in any otherpart of Greece, I find but only two sorts of writings which themagistrate cared to take notice of; those either blasphemous andatheistical, or libelous. Thus the books of Protagoras were by thejudges of Areopagus commanded to be burnt, and himself banished theterritory for a discourse begun with his confessing not to know"whether there were gods, or whether not. " And against defaming, itwas agreed that none should be traduced by name, as was the manner ofVetus Comoedia, whereby we may guess how they censured libeling. And this course was quick enough, as Cicero writes, to quell both thedesperate wits of other atheists, and the open way of defaming, as theevent showed. Of other sects and opinions, tho tending tovoluptuousness, and the denying of Divine Providence, they took noheed. 

Therefore we do not read that either Epicurus, or that libertineschool of Cyrene, or what the Cynic impudence uttered, was everquestioned by the laws. Neither is it recorded that the writings ofthose old comedians were supprest tho the acting of them were forbid;and that Plato commended the reading of Aristophanes, the loosest ofthem all, to his royal scholar Dionysius, is commonly known, and maybe excused, if holy Chrysostom, as is reported, nightly studied somuch the same author and had the art to cleanse a scurrilous vehemenceinto the style of a rousing sermon. 

That other leading city of Greece, Lacedemon, considering thatLycurgus, their lawgiver, was so addicted to elegant learning, as tohave been the first that brought out of Ionia the scattered works ofHomer, and sent the poet Thales from Crete to prepare and mollify theSpartan surliness with his smooth songs and odes, the better to plantamong them law end civility, it is to be wondered how useless andunbookish they were, minding nought but the feats of war. There neededno licensing of books among them, for they disliked all but their ownlaconic apothegms, and took a slight occasion to chase Archilochus outof their city, perhaps for composing in a higher strain than their ownsoldierly ballads and roundels could reach to. Or if it were for hisbroad verses, they were not therein so cautious, but were as dissolutein their promiscuous conversing; whence Euripides affirms in"Andromache, " that their women were all unchaste. Thus much may giveus light after what sort of books were prohibited among the Greeks. 

The Romans also for many ages trained up only to a military roughness, resembling most the Lacedæmonian guise, knew of learning little butwhat their twelve tables, and the Pontific College with their augursand flamens taught them in religion and law, so unacquainted withother learning, that when Carneades and Critolaus, with the StoicDiogenes, coming ambassadors to Rome, took thereby occasion to givethe city a taste of their philosophy, they were suspected for seducersby no less a man than Cato the Censor, who moved it in the Senate todismiss them speedily, and to banish all such Attic babblers out ofItaly. But Scipio and others of the noblest senators withstood him andhis old Sabine austerity; honored and admired the men; and the censorhimself at last, in his old age, fell to the study of that whereofbefore he was so scrupulous. And yet at the same time, Nævius andPlautus, the first Latin comedians, had filled the city with all theborrowed scenes of Menander and Philemon. Then began to be consideredthere also what was to be done to libelous books and authors; forNævius was quickly cast into prison for his unbridled pen, andreleased by the tribunes upon his recantation; we read also thatlibels were burnt, and the makers punished by Augustus. The likeseverity, no doubt, was used, if aught were impiously written againsttheir esteemed gods. Except in these two points, how the world went inbooks, the magistrate kept no reckoning. 

V

A NOBLE AND PUISSANT NATION[82]

Lords and Commons of England, consider what nation it is whereof yeare, and whereof ye are the governors: a nation not slow and dull, butof a quick, ingenious and piercing spirit, acute to invent, subtle andsinewy to discourse, not beneath the reach of any point, the highestthat human capacity can soar to. Therefore the studies of Learning inher deepest sciences have been so ancient and so eminent among us, that writers of good antiquity and ablest judgment have been persuadedthat even the school of Pythagoras and the Persian wisdom tookbeginning from the old philosophy of this island. And that wise andcivil Roman, Julius Agricola, who governed once here for Cæsar, preferred the natural wits of Britain before the labored studies ofthe French. Nor is it for nothing that the grave and frugalTransylvanian sends out yearly from as far as the mountainous bordersof Russia, and beyond the Hercynian wilderness, not their youth, buttheir staid men, to learn our language and our theologic arts. 

Yet that which is above all this, the favor and the love of Heaven wehave great argument to think in a peculiar manner propitious andpropending toward us. Why else was this nation chosen before anyother, that out of her, as out of Sion, should be proclaimed andsounded forth the first tidings and trumpet of Reformation to allEurope? And had it not been the obstinate perverseness of our prelatesagainst the divine and admirable spirit of Wycliff, to suppress him asa schismatic and innovator, perhaps neither the Bohemian Huss andJerome, no nor the name of Luther or of Calvin, had been ever known:the glory of reforming all our neighbors had been completely ours. Butnow, as our obdurate clergy have with violence demeaned the matter, weare become hitherto the latest and backwardest scholars, of whom Godoffered to have made us the teachers. Now once again by allconcurrence of signs, and by the general instinct of holy and devoutmen, as they daily and solemnly express their thoughts, God isdecreeing to begin some new and great period in His Church, even tothe reforming of Reformation itself: what does He then but revealHimself to His servants, and as His manner is, first to HisEnglishmen? I say, as His manner is, first to us, tho we mark not themethod of His counsels, and are unworthy. 

Behold now this vast city: a city of refuge, the mansion house ofliberty, encompassed and surrounded with His protection; the shop ofwar hath not there more anvils and hammers waking, to fashion out theplates and instruments of armed Justice in defense of beleagueredTruth, than there be pens and heads there, sitting by their studiouslamps, musing, searching, revolving new notions and ideas wherewith topresent, as with their homage and their fealty, the approachingReformation: others as fast reading, trying all things, assenting tothe force of reason and convincement. What could a man require morefrom a nation so pliant and so prone to seek after knowledge? Whatwants there to such a towardly and pregnant soil, but wise andfaithful laborers, to make a knowing people, a nation of prophets, ofsages, and of worthies? We reckon more than five months yet toharvest; there need not be five weeks; had we but eyes to lift up, thefields are white already. 

Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be mucharguing, much writing, many opinions; for opinion in good men is butknowledge in the making. Under these fantastic terrors of sect andschism, we wrong the earnest and zealous thirst after knowledge andunderstanding which God hath stirred up in this city. What some lamentof, we rather should rejoice at, should rather praise this piousforwardness among men, to reassume the ill-reputed care of theirreligion into their own hands again. A little generous prudence, alittle forbearance of one another, and some grain of charity might winall these diligences to join, and unite in one general and brotherlysearch after Truth; could we but forego this prelatical tradition ofcrowding free consciences and Christian liberties into canons andprecepts of men. I doubt not, if some great and worthy stranger shouldcome among us, wise to discern the mold and temper of a people, andhow to govern it, observing the high hopes and aims, the diligentalacrity of our extended thoughts and reasonings in the pursuance oftruth and freedom, but that he would cry out as Pyrrhus did, admiringthe Roman docility and courage: If such were my Epirots, I would notdespair the greatest design that could be attempted, to make a churchor kingdom happy. 

Yet these are the men cried out against for schismatics and sectaries;as if, while the temple of the Lord was building, some cutting, somesquaring the marble, others hewing the cedars, there should be a sortof irrational men who could not consider there must be many schismsand many dissections made in the quarry and in the timber, ere thehouse of God can be built. And when every stone is laid artfullytogether, it can not be united into a continuity, it can but becontiguous in this world; neither can every piece of the building beof one form; nay rather the perfection consists in this, that, out ofmany moderate varieties and brotherly dissimilitudes that are notvastly disproportional, arises the goodly and the graceful symmetrythat commends the whole pile and structure. 

Let us therefore be more considerate builders, more wise in spiritualarchitecture, when great reformation is expected. For now the timeseems come, wherein Moses the great prophet may sit in heavenrejoicing to see that memorable and glorious wish of his fulfilled, when not only our seventy elders, but all the Lord's people, arebecome prophets. No marvel then tho some men, and some good men tooperhaps, but young in goodness, as Joshua then was, envy them. Theyfret, and out of their own weakness are in agony, lest these divisionsand subdivisions will undo us. The adversary again applauds, and waitsthe hour: When they have branched themselves out, saith he, smallenough into parties and partitions, then will be our time. Fool! hesees not the firm root out of which we all grow, tho into branches:nor will beware until he see our small divided maniples cuttingthrough at every angle of his ill-united and unwieldy brigade. Andthat we are to hope better of all these supposed sects and schisms, and that we shall not need that solicitude, honest perhaps thoover-timorous of them that vex in this behalf, but shall laugh in theend at those malicious applauders of our differences, I have thesereasons to persuade me. .. . 

Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herselflike a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks. Methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindlingher undazzled eyes at the full midday beam: purging and unsealing herlong-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; whilethe whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those also thatlove the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means, and intheir envious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms. 

What should ye do then? should ye suppress all this flowery crop ofknowledge and new light sprung up and yet springing daily in thiscity? should ye set an oligarchy of twenty engrossers over it, tobring a famine upon our minds again, when we shall know nothing butwhat is measured to us by their bushel? Believe it, Lords and Commons, they who counsel ye to such a suppressing do as good as bid yesuppress yourselves; and I will soon show how. If it be desired toknow the immediate cause of all this free writing and free speaking, there can not be assigned a truer than your own mild and free andhumane government. It is the liberty, Lords and Commons, which yourown valorous and happy counsels have purchased us, liberty which isthe nurse of all great wits; this is that which hath rarefied andenlightened our spirits like the influence of heaven; this is thatwhich hath enfranchised, enlarged and lifted up our apprehensionsdegrees above themselves. 

Ye can not make us now less capable, less knowing, less eagerlypursuing of the truth, unless ye first make yourselves, that made usso, less the lovers, less the founders of our true liberty. We cangrow ignorant again, brutish, formal and slavish, as ye found us; butyou then must first become that which ye can not be, oppressive, arbitrary and tyrannous, as they were from whom ye have freed us. Thatour hearts are now more capacious, our thoughts more erected to thesearch and expectation of greatest and exactest things, is the issueof your own virtue propagated in us; ye can not suppress that, unlessye reinforce an abrogated and merciless law, that fathers may dispatchat will their own children. And who shall then stick closest to ye, and excite others? not he who takes up arms for coat and conduct, andhis four nobles of Danegelt. Altho I dispraise not the defense ofjust immunities, yet love my peace better, if that were all. Give methe liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according toconscience, above all liberties. 

VI

OF FUGITIVE AND CLOISTERED VIRTUE[83]

I can not praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised andunbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinksout of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, notwithout dust and heat. Assuredly we bring not innocence into theworld, we bring impurity much rather; that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary. That virtue therefore which is but ayoungling in the contemplation of evil, and knows not the utmost thatvice promises to her followers, and rejects it, is but a blank virtue, not a pure; her whiteness is but an excremental whiteness. Which wasthe reason why our sage and serious poet Spenser, whom I dare be knownto think a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas, describing truetemperance under the person of Guion, brings him in with his palmerthrough the cave of Mammon, and the bower of earthly bliss, that hemight see and know, and yet abstain. Since therefore the knowledge andsurvey of vice is in this world so necessary to the constituting ofhuman virtue, and the scanning of error to the confirmation of truth, how can we more safely, and with less danger, scout into the regionsof sin and falsity than by reading all manner of tractates and hearingall manner of reason? And this is the benefit which may be had ofbooks promiscuously read. 

But of the harm that may result hence three kinds are usuallyreckoned. First, is feared the infection that may spread; but then allhuman learning and controversy in religious points must remove out ofthe world, yea the Bible itself; for that ofttimes relates blasphemynot nicely, it describes the carnal sense of wicked men notunelegantly, it brings in holiest men passionately murmuring againstProvidence through all the arguments of Epicurus: in other greatdisputes it answers dubiously and darkly to the common reader. And aska Talmudist what ails the modesty of his marginal Keri, that Moses andall the prophets can not persuade him to pronounce the textual Chetiv. For these causes we all know the Bible itself put by the Papist intothe first rank of prohibited books. The ancientest fathers must benext removed, as Clement of Alexandria, and that Eusebian book ofEvangelic preparation, transmitting our ears through a hoard ofheathenish obscenities to receive the Gospel. Who finds not thatIrenæus, Epiphanius, Jerome, and others discover more heresies thanthey well confute, and that oft for heresy which is the truer opinion?

Nor boots it to say for these, and all the heathen writers of greatestinfection, if it must be thought so, with whom is bound up the life ofhuman learning, that they writ in an unknown tongue, so long as weare sure those languages are known as well to the worst of men, whoare both most able, and most diligent to instil the poison they suck, first into the courts of princes, acquainting them with the choicestdelights, and criticisms of sin. As perhaps did that Petronius whomNero called his Arbiter, the master of his revels; and the notoriousribald of Arezzo, [84] dreaded and yet dear to the Italian courtiers. Iname not him for posterity's sake, whom Henry VIII named in merrimenthis vicar of hell. By which compendious way all the contagion thatforeign books can infuse will find a passage to the people far easierand shorter than an Indian voyage, tho it could be sailed either bythe north of Cataio eastward, or of Canada westward, while our Spanishlicensing gags the English press never so severely. 

But on the other side that infection which is from books ofcontroversy in religion is more doubtful and dangerous to the learnedthan to the ignorant; and yet those books must be permitted untouchedby the licenser. It will be hard to instance where any ignorant manhath been ever seduced by papistical book in English, unless it werecommended and expounded to him by some of that clergy: and indeed allsuch tractates, whether false or true, are as the prophecy of Isaiahwas to the eunuch, not to be understood without a guide. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 75: From "The Reason of Church Government. "]

[Footnote 76: Bembo, cardinal and man of letters, was born in Venicein 1470 and died in 1547. He wrote poems and other works, and was thefriend of the first men of culture in his age. Several popes honoredhim, and he had the intimate friendship of Lucretia Borgia. ]

[Footnote 77: Godfrey of Bouillon, leader of the First Crusade, diedin Jerusalem in 1100, a year after he had defeated the Sultan of Egyptat Ascalon. ]

[Footnote 78: Chief among the Greek fathers of the church, born about185 A. D. And the author of many books. ]

[Footnote 79: From the "Tractate on Education. "]

[Footnote 80: From the "Apology for Smectymnus. "]

[Footnote 81: From the "Areopagitica. "]

[Footnote 82: From the "Areopagitica. "]

[Footnote 83: From the "Areopagitica. "]

[Footnote 84: A reference to Pietro Aretino, born in 1492, died in1557, a notoriously indecent writer and adventurer. Henry VIII oncesent him 300 crowns. ]

LORD CLARENDON

 Born in 1608, died in 1674; entered Parliament In 1640; chancellor of the Exchequer in 1643; chief adviser of Charles the First during the Civil War; lord chancellor 1660-67; impeached and banished; his "History of the Rebellion" published in 1702-04. 

OF CHARLES I[85]

But it will not be unnecessary to add a short character of his person, that posterity may know the inestimable loss which the nation thenunderwent, in being deprived of a prince whose example would have hada greater influence upon the manners and piety of the nation, than themost strict laws can have. To speak first of his privatequalifications as a man, before the mention of his princely and royalvirtues; he was, if ever any, the most worthy of the title of anhonest man; so great a lover of justice, that no temptation coulddispose him to a wrongful action, except it was so disguised to himthat he believed it to be just. He had a tenderness and compassion ofnature which restrained him from ever doing a hard-hearted thing; and, therefore, he was so apt to grant pardon to malefactors, that thejudges of the land represented to him the damage and insecurity to thepublic that flowed from such his indulgence. And then he restrainedhimself from pardoning either murders or highway robberies, andquickly discerned the fruits of his severity by a wonderfulreformation of those enormities. He was very punctual and regular inhis devotions; he was never known to enter upon his recreations orsports, tho never so early in the morning, before he had been atpublic prayers; so that on hunting-days his chaplains were bound to avery early attendance. He was likewise very strict in observing thehours of his private cabinet devotions, and was so severe an exacterof gravity and reverence in all mention of religion, that he couldnever endure any light or profane word, with what sharpness of witsoever it was covered; and tho he was well pleased and delighted withreading verses made upon any occasion, no man durst bring before himanything that was profane or unclean. That kind of wit had never anycountenance then. He was so great an example of conjugal affection, that they who did not imitate him in that particular, durst not bragof their liberty; and he did not only permit, but direct his bishopsto prosecute those scandalous vices, in the ecclesiastical courts, against persons of eminence, and near relation to his service. 

His kingly virtues had some mixture and allay that hindered them fromshining in full luster, and from producing those fruits they shouldhave been attended with. He was not in his nature very bountiful, thohe gave very much. This appeared more after the Duke of Buckingham'sdeath, [86] after which those showers fell very rarely; and he pausedtoo long in giving, which made those to whom he gave less sensible ofthe benefit. He kept state to the full, which made his court veryorderly, no man presuming to be seen in a place where he had nopretence to be. He saw and observed men long before he received themabout his person; and did not love strangers, nor very confident men. He was a patient hearer of causes, which he frequently accustomedhimself to at the council board, and judged very well, and wasdexterous in the mediating part; so that he often put an end to causesby persuasion, which the stubbornness of men's humors made dilatory incourts of justice. 

He was very fearless in his person; but, in his riper years, not veryenterprising. He had an excellent understanding, but was not confidentenough of it; which made him oftentimes change his own opinion for aworse, and follow the advice of men that did not judge so well ashimself. This made him more irresolute than the conjuncture of hisaffairs would admit; if he had been of a rougher and more imperiousnature, he would have found more respect and duty. And his notapplying some severe cures to approaching evils proceeded from thelenity of his nature, and the tenderness of his conscience, which, inall cases of blood, made him choose the softer way, and not hearken tosevere counsels, how reasonable soever urged. This only restrained himfrom pursuing his advantage. 

As he excelled in all other virtues, so in temperance he was so strictthat he abhorred all debauchery to that degree, that, at a greatfestival solemnity, where he once was, when very many of the nobilityof the English and Scots were entertained, being told by one whowithdrew from thence, what vast drafts of wine they drank, and "thatthere was one earl who had drunk most of the rest down, and was nothimself moved or altered, " the king said "that he deserved to behanged"; and that earl coming shortly after into the room where hismajesty was, in some gaiety, to shew how unhurt he was from thatbattle, the king sent some one to bid him withdraw from his majesty'spresence; nor did he in some days after appear before him. 

So many miraculous circumstances contributed to his ruin, that menmight well think that heaven and earth conspired it. Tho he was, fromthe first declension of his power, so much betrayed by his ownservants, that there were very few who remained faithful to him, yetthat treachery proceeded not always from any treasonable purpose to dohim any harm, but from particular and personal animosities againstother men. And afterward, the terror all men were under of theparliament, and the guilt they were conscious of themselves, made themwatch all opportunities to make themselves gracious to those who coulddo them good; and so they became spies upon their master, and from onepiece of knavery were hardened and confirmed to undertake another, till at last they had no hope of preservation but by the destructionof their master. 

And after all this, when a man might reasonably believe that less thana universal defection of three nations could not have reduced a greatking to so ugly a fate, it is most certain that, in that very hour, when he was thus wickedly murdered in the sight of the sun, he had asgreat a share in the hearts and affections of his subjects in general, was as much beloved, esteemed and longed for by the people in generalof the three nations, as any of his predecessors had ever been. Toconclude, he was the worthiest gentleman, the best master, the bestfriend, the best husband, the best father, and the best Christian thatthe age in which he lived produced. And if he were not the greatestking, if, he were without some parts and qualities which have madesome kings great and happy, no other prince was ever unhappy who waspossest of half his virtues and endowments, and so much, without anykind of vice. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 85: From the "History of the Rebellion. "]

[Footnote 86: George Villiers, first Duke of Buckingham, the chiefminister of Charles, was assassinated by John Felton in 1628. ]

THOMAS FULLER

 Born in 1608, died in 1661; educated at Cambridge; Joined King Charles I at Oxford in 1643; after the Restoration chaplain to Charles II; published "The Holy State and the Profane State" in 1642, and "Worthies of England" in 1662. 

QUALITIES OF THE GOOD SCHOOLMASTER[87]

There is scarce any profession in the commonwealth more necessary, which is so slightly performed. The reasons whereof I conceive to bethese: First, young scholars make this calling their refuge; yea, perchance, before they have taken any degree in the university, commence schoolmasters in the country, as if nothing else wererequired to set up this profession but only a rod and a ferula. Secondly, others who are able, use it only as a passage to betterpreferment to patch the rents in their present fortune, till they canprovide a new one, and betake themselves to some more gainful calling. Thirdly, they are disheartened from doing their best with themiserable reward which in some places they receive, being masters totheir children and slaves to their parents. Fourthly, being grownrich, they grow negligent, and scorn to touch the school but by theproxy of the usher. But see how well our schoolmaster behaves himself. 

His genius inclines him with delight to his profession. Some men hadas well be school-boys as schoolmasters, to be tied to the school, asCooper's Dictionary[88] and Scapula's Lexicon are chained to the desktherein; and tho great scholars, and skilful in other arts, arebunglers in this. But God, of his goodness, hath fitted several menfor several callings, that the necessity of church and state, in allconditions, may be provided for. So that he who beholds the fabricthereof, may say, God hewed out the stone, and appointed it to lie inthis very place, for it would fit none other so well, and here it dothmost excellent. And thus God moldeth some for a schoolmaster's life, undertaking it with desire and delight, and discharging it withdexterity and happy success. 

He studieth his scholars' natures as carefully as they their books;and ranks their dispositions into several forms. And tho it may seemdifficult for him in a great school to descend to all particulars, yetexperienced schoolmasters may quickly make a grammar of boys' natures, and reduce them all--saving some few exceptions--to these generalrules:

1. Those that are ingenious and industrious. The conjunction of twosuch planets in a youth presage much good unto him. To such a lad afrown may be a whipping, and a whipping a death; yea, where theirmaster whips them once, shame whips them all the week after. Suchnatures he useth with all gentleness. 

2. Those that are ingenious and idle. These think with the hare inthe fable, that running with snails--so they count the rest of theirschoolfellows--they shall come soon enough to the post, tho sleeping agood while before their starting. O! a good rod would finely take themnapping!

3. Those that are dull and diligent. Wines, the stronger they be, themore lees they have when they are new. Many boys are muddy-headed tillthey be clarified with age, and such afterward prove the best. Bristoldiamonds are both bright, and squared, and pointed by nature, and yetare soft and worthless; whereas Orient ones in India are rough andrugged naturally. Hard, rugged, and dull natures of youth acquitthemselves afterward the jewels of the country, and therefore theirdulness at first is to be borne with, if they be diligent. Thatschoolmaster deserves to be beaten himself who beats nature in a boyfor a fault. And I question whether all the whipping in the world canmake their parts which are naturally sluggish rise one minute beforethe hour nature hath appointed. 

4. Those that are invincibly dull, and negligent also. Correction mayreform the latter, not amend the former. All the whetting in the worldcan never set a razor's edge on that which hath no steel in it. Suchboys he consigneth over to other professions. Shipwrights andboat-makers will choose those crooked pieces of timber which othercarpenters refuse. Those may make excellent merchants and mechanicswho will not serve for scholars. 

He is able, diligent, and methodical in his teaching; not leading themrather in a circle than forward. He minces his precepts for childrento swallow, hanging clogs on the nimbleness of his own soul, that hisscholars may go along with him. 

He is and will be known to be an absolute monarch in his school. Ifcockering mothers proffer him money to purchase their sons anexemption from his rod--to live, as it were, in a peculiar, out oftheir master's jurisdiction--with disdain he refuseth it, and scornsthe late custom in some places of commuting whipping into money, andransoming boys from the rod at a set price. If he hath a stubbornyouth, correction-proof, he debaseth not his authority by contestingwith him, but fairly, if he can, puts him away before his obstinacyhath infected others. 

He is moderate in inflicting deserved correction. Many a schoolmasterbetter answereth the name _paidotribes_ than _paidagogos_, rathertearing his scholars' flesh with whipping than giving them goodeducation. No wonder if his scholars hate the Muses, being presentedunto them in the shapes of fiends and furies. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 87: From "The Holy and Profane State. "]

[Footnote 88: Cooper's "Latin Dictionary" was first published in 1565and was long a standard school-book in England. It received thespecial patronage of Queen Elizabeth. Cooper was made Bishop ofWinchester in 1584. ]

JEREMY TAYLOR

 Baptized in 1618, died in 1667; son of a barber; educated at Cambridge; chaplain to Charles I during the Civil War; after the Restoration made Bishop of Down and Connor, and a member of the Irish Privy Council; his "Holy Living" published in 1650, and "Holy Dying" in 1651. 

THE BENEFITS OF ADVERSITY[89]

No man is more miserable than he that hath no adversity--that man isnot tried whether he be good or bad: and God never crowns thosevirtues which are only faculties and dispositions; but every act ofvirtue is an ingredient into reward. And we see many children fairlyplanted, whose parts of nature were never drest by art, nor calledfrom the furrows of their first possibilities by discipline andinstitution, and they dwell forever in ignorance, and converse withbeasts; and yet if they had been drest and exercised, might have stoodat the chairs of princes, or spoken parables amongst the rulers ofcities. Our virtues are but in the seed when the grace of God comesupon us first; but this grace must be thrown into broken furrows, andmust twice feel the cold and twice feel the heat, and be softened withstorms and showers, and then it will arise into fruitfulness andharvests. And what is there in the world to distinguish virtues fromdishonors, or the valor of Cæsar from the softness of the Egyptianeunuchs, or that can make anything rewardable but the labor and thedanger, the pain and the difficulty? Virtue could not be anything butsensuality if it were the entertainment of our senses and fonddesires; and Apicius had been the noblest of all the Romans, iffeeding and great appetite and despising the severities of temperancehad been the work and proper employment of a wise man. But otherwisedo fathers and otherwise do mothers handle their children. Thesesoften them with kisses and imperfect noises, with the pap andbreast-milk of soft endearments; they rescue them from tutors andsnatch them from discipline; they desire to keep them fat and warm, and their feet dry, and their bellies full: and then the childrengovern, and cry, and prove fools and troublesome, so long as thefeminine republic does endure. 

But fathers--because they design to have their children wise andvaliant, apt for counsel or for arms--send them to severe governments, and tie them to study, to hard labor, and afflictive contingencies. They rejoice when the bold boy strikes a lion with his hunting-spear, and shrinks not when the beast comes to affright his early courage. Softness is for slaves and beasts, for minstrels and useless persons, for such who can not ascend higher than the state of a fair ox or aservant entertained for vainer offices; but the man that designs hisson for nobler employments--to honors and to triumphs, to consulardignities and presidencies of councils--loves to see him pale withstudy or panting with labor, hardened with suffrance or eminent bydangers. And so God dresses us for heaven: he loves to see usstruggling with a disease, and resisting the devil, and contestingagainst the weaknesses of nature, and against hope to believe inhope--resigning ourselves to God's will, praying Him to choose for us, and dying in all things but faith and its blest consequents; _ut adofficium cum periculo sinus prompti_--and the danger and theresistance shall endear the office. For so have I known the boisterousnorth wind pass through the yielding air, which opened its bosom, andappeased its violence by entertaining it with easy compliance in allthe region of its reception; but when the same breath of heaven hathbeen checked with the stiffness of a tower, or the united strength ofa wood, it grew mighty and dwelt there, and made the highest branchesstoop and make a smooth path for it on the top of all its glories. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 89: From the "Rules and Exercises of Holy Dying. "]

ABRAHAM COWLEY

 Born in 1618, died in 1667; son of a stationer; educated at Cambridge and Oxford; identified himself with the Royalists; fled with the Queen to France in 1646; returned to England in 1656, settled afterward at Chertsey; highly esteemed in his own day as a poet; his works first collected in 1668. 

I

OF OBSCURITY[90]

What a brave privilege is it to be free from all contentions, from allenvying or being envied, from receiving and from paying all kind ofceremonies! It is, in my mind, a very delightful pastime for two goodand agreeable friends to travel up and down together, in places wherethey are by nobody known, nor know anybody. It was the ease of Æneasand his Achates, when they walked invisibly about the fields andstreets of Carthage. Venus herself

 A veil of thickened air around them cast, That none might know, or see them, as they passed. 

VIRG. 1 _Æn. _

The common story of Demosthenes's confession, that he had taken greatpleasure in hearing of a tanker-woman say, as he passed: "This is thatDemosthenes, " is wonderfully ridiculous from so solid an orator. Imyself have often met with that temptation to vanity, if it were any;but am so far from finding it any pleasure, that it only makes me runfaster from the place, till I get, as it were, out of sight-shot. Democritus[91] relates, and in such a manner as if he gloried in thegood fortune and commodity of it, that, when he came to Athens, nobodythere did so much as take notice of him; and Epicurus lived there verywell, that is, lay hid many years in his gardens, so famous since thattime, with his friend Metrodorus: after whose death, making, in one ofhis letters, a kind commemoration of the happiness which they two hadenjoyed together, he adds at last that he thought it no disparagementto those great felicities of their life, that, in the midst of themost talked-of and talking country in the world, they had lived solong, not only without fame, but almost without being heard of; andyet, within a very few years afterward, there were no two names of menmore known or more generally celebrated. 

If we engage into a large acquaintance and various familiarities, weset open our gates to the invaders of most of our time; we expose ourlife to a quotidian ague of frigid impertinences, which would make awise man tremble to think of. Now, as for being known much by sight, and pointed at, I can not comprehend the honor that lies in that;whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor, and the hangman more than the lord chief-justice of a city. Everycreature has it, both of nature and art, if it be anywaysextraordinary. 

It was as often said: "This is that Bucephalus, "[92] or, "This is thatIncitatus, "[93] when they were led prancing through the streets, as, "This is that Alexander, " or, "This is that Domitian"; and truly, forthe latter, I take Incitatus to have been a much more honorable beastthan his master, and more deserving the consulship than he the empire. 

I love and commend a true good fame, because it is the shadow ofvirtue: not that it doth any good to the body which it accompanies, but it is an efficacious shadow, and like that of St. Peter, cures thediseases of others. The best kind of glory, no doubt, is that which isreflected from honesty, such as was the glory of Cato and Aristides;but it was harmful to them both, and is seldom beneficial to any manwhilst he lives; what it is to him after his death, I can not say, because I love not philosophy merely notional and conjectural, and noman who has made the experiment has been so kind as to come back toinform us. Upon the whole matter, I account a person who has amoderate mind and fortune, and lives in the conversation of two orthree agreeable friends, with little commerce in the world besides, who is esteemed well enough by his few neighbors that know him, and istruly irreproachable by anybody; and so, after a healthful quiet life, before the great inconveniences of old age, goes more silently out ofit than he came in--for I would not have him so much as cry in theexit: this innocent deceiver of the world, as Horace calls him, this_muta persona_, I take to have been more happy in his part than thegreatest actors that fill the stage with show and noise; nay, eventhan Augustus himself, who asked, with his last breath, whether he hadnot played his farce very well. 

II

OF PROCRASTINATION[94]

I am glad that you approve and applaud my design of withdrawing myselffrom all tumult and business of the world, and consecrating the littlerest of my time to those studies to which nature had so motherlyinclined me, and from which fortune, like a step-mother, has so longdetained me. But, nevertheless, you say (which _but_ is _ærugo mera_, a rust which spoils the good metal it grows upon)--but you say youwould advise me not to precipitate that resolution, but to stay awhile longer with patience and complaisance, till I had gotten such anestate as might accord me--according to the saying of that person, whom you and I love very much, and would believe as soon as anotherman--_cum dignitate otium_. This were excellent advice to Joshua, whocould bid the sun stay too. But there's no fooling with life, when itis once turned beyond forty: the seeking for a fortune then is but adesperate after-game; 'tis a hundred to one if a man fling two sixes, and recover all; especially if his hand be no luckier than mine. 

There is some help for all the defects of fortune; for if a man cannot attain to the length of his wishes, he may have his remedy bycutting of them shorter. Epicurus writes a letter to Idomeneus--whowas then a very powerful, wealthy, and, it seems, a bountifulperson--to recommend to him, who had made so many rich, one Pythocles, a friend of his, whom he desired might be made a rich man too; "but Ientreat you that you would not do it just the same way as you havedone to many less deserving persons; but in the most gentlemanlymanner of obliging him, which is, not to add anything to his estate, but to take something from his desires. "

The sum of this is, that for the certain hopes of some conveniences, we ought not to defer the execution of a work that is necessary;especially when the use of those things which we would stay for mayotherwise be supplied, but the loss of time never recovered; nay, farther yet, tho we were sure to obtain all that we had a mind to, thowe were sure of getting never so much by continuing the game, yet whenthe light of life is so near going out, and ought to be so precious, _le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_, the play is not worth the expenseof the candle; after having been long tossed in a tempest, if ourmasts be standing, and we have still sail and tackling enough to carryus to our port, it is no matter for the want of streamers andtopgallants. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 90: From the "Essays. "]

[Footnote 91: Democritus was born about 460 B. C. And died about 857. He was often known as "The Laughing Philosopher. "]

[Footnote 92: The famous horse ridden by Alexander the Great. ]

[Footnote 93: A horse ridden by the Roman Emperor Domitian. ]

[Footnote 94: From the "Essays. "]

GEORGE FOX

 Born in 1624, died in 1691; founder of the Society of Friends; son of a weaver, apprenticed to a shoemaker; became an itinerant lay preacher at the age of 25, completing the organization of the Society of Friends in 1669; made missionary journeys to Scotland, Ireland, and West Indies, Holland and North America (1671-72); frequently imprisoned for infraction of the laws against Conventicles. 

AN INTERVIEW WITH OLIVER CROMWELL[95]

After Captain Drury had lodged me at the Mermaid, over against theMews at Charing Cross, he went to give the Protector an account of me. When he came to me again, he told me the Protector required that Ishould promise not to take up a carnal sword or weapon against him orthe government, as it then was; and that I should write it in whatwords I saw good, and set my hand to it. I said little in reply toCaptain Drury, but the next morning I was moved of the Lord to write apaper to the Protector, by the name of Oliver Cromwell, wherein I did, in the presence of the Lord God, declare that I did deny the wearingor drawing of a "carnal sword, or any other outward weapon, againsthim or any man; and that I was sent of God to stand a witness againstall violence, and against the works of darkness, and to turn peoplefrom darkness to light; to bring them from the occasion of war andfighting to the peaceable Gospel, and from being evil-doers, which themagistrates' sword should be a terror to. " When I had written what theLord had given me to write, I set my name to it, and gave it toCaptain Drury to hand to Oliver Cromwell, which he did. After sometime, Captain Drury brought me before the Protector himself atWhitehall. It was in a morning, before he was drest; and one Harvey, who had come a little among friends, but was disobedient, waited uponhim. 

When I came in, I was moved to say: "Peace be in this house"; and Iexhorted him to keep in the fear of God, that he might receive wisdomfrom Him; that by it he might be ordered, and with it might order allthings under his hand unto God's glory. I spoke much to him of truth;and a great deal of discourse I had with him about religion, whereinhe carried himself very moderately. But he said we quarreled with thepriests, whom he called ministers. I told him, "I did not quarrel withthem, they quarreled with me and my friends. But, said I, if we ownthe prophets, Christ, and the apostles, we can not hold up suchteachers, prophets, and shepherds, as the prophets, Christ, and theapostles declared against; but we must declare against them by thesame power and spirit. " Then I shewed him that the prophets, Christ, and the apostles, declared freely, and declared against them that didnot declare freely; such as preached for filthy lucre, divined formoney, and preached for hire, and were covetous and greedy, like thedumb dogs that could never have enough; and that they who have thesame spirit that Christ, and the prophets, and the apostles had, couldnot but declare against all such now, as they did then. As I spoke, heseveral times said it was very good, and it was truth. I told him:"That all Christendom, so called, had the Scriptures, but they wantedthe power and spirit that those had who gave forth the Scriptures, andthat was the reason they were not in fellowship with the Son, nor withthe Father, nor with the Scriptures, nor one with another. "

Many more words I had with him, but people coming in, I drew a littleback. As I was turning, he catched me by the hand, and with tears inhis eyes said: "Come again to my house, for if thou and I were but anhour of a day together, we should be nearer one to the other"; adding, that he wished me no more ill than he did to his own soul. I told him, if he did, he wronged his own soul, and admonished him to harken toGod's voice, that he might stand in His counsel, and obey it; and ifhe did so, that would keep him from hardness of heart; but if he didnot hear God's voice, his heart would be hardened. He said it wastrue. Then I went out; and when Captain Drury came out after me, hetold me the lord Protector said I was at liberty, and might go whitherI would. Then I was brought into a great hall, where the Protector'sgentlemen were to dine. I asked them what they brought me thither for. They said it was by the Protector's order, that I might dine withthem. I bid them let the Protector know I would not eat of his bread, nor drink of his drink. When he heard this, he said: "Now I see thereis a people risen that I can not win, either with gifts, honors, offices, or places; but all other sects and people I can. " It was toldhim again, "That we had forsook our own, and were not like to look forsuch things from him. "[96]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 95: From the "Journal. "]

[Footnote 96: Just before Cromwell's death, Fox had another interviewwith him of which he wrote: "The same day, taking boat, I went down(_up_) to Kingston, and from thence to Hampton Court, to speak withthe Protector about the sufferings of friends. I met him riding intoHampton Court Park; and before I came to him, as he rode at the headof his life-guard, I saw and felt a waft (_whiff_) of death go forthagainst him; and when I came to him he looked like a dead man. After Ihad laid the sufferings of friends before him, and had warned himaccording as I was moved to speak to him, he bade me come to hishouse. So I returned to Kingston, and the next day went up to HamptonCourt to speak further with him. But when I came, Harvey, who was onethat waited on him, told me the doctors were not willing that I shouldspeak with him. So I passed away, and never saw him more. "

Carlyle in his "Life and Letters of Cromwell, " quoting this passage, says: "His life, if thou knew it, has not been a merry thing for thisman, now or heretofore! I fancy he has been looking this long while togive it up, whenever the Commander-in-chief required. To quit hislaborious sentry-post; honorably lay up his arms, and be gone to hisrest--all eternity to rest in, George! Was thy own life merry, forexample, in the hollow of the tree; clad permanently in leather? Anddoes kingly purple, and governing refractory worlds instead ofstitching coarse shoes, make it merrier? The waft of death is notagainst him, I think--perhaps, against thee, and me, and others, OGeorge, when the Nell Gwynne defender and two centuries ofall-victorious cant have come in upon us!"]

JOHN BUNYAN

 Baptized in 1628, died in 1688; son of a tinker, adopting his father's trade; served two years in the Civil Wars; joined a Non-Conformist body at Bedford about 1645, becoming a traveling preacher in the midland counties; arrested in 1660 under statutes against Non-Conformists and spent several years in jail, where he wrote part of his "Pilgrim's Progress, " published in 1678-1684; on being released from prison was licensed to preach and remained pastor at Bedford until he died. 

I

A DREAM OF THE CELESTIAL CITY[97]

Now I saw in my dream that by this time the pilgrims were got over theEnchanted Ground, and entering into the country of Beulah, whose airwas very sweet and pleasant, the way lying directly through it, theysolaced them there for the season. Yea, here they heard continuallythe singing of birds, and saw every day the flowers appear in theearth, and heard the voice of the turtle in the land. In this countrythe sun shineth night and day; wherefore it was beyond the Valley ofthe Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant Despair;neither could they from this place so much as see Doubting Castle. Here they were within sight of the city they were going to; also heremet them some of the inhabitants thereof: for in this land theshining ones commonly walked, because it was upon the borders ofHeaven. In this land, also, the contract between the bride andbridegroom was renewed; yea, here, "as the bridegroom rejoiceth overthe bride, so did their God rejoice over them. " Here they had no wantof corn and wine; for in this place they met abundance of what theyhad sought for in all their pilgrimage. Here they heard voices fromout of the city, loud voices, saying: "Say ye to the daughter of Zion, behold thy salvation cometh! Behold, his reward is with him!" Here allthe inhabitants of the country called them "the holy people, theredeemed of the Lord, sought out, " etc. 

Now, as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than inparts more remote from the kingdom to which they were bound; anddrawing nearer to the city yet, they had a more perfect view thereof:it was built of pearls and precious stones, also the streets thereofwere paved with gold; so that, by reason of the natural glory of thecity, and the reflection of the sunbeams upon it, Christian withdesire fell sick; Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease:wherefore here they lay by it a while, crying out, because of theirpangs: "If you see my Beloved, tell him that I am sick of love. "

But being a little strengthened, and better able to bear theirsickness, they walked on their way, and came yet nearer and nearer, where were orchards, vineyards, and gardens, and their gates openedinto the highway. Now, as they came up to these places, behold thegardener stood in the way, to whom the pilgrims said: Whose goodlyvineyards and gardens are these? He answered: They are the King's, andare planted here for his own delight, and also for the solace ofpilgrims: so the gardener had them into the vineyards and bid themrefresh themselves with dainties; he also shewed them there the King'swalks and arbors, where he delighted to be; and here they tarried andslept. 

Now, I beheld in my dream that they talked more in their sleep at thistime than ever they did in all their journey; and being in a musethereabout, the gardener said even to me: Wherefore musest thou at thematter? It is the nature of the fruit of the grapes of these vineyardsto go down so sweetly, as to cause the lips of them that are asleep tospeak. 

So I saw that when they awoke, they addrest themselves to go up to thecity. But, as I said, the reflection of the sun upon the city--for thecity was pure gold--was so extremely glorious, that they could not asyet with open face behold it, but through an instrument made for thatpurpose. So I saw that, as they went on, there met them two men inraiment that shone like gold; also their faces shone as the light. 

These men asked the pilgrims whence they came; and they told them. They also asked them where they had lodged, what difficulties anddangers, what comforts and pleasures, they had met with in their way;and they told them. Then said the men that met them: You have but twodifficulties more to meet with, and then you are in the city. 

Christian and his companion then asked the men to go along with them;so they told them that they would. But, said they, you must obtain itby your own faith. So I saw in my dream that they went on togethertill they came in sight of the gate. .. . 

Then I saw in my dream that Christian was in a muse a while. To whom, also, Hopeful added these words: Be of good cheer; Jesus Christ makeththee whole: and with that Christian brake out with a loud voice--Oh! Isee him again; and he tells me: "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflowthee. " Then they both took courage, and the enemy was after that asstill as a stone, until they were gone over. Christian, therefore, presently found ground to stand upon, and so it followed that the restof the river was but shallow; but thus they got over. Now, upon thebank of the river on the other side, they saw the two shining menagain, who there waited for them; wherefore, being come out of theriver, they saluted them, saying "We are ministering spirits, sent forto minister to those that shall be heirs of salvation. " Thus they wentalong toward the gate. Now you must note that the city stood upon amighty hill; but the pilgrims went up that hill with ease, becausethey had these two men to lead them up by the arms; they had likewiseleft their mortal garments behind them in the river; for tho they wentin with them, they came out without them. They therefore went up herewith much agility and speed, tho the foundation upon which the citywas framed was higher than the clouds. 

II

THE DEATH OF VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH AND OF STAND-FAST[98]

It was noised abroad that Mr _Valiant-for-truth_ was taken with aSummons by the same Post as the other, and had this for a Token thatthe Summons was true, That his Pitcher was broken at the Fountain. When he understood it, he called for his Friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going to my Fathers, and tho with great difficultyI am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the Trouble I havebeen at to arrive where I am. My Sword I give to him that shallsucceed me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him that canget it. My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for methat I have fought his Battles who now will be my Rewarder. When theday that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to theRiver-side, into which as he went he said, Death, where is thy Sting?And as he went down deeper he said, Grave, where is thy Victory? So hepassed over, and all the Trumpets sounded for him on the other side. 

Then there came forth a Summons for Mr _Stand-fast_ (This Mr_Stand-fast_ was he that the rest of the Pilgrims found upon his Kneesin the Inchanted Ground), for the Post brought it him open in hishands. The contents whereof were, _that he must prepare for a Changeof Life, for his Master was not willing that he should be so far fromhim any longer_. At this Mr _Stand-fast_ was put into a muse. Nay, said the Messenger, you need not doubt of the truth of my Message, forhere is a Token of the Truth thereof, _Thy Wheel is broken at theCistern_. Then he called to him Mr _Great-heart_ who was their Guide, and said unto him, Sir, altho it was not my hap to be much in yourgood Company in the days of my Pilgrimage, yet since the time I knewyou, you have been profitable to me. When I came from home, I leftbehind me a Wife and five small Children, let me entreat you at yourreturn (for I know that you will go and return to your Master's house, in hopes that you yet be a Conductor to more of the holy Pilgrims), that you send to my Family, and let them be acquainted with all thathath and shall happen unto me. Tell them moreover of my happy Arrivalto this place, and of the present late blessed condition that I am in. Tell them also of _Christian_ and _Christiana_ his Wife, and how sheand her Children came after her Husband. Tell them also of what ahappy end she made and whither she is gone. I have little or nothingto send to my Family, except it be Prayers and Tears for them; ofwhich it will suffice if thou acquaint them, if peradventure they mayprevail. 

When Mr _Stand-fast_ had thus set things in order, and the time beingcome for him to haste him away, he also went down to the River. Nowthere was a great Calm at that time in the River; wherefore Mr_Stand-fast_, when he was about half-way in, he stood awhile, andtalked to his Companions that had waited upon him thither. And hesaid, This River has been a Terror to many, yea, the thoughts of it alsohave often frighted me. But now methinks I stand easy, my Foot is fixtupon that upon which the Feet of the Priests that bare the Ark of theCovenant stood while _Israel_ went over this _Jordan_. The Watersindeed are to the Palate bitter and to the Stomach cold, yet thethoughts of what I am going to and of the Conduct that waits for me onthe other side doth lie as a glowing Coal at my Heart. 

I see myself now at the end of my Journey, my toilsome days are ended. I am going now to see that Head that was crowned with Thorns, and thatFace that was spit upon for me. 

I have formerly lived by Hear-say and Faith, but now I go where Ishall live by sight, and shall be with Him in whose Company I delightmyself. 

I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever I have seen theprint of His Shoe in the Earth, there I have coveted to set my Foottoo. 

His name has been to me as a Civet-box, yea, sweeter than allPerfumes. His Voice to me has been most sweet, and his Countenance Ihave more desired than they that have most desired the Light of theSun. His Word I did use to gather for my Food and for Antidotesagainst my Faintings. He has held me, and I have kept me from mineiniquities, yea, my Steps hath He strengthened in His Way. 

Now while he was thus in Discourse, his Countenance changed, hisstrong man bowed under him, and after he had said, _Take me, for Icome unto Thee_, he ceased to be seen of them. 

But glorious it was to see how the open Region was filled with Horsesand Chariots, with Trumpeters and Pipers, with Singers and Players onStringed Instruments, to welcome the Pilgrims as they went up, andfollowed one another in at the beautiful Gate of the City. 

III

ANCIENT VANITY FAIR[99]

Then I saw in my Dream, that when they were got out of the Wilderness, they presently saw a Town before them, and the name of that Town is_Vanity_; and at the Town there is a Fair kept, called _Vanity Fair_:it is kept all the year long; it beareth the name of _Vanity Fair_, because the Town where 'tis kept is _lighter than Vanity_; and alsobecause all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is _Vanity_. As is the saying of the wise, _All that cometh is Vanity_. 

This Fair is no new erected business, but a thing of ancient standing;I will shew you the original of it. 

Almost five thousand years agone, there were Pilgrims walking to theCelestial City, as these two honest persons are; and _Beelzebub_, _Apollyon_, and _Legion_, with their Companions, perceiving by thepath that the Pilgrims made, that their way to the city lay throughthis Town of _Vanity_, they contrived here to set up a Fair; a Fairwherein should be sold of _all sorts of Vanity_, and that it shouldlast all the year long: therefore at this Fair are all suchMerchandise sold, as Houses, Lands, Trades, Places, Honors, Preferments, Titles, Countries, Kingdoms, Lusts, Pleasures, andDelights of all sorts, as Whores, Bawds, Wives, Husbands, Children, Masters, Servants, Lives, Blood, Bodies, Souls, Silver, Gold, Pearls, Precious Stones, and what not. .. . 

Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies just through thisTown where this lusty Fair is kept; and he that will go to the City, and yet not go through this Town, must needs _go out of the World_. The Prince of Princes himself, when here, went through this Town tohis own Country, and that upon a _Fair-day_ too; yea, and as I think, it was _Beelzebub_, the chief Lord of this Fair, that invited him tobuy of his Vanities: yea, would have made him Lord of the Fair, wouldhe but have done him reverence as he went through the Town. Yea, because he was such a person of honor, _Beelzebub_ had him from Streetto Street, and shewed him all the Kingdoms of the World in a littletime, that he might (if possible) allure that Blessed One to cheapenand buy some of his Vanities. But he had no mind to the Merchandise, and therefore left the Town, without laying out so much as oneFarthing upon these Vanities. This Fair therefore is an ancient thing, of long standing, and a very great Fair. .. . 

The Pilgrims being patient, and not rendering railing for railing, butcontrarywise blessing, and giving good words for bad, and kindnessfor injuries done, some men in the Fair that were more observing, andless prejudiced than the rest, began to check and blame the baser sortfor their continual abuses done by them to the men; they therefore inangry manner let fly at them again, counting them as bad as the men inthe Cage, and telling them that they seemed confederates, and shouldbe made partakers of their misfortunes. The other replied, that forought they could see, the men were quiet, and sober, and intendednobody any harm; and that there were many that traded in their Fairthat were more worthy to be put into the Cage, yea, and Pillory too, than were the men that they had abused. Thus, after divers words hadpassed on both sides (the men behaving themselves all the while verywisely and soberly before them), they fell to some blows amongthemselves, and did harm one to another. Then were these two poor menbrought before their examiners again, and there charged as beingguilty of the late hubbub that had been in the Fair. So they beat thempitifully and hanged irons upon them, and led them in chaines up anddown the Fair, for an example and a terror to others, lest any shouldfurther speak in their behalf, or join themselves unto them. But_Christian_ and _Faithful_ behaved themselves yet more wisely, andreceived the ignominy and shame that was cast upon them, with so muchmeekness and patience, that it won to their side (tho but few incomparison of the rest) several of the men in the Fair. This put theother party yet into a greater rage, insomuch that they concluded thedeath of these two men. Wherefore they threatened, that the Cage norirons should serve their turn, but that they should die, for the abusethey had done, and for deluding the men of the Fair. 

 Behold Vanity Fair; the Pilgrims there Are chained and stoned beside; Even so it was, our Lord past here, And on Mount Calvary died. 

Then were they remanded to the Cage again, until further order shouldbe taken with them. So they put them in, and made their feet fast inthe Stocks. 

Here also they called again to mind what they had heard from theirfaithful friend _Evangelist_, and were the more confirmed in their wayand sufferings, by what he told them would happen to them. They alsonow comforted each other, that whose lot it was to suffer, even heshould have the best on't; therefore each man secretly wished that hemight have that preferment: but committing themselves to the Allwisedispose of Him that ruleth all things, with much content they abode inthe condition in which they were, until they should be otherwisedisposed of. 

Then a convenient time being appointed, they brought them forth totheir Tryal, in order to their condemnation. When the time was come, they were brought before their enemies, and arraigned. The Judge'sname was Lord _Hate-good_. Their Indictment was one and the same insubstance, tho somewhat varying in form, the contents whereof wasthis:

_That they were enemies to and disturbers of their Trade; that theyhad made Commotions and Divisions in the Town, and had won a party totheir own most dangerous Opinions in contempt of the Law of theirPrince_. 

 Now _Faithful_ play the Man, speak for thy God: Fear not the wickeds' malice, nor their rod: Speak boldly man, the Truth is on thy side; Die for it, and to Life in triumph ride. 

Then _Faithful_ began to answer, that he had only set himself againstthat which had set itself against Him that is higher than the highest. And said he, as for Disturbance, I make none, being myself a man ofPeace; the Party that were won to us, were won by beholding our Truthand Innocence, and they are only turned from the worse to the better. And as to the King you talk of, since he is _Beelzebub_, the enemy ofour Lord, I defy him and all his Angels. 

Then Proclamation was made, that they that had aught to say for theirLord the King against the Prisoner at the Bar, should forthwith appearand give in their evidence. So there came in three witnesses, to wit, _Envy_, _Superstition_, and _Pickthank_. They were then asked if theyknew the Prisoner at the Bar; and what they had to say for their Lordthe King against him. 

Then stood forth _Envy_, and said to this effect: My Lord, I haveknown this man a long time, and will attest upon my Oath before thishonorable Bench, that he is--

_Judge. _ Hold! Give him life Oath. 

So they sware him. 

Then he said, My Lord, this man, notwithstanding his plausible name, is one of the vilest men in our Country. He neither regardeth Princenor People, Law nor Custom; but doth all that he can to possess allmen with certain of his disloyal notions, which he in the generalcalls Principles of Faith and Holiness. And in particular, I heard himonce myself affirm _That Christianity and the Customs of our Town ofVanity were diametrically opposite, and could not be reconciled_. Bywhich saying, my Lord, he doth at once not only condemn all ourlaudable doings, but us in the doing of them. 

_Judge. _ Then did the Judge say to him, Hast thou any more to say?

_Envy. _ My Lord, I could say much more, only I would not be tedious tothe Court. Yet if need be, when the other Gentlemen have given intheir Evidence, rather than anything shall be wanting that willdespatch him, I will enlarge my Testimony against him. 

So he was bid stand by. Then they called _Superstition_, and bid himlook upon the Prisoner. They also asked, what he could say for theirLord the King against him. Then they sware him; so he began:

_Super. _ My Lord, I have no great acquaintance with this man, nor do Idesire to have further knowledge of him; however, this I know, that heis a very pestilent fellow, from some discourse that the other day Ihad with him in this Town; for then talking with him, I heard him say, That our Religion was naught, and such by which a man could by nomeans please God. Which sayings of his, my Lord, your Lordship verywell knows, what necessarily thence will follow, to wit, That we stilldo worship in vain, are yet in our sins, and finally shall be damned;and this is that which I have to say. 

Then was _Pickthank_ sworn, and bid say what he knew, in behalf oftheir Lord the King, against the prisoner at the Bar. 

_Pick. _ My Lord, and you, Gentlemen all, This fellow I have known of along time, and have heard him speak things that ought not to be spoke;for he hath railed on our noble Prince _Beelzebub_, and hath spokencontemptibly of his honorable Friends, whose names are the Lord _OldMan_, the Lord _Carnal Delight_, the Lord _Luxurious_, the Lord_Desire of Vain Glory_, my old Lord _Lechery_, Sir _Having Greedy_, with all the rest of our Nobility; and he hath said moreover, That ifall men were of his mind, if possible, there is not one of theseNoblemen should have any longer a being in this Town; besides, he hathnot been afraid to rail on you, my Lord, who are now appointed to behis Judge, calling you an ungodly villain, with many other suchlikevilifying terms, with which he hath bespattered most of the Gentry ofour Town. 

When this _Pickthank_ had told his tale, the Judge directed his speechto the Prisoner at the Bar, saying, Thou Runagate, Heretick, andTraitor, hast thou heard what these honest Gentlemen have witnessedagainst thee?

_Faith. _ May I speak a few words in my own defense?

_Judge. _ Sirrah, sirrah, thou deservest to live no longer, but to beslain immediately upon the place; yet that all men may see ourgentleness towards thee, let us see what thou hast to say. 

_Faith. _ 1. I say then, in answer to what Mr _Envy_ hath spoken, Inever said ought but this, _That what Rule or Laws or Custom orPeople, were flat against the Word of God, are diametrically oppositeto Christianity_. If I have said amiss in this, convince me of myerror, and I am ready here before you to make my recantation. 

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr _Superstition_, and his charge againstme, I said only this, _That in the worship of God there is required aDivine Faith; but there can be no Divine Faith without a DivineRevelation of the will of God; therefore whatever is thrust into theWorship of God that is not agreeable to a Divine Revelation, cannot bedone but by an human faith, which faith will not profit to EternalLife_. 

3. As to what Mr _Pickthank_ hath said, I say (avoiding terms, as thatI am said to rail, and the like) that the Prince of this Town, withall the rabblement his attendants, by this Gentleman named, are morefit for a being in Hell, than in this Town and Country: _and so, theLord have mercy upon me_. .. . 

Then went the Jury out, whose names were, Mr _Blind-Man_, Mr_No-good_, Mr _Malice_, Mr _Love-lust_, Mr _Live-loose_, Mr _Heady_, Mr _High-mind_, Mr _Enmity_, Mr _Lyar_, Mr _Cruelty_, Mr _Hate-light_, and Mr _Implacable_; who every one gave in his private Verdict againsthim among themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to bringhim in guilty before the Judge. And first among themselves, Mr_Blind-man_ the Foreman, said, _I see clearly that this man is anHeretick_. Then said Mr _No-good_, _Away with such a fellow from theearth_. _Ay_, said Mr _Malice_, _for I hate the very looks of him_. Then said Mr _Love-lust_, _I could never endure him_. _Nor I_, said Mr_Live-loose_, _for he would always be condemning my way_. _Hang him, hang him_, said Mr _Heady_. _A sorry Scrub_, said Mr _High-mind_. _Myheart riseth against him_, said Mr _Enmity_. _He is a rogue_, said Mr_Lyar_. _Hanging is too good for him_, said Mr _Cruelty_. _Let usdispatch him out of the way_, said Mr _Hate-light_. Then said Mr_Implacable_, _Might I have all the world given me, I could not bereconciled to him; therefore let us forthwith bring him in guilty ofdeath_. And so they did; therefore he was presently condemned to behad from the place where he was, to the place from whence he came, andthere to be put to the most cruel death that could be invented. 

They therefore brought him out, to do with him according to their Law;and first they Scourged him, then they Buffeted him, then they Lancedhis flesh with Knives; after that they Stoned him with stones, thenpricked him with their Swords; and last of all they burned him toashes at the Stake. Thus came _Faithful_ to his end. 

 Brave _Faithful_, bravely done in Word and Deed; Judge, Witnesses, and Jury have instead Of overcoming thee, but shewn their Rage: When thou art dead, thou'lt live from Age to Age. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 97: From "The Pilgrim's Progress. "]

[Footnote 98: From "The Pilgrim's Progress. "]

[Footnote 99: From "The Pilgrim's Progress. "]

JOHN DRYDEN

 Born in 1631, died in 1700; educated at Cambridge; originally a Parliamentarian, but vent over to the Royalists; made poet-laureate in 1670; converted to Catholicism in 1686; his life written by Samuel Johnson; his works collected in 1808 in eighteen volumes by Sir Walter Scott. 

OF ELIZABETHAN DRAMATISTS[100]

To begin, then, with Shakespeare. He was the man who, of all modern, and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensivesoul. All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drewthem not laboriously, but luckily. When he describes anything, youmore than see it--you feel it too. Those who accused him to havewanted learning, give him the greater commendation. He was naturallylearned; he needed not the spectacles of books to read nature; helooked inwards, and found her there. I cannot say he is everywherealike; were he so, I should do him injury to compare him with thegreatest of mankind. He is many times flat, insipid; his comic witdegenerating into clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But heis always great when some great occasion is presented to him; no mancan say he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did not then raisehimself as high above the rest of poets. 

 Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi. 

The consideration of this made Mr. Hales of Eton[101] say, that therewas no subject of which any poet ever writ, but he would produce itmuch better done in Shakespeare; and however others are now generallypreferred before him, yet the age wherein he lived, which hadcontemporaries with him Fletcher and Jonson, never equalled them tohim in their esteem. And in the last king's court, when Ben'sreputation was at highest, Sir John Suckling, and with him the greaterpart of the courtiers, set our Shakespeare far above him. .. . 

Beaumont and Fletcher, of whom I am next to speak, had with theadvantage of Shakespeare's wit, which was their precedent, greatnatural gifts, improved by study; Beaumont especially, being soaccurate a judge of plays, that Ben Jonson, while he lived, submittedall his writings to his censure, and 'tis thought, used his judgmentin correcting, if not contriving, all his plots. What value he had forhim, appears by the verses he writ to him, and therefore I need speakno farther of it. The first play that brought Fletcher and him inesteem was their "Philaster"; for before that they had written two orthree very unsuccessfully: as the like is reported of Ben Jonson, before he writ "Every Man in his Humor. " Their plots were generallymore regular than Shakespeare's, especially those which were madebefore Beaumont's death; and they understood and imitated theconversation of gentlemen much better; whose wild debaucheries, andquickness of wit in repartees, no poet before them could paint asthey have done. Humor, which Ben Jonson derived from particularpersons, they made it not their business to describe; they representedall the passions very lively, but above all, love. I am apt to believethe English language in them arrived to its highest perfection: whatwords have since been taken in, are rather superfluous thanornamental. Their plays are now the most pleasant and frequententertainments of the stage; two of theirs being acted through theyear, for one of Shakespeare's or Jonson's: the reason is, becausethere is a certain gaiety in their comedies, and pathos in their moreserious plays, which suits generally with all men's humors. Shakespeare's language is likewise a little obsolete, and Ben Jonson'swit comes short of theirs. 

As for Jonson, to whose character I am now arrived, if we look uponhim while he was himself--for his last plays were but his dotages--Ithink him the most learned and judicious writer which any theater everhad. He was a most severe judge of himself, as well as others. One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it. In hisworks you find little to retrench or alter. Wit, and language, andhumor also in some measure, we had before him; but something of artwas wanting to the drama, till he came. He managed his strength tomore advantage than any who preceded him. You seldom find him makinglove in any of his scenes, or endeavoring to move the passions; hisgenius was too sullen and saturnine to do it gracefully, especiallywhen he knew he came after those who had performed both to such aheight. Humor was his proper sphere; and in that he delighted most torepresent mechanic people. He was deeply conversant in the ancients, both Greek and Latin, and he borrowed boldly from them; there isscarce a poet or historian among the Roman authors of those times whomhe has not translated in "Sejanus" and "Catiline. " But he has done hisrobberies so openly that one may see he fears not to be taxed by anylaw. He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft inother poets, is only victory in him. With the spoils of these writershe so represents old Rome to us, in its rites, ceremonies, andcustoms, that if one of their poets had written either of histragedies, we had seen less of it than in him. 

If there was any fault in his language, 'twas that he weaved it tooclosely and laboriously, in his comedies especially: perhaps, too, hedid a little too much Romanize our tongue, leaving the words which hetranslated almost as much Latin as he found them; wherein, tho helearnedly followed their language, he did not enough comply with theidiom of ours. If I would compare him with Shakespeare, I mustacknowledge him the more correct poet, but Shakespeare the greaterwit. Shakespeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic poets:Jonson was the Virgil, the pattern of elaborate writing: I admire him, but I love Shakespeare. To conclude of him: as he has given us themost correct plays, so, in the precepts which he has laid down in his"Discoveries, " we have as many and profitable rules for perfecting thestage, as any wherewith the French can furnish us. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 100: From the "Essay on Dramatic Poetry. "]

[Footnote 101: John Hales, "the ever-memorable" canon of Windsor andauthor of "Golden Remains, " born in 1584, died in 1656. ]

SAMUEL PEPYS

 Born in 1633, died in 1703; son of a London tailor, educated at Cambridge; a clerk in the Admiralty in 1660, becoming finally Secretary; conducted the entire administration during the great plague, when he alone remained in London; assisted in checking the great fire in 1666; elected to Parliament in 1678; President of the Royal Society in 1684-86; gave his library of three thousand volumes to one of the colleges at Cambridge; his "Diary, " first published in 1825, was written in cipher, without intent of publication. 

I

OF VARIOUS DOINGS OF MR. AND MRS. PEPYS[102]

_August 18, 1660. _--Towards Westminster by water. I landed my wife atWhitefriars with £5 to buy her a petticoat, and my father persuadedher to buy a most fine cloth, of 26_s. _ a yard, and a rich lace, thatthe petticoat will come to £5; but she doing it very innocently, Icould not be angry. Captain Ferrers took me and Creed to the Cockpitplay, the first that I have had time to see since my coming from sea, _The Loyall Subject_, where one Kinaston, a boy, acted the Duke'ssister, but made the loveliest lady that ever I saw in my life. Afterthe play done, we went to drink, and, by Captain Ferrers' means, Kinaston, and another that acted Archas the General, came and drankwith us. 

19. (Lord's Day. )--This morning Sir W. Batten, Pen, and myself, wentto church to the churchwardens, to demand a pew, which at presentcould not be given us; but we are resolved to have one built. So westaid, and heard Mr. Mills, a very good minister. Home to dinner, where my wife had on her new petticoat that she bought yesterday, which indeed is a very fine cloth and a line lace; but that being of alight color, and the lace all silver, it makes no great show. 

_March 2, 1667. _--After dinner, with my wife, to the King's house tosee _The Maiden Queene_, a new play of Dryden's mightily commended forthe regularity of it, and the strain and wit; and, the truth is, thereis a comical part done by Nell Gwynne, which is Florimell, that Inever can hope ever to see the like done again, by man or woman. TheKing and Duke of York were at the play. But so great performance of acomical part was never, I believe, in the world before as Nell do thisboth as a mad girl, then most and best of all, when she comes in likea young gallant; and hath the motions and carriage of a spark the mostthat ever I saw any man have. It makes me, I confess, admire her. 

_October 5. _--To the King's house; and there, going in, met withKnipp, and she took us up into the tireing-rooms: and to the woman'sshift, where Nell was dressing herself, and was all unready, and isvery pretty, prettier than I thought. And into the scene-room, andthere sat down, and she gave us fruit: and here I read the questionsto Knipp, while she answered me, through all her part of _FloraFigarys_, which was acted to-day. But, Lord! to see how they wereboth painted would make a man mad, and did make me loath them; andwhat base company of men comes among them, and how lewdly they talk!and how poor the men are in clothes, and yet what a show they make onthe stage by candle-light, is very observable. But to see how Nellcursed for having so few people in the pit, was pretty; the otherhouse carrying away all the people at the new play, and is said, now-a-days, to have generally most company, as being better players. By and by into the pit, and there saw the play, which is pretty good. 

_December 28. _--To the King's house, and there saw _The Mad Couple_, which is but an ordinary play; but only Nell's and Hart's mad partsare most excellent done, but especially hers: which makes it a miracleto me to think how ill she do any serious part, as, the other day, just like a fool or changeling; and in a mad part do beyond imitationalmost. It pleased us mightily to see the natural affection of a poorwoman, the mother of one of the children, brought on the stage; thechild crying, she by force got upon the stage, and took up her child, and carried it away off of the stage from Hart. Many fine faces hereto-day. 

_February 27, 1667-8. _--With my wife to the King's house, to see _TheVirgin Martyr_, the first time it hath been acted a great while: andit is mighty pleasant; not that the play is worth much, but it isfinely acted by Beck Marshall. But that which did please me beyondanything in the whole world was the wind-musick when the angel comesdown, which is so sweet that it ravished me, and indeed, in a word, did wrap up my soul so that it made me really sick, just as I haveformerly been when in love with my wife; that neither then, nor allthe evening going home, and at home, I was able to think of anything, but remained all night transported, so as I could not believe thatever any musick hath that real command over the soul of a man as thisdid upon me: and makes me resolve to practise wind-musick, and to makemy wife do the like. 

_May 26, 1667. _--My wife and I to church, where several strangers ofgood condition come to our pew. After dinner, I by water alone toWestminster to the parish church, and there did entertain myself withmy perspective glass up and down the church, by which I had the greatpleasure of seeing and gazing at a great many very fine women; andwhat with that, and sleeping, I passed away the time till sermon wasdone. I away to my boat, and up with it as far as Barne Elmes, readingof Mr. Evelyn's late new book against Solitude, in which I do not findmuch excess of good matter, tho it be pretty for a bye discourse. 

_August 18. _--To Cree Church, to see it how it is: but I find noalteration there, as they there was, for my Lord Mayor and Aldermen tocome to sermon, as they do every Sunday, as they did formerly toPaul's. There dined with me Mr. Turner and his daughter Betty. Bettyis grown a fine young lady as to carriage and discourse. We had a goodhaunch of venison, powdered and boiled, and a good dinner. I walkedtowards Whitehall, but, being wearied, turned into St. Dunstan'sChurch, where I heard an able sermon of the minister of the place;and stood by a pretty, modest maid, whom I did labor to take by thehand; but she would not, but got further and further from me; and, atlast, I could perceive her to take pins out of her pocket to prick meif I should touch her again--which, seeing, I did forbear, and wasglad I did spy her design. And then I fell to gaze upon another prettymaid, in a pew close to me, and she on me; and I did go about to takeher by the hand, which she suffered a little and then withdrew. So thesermon ended. 

_May 11, 1667. _--My wife being drest this day in fair hair did make meso mad, that I spoke not one word to her, tho I was ready to burstwith anger. After that, Creed and I into the Park, and walked, a mostpleasant evening, and so took coach, and took up my wife, and in myway home discovered my trouble to my wife for her white locks, swearing several times, which I pray God forgive me for, and bendingmy fist that I would not endure it. She, poor wretch, was surprisedwith it, and made me no answer all the way home; but there we parted, and I to the office late, and then home, and without supper to bed, vexed. 

12. (Lord's Day. )--Up and to my chamber, to settle some accountsthere, and by and by down comes my wife to me in her night-gown, andwe begun calmly, that, upon having money to lace her gown for secondmourning, she would promise to wear white locks no more in my sight, which I, like a severe fool, thinking not enough, begun to exceptagainst, and made her fly out to very high terms and cry, and in herheat, told me of keeping company with Mrs. Knipp, saying, that if Iwould promise never to see her more--of whom she hath more reason tosuspect than I had heretofore of Pembleton--she would never wear whitelocks more. This vexed me, but I restrained myself from sayinganything, but do think never to see this woman--at least, to have herhere more--and so all very good friends as ever. My wife and Ibethought ourselves to go to a French house to dinner, and so inquiredout Monsieur Robins, my perriwigg-maker, who keeps an ordinary, and inan ugly street in Covent Garden, did find him at the door, and so wein; and in a moment almost had the table covered, and clean glasses, and all in the French manner, and a mess of potage first, and then apiece of boeuf-a-la-mode, all exceeding well seasoned, and to ourgreat liking; at least it would have been anywhere else but in thisbad street, and in a perriwigg-maker's house; but to see the pleasantand ready attendance that we had, and all things so desirous toplease, and ingenious in the people, did take me mightily. Our dinnercost us 6_s. _

_November 30, 1668. _--My wife, after dinner, went the first timeabroad in her coach, calling on Roger Pepys, and visiting Mrs. Creed, and my cosen Turner. Thus ended this month with very good content, butmost expenseful to my purse on things of pleasure, having furnished mywife's closet and the best chamber, and a coach and horses, that everI knew in the world; and I am put into the greatest condition ofoutward state that ever I was in, or hoped ever to be, or desired. 

_December 2. _--Abroad with my wife, the first time that ever I rode inmy own coach, which do make my heart rejoice, and praise God and prayHim to bless it to me and continue it. So she and I to the King'splayhouse, and there saw _The Usurper_; a pretty good play, in all butwhat is designed to resemble Cromwell and Hugh Peters, which is mightysilly. The play done, we to Whitehall; where my wife staid while I upto the Duchesse's and Queene's side, to speak with the Duke of York:and here saw all the ladies, and heard the silly discourse of theKing, with his people about him. 

_April 11, 1669. _--Thence to the Park, my wife and I; and here Sir W. Coventry did first see me and my wife in a coach of our own; and sodid also this night the Duke of York, who did eye my wife mightily. But I begin to doubt that my being so much seen in my own coach atthis time may be observed to my prejudice; but I must venture it now. 

II

ENGLAND WITHOUT CROMWELL[103]

_July 12, 1667. _--Up betimes and to my chamber, there doing business, and by and by comes Greeting and begun a new month with him, and nowto learn to set anything from the notes upon the flageolet, but Lord!to see how like a fool he goes about to give direction would make aman mad. I then out and by coach to White Hall and to the Treasurychamber, where did a little business, and thence to the Exchequer toBurges, about Tangier business, and so back again stepping into theHall a little, and then homeward by coach, and he with me to theExcise Office, there to do a little business also, in the way hetelling me that undoubtedly the peace is concluded; for he did standwhere he did hear part of the discourse at the Council table, andthere did hear the King argue for it. 

Among other things that the spirits of the seamen were down, and theforces of our enemies are grown too great and many for us, and hewould not have his subjects overprest, for he knew an Englishman woulddo as much as any man upon hopeful terms; but where he sees he isoverprest, he despairs soon as any other; and besides that, they havealready such a load of dejection upon them, that they will not be intemper a good while again. He heard my Lord Chancellor say to theKing, "Sir, " says he, "the whole world do complain publickly oftreachery, that things have been managed falsely by some of his greatministers. " "Sir, " says he, "I am for your Majesty's falling into aspeedy enquiry into the truth of it, and, where you meet with it, punish it. But, at the same time, consider what you have to do, andmake use of your time for having a peace; for more money will not begiven without much trouble, nor is it, I fear, to be had of thepeople, nor will a little do it to put us into condition of doing ourbusiness. " But Sir H. Cholmly tells me he (the Chancellor) did say theother day at his table, "Treachery, " says he; "I could wish we couldprove there was anything of that in it; for that would imply some witand thoughtfulness; but we are ruined merely by folly and neglect. "And so Sir H. Cholmly tell me they did all argue for peace and so hedo believe that the King hath agreed to the three points Mr. Coventrybrought over, which I have mentioned before, and is gone with themback. .. . 

While we were at the Excise Office talking with Mr. Ball, it wascomputed that the Parliament had given the King for this war only, besides all prizes, and besides the £200, 000 which he was to spend ofhis own revenue to guard the sea, above £5, 000, 000 and odd £100, 000;which is a most prodigious sum. Sir H. Cholmly, as a true Englishgentleman, do decry the King's expenses of his Privy-purse, which inKing James's time did not rise to above £5, 000 a year, and in KingCharles's to £10, 000, do now cost us above £100, 000 besides the greatcharge of the Monarchy, as the Duke of York £100, 000 of it, and otherlimbs of the Royal family, and the guards, which, for his part, sayshe, "I would have all disbanded, for the King is not the better bythem, and would be as safe without them; for we have had no rebellionsto make him fear anything. " But contrarily, he is now raising of aland army, which this Parliament and Kingdom will never bear, besides, the commanders they put over them are such as will never be able toraise or command them; but the design is, and the Duke of York hesays, is hot for it, to have a land army, and so to make thegovernment like that of France, but our princes have not brains, or atleast care and forecast enough to do that. 

It is strange how he and everybody now-a-days do reflect uponOliver, [104] and commend him, what brave things he did, and made allthe neighbor princes fear him; while here a prince, come in with allthe love and prayers and good liking of his people, who have givengreater signs of his loyalty and willingness to serve him with theirestates than ever was done by any other people, hath lost all so soon, that it is a miracle what way a man could devise to lose so much in solittle time. 

Thence he set me down at my Lord Crew's and away, and I up to my Lord, where Sir Thomas Crew was, and by and by comes Mr. Cæsar, who teachesmy Lady's page upon the lute, and here Mr. Cæsar did play some veryfine things indeed, to my great liking. Here was my Lord Hitchingbrokealso, newly come from Hitchingbroke, where all well, but methinks Iknowing in what case he stands for money by his demands to me and thereport Mr. Moore gives of the management of the family, make me, Godforgive me! to contemn him, tho I do really honor and pity them, thothey deserve it not that have so good an estate and will live beyondit. To dinner, and very good discourse with my Lord. And after dinner, Sir Thomas Crew and I alone, and he tells me how I am mightily inesteem with the Parliament; there being harangues made in the House tothe Speaker, of Mr. Pepy's readiness and civility to shew themeverything, which I am this time very glad of. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 102: From the "Diary. "]

[Footnote 103: From the "Diary. "]

[Footnote 104: Oliver Cromwell had died in 1658, nine years before thedate of Pepy's paragraph. ]

GILBERT BURNET

 Born in 1643, died in 1715; accompanied William III from Holland to England as chaplain in 1688; made Bishop of Salisbury in 1689; his "History of Our Own Times" published after his death in 1723-34, having been edited by his son; other works published in his lifetime. 

CHARLES II[105]

Thus lived and died King Charles II. He was the greatest instance inhistory of the various revolutions of which any one man seemedcapable. He was bred up the first twelve years of his life with thesplendor that became the heir of so great a crown. After that, hepassed through eighteen years of great inequalities: unhappy in thewar, in the loss of his father, and of the crown of England. Scotlanddid not only receive him, tho upon terms hard of digestion, but madean attempt upon England for him, tho a feeble one. He lost the battleof Worcester with too much indifference. And then he shewed more careof his person than became one who had so much at stake. He wanderedabout England for ten weeks after that, hiding from place to place. But, under all the apprehensions he had then upon him, he shewed atemper so careless, and so much turned to levity, that he was thendiverting himself with little household sports, in as unconcerned amanner as if he had made no loss, and had been in no danger at all. Hegot at last out of England. But he had been obliged to so many who hadbeen faithful to him, and careful of him, that he seemed afterwards toresolve to make an equal return to them all; and finding it not easyto reward them all as they deserved, he forgot them all alike. Mostprinces seem to have this pretty deep in them, and to think that theyought not to remember past services, but that their acceptance of themis a full reward. He, of all in our age, exerted this piece ofprerogative in the amplest manner; for he never seemed to charge hismemory, or to trouble his thoughts, with the sense of any of theservices that had been done him. 

While he was abroad at Paris, Cologne, or Brussels, he never seemed tolay anything to heart. He pursued all his diversions and irregularpleasures in a free career, and seemed to be as serene under the lossof a crown as the greatest philosopher could have been. Nor did hewillingly hearken to any of those projects with which he oftencomplained that his chancellor persecuted him. That in which he seemedmost concerned was, to find money for supporting his expense. And itwas often said, that if Cromwell would have compounded the matter, andhave given him a good round pension, that he might have been inducedto resign his title to him. During his exile, he delivered himself soentirely to his pleasures, that he became incapable of application. Hespent little of his time in reading or study, and yet less inthinking. And in the state his affairs were then in, he accustomedhimself to say to every person, and upon all occasions, that which hethought would please most; so that words or promises went very easilyfrom him. And he had so ill an opinion of mankind, that he thought, the great art of living and governing was, to manage all things andall persons with a depth of craft and dissimulation. And in that fewmen in the world could put on the appearances of sincerity better thanhe could; under which so much artifice was usually hid, that inconclusion he could deceive none, for all were become mistrustful ofhim. 

He had great vices, but scarce any virtues to correct them. He had inhim some vices that were less hurtful, which corrected his morehurtful ones. He was, during the active part of life, given up tosloth and lewdness to such a degree, that he hated business, and couldnot bear the engaging in anything that gave him much trouble, or puthim under any constraint. And tho he desired to become absolute, andto overturn both our religion and our laws, yet he would neither runthe risk, nor give himself the trouble, which so great a designrequired. He had an appearance of gentleness in his outwarddeportment; but he seemed to have no bowels nor tenderness in hisnature, and in the end of his life he became cruel. He was apt toforgive all crimes, even blood itself, yet he never forgave anythingthat was done against himself, after his first and general act ofindemnity, which was to be reckoned as done rather upon maxims ofstate than inclinations of mercy. He delivered himself up to a mostenormous course of vice, without any sort of restraint, even from theconsideration of the nearest relations. The most studied extravagancesthat way seemed, to the very last, to be much delighted in and pursuedby him. He had the art of making all people grow fond of him at first, by a softness in his whole way of conversation, as he was certainlythe best-bred man of the age. But when it appeared how little could bebuilt on his promise, they were cured of the fondness that he was aptto raise in them. When he saw young men of quality, who had somethingmore than ordinary in them, he drew them about him, and set himself tocorrupt them both in religion and morality; in which he proved sounhappily successful, that he left England much changed at his deathfrom what he had found it at his restoration. 

He loved to talk over all the stories of his life to every new manthat came about him. His stay in Scotland, and the share he had in thewar of Paris, in carrying messages from one side to the other, werehis common topics. He went over these in a very graceful manner, butso often and so copiously, that all those who had been long accustomedto them grew weary of them; and when he entered on those stories, theyusually withdrew: so that he often began them in a full audience, andbefore he had done, there were not above four or five persons leftabout him: which drew a severe jest from Wilmot, Earl ofRochester. [106] He said he wondered to see a man have so good amemory as to repeat the same story without losing the leastcircumstance; and yet not remember that he had told it to the samepersons the very day before. This made him fond of strangers, for theyharkened to all his oft-repeated stories, and went away as in arapture at such an uncommon condescension of a king. 

His person and temper, his vices as well as his fortunes, resemble thecharacter that we have given us of Tiberius so much, that it were easyto draw the parallel between them. Tiberius's banishment, and hiscoming afterward to reign, makes the comparison in that respect comepretty near. His hating of business, and his love of pleasures; hisraising of favorites, and trusting them entirely; and his pulling themdown, and hating them excessively; his art of covering deep designs, particularly of revenge, with an appearance of softness, brings themso near a likeness, that I did not wonder much to observe theresemblance of their faces and persons. At Rome, I saw one of the laststatues made for Tiberius, after he had lost his teeth. But, batingthe alteration which that made, it was so like King Charles, thatPrince Borghese and Signior Dominico, to whom it belonged, did agreewith me in thinking that it looked like a statute made for him. 

Few things ever went near his heart. The Duke of Gloucester's deathseemed to touch him much. But those who knew him best, thought it wasbecause he had lost him by whom only he could have balanced thesurviving brother, whom he hated, and yet embroiled all his affairs topreserve the succession to him. .. . 

No part of his character looked wickeder, as well as meaner, than thathe, all the while that he was professing to be of the Church ofEngland, expressing both zeal and affection to it, was yet secretlyreconciled to the Church of Rome; thus mocking God, and deceiving theworld with so gross a prevarication. And his not having the honesty orcourage to own it at the last; his not shewing any sign of the leastremorse for his ill-led life, or any tenderness either for hissubjects in general, or for the queen and his servants; and hisrecommending only his mistresses and their children to his brother'scare, would have been a strange conclusion to any other's life, butwas well enough suited to all the other parts of his. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 105: From the "History of Our Own Times. "]

[Footnote 106: The profligate earl, of whom the best-known anecdote isthat he once pinned to the door of the King's chamber the followingquatrain:

 "Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King, Whose word no man relies on: He never said a foolish thing, And never did a wise one. "

It is recorded of the King that, when he saw these lines he remarkedthat they were quite true, inasmuch as his words were his own and hisacts were those of his ministers. ]

DANIEL DEFOE

 Born in 1661, died in 1731; his father a butcher in London; served in the army in 1688; traveled on the Continent; wrote pamphlets in favor of William III; arrested and placed in the pillory for an attack on Dissenters in 1703; engaged in political intrigues and wrote many articles and pamphlets; "Robinson Crusoe" published in 1719, "Moll Flanders" in 1722, "The Journal of the Plague" in 1722. 

I

THE SHIPWRECK OF CRUSOE[107]

Nothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when I sunkinto the water; for tho I swam very well, yet I could not delivermyself from the waves so as to draw my breath; till that wave havingdriven me or rather carried me a vast way on toward the shore, andhaving spent itself, went back, and left me upon the land almost dry, but half dead with the water I took in. I had so much presence of mindas well as breath left, that seeing myself nearer the mainland than Iexpected, I got upon my feet, and endeavored to make on toward theland as I could, before another wave should return and take me upagain; but I soon found it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw thesea coming after me as high as a great hill, and as furious as anenemy which I had no means or strength to contend with: my businesswas to hold my breath, and raise myself upon the water, if I could;and so by swimming to preserve my breathing, and pilot myself towardthe shore if possible; my greatest concern now being that the wave, asit would carry me a great way toward the shore when it came on, mightnot carry me back again with it when it gave back toward the sea. 

The wave that came upon me again buried me at once twenty or thirtyfeet deep in its own body; and I could feel myself carried with amighty force and swiftness toward the shore, a very great way; but Iheld my breath, and assisted myself to swim still forward with all mymight. I was ready to burst with holding my breath, when, as I feltmyself rising up, so to my immediate relief I found my head and handsshoot out above the surface of the water; and tho it was not twoseconds of time that I could keep myself so, yet it relieved megreatly, gave me breath and new courage. I was covered again withwater a good while, but not so long but I held it out; and finding thewater had spent itself, and began to return, I struck forward againstthe return of the waves, and felt ground again with my feet. I stoodstill a few moments to recover breath, and till the water went fromme, and then took to my heels and ran with what strength I had farthertoward the shore. But neither would this deliver me from the fury ofthe sea, which came pouring in after me again; and twice more I waslifted up by the waves and carried forward as before, the shore beingvery flat. 

The last time of these two had well-nigh been fatal to me; for the seahaving hurried me along as before, landed me, or rather dashed meagainst a piece of rock, and that with such force that it left mesenseless, and indeed helpless as to my own deliverance; for the blowtaking my side and breast, beat the breath as it were quite out of mybody, and had it returned again immediately I must have been strangledin the water; but I recovered a little before the return of the waves, and seeing I should again be covered with the water, I resolved tohold fast by a piece of the rock, and so to hold my breath if possibletill the wave went back. Now, as the waves were not so high as thefirst, being nearer land, I held my hold till the wave abated, andthen fetched another run, which brought me so near the shore that thenext wave, tho it went over me, yet did not so swallow me up as tocarry me away; and the next run I took, I got to the mainland, whereto my great comfort I clambered up the cliffs of the shore, and sat medown upon the grass, free from danger and quite out of the reach ofthe water. 

I was now landed, and safe on shore; and began to look up and thankGod that my life was saved, in a case wherein there were, some minutesbefore, scarce any room to hope. I believe it is impossible toexpress, to the life, what the ecstasies and transports of the soulare when it is so saved, as I may say, out of the grave: and I did notwonder now at the custom, viz. , that when a malefactor who has thehalter about his neck is tied up, and just going to be turned off, andhas a reprieve brought to him--I say I do not wonder that they bringa surgeon with it, to let him blood that very moment they tell him ofit; that the surprize may not drive the animal spirits from the heartand overwhelm him. 

 "For sudden joys, like griefs, confound at first. "

I walked about the shore, lifting up my hands, and my whole being, asI may say, wrapt up in the contemplation of my deliverance; making athousand gestures and motions which I can not describe; reflectingupon my comrades that were drowned, and that there should not be onesoul saved but myself; for as for them, I never saw them afterward, orany sign of them, except three of the hats, one cap, and two shoesthat were not fellows. 

II

THE RESCUE OF MAN FRIDAY[108]

About a year and a half after I entertained these notions (and by longmusing had, as it were, resolved them all into nothing, for want of anoccasion to put them in execution), I was surprized one morning earlyby seeing no less than five canoes all on shore together on my sidethe island, and the people who belonged to them all landed and out ofmy sight. The number of them broke all my measures; for seeing somany, and knowing that they always came four or six, or sometimesmore, in a boat, I could not tell what to think of it, or how to takemy measures to attack twenty or thirty men single-handed; so lay stillin my castle, perplexed and discomforted. However, I put myself intoall the same postures for an attack that I had formerly provided, andwas just ready for action, if anything had presented. Having waited agood while, listening to hear if they made any noise, at length, beingvery impatient, I set my guns at the foot of my ladder, and clamberedup to the top of the hill, by my two stages, as usual; standing so, however, that my head did not appear above the hill, so that theycould not perceive me by any means. Here I observed, by the help of myperspective glass, that they were no less than thirty in number; thatthey had a fire kindled, and that they had meat drest. How they hadcooked it, I knew not, or what it was; but they were all dancing, in Iknow not how many barbarous gestures and figures, their own way, roundthe fire. 

While I was thus looking on them, I perceived, by my perspective, twomiserable wretches dragged from the boats, where, it seems, they werelaid by, and were now brought out for the slaughter. I perceived oneof them immediately fall; being knocked down, I suppose with a club orwooden sword, for that was their way; and two or three others were atwork immediately, cutting him open for their cookery, while the othervictim was left standing by himself, till they should be ready forhim. In that very moment, this poor wretch, seeing himself a little atliberty, and unbound, Nature inspired him with hopes of life and hestarted away from them, and ran with incredible swiftness along thesands, directly toward me; I mean toward that part of the coast wheremy habitation was. I was dreadfully frightened, that I mustacknowledge, when I perceived him run my way; and especially when, asI thought, I saw him pursued by the whole body; and now I expectedthat part of my dream was coming to pass, and that he would certainlytake shelter in my grove; but I could not depend, by any means, uponmy dream, that the other savages would not pursue him thither, andfind him there. However, I kept my station, and my spirits began torecover when I found that there was not above three men that followedhim; and still more was encouraged, when I found that he outstriptthem exceedingly in running, and gained ground on them; so that, if hecould but hold it for half an hour, I saw easily he would fairly getaway from them all. 

There was, between them and my castle, the creek, which I mentionedoften in the first part of my story, where I landed my cargoes out ofthe ship; and this I saw plainly he must necessarily swim over, or thepoor wretch would be taken there; but when the savage escaping camethither, he made nothing of it, tho the tide was then up; but, plunging in, swam through in about thirty strokes, or thereabouts, landed and ran with exceeding strength and swiftness. When the threepersons came to the creek I found that two of them could swim, but thethird could not, and that, standing on the other side, he looked atthe others, but went no farther, and soon after went softly backagain; which, as it happened, was very well for him in the end. Iobserved that the two who swam were yet more than twice as longswimming over the creek than the fellow was that fled from them. Itcame very warmly upon my thoughts, and indeed irresistibly, that nowwas the time to get me a servant, and perhaps a companion orassistant; and that I was plainly called by Providence to save thispoor creature's life. I immediately ran down the ladder with allpossible expedition, fetched my two guns, for they were both at thefoot of the ladder, as I observed before, and getting up again withthe same haste to the top of the hill, I crost toward the sea; andhaving a very short cut, and all down hill, clap'd myself in the waybetween the pursuers and the pursued, hallooing aloud to him thatfled, who, looking back, was at first perhaps as much frightened at meas at them; but I beckoned with my hand to him to come back; and, inthe mean time, I slowly advanced toward the two that followed; thenrushing at once upon the foremost, I knocked him down with the stockof my piece. 

I was loath to fire, because I would not have the rest hear; tho atthat distance it would not have been easily heard, and being out ofsight of the smoke, too, they would not have known what to make of it. Having knocked this fellow down, the other who pursued him stopt, asif he had been frightened, and I advanced toward him; but as I camenearer, I perceived presently he had a bow and arrow, and was fittingit to shoot at me; so I was then obliged to shoot at him first, whichI did, and killed him at the first shot. The poor savage who fled, but had stopt, tho he saw both his enemies fallen and killed, as hethought, yet was so frightened with the fire and noise of my piecethat he stood stock still, and neither came forward nor went backward, tho he seemed rather inclined still to fly than to come on. I hallooedagain to him, and made signs to come forward, which he easilyunderstood, and came a little way; then stopt again, and then a littlefarther, and stopt again; and I could then perceive that he stoodtrembling, as if he had been taken prisoner, and had just been to bekilled, as his two enemies were. I beckoned to him again to come tome, and gave him all the signs of encouragement that I could think of;and he came nearer and nearer, kneeling down every ten or twelvesteps, in token of acknowledgment for saving his life. I smiled athim, and looked pleasantly, and beckoned to him to come still nearer;at length, he came close to me; and then he kneeled down again, kissedthe ground, and laid his head upon the ground, and, taking me by thefoot, set my foot upon his head; this, it seems, was in token ofswearing to be my slave forever. I took him up, and made much of him, and encouraged him all I could. 

But there was more work to do yet; for I perceived the savage whom Ihad knocked down was not killed, but stunned with the blow, and beganto come to himself. So I pointed to him, and showed him the savage, that he was not dead; upon this he spoke some words to me, and tho Icould not understand them, yet I thought they were pleasant to hear;for they were the first sound of a man's voice that I had heard, myown excepted, for above twenty-five years. But there was no time forsuch reflections now; the savage who was knocked down recoveredhimself so far as to sit up upon the ground, and I perceived that mysavage began to be afraid; but when I saw that, I presented my otherpiece at the man, as if I would shoot him; upon this my savage, for soI call him now, made a motion to me to lend him my sword, which hungnaked in a belt by my side, which I did. He no sooner had it, but heruns to his enemy, and at one blow cut off his head as cleverly, noexecutioner in Germany could have done it sooner or better; which Ithought very strange for one who, I had reason to believe, never saw asword in his life before, except their own wooden swords: however, itseems, as learned afterwards, they make their wooden swords so sharp, so heavy, and the wood is so hard, that they will even cut off headswith them, ay, and arms, and that at one blow too. When he had donethis, he comes laughing to me in sign of triumph, and brought me thesword again, and with abundance of gestures which I did notunderstand, laid it down, with the head of the savage that he hadkilled just before me. But that which astonished him most, was to knowhow I killed the other Indian so far off; so pointing to him, he madesigns to me to let him go to him; and I bade him go, as well as Icould. When he came to him, he stood like one amazed, looking at him, turning him first on one side, then on the other; looked at the woundthe bullet had made, which it seems was just in his breast; where ithad made a hole, and no great quantity of blood had followed; but hehad bled inwardly, for he was quite dead. 

Upon this he made signs to me that he should bury them with sand, thatthey might not be seen by the rest, if they followed; and so I madesigns to him again to do so. He fell to work; and in an instant he hadscraped a hole in the sand with his hands, big enough to bury thefirst in, and then dragged him into it, and covered him; and did so bythe other also; I believe he had buried them both in a quarter of anhour. Then calling him away, I carried him, not to my castle, butquite away to my cave, on the farther part of the island; so I did notlet my dream come to pass in that part, that he came into my grove forshelter. Here I gave him bread and a bunch of raisins to eat, and adraft of water, which I found he was indeed in great distress for fromhis running; and having refreshed him, I made signs for him to go andlie down to sleep, showing him a place where I had laid some ricestraw, and a blanket upon it, which I used to sleep upon myselfsometimes; so the poor creature lay down, and went to sleep. 

III

IN THE TIME OF THE GREAT PLAGUE[109]

A blazing star or comet appeared for several months before the plague, as there did the year after, another, a little before the fire; theold women, and the phlegmatic hypochondriac part of the other sex, whom I could almost call the old women too, remarked, especiallyafterward, tho not till both those judgments were over, that those twocomets passed directly over the city, and that so very near the housesthat it was plain they imported something peculiar to the city alone. That the comet before the pestilence was of a faint, dull, languidcolor, and its motion very heavy, solemn, and slow; but that the cometbefore the fire was bright and sparkling, or as others said, flaming, and its motion swift and furious; and that accordingly one foretold aheavy judgment, slow but severe, terrible, and frightful, as was theplague. But the other foretold a stroke, sudden, swift, and fiery, aswas the conflagration; nay, so particular some people were, that asthey looked upon that comet preceding the fire they fancied that theynot only saw it pass swiftly and fiercely, and could perceive themotion with their eye, but they even heard it--that it made a rushingmighty noise, fierce and terrible, tho at a distance and but justperceivable. 

The shutting up of houses was at first counted a very cruel andunchristian method, and the poor people so confined made bitterlamentations; complaints of the severity of it were also daily broughtto my lord mayor, of houses causelessly and some maliciously shut up;I can not say, but upon inquiry, many that complained so loudly werefound in a condition to be continued; and others again, inspectionbeing made upon the sick person and the sickness not appearinginfectious, or if uncertain, yet on his being content to be carried tothe pest-house, was released. 

As I went along Houndsditch one morning about eight o'clock there wasa great noise; it is true indeed that there was not much crowd, because the people were not free to gather together, or to staytogether when they were there, nor did I stay long there; but theoutcry was loud enough to prompt my curiosity, and I called to one wholooked out of a window, and asked what was the matter. 

A watchman, it seems, had been employed to keep his post at the doorof a house which was infected, or said to be infected, and was shutup; he had been there all night for two nights together, as he toldhis story, and the day watchman had been there one day, and was nowcome to relieve him; all this while no noise had been heard in thehouse, no light had been seen, they called for nothing, sent him on noerrands, which used to be the chief business of the watchman, neitherhad they given him any disturbance, as he said from Monday afternoon, when he heard a great crying and screaming in the house, which as hesupposed was occasioned by some of the family dying just at thattime. It seems the night before, the dead-cart, as it was called, hadbeen stopt there, and a servant-maid had been brought down to the doordead, and the buriers or bearers, as they were called, put her intothe cart, wrapt only in a green rug, and carried her away. 

The watchman had knocked at the door, it seems, when he heard thatnoise and crying as above, and nobody answered a great while; but atlast one looked out and said with an angry quick tone, and yet a kindof crying voice, or a voice of one that was crying, "What d'ye want, that you make such a knocking?" He answered, "I am the watchman; howdo you do? What is the matter?" The person answered, "What is that toyou? Stop the dead-cart, " This, it seems, was about one o'clock; soonafter, as the fellow said, he stopt the dead-cart, and then knockedagain, but nobody answered; he continued knocking, and the bellmancalled out several times, "Bring out your dead"; but nobody answered, till the man that drove the cart, being called to other houses, wouldstay no longer, and drove away. 

The watchman knew not what to make of all this, so he let them alonetill the morning man, or day watchman, as they called him, came torelieve him. Giving him an account of the particulars, they knocked atthe door a great while, but nobody answered, and they observed thatthe window or casement at which the person looked out who had answeredbefore, continued open, being up two pair of stairs. 

Upon this the two men, to satisfy their curiosity, got a long ladder, and one of them went up to the window and looked into the room, wherehe saw a woman lying dead upon the floor in a dismal manner, having noclothes on but her shift; but tho he called aloud, and putting in hislong staff, knocked hard on the floor, yet nobody stirred or answered;neither could he hear any noise in the house. 

He came down upon this and acquainted his fellow, who went up also, and finding it just so, they resolved to acquaint either the lordmayor or some other magistrate of it, but did not offer to go in atthe window. The magistrate, it seems, upon the information of the twomen ordered the house to be broken open, a constable and other personsbeing appointed to be present, that nothing might be plundered; andaccordingly it was so done, when nobody was found in the house butthat young woman, who having been infected and past recovery, the resthad left her to die by herself, and every one gone, having found someway to delude the watchman and to get open the door, or get out atsome back door, or over the tops of the houses, so that he knewnothing of it; and as to those cries and shrieks which he heard, itwas supposed they were the passionate cries of the family at thisbitter parting, which to be sure it was to them all, this being thesister to the mistress of the family. The man of the house, his wife, several children and servants, being all gone and fled; whether sickor sound, that I could never learn, nor indeed did I make much inquiryafter it. .. . 

This [38, 195 deaths in about a month] was a prodigious number ofitself; but if I should add the reasons which I have to believe thatthis account was deficient, and how deficient it was, you would withme make no scruple to believe that there died above 10, 000 a week forall those weeks, and a proportion for several weeks both before andafter. The confusion among the people, especially within the city, atthat time was inexpressible; the terror was so great at last that thecourage of the people appointed to carry away the dead began to failthem; nay, several of them died, altho they had the distemper before, and were recovered; and some of them had dropt down when they had beencarrying the bodies even at the pitside, and just ready to throw themin; and this confusion was greater in the city, because they hadflattered themselves with hopes of escaping, and thought thebitterness of death was past. One cart, they told us, going up toShoreditch, was forsaken by the drivers, or being left to one man todrive, he died in the street; and the horses, going on, overthrew thecart and left the bodies, some thrown here, some there, is a dismalmanner. Another cart was, it seems, found in the great pit in FinsburyFields, the driver being dead, or having been gone and abandoned it;and the horses running too near it, the cart fell in and drew thehorses in also. It was suggested that the driver was thrown in with itand that the cart fell upon him, by reason his whip was seen to be inthe pit among the bodies; but that, I suppose, could not be certain. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 107: From "The Life and Surprizing Adventures of RobinsonCrusoe. "]

[Footnote 108: From "The Life and Surprizing Adventures of RobinsonCrusoe. "]

[Footnote 109: From the "History of the Great Plague in London. " Theyear of the plague was 1665. ]

JONATHAN SWIFT

 Born in 1667, died in 1745; educated at Trinity College, Dublin; became secretary to Sir William Temple in 1688; held small livings in Ireland in 1700 and other years; lived mostly in London from 1701 to 1710, when he abandoned the Whigs and became a Tory; appointed by Queen Anne dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, in 1713; intimate with Bolingbroke, Addison, Steele and Pope; published "Gulliver's Travels" in 1726; his mind clouded in later years, and in 1741 he was put under restraint. 

I

ON PRETENSE IN PHILOSOPHERS[110]

I was received very kindly by the warden, and went for many days tothe academy. Every room hath in it one or more projectors, and Ibelieve I could not be in fewer than five hundred rooms. 

The first man I saw was of a meager aspect, with sooty hands and face, his hair and beard long, ragged, and singed in several places. Hisclothes, shirt, and skin were all of the same color. He had been eightyears upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, whichwere to be put into phials hermetically sealed, and let out to warmthe air in raw inclement summers. He told me he did not doubt in eightyears more that he should be able to supply the governor's gardenswith sunshine at a reasonable rate; but he complained that his stockwas low, and entreated me to give him something as an encouragementto ingenuity, especially since this had been a very dear season forcucumbers. I made him a small present, for my lord had furnished mewith money on purpose, because he knew their practise of begging fromall who go to see them. 

I saw another at work to calcine ice into gunpowder, who likewiseshewed me a treatise he had written concerning the malleability offire, which he intended to publish. 

There was a most ingenious architect, who had contrived a new methodfor building houses, by beginning at the roof, and working downwardsto the foundation; which he justified to me by the like practise ofthose two prudent insects, the bee and the spider. 

There was an astronomer who had undertaken to place a sun-dial uponthe great weather-cock on the town-house, by adjusting the annual anddiurnal motions of the earth and sun, so as to answer and coincidewith all accidental turning of the winds. 

We crossed a walk to the other part of the academy, where, as I havealready said, the projectors in speculative learning resided. 

The first professor I saw was in a very large room, with forty pupilsabout him. After salutation, observing me to look earnestly upon aframe which took up the greatest part of both the length and breadthof the room, he said, perhaps I might wonder to see him employed in aproject for improving speculative knowledge by practical andmechanical operations. But the world would soon be sensible of itsusefulness, and he flattered himself that a more noble, exaltedthought never sprang in any other man's head. Every one knew howlaborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences;whereas by his contrivance, the most ignorant person, at a reasonablecharge, and with a little bodily labor, may write books in philosophy, poetry, politics, law, mathematics, and theology, without the leastassistance from genius or study. He then led me to the frame, aboutthe sides whereof all his pupils stood in ranks. It was twenty feetsquare, placed in the middle of the room. The superficies was composedof several bits of wood, about the bigness of a die, but some largerthan others. They were all linked together by slender wires. Thesebits of wood were covered on every square with paper pasted on them;and on these papers were written all the words of their language intheir several moods, tenses, and declensions, but without any order. The professor then desired me to observe, for he was going to set hisengine at work. The pupils, at his command, took each of them hold ofan iron handle, whereof there were forty fixt round the edges of theframe, and giving them a sudden turn, the whole disposition of thewords was entirely changed. He then commanded six-and-thirty of thelads to read the several lines softly as they appeared upon the frame;and where they found three or four words together that might make partof a sentence, they dictated to the four remaining boys, who werescribes. This work was repeated three or four times, and at every turnthe engine was so contrived that the words shifted into new places asthe square bits of wood moved upside down. Six hours a day the youngstudents were employed in this labor; and the professor shewed meseveral volumes in large folio, already collected of broken sentences, which he intended to piece together, and out of those rich materialsgive the world a complete body of all arts and sciences. 

We next went to the school of languages, where three professors sat inconsultation upon improving that of their own country. 

The first project was to shorten discourse by cutting polysyllablesinto one, and leaving out verbs and participles; because, in reality, all things imaginable are but nouns. The other was a scheme forentirely abolishing all words whatsoever; and this was urged as agreat advantage in point of health as well as brevity; for, it isplain that every word we speak is in some degree a diminution of ourlungs by corrosion, and consequently contributes to the shortening ofour lives. An expedient was therefore offered, that since words areonly names for things, it would be more convenient for all men tocarry about them such things as were necessary to express theparticular business they are to discourse on. And this invention wouldcertainly have taken place, to the great ease as well as health of thesubject, if the women, in conjunction with the vulgar and illiterate, had not threatened to raise a rebellion, unless they might be allowedthe liberty to speak with their tongues, after the manner of theirforefathers; such constant irreconcilable enemies to science are thecommon people. 

Another great advantage proposed by this invention was, that it wouldserve as a universal language to be understood in all civilizednations, whose goods and utensils are generally of the same kind, ornearly resembling, so that their uses might easily be comprehended. And thus ambassadors would be qualified to treat with foreign princesor ministers of state, to whose tongues they were utter strangers. 

I was at the mathematical school, where the master taught his pupilsafter a method scarce imaginable to us in Europe. The proposition anddemonstration were fairly written on a thin wafer, with ink composedof a cephalic tincture. This the student was to swallow upon a fastingstomach, and for three days following eat nothing but bread and water. As the wafer digested, the tincture mounted to his brain, bearing theproposition along with it. But the success hath not hitherto beenanswerable, partly by some error in the quantum or composition, andpartly by the perverseness of lads, to whom this bolus is so nauseousthat they generally steal aside, and discharge it upward before it canoperate; neither have they been yet persuaded to use so long anabstinence as the prescription requires. 

In the school of political projectors I was but ill entertained, theprofessors appearing in my judgment wholly out of their senses, whichis a scene that never fails to make me melancholy. These unhappypeople were proposing schemes for persuading monarchs to choosefavorites upon the score of their wisdom, capacity and virtue; ofteaching ministers to consult the public good; of rewarding merit, great abilities, and eminent services; of instructing princes to knowtheir true interest, by placing it on the same foundation with thatof their people; of choosing for employments persons qualified toexercise them; with many other wild impossible chimeras that neverentered before into the heart of man to conceive, and confirmed in methe old observation, that there is nothing so extravagant andirrational which some philosophers have not maintained for truth. 

II

ON THE HOSPITALITY OF THE VULGAR[111]

Those inferior duties of life which the French call _les petitesmorales_, or the smaller morals, are with us distinguished by the nameof good manners or breeding. This I look upon, in the general notionof it, to be a sort of artificial good sense, adapted to the meanestcapacities, and introduced to make mankind easy in their commerce witheach other. Low and little understandings, without some rules of thiskind, would be perpetually wandering into a thousand indecencies andirregularities in behavior; and in their ordinary conversation, fallinto the same boisterous familiarities that one observeth amongst themwhen a debauch hath quite taken away the use of their reason. In otherinstances, it is odd to consider, that for want of common discretion, the very end of good breeding is wholly perverted; and civility, intended to make us easy, is employed in laying chains and fettersupon us, in debarring us of our wishes, and in crossing our mostreasonable desires and inclinations. 

This abuse reigneth chiefly in the country, as I found to my vexation, when I was last there, in a visit I made to a neighbor about two milesfrom my cousin. As soon as I entered the parlor, they put me into thegreat chair that stood close by a huge fire, and kept me there byforce until I was almost stifled. Then a boy came in great hurry topull off my boots, which I in vain opposed, urging that I must returnsoon after dinner. In the meantime, the good lady whispered her eldestdaughter, and slipt a key into her hand. The girl returned instantlywith a beer-glass half full of _aqua mirabilis_ and syrup ofgillyflowers. I took as much as I had a mind for; but madam vowed Ishould drink it off--for she was sure it would do me good, aftercoming out of the cold air--and I was forced to obey; which absolutelytook away my stomach. When dinner came in, I had a mind to sit at adistance from the fire; but they told me it was as much as my life wasworth, and set me with my back just against it. Altho my appetite wasquite gone, I resolved to force down as much as I could; and desiredthe leg of a pullet. "Indeed, Mr. Bickerstaff, " says the lady, "youmust eat a wing to oblige me"; and so put a couple upon my plate. Iwas persecuted at this rate during the whole meal. As often as Icalled for small beer, the master tipped the wink, and the servantbrought me a brimmer of October. Some time after dinner, I ordered mycousin's man, who came with me, to get ready the horses, but it wasresolved I should not stir that night; and when I seemed pretty muchbent upon going, they ordered the stable door to be locked; and thechildren hid my cloak and boots. The next question was, what I wouldhave for supper, I said I never ate anything at night; but was atlast, in my own defense, obliged to name the first thing that cameinto my head. After three hours spent chiefly in apologies for myentertainment, insinuating to me, "that this was the worst time of theyear for provisions; that they were at a great distance from anymarket; that they were afraid I should be starved; and that they knewthey kept me to my loss, " the lady went and left me to herhusband--for they took special care I should never be alone. As soonas her back was turned, the little misses ran backward and forwardevery moment; and constantly as they came in or went out, made acourtesy directly at me, which in good manners I was forced to returnwith a bow, and, "Your humble servant, pretty miss. " Exactly at eightthe mother came up, and discovered by the redness of her face thatsupper was not far off. 

It was twice as large as the dinner, and my persecution doubled inproportion. I desired at my usual hour to go to my repose, and wasconducted to my chamber by the gentleman, his lady, and the wholetrain of children. They importuned me to drink something before I wentto bed; and upon my refusing, at last left a bottle of stingo, as theycalled it, for fear I should wake and be thirsty in the night. I wasforced in the morning to rise and dress myself in the dark, becausethey would not suffer my kinsman's servant to disturb me at the hour Idesired to be called. I was now resolved to break through all measuresto get away; and after sitting down to a monstrous breakfast of coldbeef, mutton, neats'-tongues, venison-pasty, and stale beer, tookleave of the family. But the gentleman would needs see me part of myway, and carry me a short-cut through his own grounds, which he toldme would save half a mile's riding. This last piece of civility hadlike to have cost me dear, being once or twice in danger of my neck, by leaping over his ditches, and at last forced to alight in the dirt;when my horse, having slipt his bridle, ran away and took us up morethan an hour to recover him again. It is evident that none of theabsurdities I met with in this visit proceeded from an ill intention, but from a wrong judgment of complaisance, and a misapplication in therules of it. 

III

THE ART OF LYING IN POLITICS[112]

I am prevailed on, through the importunity of friends, to interruptthe scheme I had begun in my last paper, by an essay upon the Art ofPolitical Lying. We are told the devil is the father of lies, and wasa liar from the beginning; so that, beyond contradiction, theinvention is old: and, which is more, his first essay of it waspurely political, employed in undermining the authority of his prince, and seducing a third part of the subjects from their obedience: forwhich he was driven down from heaven, where (as Milton expresses it)he had been viceroy of a great western province; and forced toexercise his talent in inferior regions among other fallen spirits, poor or deluded men, whom he still daily tempts to his own sin, andwill ever do so, till he be chained in the bottomless pit. 

But altho the devil be the father of lies, he seems, like other greatinventors, to have lost much of his reputation, by the continualimprovements that have been made upon him. 

Who first reduced lying into an art, and adapted it to politics, isnot so clear from history, altho I have made some diligent inquiries. I shall therefore consider it only according to the modern system, asit has been cultivated these twenty years past in the southern part ofour own island. 

The poets tell us, that after the giants were overthrown by the gods, the earth in revenge produced her last offspring', which was Fame. Andthe fable is thus interpreted: that when tumults and seditions arequieted, rumors and false reports are plentifully spread through anation. So that, by this account, lying is the last relief of arouted, earth-born, rebellious party in a state. But here the Modernshave made great additions, applying this art to the gaining of powerand preserving it, as well as revenging themselves after they havelost it; as the same instruments are made use of by animals to feedthemselves when they are hungry, and to bite those that tread uponthem. 

But the same genealogy can not always be admitted for political lying;I shall therefore desire to refine upon it, by adding somecircumstances of its birth and parents. A political lie is sometimesborn out of a discarded statesman's head, and thence delivered to benursed and dandled by the rabble. Sometimes it is produced a monster, and licked into shape; at other times it comes into the worldcompletely formed, and is spoiled in the licking. It is often born aninfant in the regular way, and requires time to mature it; and oftenit sees the light in its full growth, but dwindles away by degrees. Sometimes it is of noble birth; and sometimes the spawn of astockjobber. Here it screams aloud at the opening of the womb; andthere it is delivered with a whisper. I know a lie that now disturbshalf the kingdom with its noise, which, altho too proud and great atpresent to own its parents, I can remember its whisperhood. Toconclude the nativity of this monster; when it comes into the worldwithout a sting, it is stillborn; and whenever it loses its sting, itdies. 

No wonder if an infant so miraculous in its birth should be destinedfor great adventures; and accordingly we see it hath been the guardianspirit of a prevailing party for almost twenty years. It can conquerkingdoms without fighting, and sometimes with the loss of a battle. Itgives and resumes employments; can sink a mountain to a molehill, andraise a molehill to a mountain; hath presided for many years atcommittees of elections; can wash a blackamoor white; make a saint ofan atheist, and a patriot of a profligate; can furnish foreignministers with intelligence and raise or let fall the credit of thenation. This goddess flies with a huge looking-glass in her hands, todazzle the crowd, and make them see, according as she turns it, theirruin in their interest, and their interest in their ruin. In thisglass you will behold your best friends, clad in coats powdered withfleurs-de-lis, and triple crowns; their girdles hung round withchains, and beads, and wooden shoes; and your worst enemies adornedwith the ensigns of liberty, property, indulgence, moderation, and acornucopia in their hands. Her large wings, like those of a flyingfish, are of no use but while they are moist; she therefore dips themin mud, and soaring aloft scatters it in the eyes of the multitude, flying with great swiftness; but at every turn is forced to stoop indirty ways for new supplies. 

I have been sometimes thinking, if a man had the art of the secondsight for seeing lies, as they have in Scotland for seeing spirits, how admirably he might entertain himself in this town by observing thedifferent shapes, sizes, and colors of those swarms of lies which buzzabout the heads of some people, like flies about a horses' ears insummer; or those legions hovering every afternoon in Exchange alley, enough to darken the air; or over a club of discontented grandees, andthence sent down in cargoes to be scattered at elections. 

IV

A MEDITATION UPON A BROOMSTICK[113]

This single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in thatneglected corner, I once knew in a flourishing state in a forest. Itwas full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs; but now in vaindoes the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying thatwithered bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk; it is now at best butthe reverse of what it was, a tree turned upside down, the branches onthe earth, and the root in the air; it is now handled by every dirtywench, condemned to do her drudgery, and, by a capricious kind offate, destined to make other things clean, and be nasty itself; atlength, worn to the stumps in the service of the maids, it is eitherthrown out-of-doors, or condemned to the last use of kindling a fire. When I beheld this I sighed, and said within myself, "Surely mortalman is a broomstick!" Nature sent him into the world strong and lusty, in a thriving condition, wearing his own hair on his head, the properbranches of this reasoning vegetable, till the ax of intemperance haslopped off his green boughs, and left him a withered trunk; he thenflies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon an unnaturalbundle of hairs, all covered with powder, that never grew on his head;but now should this our broomstick pretend to enter the scene, proudof those birchen spoils it never bore, and all covered with dust, through the sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, we should be aptto ridicule and despise its vanity. Partial judges that we are of ourown excellences, and other men's defaults!

But a broomstick, perhaps you will say, is an emblem of a treestanding on its head; and pray what is a man but a topsy-turvycreature, his animal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head where his heels should be, groveling on the earth? And yet, with all his faults, he sets up to be a universal reformer andcorrector of abuses, a remover of grievances; rakes into every slut'scorner of nature, bringing hidden corruptions to the light; and raisesa mighty dust where there was none before, sharing deeply all thewhile in the very same pollutions he pretends to sweep away. His lastdays are spent in slavery to women, and generally the least deserving;till, worn to the stumps, like his brother besom, he is either kickedout-of-doors, or made use of to kindle flames for others to warmthemselves by. 

V

GULLIVER AMONG THE GIANTS[114]

My mistress had a daughter of nine years old, a child of towardlyparts for her age, very dexterous at her needle, and skilful indressing her baby. Her mother and she contrived to fit up the baby'scradle for me against night; the cradle was put into a small drawer ofa cabinet, and the drawer placed upon a hanging shelf for fear of therats. This was my bed all the time I stayed with those people; thomade more convenient by degrees, as I began to learn their languageand make my wants known. This young girl was so handy, that after Ihad once or twice pulled off my clothes before her, she was able todress and undress me; tho I never gave her that trouble when she wouldlet me do either myself. She made me seven shirts, and some otherlinen, of as fine cloth as could be got, which indeed was coarser thansackcloth; and these she constantly washed for me with her own hands. She was likewise my schoolmistress, to teach me the language: when Ipointed to anything, she told me the name of it in her own tongue; sothat in a few days I was able to call for whatever I had a mind to. She was very good-natured, and not above forty feet high, beinglittle for her age. She gave me the name of Grildrig, which the familytook up, and afterwards the whole kingdom. The word imports what theLatins call _homunculus_, the Italians _homunceletino_, and theEnglish _mannikin_. To her I chiefly owe my preservation in thatcountry; we never parted while I was there: I called her my_Glumdalclitch_, or little nurse; and should be guilty of greatingratitude if I omitted this honorable mention of her care andaffection toward me, which I heartily wish it lay in my power torequite as she deserves, instead of being the innocent but unhappyinstrument of her disgrace, as I have too much reason to fear. 

It now began to be known and talked of in the neighborhood that mymaster had found a strange animal in the field, about the bigness of a_splacnuck_, but exactly shaped in every part like a human creature, which it likewise imitated in all its actions: seemed to speak in alittle language of its own, had already learned several words oftheirs, went erect upon two legs, was tame and gentle, would come whenit was called, do whatever it was bid, had the finest limbs in theworld, and a complexion fairer than a nobleman's daughter of threeyears old. 

Another farmer who lived hard by, and was a particular friend of mymaster, came on a visit on purpose to inquire into the truth of thisstory. I was immediately produced and placed upon a table, where Iwalked as I was commanded, drew my hanger, put it up again, made myreverence to my master's guest, asked him in his own language how hedid, and told him he was welcome--just as my little nurse hadinstructed me. This man who was old and dim-sighted, put on hisspectacles to behold me better; at which I could not forbear laughingvery heartily, for his eyes appeared like the full moon shining into achamber at two windows. Our people, who discovered the cause of mymirth, bore me company in laughing; at which the old fellow was foolenough to be angry and out of countenance. He had the character of agreat miser; and to my misfortune, he well deserved it, by the cursedadvice he gave my master to show me as a sight upon a market-day inthe next town, which was half an hour's riding, about two-and-twentymiles from our house. I guessed there was some mischief contrivingwhen I observed my master and his friend whispering long together, sometimes pointing at me; and my fears made me fancy that I overheardand understood some of their words. 

But the next morning Glumdalclitch, my little nurse, told me the wholematter, which she had cunningly picked out from her mother. The poorgirl laid me on her bosom, and fell a-weeping with shame and grief. She apprehended some mischief would happen to me from rude vulgarfolks, who might squeeze me to death, or break one of my limbs bytaking me in their hands. She had also observed how modest I was in mynature, how nicely I regarded my honor, and what an indignity I shouldconceive it to be exposed for money as a public spectacle to themeanest of the people. She said her papa and mama had promised thatGrildrig should be hers; but now she found they meant to serve her asthey did last year, when they pretended to give her a lamb, and yet, as soon as it was fat, sold it to a butcher. For my own part, I maytruly affirm that I was less concerned than my nurse. I had a stronghope, which never left me, that I should one day recover my liberty:and as to the ignominy of being carried about for a monster, Iconsidered myself to be a perfect stranger in the country, and thatsuch a misfortune could never be charged upon me as a reproach if everI should return to England, since the King of Great Britain himself, in my condition, must have undergone the same distress. 

My master, pursuant to the advice of his friend, carried me in a boxthe next market-day to the neighboring town, and took along with himhis little daughter, my nurse, upon a pillion behind him. The box wasclose on every side, with a little door for me to go in and out, and afew gimlet-holes to let in air. The girl had been so careful as to putthe quilt of her baby's bed into it for me to lie down on. However, Iwas terribly shaken and discomposed in this journey, tho it were butof half an hour; for the horse went about forty feet at every step, and trotted so high that the agitation was equal to the rising andfalling of a ship in a great storm, but much more frequent. Ourjourney was somewhat farther than from London to St. Alban's. Mymaster alighted at an inn which he used to frequent; and afterconsulting a while with the innkeeper, and making some necessarypreparations, he hired the "grultrud, " or crier, to give noticethrough the town of a strange creature to be seen at the sign of theGreen Eagle, not so big as a splacnuck (an animal in that countryvery finely shaped, about six feet long), and in every part of thebody resembling a human creature--could speak several words, andperform a hundred diverting tricks. 

I was placed upon a table in the largest room of the inn, which mightbe near three hundred feet square. My little nurse stood on a lowstool close to the table, to take care of me and direct what I shoulddo. My master, to avoid a crowd, would suffer only thirty people at atime to see me. I walked about on the table as the girl commanded; sheasked me questions as far as she knew my understanding of the languagereached, and I answered them as loud as I could. I turned aboutseveral times to the company, paid my humble respects, said "they werewelcome, " and used some other speeches I had been taught. I took up athimble filled with liquor, which Glumdalclitch had given me for acup, and drank their health. I drew out my hanger, and flourished withit after the manner of fencers in England. My nurse gave me a part ofa straw, which I exercised as a pike, having learned the art in myyouth. I was that day shown to twelve sets of company, and as oftenforced to act over again the same fopperies, till I was half dead withweariness and vexation; for those who had seen me made such wonderfulreports that the people were ready to break down the doors to come in. My master, for his own interest, would not suffer any one to touch meexcept my nurse; and to prevent danger, benches were set round thetable at such a distance as to put me out of everybody's teach. However, an unlucky schoolboy aimed a hazel-nut directly at my head, which very narrowly missed me; otherwise it came with so much violencethat it would have infallibly knocked out my brains, for it was almostas large as a small pumpion: but I had the satisfaction to see theyoung rogue well beaten and turned out of the room. .. . 

My master's design was to show me in all the towns by the way; and tostep out of the road, for fifty or a hundred miles, to any village orperson of quality's house where he might expect custom. We made easyjourneys, of not above seven or eight score miles a day; forGlumdalclitch, on purpose to spare me, complained she was tired withthe trotting of the horse. She often took me out of my box, at my owndesire, to give me air and show me the country; but always held mefast by a leading-string. We passed over five or six rivers, manydegrees broader and deeper than the Nile or the Ganges; and there washardly a rivulet so small as the Thames at London Bridge. We were tenweeks in our journey, and I was shown in eighteen large towns, besidesmany villages and private families. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 110: From the description of the Academy of Lagade in"Gulliver's Travels. "]

[Footnote 111: From No. 1 of "The Tatler. "]

[Footnote 112: From "The Examiner. "]

[Footnote 113: This essay is a satire on the writings of RobertBoyle. ]

[Footnote 114: From "Gulliver's Travels. " At this point in the storyGulliver, shipwrecked in the country of Brobdingnag, had by the farmerwho found him been given as a plaything to his little daughterGlumdalclitch, who, altho only nine years old, was forty feet tall. ]

JOSEPH ADDISON

 Born in 1672, died in 1719; educated at Oxford, where he wrote a Latin poem which brought him a pension of three hundred pounds; traveled on the Continent in 1699-1703; Under-secretary of State in 1706; Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1709; Secretary for Ireland in 1715; Secretary of State in 1717; married the Countess of Warwick in 1716; for his periodical _The Spectator_, published daily from March 1st, 1711, to December 6th, 1712, wrote 274 papers; including the Sir Roger de Coverley papers; author of many other writings, among which "Cato: A Tragedy" is notable. 

I

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY[115]

When I am in a serious humor, I very often walk by myself inWestminster Abbey; where the gloominess of the place, and the use towhich it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and thecondition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with akind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is notdisagreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tombstones andinscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that hewas born upon one day, and died upon another: the whole history of hislife being comprehended in those two circumstances, that are commonto all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers ofexistence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon thedeparted persons, who had left no other memorial of them, but thatthey were born and that they died. They put one in mind of severalpersons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have soundingnames given them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, andare celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the head. 

 Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque. 

--VIRG. 

The life of these men is finely described in Holy Writ by "the path ofan arrow, " which is immediately closed up and lost. 

Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the diggingof a grave; and saw, in every shovelful of it that was thrown up, thefragment of a bone or skull intermixt with a kind of fresh molderingearth that some time or other had a place in the composition of ahuman body. Upon this I began to consider with myself, whatinnumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under thepavement of that ancient cathedral; how men and women, friends andenemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbledamongst one another, and blended together in the same common mass; howbeauty, strength and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, layundistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter. 

And having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, as it werein the lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts which Ifound on several of the monuments which are raised in every quarter ofthat ancient fabric. Some of them were covered with such extravagantepitaphs, that, if it were possible for the dead person to beacquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friendshave bestowed upon him. There are others so excessively modest, thatthey deliver the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth. In thepoetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, andmonuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, that the present warhad filled the church with many of these uninhabited monuments, whichhad been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were perhapsburied in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. 

I could not but be very much delighted with several modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and justness ofthought, and therefore do honor to the living as well as to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the ignorance orpoliteness of a nation from the turn of their public monuments andinscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men oflearning and genius before they are put in execution. Sir CloudesleyShovel's monument has very often given me great offense; instead ofthe brave, rough English Admiral, which was the distinguishingcharacter of that plain, gallant man, he is represented on his tomb bythe figure of a beau, drest in a long periwig, and reposing himselfupon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. The inscription isanswerable to the monument; for instead of celebrating the manyremarkable actions he had performed in the service of his country, itacquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it wasimpossible for him to reap any honor. The Dutch, whom we are apt todespise for want of genius, show an infinitely greater taste ofantiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments oftheir admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves; and are adorned with rostral crownsand naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, andcoral. 

But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of ourEnglish kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall findmy mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know thatentertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismalthoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations: but for my ownpart, tho I am always serious, I do not know what it is to bemelancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep andsolemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay anddelightful ones. By this means, I can improve myself with thoseobjects which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombsof the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read theepitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when Imeet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts withcompassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I considerthe vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when Isee kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival witsplaced side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with theircontests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on thelittle competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read theseveral dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some sixhundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of usbe contemporaries, and make our appearance together. 

II

WILL HONEYCOMB AND HIS MARRIAGE[116]

My friend Will Honeycomb values himself very much upon what he callsthe knowledge of mankind, which has cost him many disasters in hisyouth; for Will reckons every misfortune that he has met with amongthe women, and every encounter among the men, as parts of hiseducation, and fancies he should never have been the man he is, had henot broke windows, knocked down constables, disturbed honest peoplewith his midnight serenades, and beat up Phryne'e quarters, when hewas a young fellow. The engaging in adventures of this nature, Willcalls the studying of mankind, and terms this knowledge of the town, the knowledge of the world. Will ingenuously confesses, that for halfhis life his head ached every morning with reading of men over night;and at present comforts himself under sundry infirmities with thereflection that without them he could not have been acquainted withthe gallantries of the age. This Will looks upon as the learning of agentleman, and regards all other kinds of science as theaccomplishments of one whom he calls a scholar, a bookish man, or aphilosopher. 

For these reasons Will shines in a mixed company, where he has thediscretion not to go out of his depth, and has often a certain way ofmaking his real ignorance appear a seeming one. Our club, however, hasfrequently caught him tripping, at which times they never spare him. For as Will often insults us with the knowledge of the town, wesometimes take our revenge upon him by our knowledge of books. 

He was last week producing two or three letters which he writ in hisyouth to a coquette lady. The raillery of them was natural, and wellenough for a mere man of the town; but very unluckily, several of thewords were wrong spelt. Will laughed this off at first as well as hecould; but finding himself pushed on all sides, and especially by theTemplar, he told us with a little passion that he never liked pedantryin spelling, and that he spelt like a gentleman and not like ascholar: upon this Will had recourse to his old topic of showing thenarrow-spiritedness, the pride and ignorance, of pedants; which hecarried so far, that, upon my retiring to my lodgings, I could notforbear throwing together such reflections as occurred to me uponthat subject. 

A man who has been brought up among books, and is able to talk ofnothing else, is a very indifferent companion, and what we call apedant. But, methinks, we should enlarge the title, and give it toevery one that does not know how to think out of his profession andparticular way of life. 

What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town? Bar him theplay-houses, a catalog of the reigning beauties, and an account of afew fashionable distempers that have befallen him, and you strike himdumb. How many a pretty gentleman's knowledge lies all within theverge of the court! He will tell you the names of the principalfavorites, repeat the shrewd sayings of a man of quality, whisper anintrigue that is not yet blown upon by common fame; or, if the sphereof his observation is a little larger than ordinary, will perhapsenter into all the incidents, turns, and revolutions in a game ofombre. When he has gone thus far, he has shown you the whole circle ofhis accomplishments, his parts are drained, and he is disabled fromany further conversation. What are these but rank pedants? and yetthese are the men who value themselves most on their exemption fromthe pedantry of colleges. 

I might here mention the military pedant, who always talks in a camp, and is storming towns, making lodgments, and fighting battles from oneend of the year to the other. Everything he speaks smells ofgunpowder: if you take away his artillery from him, he has not a wordto say for himself. I might likewise mention the law pedant, that isperpetually putting eases, repeating the transactions of WestminsterHall, wrangling with you upon the most indifferent circumstances oflife, and not to be convinced of the distance of a place, or of themost trivial point in conversation, but by dint of argument. The statepedant is wrapt up in news, and lost in politics. If you mentioneither of the kings of Spain or Poland, he talks very notably; but ifyou go out of the Gazette, you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, amere soldier, a mere scholar, a mere anything, is an insipid pedanticcharacter, and equally ridiculous. 

Of all the species of pedants which I have mentioned, the book pedantis much the most supportable: he has at least an exercisedunderstanding, and a head which is full tho confused, so that a manwho converses with him may often receive from him hints of things thatare worth knowing, and what he may possibly turn to his own advantage, tho they are of little use to the owner. The worst kind of pedantsamong learned men are such as are naturally endowed with a very smallshare of common sense, and have read a great number of books withouttaste or distinction. .. . 

My friend Will Honeycomb, who was so unmercifully witty upon thewomen, in a couple of letters which I lately communicated to thepublic, has given the ladies ample satisfaction by marrying a farmer'sdaughter; a piece of news which came to our club by the last post. TheTemplar is very positive that he has married a dairymaid; but Will, inhis letter to me on this occasion, sets the best face upon the matterthat he can, and gives a more tolerable account of his spouse. I mustconfess I suspected something more than ordinary, when upon openingthe letter I found that Will was fallen off from his former gaiety, having changed Dear Spec, which was his usual salute at the beginningof the letter, into "_My worthy friend_, " and subscribed himself atthe latter end of it, at full length, William Honeycomb. In short, thegay, the loud, the vain Will Honeycomb, who had made love to everygreat fortune that has appeared in town for above thirty yearstogether, and boasted of favors from ladies whom he had never seen, isat length wedded to a plain country girl. 

His letter gives us the picture of a converted rake. The sobercharacter of the husband is dashed with the man of the town, andenlivened with those little cant phrases which have made my friendWill often thought very pretty company. But let us hear what he saysfor himself. 

MY WORTHY FRIEND. 

 I question not but you, and the rest of my acquaintance, wonder that I, who have lived in the smoke and gallantries of the town for thirty years together, should all on a sudden grow fond of a country life. Had not my dog of a steward run away as he did, without making up his accounts, I had still been immersed in sin and sea-coal. But since my late forced visit to my estate, I am so pleased with it, that I am resolved to live and die upon it. I am every day abroad among my acres, and can scarce forbear filling my letter with breezes, shades, flowers, meadows, and purling streams. The simplicity of manners which I have heard you so often speak of, and which appears here in perfection, charms me wonderfully. As an instance of it, I must acquaint you, and by your means the whole club, that I have lately married one of my tenants' daughters. She is born of honest parents, and tho she has no portion she has a great deal of virtue. The natural sweetness and innocence of her behavior, the freshness of her complexion, the unaffected turn of her shape and person, shot me through and through every time I saw her, and did more execution upon me in grogram than the greatest beauty in town or court had ever done in brocade. In short, she is such a one as promises me a good heir to my estate; and if by her means I can not leave to my children what are falsely called the gifts of birth, high titles and alliances, I hope to convey to them the more real and valuable gifts of birth, strong bodies and healthy constitutions. As for your fine women, I need not tell thee that I know them. I have had my share in their graces, but no more of that. It shall be my business hereafter to live the life of an honest man, and to act as becomes the master of a family. I question not but I shall draw upon me the raillery of the town, and be treated to the tune of "_The Marriage-hater match'd_"; but I am prepared for it. I have been as witty upon others in my time. To tell thee truly, I saw such a tribe of fashionable young fluttering coxcombs shot up, that I did not think my post of an _homme de ruelle_ any longer tenable. I felt a certain stiffness in my limbs, which entirely destroyed that jauntiness of air I was once master of. Besides, for I may now confess my age to thee, I have been eight and forty above these twelve years. Since my retirement into the country will make a vacancy in the club, I could wish you would fill up my place with my friend Tom Dapperwit. He has an infinite deal of fire, and knows the town. For my own part, as I have said before, I shall endeavor to live hereafter suitable to a man in my station, as a prudent head of a family, a good husband, a careful father (when it shall so happen), and as

Your most sincere friend and humble servant, WILLIAM HONEYCOMB. 

III

PRIDE OF BIRTH[117]

Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and indeed the greatest writers in almostevery age, have exposed with all the strength of wit and good sense, the vanity of a man's valuing himself upon his ancestors, andendeavored to show that true nobility consists in virtue, not inbirth. With submission, however, to so many great authorities, I thinkthey have pushed this matter a little too far. We ought in gratitudeto honor the posterity of those who have raised either the interest orreputation of their country, and by whose labors we ourselves are morehappy, wise, or virtuous than we should have been without them. Besides, naturally speaking, a man bids fairer for greatness of soul, who is the descendant of worthy ancestors, and has good blood in hisveins, than one who is come of an ignoble and obscure parentage. Forthese reasons, I think a man of merit, who is derived from anillustrious line, is very justly to be regarded more than a man ofequal merit who has no claim to hereditary honors. Nay, I think thosewho are indifferent in themselves, and have nothing else todistinguish them but the virtues of their forefathers, are to belooked upon with a degree of veneration even upon that account, and tobe more respected than the common run of men who are of low and vulgarextraction. 

After having thus ascribed due honors to birth and parentage, I must, however, take notice of those who arrogate to themselves more honorsthan are due to them upon this account. The first are such who are notenough sensible that vice and ignorance taint the blood, and that anunworthy behavior degrades and disennobles a man in the eyes of theworld, as much as birth and family aggrandize and exalt him. 

The second are those who believe a _new_ man of an elevated merit isnot more to be honored than an insignificant and worthless man who isdescended from a long line of patriots and heroes; or, in other words, behold with contempt a person who is such a man as the first founderof their family was, upon whose reputation they value themselves. 

But I shall chiefly apply myself to those whose quality sits uppermostin all their discourses and behavior. An empty man of a great familyis a creature that is scarce conversible. You read his ancestry inhis smile, in his air, in his eyebrow. He has, indeed, nothing but hisnobility to give employment to his thoughts. Rank and precedency arethe important points which he is always discussing within himself. Agentleman of this turn began a speech in one of King Charles'sparliaments: "Sir, I had the honor to be born at a time"--upon which arough, honest gentleman took him up short, "I would fain know whatthat gentleman means: is there any one in this house that has _not_had the honor to be born as well as himself?" The good sense whichreigns in our nation has pretty well destroyed this starched behavioramong men who have seen the world, and know that every gentleman willbe treated upon a foot of equality. But there are many who have hadtheir education among women, dependents or flatterers, that lose allthe respect which would otherwise be paid them by being too assiduousin procuring it. 

My Lord Froth has been so educated in punctilio, that he governshimself by a ceremonial in all the ordinary occurrences of life. Hemeasures out his bow to the degree of the person he converses with. Ihave seen him in every inclination of the body, from a familiar nod tothe low stoop in the salutation-sign. I remember five of us, who wereacquainted with one another, met together one morning at his lodgings, when a wag of the company was saying, it would be worth while toobserve how he would distinguish us at his first entrance. Accordingly, he no sooner came into the room, but, casting his eyeabout, "My lord such a one (says he) your most humble servant. --SirRichard, your humble servant. --Your servant, Mr. Ironside. --Mr. Ducker, how do you do?--Hah! Frank, are you there?"

There is nothing more easy than to discover a man whose head is fullof his family. Weak minds that have imbibed a strong tincture of thenursery, younger brothers that have been brought up to nothing, superannuated retainers to a great house, have generally theirthoughts taken up with little else. 

I had some years ago an aunt of my own, by name Mrs. Martha Ironside, who would never marry beneath herself, and is supposed to have died amaid in fourscorth year of her age. She was the chronicle of ourfamily, and passed away the greatest part of the last forty years ofher life in recounting the antiquity, marriages, exploits, andalliances of the Ironsides. Mrs. Martha conversed generally with aknot of old virgins, who were likewise of good families, and had beenvery cruel all the beginning of the last century. They were every oneof them as proud as Lucifer, but said their prayers twice a day, andin all other respects were the best women in the world. If they saw afine petticoat at church, they immediately took to pieces the pedigreeof her that wore it, and would lift up their eyes to heaven at theconfidence of the saucy minx, when they found she was an honesttradesman's daughter. It is impossible to describe the piousindignation that would rise in them at the sight of a man who livedplentifully on an estate of his own getting. They were transportedwith zeal beyond measure, if they heard of a young woman's matchinginto a great family upon account only of her beauty, her merit, orher money. In short, there was not a female within ten miles of themthat was in possession of a gold watch, a pearl necklace, or a pieceof Mechlin lace, but they examined her title to it. 

My aunt Martha used to chide me very frequently for not sufficientlyvaluing myself. She would not eat a bit all dinner-time, if at aninvitation she found she had been seated below herself; and wouldfrown upon me for an hour together, if she saw me give place to anyman under a baronet. As I was once talking to her of a wealthy citizenwhom she had refused in her youth, she declared to me with greatwarmth, that she preferred a man of quality in his shirt to therichest man upon the change in a coach and six. She pretended that ourfamily was nearly related by the mother's side to half a dozen peers;but as none of them knew anything of the matter, we always kept it asa secret among ourselves. A little before her death, she was recitingto me the history of my forefathers; but dwelling a little longer thanordinary upon the actions of Sir Gilbert Ironside, who had a horseshot under him at Edgehill fight, I gave an unfortunate _pish_! andasked, "What was all this to me?" upon which she retired to her closetand fell a-scribbling for three hours together; in which time, as Iafterwards found, she struck me out of her will, and left all that shehad to my sister Margaret, a wheedling baggage, that used to be askingquestions about her great-grandfather from morning to night. She nowlies buried among the family of the Ironsides, with a stone over her, acquainting the reader that she died at the age of eighty years, aspinster, and that she was descended of the ancient family of theIronsides; after which follows the genealogy drawn up by her own hand. 

IV

SIR ROGER AND HIS HOME[118]

The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of ancientdescent, a baronet, his name Sir Roger de Coverley. Hisgreat-grandfather was inventor of that famous country-dance which iscalled after him. All who know that shire are very well acquaintedwith the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is verysingular in his behavior; but his singularities proceed from his goodsense, and are contradictions to the manners of the world only as hethinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humor creates him noenemies, for he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his beingunconfined to modes and forms makes him but the readier and morecapable to please and oblige all who know him. When he is in town helives in Soho Square. It is said, he keeps himself a bachelor, byreason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of thenext county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what youcall a fine gentleman; had often supped with my Lord Rochester and SirGeorge Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, andkicked Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house, for calling himyoungster. But, being ill used by the above-mentioned widow, he wasvery serious for a year and a half; and tho, his temper beingnaturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himselfand never drest afterward. He continues to wear a coat and doublet ofthe same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humors he tells us, has been in and out twelve timessince he first wore it. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both in town and country; a greatlover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful east in his behaviorthat he is rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, hisservants look satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, andthe young men are glad of his company; when he comes into a house, hecalls the servants by their names, and talks all the way up-stairs toa visit. I must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice of the _quorum_;that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities, andthree months ago gained universal applause by explaining a passage inthe Game Act. 

Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir Roger deCoverley to pass away a month with him in the country, I last weekaccompanied him thither, and am settled with him for some time at hiscountry-house, where I intend to form several of my ensuingspeculations. Sir Roger, who is very well acquainted with my humor, lets me rise and go to bed when I please; dine at his own table or inmy chamber as I think fit; sit still and say nothing without biddingme be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see him, heonly shows me at a distance: as I have been walking in his fields, Ihave observed them stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and haveheard the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for that Ihated to be stared at. 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it consists ofsober and staid persons: for, as the knight is the best master in theworld, he seldom changes his servants; and, as he is beloved by allabout him, his servants never care for leaving him; by this means hisdomestics are all in years, and grown old with their master. You wouldtake his valet-de-chambre for his brother; his butler is gray-headed;his groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen; and hiscoachman has the looks of a privy-councillor. You see the goodness ofthe master even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is keptin the stable with great care and tenderness, out of regard to hispast services, tho he has been useless for several years. 

I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy thatappeared in the countenance of these ancient domestics upon myfriend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them could not refrainfrom tears at the sight of their old master; every one of them prestforward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they werenot employed. At the same time the good old knight, with a mixture ofthe father and the master of the family, tempered the inquiries afterhis own affairs with several kind questions relating to themselves. This humanity and good-nature engages everybody to him, so that, whenhe is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good humor, andnone so much as the person whom he diverts himself with: on thecontrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it iseasy for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of allhis servants. 

My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of his fellowservants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because they have oftenheard their master talk of me as of his particular friend. 

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself in the woodsor the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever with Sir Roger, andhas lived at his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good sense and some learning, of a veryregular life and obliging conversation: he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's esteem, so that helives in the family rather as a relation than a dependent. 

I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of a humorist; and thathis virtues, as well as imperfections, are, as it were, tinged by acertain extravagance, which makes them particularly his, anddistinguishes them from those of other men. This cast of mind, as itis generally very innocent in itself, so it renders his conversationhighly agreeable, and more delightful than the same degree of senseand virtue would appear in their common or ordinary colors. As I waswalking with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man whomI have just now mentioned; and, without staying for my answer, told methat he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at his owntable; for which reason he desired a particular friend of his at theuniversity to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than muchlearning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, and ifpossible a man that understood a little about backgammon. "My friend, "says Sir Roger, "found me out this gentleman, who, besides theendowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, tho hedoes not show it. I have given him the parsonage of the parish; and, because I know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity forlife. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteemthan perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years;and, tho he does not know I have taken notice of it, has never in allthat time asked anything of me for himself, tho he is every daysoliciting me for something in behalf of one or other of my tenants, his parishioners. "

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 115: From "The Spectator, " No. 26. ]

[Footnote 116: From Nos. 105 and 530 of "The Spectator. "]

[Footnote 117: From No. 137 of "The Guardian. "]

[Footnote 118: From Nos. 2 and 106 of "The Spectator. " It has beenconjectured that the world owes to Steele rather than to Addison theoriginal conception of the character of Sir Roger, altho itsdevelopment was due more largely to Addison. ]

END OF VOLUME III