Part 4, to be called _Scala intellectus_, or _Intellectual Ladder_, was

intended to be, to use his own words, “types and models which place

before our eyes the entire process of the mind in the discovery of

truth, selecting various and remarkable instances.”

He had designed in the fifth part to give specimens of the new

philosophy; a few fragments only of this have been published. It was to

be “the fragment of interest till the principal could be raised.”

The sixth and last part was “to display a perfect system of philosophy

deduced and confirmed by a legitimate, sober, and exact inquiry

according to the method he had laid down and invented.” “To perfect

this last part,” says Bacon, “is above our powers and beyond our hopes.”

Let us return, however, for a moment to the commencement, to remark

that he concludes the introduction by an eloquent prayer that his

exertions may be rendered effectual to the attainment of truth and

happiness. But he feels his own inability, for “his days are numbered,”

to conduct mankind to the hoped for goal. It was given to him to point

out the road to the promised land; but, like Moses, after having

descried it from afar, it was denied him to enter the land to which he

had led the way.

LIFE OF HENRY VII.

The _Life of Henry VII._, published in 1622, is, in the opinion of

Hallam, “the first instance in our language of the application of

philosophy to reasoning on public events in the manner of the ancients

and the Italians. Praise upon Henry is too largely bestowed; but it was

in the nature of Bacon to admire too much a crafty and selfish policy;

and he thought also, no doubt, that so near an ancestor of his own

sovereign should not be treated with severe impartiality.”[39]

LETTERS.

His _Letters_ published in his works are numerous; they are written

in a stiff, ungraceful, formal style; but still, they frequently bear

the impress of the writer’s greatness and genius. Fragments of them

have been frequently quoted in the course of this notice; they have,

perhaps, best served to exhibit more fully the man in all the relations

of his public and private life.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS.

Amongst his miscellaneous papers there was found after his death a

remarkable prayer, which Addison deemed sufficiently beautiful to be

published in the _Tatler_[40] for Christmas, 1710. We extract a passage

or two, that may serve to illustrate Bacon’s position or his character.

“I have, though in a despised weed, procured the good of all

men. If any have been my enemies, I thought not of them, neither

hath the sun almost set upon my displeasure; but I have been as

a dove, free from superfluity of maliciousness.”

“Just are thy judgments upon me for my sins, which are more in

number than the sands of the sea, but have no proportion to

thy mercies; for what are the sands of the sea? Earth, heaven,

and all these are nothing to thy mercies.”

Addison observes of this prayer, that for elevation of thought and

greatness of expression, “it seems—rather the devotion of an angel than

a man.”

In taking leave of the life and the works of the greatest of

philosophers, and alas! the least of men, we have endeavored to present

a succinct but faithful narrative—“his glory not extenuated wherein he

was worthy, nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered” merited

obloquy with his own contemporaries and all posterity. Our endeavor has

been

Verba animi proferre et vitam impendere vero.

But his failings, great as they were, are forgotten through his

transcendent merit; his faults injured but few, and in his own time

alone; his genius has benefited all mankind. The new direction he gave

to philosophy was the indirect cause of all the modern conquests

of science over matter, or, as it were, over nature. What it has

already accomplished, and may yet effect for the whole human race, is

incalculable. Macaulay, the historian of England, has been likewise the

eloquent narrator of the progress, that owes its origin to the genius

of Francis Bacon.

“Ask a follower of Bacon,” says Macaulay, “what the new

philosophy, as it was called in the time of Charles the Second,

has effected for mankind, and his answer is ready: ‘It hath

lengthened life; it has mitigated pain; it has extinguished

diseases; it has increased the fertility of the soil; it has

given new securities to the mariner; it has furnished new arms

to the warrior; it has spanned great rivers and estuaries with

bridges of form unknown to our fathers; it has guided the

thunderbolt innocuously from heaven to earth; it has lighted up

the night with the splendor of the day; it has extended the range

of the human vision; it has multiplied the power of the human

muscle; it has accelerated motion; it has annihilated distance;

it has facilitated intercourse, correspondence, all friendly

offices, all dispatch of business; it has enabled man to descend

to the depths of the sea, to soar into the air, to penetrate

securely into the noxious recesses of the earth, to traverse the

land on cars which whirl along without horses, and the ocean in

ships which sail against the wind. These are but a part of its

fruits, and of its first-fruits. For it is a philosophy which

never rests, which has never attained, which is never perfect.

Its law is progress. A point which yesterday was invisible is its

goal to-day, and will be its starting-post to-morrow.’”[41]

ESSAYS.

I.—OF TRUTH.

What is truth? said jesting Pilate;[42] and would not stay for an

answer. Certainly, there be that delight in giddiness; and count it

a bondage to fix a belief; affecting freewill in thinking as well as

in acting. And though the sects of philosophers of that kind be gone,

yet there remain certain discoursing wits which are of the same veins,

though there be not so much blood in them as was in those of the

ancients. But it is not only the difficulty and labor which men take in

finding out of truth: nor again, that, when it is found, it imposeth

upon men’s thoughts, that doth bring lies in favor; but a natural

though corrupt love of the lie itself. One of the later schools[43] of

the Grecians examineth the matter, and is at a stand to think what

should be in it that men should love lies; where neither they make

for pleasure, as with poets; nor for advantage, as with the merchant,

but for the lie’s sake. But I cannot tell; this same truth is a naked

and open daylight, that doth not show the masks, and mummeries, and

triumphs of the world, half so stately and daintily as candle-lights.

Truth may perhaps come to the price of a pearl, that showeth best by

day, but it will not rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle,

that showeth best in varied lights. A mixture of a lie doth ever add

pleasure. Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men’s

minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations

as one would, and the like, but it would leave the minds of a number

of men poor shrunken things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and

unpleasing to themselves? One of the fathers,[44] in great severity,

called poesy “vinum dæmonum,”[45] because it filleth the imagination,

and yet it is but with the shadow of a lie. But it is not the lie that

passeth through the mind, but the lie that sinketh in, and settleth

in it, that doth the hurt, such as we spake of before. But howsoever

these things are thus in men’s depraved judgments and affections, yet

truth, which only doth judge itself, teacheth that the inquiry of

truth, which is the love-making, or wooing of it, the knowledge of

truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which

is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature. The

first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of the

sense;[46] the last was the light of reason;[47] and his sabbath work,

ever since, is the illumination of his Spirit. First, he breathed light

upon the face of the matter, or chaos; then he breathed light into

the face of man; and still he breatheth and inspireth light into the

face of his chosen. The poet[48] that beautified the sect,[49] that

was otherwise inferior to the rest, saith yet excellently well: “It

is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon

the sea; a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a

battle, and the adventures thereof below; but no pleasure is comparable

to the standing upon the vantage-ground of truth” (a hill not to be

commanded, and where the air is always clear and serene), “and to

see the errors, and wanderings, and mists, and tempests, in the vale

below;”[50] so always that this prospect be with pity, and not with

swelling or pride. Certainly it is heaven upon earth, to have a man’s

mind move in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the poles of

truth.

To pass from theological and philosophical truth to the truth of civil

business; it will be acknowledged, even by those that practise it not,

that clear and round dealing is the honor of man’s nature, and that

mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of gold and silver, which

may make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it. For these

winding and crooked courses are the goings of the serpent; which goeth

basely upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no vice that

doth so cover a man with shame, as to be found false and perfidious;

and therefore Montaigne[51] saith prettily, when he inquired the

reason why the word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an

odious charge: saith he, “If it be well weighed, to say that a man

lieth, is as much as to say that he is brave towards God and a coward

towards men. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man;” surely, the

wickedness of falsehood and breach of faith cannot possibly be so

highly expressed, as in that it shall be the last peal to call the

judgments of God upon the generations of men: it being foretold, that,

when “Christ cometh,” he shall not “find faith upon the earth.”[52]

II.—OF DEATH.[53]

Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural

fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other. Certainly,

the contemplation of death, as the wages of sin, and passage to another

world, is holy and religious; but the fear of it, as a tribute due

unto nature, is weak. Yet in religious meditations there is sometimes

mixture of vanity and of superstition. You shall read in some of the

friars’ books of mortification, that a man should think with himself,

what the pain is, if he have but his finger’s end pressed or tortured;

and thereby imagine what the pains of death are, when the whole body

is corrupted and dissolved; when many times death passeth with less

pain than the torture of a limb, for the most vital parts are not

the quickest of sense. And by him that spake only as a philosopher

and natural man, it was well said, “Pompa mortis magis terret, quam

mors ipsa.”[54] Groans and convulsions, and a discolored face, and

friends weeping, and blacks[55] and obsequies, and the like, show death

terrible. It is worthy the observing, that there is no passion in

the mind of man so weak, but it mates and masters the fear of death;

and therefore death is no such terrible enemy when a man hath so many

attendants about him that can win the combat of him. Revenge triumphs

over death; love slights it; honor aspireth to it; grief flieth to it;

fear preoccupateth it; nay, we read, after Otho the emperor had slain

himself, pity (which is the tenderest of affections) provoked many

to die out of mere compassion to their sovereign, and as the truest

sort of followers.[56] Nay, Seneca[57] adds niceness and satiety:

“Cogita quamdiu eadem feceris; mori velle, non tantum fortis, aut

miser, sed etiam fastidiosus potest.”[58] A man would die, though he

were neither valiant nor miserable, only upon a weariness to do the

same thing so oft over and over. It is no less worthy to observe, how

little alteration in good spirits the approaches of death make: for

they appear to be the same men till the last instant. Augustus Cæsar

died in a compliment: “Livia, conjugii nostri memor, vive et vale.”[59]

Tiberius in dissimulation, as Tacitus saith of him, “Jam Tiberium

vires et corpus, non dissimulatio, deserebant:”[60] Vespasian in a

jest, sitting upon the stool,[61] “Ut puto Deus fio;”[62] Galba with

a sentence, “Feri, si ex re sit populi Romani,”[63] holding forth

his neck; Septimus Severus in dispatch, “Adeste, si quid mihi restat

agendum,”[64] and the like. Certainly, the Stoics[65] bestowed too much

cost upon death, and by their great preparations made it appear more

fearful. Better, saith he, “qui finem vitæ extremum inter munera ponit

naturæ.”[66] It is as natural to die as to be born; and to a little

infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as the other. He that dies in

an earnest pursuit, is like one that is wounded in hot blood, who,

for the time, scarce feels the hurt; and therefore a mind fixed and

bent upon somewhat that is good, doth avert the dolors of death; but,

above all, believe it, the sweetest canticle is “Nunc dimittis,”[67]

when a man hath obtained worthy ends and expectations. Death hath this

also, that it openeth the gate to good fame, and extinguisheth envy:

“Extinctus amabitur idem.”[68]

III.—OF UNITY IN RELIGION.

Religion being the chief band of human society, it is a happy thing

when itself is well contained within the true band of unity. The

quarrels and divisions about religion were evils unknown to the

heathen. The reason was, because the religion of the heathen consisted

rather in rites and ceremonies, than in any constant belief; for you

may imagine what kind of faith theirs was, when the chief doctors and

fathers of their church were the poets. But the true God hath this

attribute, that he is a jealous God; and therefore his worship and

religion will endure no mixture nor partner. We shall therefore speak

a few words concerning the unity of the church; what are the fruits

thereof; what the bounds; and what the means.

The fruits of unity (next unto the well-pleasing of God, which is all

in all), are two; the one towards those that are without the church,

the other towards those that are within. For the former, it is certain

that heresies and schisms are, of all others, the greatest scandals,

yea, more than corruption of manners; for as in the natural body a

wound or solution of continuity is worse than a corrupt humor, so

in the spiritual; so that nothing doth so much keep men out of the

church, and drive men out of the church, as breach of unity; and

therefore, whensoever it cometh to that pass that one saith, “Ecce

in Deserto,”[69] another saith, “Ecce in penetralibus;”[70] that is,

when some men seek Christ in the conventicles of heretics, and others

in an outward face of a church, that voice had need continually to

sound in men’s ears, “nolite exire,” “go not out.” The doctor of the

Gentiles (the propriety of whose vocation drew him to have a special

care of those without) saith: “If a heathen[71] come in, and hear

you speak with several tongues, will he not say that you are mad?”

and, certainly, it is little better: when atheists and profane persons

do hear of so many discordant and contrary opinions in religion, it

doth avert them from the church, and maketh them “to sit down in the

chair of the scorners.”[72] It is but a light thing to be vouched in

so serious a matter, but yet it expresseth well the deformity. There

is a master of scoffing, that, in his catalogue of books of a feigned

library, sets down this title of a book, “The Morris-Dance[73] of

Heretics;” for, indeed, every sect of them hath a diverse posture, or

cringe, by themselves, which cannot but move derision in worldlings and

depraved politicians, who are apt to contemn holy things.

As for the fruit towards those that are within, it is peace, which

containeth infinite blessings; it establisheth faith; it kindleth

charity; the outward peace of the church distilleth into peace of

conscience, and it turneth the labors of writing and reading of

controversies into treatises of mortification and devotion.

Concerning the bounds of unity, the true placing of them importeth

exceedingly. There appear to be two extremes; for to certain zealots

all speech of pacification is odious. “Is it peace, Jehu?”—“What hast

thou to do with peace? turn thee behind me.”[74] Peace is not the

matter, but following, and party. Contrariwise, certain Laodiceans[75]

and lukewarm persons think they may accommodate points of religion by

middle ways, and taking part of both, and witty reconcilements, as if

they would make an arbitrament between God and man. Both these extremes

are to be avoided; which will be done if the league of Christians,

penned by our Saviour himself, were in the two cross clauses thereof

soundly and plainly expounded: “He that is not with us is against

us;”[76] and again, “He that is not against us, is with us;” that is,

if the points fundamental, and of substance in religion, were truly

discerned and distinguished from points not merely of faith, but of

opinion, order, or good intention. This is a thing may seem to many a

matter trivial, and done already; but if it were done less partially,

it would be embraced more generally.

Of this I may give only this advice, according to my small model.

Men ought to take heed of rending God’s church by two kinds of

controversies; the one is, when the matter of the point controverted is

too small and light, not worth the heat and strife about it, kindled

only by contradiction; for, as it is noted by one of the fathers,

“Christ’s coat indeed had no seam, but the church’s vesture was of

divers colors;” whereupon he saith, “In veste varietas sit, scissura

non sit,”[77] they be two things, unity and uniformity; the other is,

when the matter of the point controverted is great, but it is driven

to an over-great subtilty and obscurity, so that it becometh a thing

rather ingenious than substantial. A man that is of judgment and

understanding shall sometimes hear ignorant men differ, and know well

within himself, that those which so differ mean one thing, and yet

they themselves would never agree; and if it come so to pass in that

distance of judgment, which is between man and man, shall we not think

that God above, that knows the heart, doth not discern that frail men,

in some of their contradictions, intend the same thing, and accepteth

of both? The nature of such controversies is excellently expressed by

St. Paul, in the warning and precept that he giveth concerning the

same: “Devita profanas vocum novitates, et oppositiones falsi nominis

scientiæ.”[78] Men create oppositions which are not, and put them

into new terms, so fixed as, whereas the meaning ought to govern the

term, the term in effect governeth the meaning. There be also two

false peaces, or unities; the one, when the peace is grounded but upon

an implicit ignorance; for all colors will agree in the dark; the

other, when it is pieced up upon a direct admission of contraries in

fundamental points; for truth and falsehood, in such things, are like

the iron and clay in the toes of Nebuchadnezzar’s image;[79] they may

cleave, but they will not incorporate.

Concerning the means of procuring unity, men must beware that, in the

procuring or muniting of religious unity, they do not dissolve and

deface the laws of charity and of human society. There be two swords

amongst Christians, the spiritual and temporal, and both have their due

office and place in the maintenance of religion; but we may not take up

the third sword, which is Mahomet’s sword,[80] or like unto it; that

is, to propagate religion by wars, or, by sanguinary persecutions, to

force consciences; except it be in cases of overt scandal, blasphemy,

or intermixture of practice against the state; much less to nourish

seditions, to authorize conspiracies and rebellions, to put the sword

into the people’s hands, and the like, tending to the subversion of all

government, which is the ordinance of God; for this is but to dash the

first table against the second, and so to consider men as Christians,

as we forget that they are men. Lucretius the poet, when he beheld

the act of Agamemnon, that could endure the sacrificing of his own

daughter, exclaimed;—

“Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum.”[81]

What would he have said, if he had known of the massacre in France,[82]

or the powder treason of England?[83] He would have been seven times

more epicure and atheist than he was; for as the temporal sword is

to be drawn with great circumspection in cases of religion, so it

is a thing monstrous to put it into the hands of the common people;

let that be left unto the Anabaptists, and other furies. It was

great blasphemy when the devil said, “I will ascend and be like the

Highest;”[84] but it is greater blasphemy to personate God, and bring

him in saying, “I will descend, and be like the prince of darkness;”

and what is it better, to make the cause of religion to descend to

the cruel and execrable actions of murdering princes, butchery of

people, and subversion of states and governments? Surely, this is to

bring down the Holy Ghost, instead of the likeness of a dove, in the

shape of a vulture or raven; and to set out of the bark of a Christian

church a flag of a bark of pirates and assassins; therefore, it is most

necessary that the church by doctrine and decree, princes by their

sword, and all learnings, both Christian and moral, as by their Mercury

rod,[85] do damn and send to hell forever those facts and opinions

tending to the support of the same, as hath been already in good part

done. Surely, in counsels concerning religion, that counsel of the

apostle would be prefixed: “Ira hominis non implet justitiam Dei;”[86]

and it was a notable observation of a wise father, and no less

ingenuously confessed, that those which held and persuaded pressure of

consciences, were commonly interested therein themselves for their own

ends.

IV.—OF REVENGE.

Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more man’s nature runs

to, the more ought law to weed it out; for as for the first wrong, it

doth but offend the law, but the revenge of that wrong, putteth the

law out of office. Certainly, in taking revenge, a man is but even

with his enemy, but in passing it over, he is superior; for it is a

prince’s part to pardon; and Solomon, I am sure, saith, “It is the

glory of a man to pass by an offence.” That which is past is gone and

irrevocable, and wise men have enough to do with things present and

to come; therefore they do but trifle with themselves that labor in

past matters. There is no man doth a wrong for the wrong’s sake, but

thereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure, or honor, or the like;

therefore, why should I be angry with a man for loving himself better

than me? And if any man should do wrong merely out of ill-nature, why,

yet it is but like the thorn or briar, which prick and scratch, because

they can do no other. The most tolerable sort of revenge is for those

wrongs which there is no law to remedy; but then, let a man take heed

the revenge be such as there is no law to punish, else a man’s enemy is

still beforehand, and it is two for one. Some, when they take revenge,

are desirous the party should know whence it cometh. This is the more

generous; for the delight seemeth to be not so much in doing the hurt

as in making the party repent; but base and crafty cowards are like

the arrow that flieth in the dark. Cosmus, Duke of Florence,[87] had

a desperate saying against perfidious or neglecting friends, as if

those wrongs were unpardonable. “You shall read,” saith he, “that we

are commanded to forgive our enemies; but you never read that we are

commanded to forgive 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 to take evil also?”[88] and so of friends in a proportion.

This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds

green, which otherwise would heal and do well. Public revenges[89]

are for the most part fortunate; as that for the death of Cæsar;[90]

for the death of Pertinax; for the death of Henry the Third of

France;[91] and many more. But in private revenges it is not so; nay,

rather, vindictive persons live the life of witches, who, as they are

mischievous, so end they unfortunate.

V.—OF ADVERSITY.

It was a high speech of Seneca (after the manner of the Stoics), that

“the good things which belong to prosperity are to be wished, but

the good things that belong to adversity are to be admired.” (“Bona

rerum secundarum optabilia, adversarum mirabilia.”)[92] Certainly, if

miracles be the command over nature, they appear most in adversity.

It is yet a higher speech of his than the other (much too high for a

heathen), “It is true greatness to have in one the frailty of a man,

and the security of a God.” (“Vere magnum habere fragilitatem hominis

securitatem Dei.”)[93] This would have done better in poesy, where

transcendencies are more allowed, and the poets, indeed, have been

busy with it; for it is, in effect, the thing which is figured in

that strange fiction of the ancient poets,[94] which seemeth not to

be without mystery; nay, and to have some approach to the state of a

Christian, “that Hercules, when he went to unbind Prometheus (by whom

human nature is represented), sailed the length of the great ocean in

an earthen pot or pitcher,” lively describing Christian resolution,

that saileth in the frail bark of the flesh through the waves of the

world. But to speak in a mean, the virtue of prosperity is temperance,

the virtue of adversity is fortitude, which in morals is the more

heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament,

adversity is the blessing of the New, which carrieth the greater

benediction, and the clearer revelation of God’s favor. Yet even in the

Old Testament, if you listen to David’s harp, you shall hear as many

hearse-like airs[95] as carols; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath

labored more in describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities

of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and

adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see, in needleworks and

embroideries, it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and

solemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome

ground: judge, therefore, of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure

of the eye. Certainly, virtue is like precious odors, most fragrant

when they are incensed, or crushed; for prosperity doth best discover

vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.[96]

VI.—OF SIMULATION AND DISSIMULATION.

Dissimulation is but a faint kind of policy, or wisdom; for it asketh

a strong wit and a strong heart to know when to tell truth, and to do

it; therefore it is the weaker sort of politicians that are the great

dissemblers.

Tacitus saith, “Livia sorted well with the arts of her husband, and

dissimulation of her son;[97] attributing arts or policy to Augustus,

and dissimulation to Tiberius:” and again, when Mucianus encourageth

Vespasian to take arms against Vitellius, he saith, “We rise not

against the piercing judgment of Augustus, nor the extreme caution or

closeness of Tiberius.”[98] These properties of arts or policy, and

dissimulation or closeness, are indeed habits and faculties several,

and to be distinguished; for if a man have that penetration of judgment

as he can discern what things are to be laid open, and what to be

secreted, and what to be showed at half-lights, and to whom and when

(which indeed are arts of state, and arts of life, as Tacitus well

calleth them), to him a habit of dissimulation is a hinderance and a

poorness. But if a man cannot obtain to that judgment, then it is left

to him generally to be close, and a dissembler; for where a man cannot

choose or vary in particulars, there it is good to take the safest and

wariest way in general, like the going softly by one that cannot well

see. Certainly, the ablest men that ever were, have had all an openness

and frankness of dealing, and a name of certainty and veracity: but

then they were like horses well managed, for they could tell passing

well when to stop or turn; and at such times, when they thought the

case indeed required dissimulation, if then they used it, it came to

pass that the former opinion spread abroad, of their good faith and

clearness of dealing, made them almost invisible.

There be three degrees of this hiding and veiling of a man’s self: the

first, closeness, reservation, and secrecy; when a man leaveth himself

without observation, or without hold to be taken, what he is: the

second, dissimulation in the negative; when a man lets fall signs and

arguments, that he is not that he is: and the third, simulation in the

affirmative; when a man industriously and expressly feigns and pretends

to be that he is not.

For the first of these, secrecy, it is indeed the virtue of a

confessor; and assuredly the secret man heareth many confessions; for

who will open himself to a blab or a babbler? But if a man be thought

secret, it inviteth discovery, as the more close air sucketh in the

more open; and, as in confession, the revealing is not for worldly use,

but for the ease of a man’s heart, so secret men come to the knowledge

of many things in that kind; while men rather discharge their minds

than impart their minds. In few words, mysteries are due to secrecy.

Besides (to say truth), nakedness is uncomely, as well in mind as

body; and it addeth no small reverence to men’s manners and actions,

if they be not altogether open. As for talkers and futile persons,

they are commonly vain and credulous withal; for he that talketh what

he knoweth, will also talk what he knoweth not; therefore set it down,

that a habit of secrecy is both politic and moral: and in this part

it is good that a man’s face give his tongue leave to speak; for the

discovery of a man’s self by the tracts[99] of his countenance, is a

great weakness and betraying, by how much it is many times more marked

and believed than a man’s words.

For the second, which is dissimulation, it followeth many times upon

secrecy by a necessity; so that he that will be secret must be a

dissembler in some degree; for men are too cunning to suffer a man to

keep an indifferent carriage between both, and to be secret, without

swaying the balance on either side. They will so beset a man with

questions, and draw him on, and pick it out of him, that without an

absurd silence, he must show an inclination one way; or if he do not,

they will gather as much by his silence as by his speech. As for

equivocations, or oraculous speeches, they cannot hold out long: so

that no man can be secret, except he give himself a little scope of

dissimulation, which is, as it were, but the skirts or train of secrecy.

But for the third degree, which is simulation and false profession,

that I hold more culpable, and less politic, except it be in great and

rare matters; and, therefore, a general custom of simulation (which is

this last degree) is a vice rising either of a natural falseness, or

fearfulness, or of a mind that hath some main faults; which because a

man must needs disguise, it maketh him practise simulation in other

things, lest his hand should be out of use.

The advantages of simulation and dissimulation are three: first, to

lay asleep opposition, and to surprise; for, where a man’s intentions

are published, it is an alarum to call up all that are against them:

the second is, to reserve to a man’s self a fair retreat; for if a man

engage himself by a manifest declaration, he must go through or take

a fall: the third is, the better to discover the mind of another; for

to him that opens himself men will hardly show themselves adverse; but

will (fair) let him go on, and turn their freedom of speech to freedom

of thought; and therefore it is a good shrewd proverb of the Spaniard,

“Tell a lie, and find a troth;”[100] as if there were no way of

discovery but by simulation. There be also three disadvantages to set

it even; the first, that simulation and dissimulation commonly carry

with them a show of fearfulness, which, in any business, doth spoil the

feathers of round flying up to the mark; the second, that it puzzleth

and perplexeth the conceits of many, that, perhaps, would otherwise

coöperate with him, and makes a man walk almost alone to his own ends:

the third, and greatest, is, that it depriveth a man of one of the most

principal instruments for action, which is trust and belief. The best

composition and temperature is, to have openness in fame and opinion,

secrecy in habit, dissimulation in seasonable use, and a power to feign

if there be no remedy.

VII.—OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

The joys of parents are secret, and so are their griefs and fears;

they cannot utter the one, nor they will not utter the other. Children

sweeten labors, but they make misfortunes more bitter; they increase

the cares of life, but they mitigate the remembrance of death. The

perpetuity by generation is common to beasts; but memory, merit, and

noble works, are proper to men: and surely a man shall see the noblest

works and foundations have proceeded from childless men, which have

sought to express the images of their minds where those of their bodies

have failed; so the care of posterity is most in them that have no

posterity. They that are the first raisers of their houses are most

indulgent towards their children, beholding them as the continuance,

not only of their kind, but of their work; and so both children and

creatures.

The difference in affection of parents towards their several children

is many times unequal, and sometimes unworthy, especially in the

mother; as Solomon saith, “A wise son rejoiceth the father, but an

ungracious son shames the mother.”[101] A man shall see, where there

is a house full of children, one or two of the eldest respected, and

the youngest made wantons;[102] but in the midst some that are, as

it were, forgotten, who many times, nevertheless, prove the best.

The illiberality of parents, in allowance towards their children, is

a harmful error, makes them base, acquaints them with shifts, makes

them sort with mean company, and makes them surfeit more when they

come to plenty; and, therefore, the proof[103] is best when men keep

their authority towards their children, but not their purse. Men have

a foolish manner (both parents, and schoolmasters, and servants), in

creating and breeding an emulation between brothers during childhood,

which many times sorteth[104] to discord when they are men, and

disturbeth families.[105] The Italians make little difference between

children and nephews, or near kinsfolk; but so they be of the lump,

they care not, though they pass not through their own body; and, to

say truth, in nature it is much a like matter; insomuch that we see a

nephew sometimes resembleth an uncle or a kinsman more than his own

parent, as the blood happens. Let parents choose betimes the vocations

and courses they mean their children should take, for then they are

most flexible; and let them not too much apply themselves to the

disposition of their children, as thinking they will take best to that

which they have most mind to. It is true, that if the affection or

aptness of the children be extraordinary, then it is good not to cross

it; but generally the precept is good, “Optimum elige, suave et facile

illud faciet consuetudo.”[106]—Younger brothers are commonly fortunate,

but seldom or never where the elder are disinherited.

VIII.—OF MARRIAGE AND SINGLE LIFE.

He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for

they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or

mischief. Certainly the best works, and of greatest merit for the

public, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men, which,

both in affection and means, have married and endowed the public.

Yet it were great reason that those that have children should have

greatest care of future times, unto which they know they must transmit

their dearest pledges. Some there are who, though they lead a single

life, yet their thoughts do end with themselves, and account future

times impertinences; nay, there are some other that account wife and

children but as bills of charges; nay more, there are some foolish,

rich, covetous men, that take a pride in having no children, because

they may be thought so much the richer; for, perhaps they have heard

some talk, “Such an one is a great rich man,” and another except to

it, “Yea, but he hath a great charge of children;” as if it were an

abatement to his riches. But the most ordinary cause of a single life

is liberty, especially in certain self-pleasing and humorous minds,

which are so sensible of every restraint, as they will go near to

think their girdles and garters to be bonds and shackles. Unmarried

men are best friends, best masters, best servants; but not always best

subjects, for they are light to run away, and almost all fugitives are

of that condition. A single life doth well with churchmen, for charity

will hardly water the ground where it must first fill a pool.[107]

It is indifferent for judges and magistrates; for if they be facile

and corrupt, you shall have a servant five times worse than a wife.

For soldiers, I find the generals commonly, in their hortatives, put

men in mind of their wives and children; and I think the despising

of marriage amongst the Turks maketh the vulgar soldier more base.

Certainly, wife and children are a kind of discipline of humanity; and

single men, though they be many times more charitable, because their

means are less exhaust, yet, on the other side, they are more cruel

and hard-hearted (good to make severe inquisitors), because their

tenderness is not so oft called upon. Grave natures, led by custom,

and therefore constant, are commonly loving husbands, as was said of

Ulysses, “Vetulam suam praetulit immortalitati.”[108] Chaste women are

often proud and froward, as presuming upon the merit of their chastity.

It is one of the best bonds, both of chastity 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’s mistresses, companions for

middle age, and old men’s nurses, so as a man may have a quarrel[109]

to marry when he will; but yet he was reputed one of the wise men that

made answer to the question when a man should marry, “A young man not

yet, an elder man not at all.”[110] It is often seen that bad husbands

have very good wives; whether it be that it raiseth the price of their

husbands’ kindness when it comes, or that 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.

IX.—OF ENVY.

There be none of the affections which have been noted to fascinate or

bewitch, but love and envy. They both have vehement wishes; they frame

themselves readily into imaginations and suggestions, and they come

easily into the eye, especially upon the presence of the objects which

are the points that conduce to fascination, if any such thing there

be. We see, likewise, the Scripture calleth envy an evil eye;[111] and

the astrologers call the evil influences of the stars evil aspects;

so that still there seemeth to be acknowledged, in the act of envy, an

ejaculation, or irradiation of the eye; nay, some have been so curious

as to note that the times, when the stroke or percussion of an envious

eye doth most hurt, are, when the party envied is beheld in glory or

triumph, for that sets an edge upon envy; and besides, at such times,

the spirits of the person envied do come forth most into the outward

parts, and so meet the blow.

But, leaving these curiosities (though not unworthy to be thought on

in fit place), we will handle what persons are apt to envy others;

what persons are most subject to be envied themselves; and what is the

difference 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 is

out of hope to attain to another’s virtue, will seek to come at even

hand[112] by depressing another’s fortune.

A man that is busy and inquisitive, is commonly envious; for to know

much of other men’s matters cannot be, because all that ado may concern

his own estate; therefore, it must needs be that he taketh a kind of

play-pleasure in looking upon the fortunes of others; neither can he

that mindeth but his own business find much matter for envy; for envy

is a gadding passion, and walketh the streets, and doth not keep home:

“Non est curiosus, quin idem sit malevolus.”[113]

Men of noble birth are noted to be envious towards new men when they

rise, 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 cannot possibly mend his own case, will do what he can to

impair another’s; except these defects light upon a very brave and

heroical nature, which thinketh to make his natural wants part of his

honor; in that it should be said, “That a eunuch, or a lame man, did

such great matters,” affecting the honor of a miracle; as it was in

Narses[114] the eunuch, and Agesilaus and Tamerlane,[115] that were

lame men.

The same is the case of men that rise after calamities and

misfortunes; for they are as men fallen out with the times, and think

other men’s harms a redemption of their own sufferings.

They that desire to excel in too many matters, out of levity and

vainglory, are ever envious, for they cannot want work; it being

impossible but many, in some one of those things, should surpass them;

which was the character of Adrian the emperor, that mortally envied

poets and painters, and artificers in works, wherein he had a vein to

excel.[116]

Lastly, near kinsfolk and fellows in office, and those that have been

bred together, are more apt to envy their equals when they are raised;

for it doth upbraid unto them their own fortunes, and pointeth at them,

and cometh oftener into their remembrance, and incurreth likewise more

into the note[117] of others; and envy ever redoubleth from speech and

fame. Cain’s envy was the more vile and malignant towards his brother

Abel, because when his sacrifice was better accepted, there was nobody

to look on. Thus much for those that are apt to envy.

Concerning those that are more or less subject to envy: First, persons

of eminent virtue, when they are advanced, are less envied, for their

fortune seemeth but due unto them; and no man envieth the payment of

a debt, but rewards and liberality rather. Again, envy is ever joined

with the comparing of a man’s self; and where there is no comparison,

no envy; and therefore kings are not envied but by kings. Nevertheless,

it is to be noted, that unworthy persons are most envied at their first

coming in, and afterwards overcome it better; whereas, contrariwise,

persons of worth and merit are most envied when their fortune

continueth long; for by that time, though their virtue be the same, yet

it hath not the same lustre; for fresh men grow up that darken it.

Persons of noble blood are less envied in their rising; for it seemeth

but right done to their birth: besides, there seemeth not so much added

to their fortune; and envy is as the sunbeams, that beat hotter upon

a bank or steep rising ground, than upon a flat; and, for the same

reason, those that are advanced by degrees are less envied than those

that are advanced suddenly, and _per saltum_.[118]

Those that have joined with their honor great travels, cares, or

perils, are less subject to envy; for men think that they earn their

honors hardly, and pity them sometimes, and pity ever healeth envy.

Wherefore you shall observe, that the more deep and sober sort of

politic persons, in their greatness, are ever bemoaning themselves

what a life they lead, chanting a _quanta patimur_;[119] not that they

feel it so, but only to abate the edge of envy; but this is to be

understood of business that is laid upon men, and not such as they call

unto themselves; for nothing increaseth envy more than an unnecessary

and ambitious engrossing of business; and nothing doth extinguish envy

more than for a great person to preserve all other inferior officers in

their full rights and preëminences of their places; for, by that means,

there be so many screens between him and envy.

Above all, those are most subject to envy, which carry the greatness

of their fortunes in an insolent and proud manner; being never well

but while they are showing how great they are, either by outward pomp,

or by triumphing over all opposition or competition. Whereas wise men

will rather do sacrifice to envy, in suffering themselves, sometimes of

purpose, to be crossed and overborne in things that do not much concern

them. Notwithstanding, so much is true, that the carriage of greatness

in a plain and open manner (so it be without arrogancy and vainglory),

doth draw less envy than if it be in a more crafty and cunning fashion;

for in that course a man doth but disavow fortune, and seemeth to be

conscious of his own want in worth, and doth but teach others to envy

him.

Lastly, to conclude this part, as we said in the beginning that the

act of envy had somewhat in it of witchcraft, so there is no other

cure 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 which purpose,

the wiser sort of great persons bring in ever upon the stage somebody

upon whom to derive the envy that would come upon themselves; sometimes

upon ministers and servants, sometimes upon colleagues and associates,

and the like; and, for that turn, there are never wanting some persons

of violent and undertaking natures, who, so they may have power 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,[120] that eclipseth men when they grow too great; and

therefore it is a bridle also to great ones, to keep them within bounds.

This envy, being in the Latin word _invidia_,[121] goeth in the modern

languages by the name of discontentment, of which we shall speak in

handling sedition. It is a disease in a state like to infection; for as

infection spreadeth upon that which is sound, and tainteth it, so, when

envy is gotten once into a state, it traduceth even the best actions

thereof, and turneth them into an ill odor; and therefore there is

little won by intermingling of plausible actions; for that doth argue

but a weakness and fear of envy, which hurteth so much the more, 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 or

ministers, rather than upon kings and estates themselves. But this is a

sure rule, that if the envy upon the minister be great, when the cause

of it in him is small; or if the envy be general in a manner upon all

the ministers of an estate, then the envy (though hidden) is truly upon

the state itself. And so much of public envy or discontentment, and the

difference thereof from private envy, which was handled in the first

place.

We will add this in general, touching the affection of envy, that,

of all other affections, it is the most importune and continual; for

of other affections there is occasion given but now and then; and

therefore it was well said, “Invidia festos dies non agit:”[122] for

it is ever working upon some or other. And it is also noted, that love

and envy do make a man pine, which other affections do not, because

they are not so continual. It is also the vilest affection, and the

most depraved; for which cause it is the proper attribute of the devil,

who is called “The envious man, that soweth tares amongst the wheat by

night;”[123] as it always cometh to pass that envy worketh subtilely,

and in the dark, and to the prejudice of good things, such as is the

wheat.

X.—OF LOVE.

The stage is more beholding[124] to love than the life of man; for as

to the stage, love is ever matter of comedies, and now and then of

tragedies; but in life it doth much mischief, sometimes like a Siren,

sometimes like a Fury. You may observe, that, amongst all the great

and worthy persons (whereof the memory remaineth, either ancient or

recent), there is not one that hath been transported to the mad degree

of love, which shows that great spirits and great business do keep out

this weak passion. You must except, nevertheless, Marcus Antonius,

the half partner of the empire of Rome, and Appius Claudius,[125] the

decemvir and lawgiver; whereof the former was indeed a voluptuous

man, and inordinate, but the latter was an austere and wise man; and

therefore it seems (though rarely) that love can find entrance, not

only into an open heart, but also into a heart well fortified, if watch

be not well kept. It is a poor saying of Epicurus, “Satis magnum alter

alteri theatrum sumus;”[126] as if man, made for the contemplation

of heaven and all noble objects, should do nothing but kneel before

a little idol, and make himself subject, though not of the mouth (as

beasts are) yet of the eye, which was given him for higher purposes.

It is a strange thing to note the excess of this passion, and how it

braves the nature and value of things, by this, that the speaking in

a perpetual hyperbole is comely in nothing but in love, neither is it

merely in the phrase; for whereas it hath been well said, “That the

arch flatterer, with whom all the petty flatterers have intelligence,

is a man’s self;” certainly, the lover is more; for there was never

proud man thought so absurdly well of himself as the lover doth of the

person loved; and therefore it was well said, “That it is impossible

to love and to be wise.”[127] Neither doth this weakness appear to

others only, and not to the party loved, but to the loved most of

all, except the love be reciprocal; for it is a true rule, that love

is ever rewarded, either with the reciprocal, or with an inward and

secret contempt; by how much the more men ought to beware of this

passion, which loseth not only other things, but itself. As for the

other losses, the poet’s relation[128] doth well figure them: “That

he that preferred Helena, quitted the gifts of Juno and Pallas;” for

whosoever esteemeth too much of amorous affection, quitteth both riches

and wisdom. This passion hath his floods in the very times of weakness,

which are, great prosperity and great adversity, though this latter

hath been less observed; both which times kindle love, and make it more

fervent, and therefore show it to be the child of folly. They do best

who, if they cannot but admit love, yet make it keep quarter, and sever

it wholly from their serious affairs and actions of life; for if it

check once with business, it troubleth men’s fortunes, and maketh men

that they can nowise be true to their own ends. I know not how, but

martial men are given to love; I think it is, but as they are given

to wine, for perils commonly ask to be paid in pleasures. There is in

man’s nature a secret inclination and motion towards love of others,

which, if it be not spent upon some one or a few, doth naturally spread

itself towards many, and maketh men become humane and charitable, as it

is seen sometimes in friars. Nuptial love maketh mankind, friendly love

perfecteth it, but wanton love corrupted and embaseth it.

XI.—OF GREAT PLACE.[129]

Men in great place are thrice servants—servants of the sovereign or

state, servants of fame, and servants of business; so as they have no

freedom, neither in their persons, nor in their actions, nor in their

times. It is a strange desire to seek power and to lose liberty; or to

seek power over others, and to lose power over a man’s self. The rising

unto place is laborious, and by pains men come to greater pains; and

it is sometimes base, and by indignities men come to dignities. The

standing is slippery, and the regress is either a downfall, or at least

an eclipse, which is a melancholy thing: “Cum non sis qui fueris, non

esse cur velis vivere.”[130] Nay, retire men cannot when they would,

neither will they when it were reason; but are impatient of privateness

even in age and sickness, which require the shadow; like old townsmen,

that will be still sitting at their street door, though thereby they

offer age to scorn. Certainly, great persons had need to borrow other

men’s opinions to think themselves happy; for if they judge by their

own feeling, they cannot find it; but if they think with themselves

what other men think of them, and that other men would fain be as they

are, then they are happy as it were by report, when, perhaps, they

find the contrary within; for they are the first that find their own

griefs, though they be the last that find their own faults. Certainly,

men in great fortunes are strangers to themselves, and while they are

in the puzzle of business, they have no time to tend their health

either of body or mind.

“Illi mors gravis incubat,

Qui notus nimis omnibus,

Ignotus moritur.”[131]

In place, there is license to do good and evil, whereof the latter is a

curse; for in evil, the best condition is not to will, the second not

to can. But power to do good is the true and lawful end of aspiring;

for good thoughts, though God accept them, yet towards men are little

better than good dreams, except they be put in act; and that cannot be

without power and place, as the vantage and commanding ground. Merit

and good works are the end of man’s motion, and conscience of the same

is the accomplishment of man’s rest; for if a man can be partaker

of God’s theatre, he shall likewise be partaker of God’s rest. “Et

conversus Deus, ut aspiceret opera, quæ fecerunt manus suæ, vidit quod

omnia essent bona nimis;”[132] and then the Sabbath.

In the discharge of thy place, set before thee the best examples; for

imitation is a globe of precepts, and after a time set before thee

thine own example; and examine thyself strictly whether thou didst not

best at first. Neglect not also the examples of those that have carried

themselves ill in the same place; not to set off thyself by taxing

their memory, but to direct thyself what to avoid. Reform, therefore,

without bravery or scandal of former times and persons; but yet set it

down to thyself, as well to create good precedents as to follow them.

Reduce things to the first institution, and observe wherein and how

they have degenerated; but yet ask counsel of both times—of the ancient

time what is best, and of the latter time what is fittest. Seek to make

thy course regular, that men may know beforehand what they may expect;

but be not too positive and peremptory, and express thyself well when

thou digressest from thy rule. Preserve the right of thy place, but

stir not questions of jurisdiction; and rather assume thy right in

silence, and _de facto_,[133] than voice it with claims and challenges.

Preserve likewise the rights of inferior places; and think it more

honor to direct in chief than to be busy in all. Embrace and invite

helps and advices touching the execution of thy place; and do not drive

away such as bring thee information, as meddlers, but accept of them in

good part. The vices of authority are chiefly four: delays, corruption,

roughness, and facility. For delays, give easy access, keep times

appointed, go through with that which is in hand, and interlace not

business but of necessity. For corruption, do not only bind thine own

hands or thy servant’s hands from taking, but bind the hands of suitors

also from offering; for integrity used doth the one, but integrity

professed, and with a manifest detestation of bribery, doth the other;

and avoid not only the fault, but the suspicion. Whosoever is found

variable, and changeth manifestly without manifest cause, giveth

suspicion of corruption; therefore, always when thou changest thine

opinion or course, profess it plainly, and declare it, together with

the reasons that move thee to change, and do not think to steal it. A

servant or a favorite, if he be inward, and no other apparent cause

of esteem, is commonly thought but a by-way to close corruption. For

roughness, it is a needless cause of discontent: severity breedeth

fear, but roughness breedeth hate. Even reproofs from authority ought

to be grave, and not taunting. As for facility,[134] it is worse than

bribery, for bribes come but now and then; but if importunity or idle

respects[135] lead a man, he shall never be without; as Solomon saith,

“To respect persons is not good; for such a man will transgress for a

piece of bread.”[136]

It is most true that was anciently spoken: “A place showeth the man;

and it showeth some to the better, and some to the worse:” “Omnium

consensu capax imperii, nisi imperasset,”[137] saith Tacitus of Galba;

but of Vespasian he saith, “Solus imperantium, Vespasianus mutatus in

melius;”[138] though the one was meant of sufficiency, the other of

manners and affection. It is an assured sign of a worthy and generous

spirit, whom honor amends; for honor is, or should be, the place of

virtue; and as in nature things move violently to their place, and

calmly in their place, so virtue in ambition is violent, in authority

settled and calm. All rising to great place is by a winding stair; and

if there be factions, it is good to side a man’s self whilst he is in

the rising, and to balance himself when he is placed. Use the memory of

thy predecessor fairly and tenderly; for if thou dost not, it is a debt

will sure be paid when thou art gone. If thou have colleagues, respect

them; and rather call them when they look not for it, than exclude

them when they have reason to look to be called. Be not too sensible

or too remembering of thy place in conversation and private answers

to suitors; but let it rather be said, “When he sits in place, he is

another man.”

XII.—OF BOLDNESS.

It is a trivial grammar-school text, but yet worthy a wise man’s

consideration. Question was asked of Demosthenes, what was the chief

part of an orator? He answered, Action. What next?—Action. What next

again?—Action.[139] He said it that knew it best, and had, by nature,

himself no advantage in that he commended. A strange thing, that that

part of an orator which is but superficial, and rather the virtue

of a player, should be placed so high above those other noble parts

of invention, elocution, and the rest; nay, almost alone, as if it

were all in all. But the reason is plain. There is in human nature

generally more of the fool than of the wise; and therefore, those

faculties by which the foolish part of men’s minds is taken are most

potent. Wonderful like is the case of boldness in civil business. What

first?—Boldness: what second and third?—Boldness. And yet boldness is

a child of ignorance and baseness, far inferior to other parts; but,

nevertheless, it doth fascinate, and bind hand and foot those that are

either shallow in judgment or weak in courage, which are the greatest

part, yea, and prevaileth with wise man at weak times; therefore,

we see it hath done wonders in popular states, but with senates and

princes less, and more, ever upon the first entrance of bold persons

into action than soon after; for boldness is an ill keeper of

promise. Surely, as there are mountebanks for the natural body, so

are there mountebanks for the politic body; men that undertake great

cures, and perhaps have been lucky in two or three experiments, but

want the grounds of science, and therefore cannot hold out; nay, you

shall see a bold fellow many times do Mahomet’s miracle. Mahomet made

the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from the top

of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law. The people

assembled; Mahomet called the hill to come to him again and again;

and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed, but said,

“If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.”

So these men, when they have promised great matters and failed most

shamefully, yet, if they have the perfection of boldness, they will

but slight it over, and make a turn, and no more ado. Certainly, to

men of great judgment, bold persons are a sport to behold; nay, and

to the vulgar also boldness hath somewhat of the ridiculous; for if

absurdity be the subject of laughter, doubt you not but great boldness

is seldom without some absurdity; especially it is a sport to see when

a bold fellow is out of countenance, for that puts his face into a most

shrunken and wooden posture, as needs it must; for in bashfulness the

spirits do a little go and come, but with bold men, upon like occasion,

they stand at a stay; like a stale at chess, where it is no mate, but

yet the game cannot stir; but this last were fitter for a satire than

for a serious observation. This is well to be weighed, that boldness

is ever blind, for it seeth not dangers and inconveniences; therefore,

it is ill in counsel, good in execution; so that the right use of bold

persons is, that they never command in chief, but be seconds and under

the direction of others; for in counsel it is good to see dangers; and

in execution not to see them except they be very great.

XIII.—OF GOODNESS, AND GOODNESS OF NATURE.

I take goodness in this sense, the affecting of the weal of men, which

is that the Grecians call _philanthropia_; and the word humanity, as

it is used, is a little too light to express it. Goodness I call the

habit, and goodness of nature the inclination. This, of all virtues

and dignities of the mind, is the greatest, being the character of

the Deity; and without it man is a busy, mischievous, wretched thing,

no better than a kind of vermin. Goodness answers to the theological

virtue charity, and admits no excess but error. The desire of power

in excess caused the angels to fall;[140] the desire of knowledge in

excess caused man to fall; but in charity there is no excess, neither

can angel or man come in danger by it. The inclination to goodness is

imprinted deeply in the nature of man, insomuch that if it issue not

towards men, it will take unto other living creatures; as it is seen

in the Turks, a cruel people, who nevertheless are kind to beasts, and

give alms to dogs and birds; insomuch, as Busbechius[141] reporteth,

a Christian boy in Constantinople had like to have been stoned for

gagging in a waggishness a long-billed fowl.[142] Errors, indeed, in

this virtue, of goodness or charity, may be committed. The Italians

have an ungracious proverb: “Tanto buon che val niente;” “So good, that

he is good for nothing;” and one of the doctors of Italy, Nicholas

Machiavel,[143] had the confidence to put in writing, almost in plain

terms, “That the Christian faith had given up good men in prey to those

that are tyrannical and unjust;”[144] which he spake, because, indeed,

there was never law, or sect, or opinion did so much magnify goodness

as the Christian religion doth; therefore, to avoid the scandal and the

danger both, it is good to take knowledge of the errors of a habit so

excellent. Seek the good of other men, but be not in bondage to their

faces or fancies; for that is but facility or softness, which taketh an

honest mind prisoner. Neither give thou Æsop’s cock a gem, who would

be better pleased and happier if he had had a barley-corn. The example

of God teacheth the lesson truly: “He sendeth his rain, and maketh his

sun to shine upon the just and the unjust;”[145] but he doth not rain

wealth, nor shine honor and virtues upon men equally; common benefits

are to be communicate with all, but peculiar benefits with choice. And

beware how, in making the portraiture, thou breakest the pattern; for

divinity maketh the love of ourselves the pattern, the love of our

neighbors but the portraiture: “Sell all thou hast, and give it to the

poor, and follow me;”[146] but sell not all thou hast, except thou

come and follow me; that is, except thou have a vocation wherein thou

mayest do as much good with little means as with great; for otherwise,

in feeding the 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; as, on the other side, there

is a natural malignity, for there be that in their nature do not affect

the good of others. The lighter sort of malignity turneth but to a

crossness, or frowardness, or aptness to oppose, or difficileness, or

the like; but the deeper sort to envy, and mere mischief. Such men in

other men’s calamities are, as it were, in season, and are ever on the

loading part; not so good as the dogs that licked Lazarus’s sores,[147]

but like flies that are still buzzing upon any thing that is raw;

misanthropi, that make it their practice to bring men to the bough, and

yet have never a tree for the purpose in their gardens, as Timon[148]

had. Such dispositions are the very errors of human nature, and yet

they are the fittest timber to make great politics of; like to knee

timber,[149] that is good for ships that are ordained to be tossed, but

not for building houses that shall stand firm. The parts and signs of

goodness are many. If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it

shows he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island

cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them; if he

be compassionate towards the afflictions of others, it shows that his

heart is like the noble tree that is wounded itself when it gives the

balm;[150] if he easily pardons and remits offences, it shows that

his mind is planted above injuries, so that he cannot be shot; if he

be thankful for small benefits, it shows that he weighs men’s minds,

and not their trash; but, above all, if he have St. Paul’s perfection,

that he would wish to be an anathema[151] from Christ for the salvation

of his brethren, it shows much of a divine nature, and a kind of

conformity with Christ himself.

XIV.—OF NOBILITY.

We will speak of nobility, first, as a portion of an estate, then as a

condition of particular persons. A monarchy, where there is no nobility

at all, is ever a pure and absolute tyranny as that of the Turks; for

nobility attempers sovereignty, and draws the eyes of the people

somewhat aside from the line royal: but for democracies they need it

not; and they are commonly more quiet and less subject to sedition than

where there are stirps of nobles; for men’s eyes are upon the business,

and not upon the persons; or if upon the persons, it is for the

business sake, as fittest, and not for flags and pedigree. We see the

Switzers last well, notwithstanding their diversity of religion and of

cantons; for utility is their bond, and not respects.[152] The United

Provinces of the Low Countries[153] in their government excel; for

where there is an equality the consultations are more indifferent, and

the payments and tributes more cheerful. A great and potent nobility

addeth majesty to a monarch, but diminisheth power, and putteth life

and spirit into the people, but presseth their fortune. It is well

when nobles are not too great for sovereignty nor for justice; and yet

maintained in that height, as the insolency of inferiors may be broken

upon them, before it come on too fast upon the majesty of kings. A

numerous nobility causeth poverty and inconvenience in a state, for it

is a surcharge of expense; and besides, it being of necessity that many

of the nobility fall in time to be weak in fortune, it maketh a kind of

disproportion between honor and means.

As for nobility in particular persons, it is a reverend thing to

see an ancient castle or building not in decay, or to see a fair

timber-tree sound and perfect; how much more to behold an ancient noble

family, which hath stood against the waves and weathers of time! For

new nobility is but the act of power, but ancient nobility is the act

of time. Those that are first raised to nobility are commonly more

virtuous,[154] but less innocent than their descendants; for there is

rarely any rising but by a commixture of good and evil arts; but it

is reason the memory of their virtues remain to their posterity, and

their faults die with themselves. Nobility of birth commonly abateth

industry, and he that is not industrious, envieth him that is; besides,

noble persons cannot go much higher; and he that standeth at a stay

when others rise, can hardly avoid motions of envy.[155] On the other

side, nobility extinguisheth the passive envy from others towards them,

because they are in possession of honor. Certainly, kings that have

able men of their nobility shall find ease in employing them, and a

better slide into their business; for people naturally bend to them, as

born in some sort to command.

XV.—OF SEDITIONS AND TROUBLES.

Shepherds of people had need know the calendars of tempests in state,

which are commonly greatest when things grow to equality; as natural

tempests are greatest about the equinoctia,[156] and as there are

certain hollow blasts of wind and secret swellings of seas before a

tempest, so are there in states:—

“Ille etiam cæcos instare tumultus

Sæpe monet, fraudesque et operta tumescere bella.”[157]

Libels and licentious discourses against the state, when they are

frequent and open; and in like sort false news, often running up and

down, to the disadvantage of the state, and hastily embraced, are

amongst the signs of troubles. Virgil, giving the pedigree of Fame,

saith she was sister to the giants:—

“Illam Terra parens, irâ irritata Deorum,

Extremam (ut perhibent) Cœo Enceladoque sororem

Progenuit.”[158]

As if fames were the relics of seditions past; but they are no less

indeed the preludes of seditions to come. Howsoever, he noteth it

right, that seditious tumults and seditious fames differ no more but

as brother and sister, masculine and feminine; especially if it come

to that, that the best actions of a state, and the most plausible, and

which ought to give greatest contentment, are taken in ill sense, and

traduced; for that shows the envy great, as Tacitus saith, “Conflatâ

magnâ, invidiâ, seu bene, seu male, gesta premunt.”[159] Neither doth

it follow, that because these fames are a sign of troubles, that

the suppressing of them with too much severity should be a remedy

of troubles; for the despising of them many times checks them best,

and the going about to stop them doth but make a wonder long-lived.

Also that kind of obedience, which Tacitus speaketh of, is to be held

suspected: “Erant in officio, sed tamen qui mallent imperantium mandata

interpretari, quam exsequi;”[160] disputing, excusing, cavilling upon

mandates and directions, is a kind of shaking off the yoke, and assay

of disobedience; especially if, in those disputings, they which are for

the direction speak fearfully and tenderly, and those that are against

it audaciously.

Also, as Machiavel noteth well, when princes, that ought to be

common parents, make themselves as a party, and lean to a side; it

is as a boat that is overthrown by uneven weight on the one side, as

was well seen in the time of Henry the Third of France; for first

himself entered league[161] for the extirpation of the Protestants,

and presently after the same league was turned upon himself; for when

the authority of princes is made but an accessary to a cause, and that

there be other bands that tie faster than the band of sovereignty,

kings begin to be put almost out of possession.

Also, when discords, and quarrels, and factions are carried openly and

audaciously, it is a sign the reverence of government is lost; for the

motions of the greatest persons in a government ought to be as the

motions of the planets under “primum mobile,”[162] according to the old

opinion, which is, that every of them is carried swiftly by the highest

motion, and softly in their own motion; and therefore, when great

ones in their own particular motion move violently, and as Tacitus

expresseth it well, “liberius quam ut imperantium meminissent,”[163]

it is a sign the orbs are out of frame; for reverence is that

wherewith princes are girt from God, who threateneth the dissolving

thereof: “Solvam cingula regum.”[164]

So when any of the four pillars of government are mainly shaken or

weakened (which are religion, justice, counsel, and treasure), men

had need to pray for fair weather. But let us pass from this part of

predictions (concerning which, nevertheless, more light may be taken

from that which followeth), and let us speak first of the materials of

seditions; then of the motives of them; and thirdly of the remedies.

Concerning the materials of seditions, it is a thing well to be

considered, for the surest way to prevent seditions (if the times do

bear it), is to take away the matter of them; for if there be fuel

prepared, it is hard to tell whence the spark shall come that shall

set it on fire. The matter of seditions is of two kinds, much poverty

and much discontentment. It is certain, so many overthrown estates, so

many votes for troubles. Lucan noteth well the state of Rome before the

civil war:—

“Hinc usura vorax, rapidumque in tempore fœnus,

Hinc concussa fides, et multis utile bellum.”[165]

This same “multis utile bellum,”[166] is an assured and infallible

sign of a state disposed to seditions and troubles; and if this

poverty and broken estate in the better sort be joined with a want and

necessity in the mean people, the danger is imminent and great; for

the rebellions of the belly are the worst. As for discontentments,

they are in the politic body like to humors in the natural, which are

apt to gather a preternatural heat and to inflame; and let no prince

measure the danger of them by this, whether they be just or unjust;

for that were to imagine people to be too reasonable, who do often

spurn at their own good; nor yet by this, whether the griefs whereupon

they rise be in fact great or small; for they are the most dangerous

discontentments where the fear is greater than the feeling: “Dolendi

modus, timendi non item.”[167] Besides, in great oppressions, the same

things that provoke the patience, do withal mate[168] the courage;

but in fears it is not so; neither let any prince or state be secure

concerning discontentments, because they have been often or have been

long, and yet no peril hath ensued; for as it is true that every vapor

or fume doth not turn into a storm, so it is nevertheless true that

storms, though they blow over divers times, yet may fall at last; and,

as the Spanish proverb noteth well, “The cord breaketh at the last by

the weakest pull.”[169]

The causes and motives of seditions are, innovation in religion,

taxes, alteration of laws and customs, breaking of privileges, general

oppression, advancement of unworthy persons, strangers, dearths,

disbanded soldiers, factions grown desperate, and whatsoever in

offending people joineth and knitteth them in a common cause.

For the remedies, there may be some general preservatives, whereof we

will speak; as for the just cure, it must answer to the particular

disease, and so be left to counsel rather than rule.

The first remedy, or prevention, is to remove, by all means possible,

that material cause of sedition whereof we spake, which is, want and

poverty in the estate;[170] to which purpose serveth the opening and

well-balancing of trade; the cherishing of manufactures; the banishing

of idleness; the repressing of waste and excess by sumptuary laws;[171]

the improvement and husbanding of the soil; the regulating of prices of

things vendible; the moderating of taxes and tributes, and the like.

Generally, it is to be foreseen that the population of a kingdom

(especially if it be not mown down by wars) do not exceed the stock of

the kingdom which should maintain them; neither is the population to

be reckoned only by number; for a smaller number, that spend more and

earn less, do wear out an estate sooner than a greater number that live

lower and gather more. Therefore the multiplying of nobility and other

degrees of quality, in an over-proportion to the common people, doth

speedily bring a state to necessity; and so doth likewise an overgrown

clergy, for they bring nothing to the stock;[172] and in like manner,

when more are bred scholars than preferments can take off.

It is likewise to be remembered, that, forasmuch as the increase of any

estate must be upon the foreigner[173] (for whatsoever is somewhere

gotten is somewhere lost), there be but three things which one nation

selleth unto another; the commodity, as nature yieldeth it; the

manufacture; and the vecture, or carriage; so that, if these three

wheels go, wealth will flow as in a spring tide. And it cometh many

times to pass, that, “materiam superabit opus,”[174] that the work and

carriage is more worth than the material, and enricheth a state more;

as is notably seen in the Low Countrymen, who have the best mines[175]

above ground in the world.

Above all things, good policy is to be used, that the treasure and

moneys in a state be not gathered into few hands; for, otherwise,

a state may have a great stock, and yet starve. And money is like

muck,[176] not good except it be spread. This is done chiefly by

suppressing, or, at the least, keeping a strait hand upon the devouring

trades of usury, engrossing[177] great pasturages, and the like.

For removing discontentments, or, at least, the danger of them, there

is in every state (as we know) two portions of subjects, the nobles

and the commonalty. When one of these is discontent, the danger is not

great; for common people are of slow motion, if they be not excited by

the greater sort; and the greater sort are of small strength, except

the multitude be apt and ready to move of themselves; then is the

danger, when the greater sort do but wait for the troubling of the

waters amongst the meaner, that then they may declare themselves. The

poets feign that the rest of the gods would have bound Jupiter, which

he hearing of, by the counsel of Pallas, sent for Briareus, with his

hundred hands, to come in to his aid; an emblem, no doubt, to show how

safe it is for monarchs to make sure of the good-will of common people.

To give moderate liberty for griefs and discontentments to evaporate

(so it be without too great insolency or bravery), is a safe way; for

he that turneth the humors back, and maketh the wound bleed inwards,

endangereth malign ulcers and pernicious imposthumations.

The part of Epimetheus[178] might well become Prometheus, in the case

of discontentments, for there is not a better provision against them.

Epimetheus, when griefs and evils flew abroad, at last shut the lid,

and kept Hope in the bottom of the vessel. Certainly, the politic and

artificial nourishing and entertaining of hopes, and carrying men

from hopes to hopes, is one of the best antidotes against the poison

of discontentments; and it is a certain sign of a wise government and

proceeding, when it can hold men’s hearts by hopes, when it cannot by

satisfaction; and when it can handle things in such manner as no evil

shall appear so peremptory, but that it hath some outlet of hope; which

is the less hard to do, because both particular persons and factions

are apt enough to flatter themselves, or at least to brave that which

they believe not.

Also the foresight and prevention, that there be no likely or fit head

whereunto discontented persons may resort, and under whom they may

join, is a known but an excellent point of caution. I understand a fit

head to be one that hath greatness and reputation, that hath confidence

with the discontented party, and upon whom they turn their eyes, and

that is thought discontented in his own particular: which kind of

persons are either to be won and reconciled to the state, and that in

a fast and true manner; or to be fronted with some other of the same

party that may oppose them, and so divide the reputation. Generally,

the dividing and breaking of all factions and combinations that are

adverse to the state, and setting them at distance, or, at least,

distrust amongst themselves, is not one of the worst remedies; for it

is a desperate case, if those that hold with the proceeding of the

state be full of discord and faction, and those that are against it be

entire and united.

I have noted, that some witty and sharp speeches, which have fallen

from princes, have given fire to seditions. Cæsar did himself infinite

hurt in that speech—“Sylla nescivit literas, non potuit dictare,”[179]

for it did utterly cut off that hope which men had entertained, that

he would, at one time or other, give over his dictatorship. Galba

undid himself by that speech, “Legi a se militem, non emi;”[180] for

it put the soldiers out of hope of the donative. Probus, likewise,

by that speech, “Si vixero, non opus erit amplius Romano imperio

militibus;”[181] a speech of great despair for the soldiers, and many

the like. Surely princes had need, in tender matters and ticklish

times, to beware what they say, especially in these short speeches,

which fly abroad like darts, and are thought to be shot out of their

secret intentions; for as for large discourses, they are flat things,

and not so much noted.

Lastly, let princes, against all events, not be without some great

person, one or rather more, of military valor, near unto them, for the

repressing of seditions in their beginnings; for without that, there

useth to be more trepidation in court upon the first breaking out of

troubles than were fit, and the state runneth the danger of that which

Tacitus saith: “Atque is habitus animorum fuit, ut pessimum facinus

auderent pauci, plures vellent, omnes paterentur:”[182] but let such

military persons be assured, and well reputed of, rather than factious

and popular; holding also good correspondence with the other great men

in the state, or else the remedy is worse than the disease.

XVI.—OF ATHEISM.

I had rather believe all the fables in the legends,[183] and the

Talmud,[184] and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame is

without a mind; and, therefore, God never wrought miracle to convince

atheism, because his ordinary works convince it. It is true, that a

little philosophy[185] inclineth man’s mind to atheism, but depth in

philosophy bringeth men’s minds about to religion; for while the mind

of man looketh upon second causes scattered, it may sometimes rest

in them, and go no further; but when it beholdeth the chain of them

confederate, and linked together, it must needs fly to Providence and

Deity. Nay, even that school which is most accused of atheism, doth

most demonstrate religion: that is, the school of Leucippus,[186] and

Democritus,[187] and Epicurus; for it is a thousand times more credible

that four mutable elements, and one immutable fifth essence,[188] duly

and eternally placed, need no God, than that an army of infinite small

portions, or seeds unplaced, should have produced this order and beauty

without a divine marshal. The Scripture saith, “The fool hath said

in his heart, there is no God;”[189] it is not said, “The fool hath

thought in his heart;” so as he rather saith it by rote to himself,

as that he would have, than that he can thoroughly believe it, or be

persuaded of it; for none deny there is a God, but those for whom it

maketh[190] that there were no God. It appeareth in nothing more, that

atheism is rather in the lip than in the heart of man, than by this,

that atheists will ever be talking of that their opinion, as if they

fainted in it within themselves, and would be glad to be strengthened

by the consent of others; nay more, you shall have atheists strive

to get disciples, as it fareth with other sects; and, which is most

of all, you shall have of them that will suffer for atheism, and not

recant; whereas, if they did truly think that there were no such thing

as God, why should they trouble themselves? Epicurus is charged, that

he did but dissemble for his credit’s sake, when he affirmed there

were blessed natures, but such as enjoyed themselves without having

respect to the government of the world. Wherein they say he did

temporize, though in secret he thought there was no God; but certainly

he is traduced, for his words are noble and divine: “Non Deos vulgi

negare profanum; sed vulgi opiniones Diis applicare profanum.”[191]

Plato could have said no more; and, although he had the confidence to

deny the administration, he had not the power to deny the nature. The

Indians[192] of the west have names for their particular gods, though

they have no name for God; as if the heathens should have had the names

Jupiter, Apollo, Mars, &c., but not the word Deus, which shows that

even those barbarous people have the notion, though they have not the

latitude and extent of it; so that against atheists the very savages

take part with the very subtlest philosophers. The contemplative

atheist is rare; a Diagoras,[193] a Bion,[194] a Lucian,[195] perhaps,

and some others, and yet they seem to be more than they are; for

that all that impugn a received religion, or superstition, are, by

the adverse part, branded with the name of atheists. But the great

atheists indeed are hypocrites, which are ever handling holy things,

but without feeling, so as they must needs be cauterized in the end.

The causes of atheism are: divisions in religion, if they be many; for

any one main division addeth zeal to both sides, but many divisions

introduce atheism. Another is, scandal of priests, when it is come

to that which St. Bernard saith: “Non est jam dicere, ut populus,

sic sacerdos; quia nec sic populus, ut sacerdos.”[196] A third is,

custom of profane scoffing in holy matters, which doth by little and

little deface the reverence of religion: and lastly, learned times,

specially with peace and prosperity; for troubles and adversities do

more bow men’s minds to religion. They that deny a God destroy a man’s

nobility, for certainly man is of kin to the beasts by his body; and

if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he is a base and ignoble

creature. It destroys likewise magnanimity, and the raising of human

nature; for, take an example of a dog, and mark what a generosity and

courage he will put on when he finds himself maintained by a man, who,

to him, is instead of a God, or “melior natura;”[197] which courage is

manifestly such as that creature, without that confidence of a better

nature than his own, could never attain. So man, when he resteth and

assureth himself upon divine protection and favor, gathereth a force

and faith, which human nature in itself could not obtain; therefore,

as atheism is in all respects hateful, so in this, that it depriveth

human nature of the means to exalt itself above human frailty. As it

is in particular persons, so it is in nations: never was there such a

state for magnanimity as Rome. Of this state hear what Cicero saith:

“Quam volumus, licet, Patres conscripti, nos amemus, tamen nec numero

Hispanos, nec robore Gallos, nec calliditate Pœnos, nec artibus

Græcos, nec denique hoc ipso hujus gentis et terræ domestico nativoque

sensu Italos ipsos et Latinos; sed pietate, ac religione, atque hâc

unâ sapientiâ, quod Deorum immortalium numine omnia regi, gubernarique

perspeximus, omnes gentes, nationesque superavimus.”[198]

XVII.—OF SUPERSTITION.

It were better to have no opinion of God at all, than such an

opinion as is unworthy of him; for the one is unbelief, the other is

contumely,[199] and certainly superstition is the reproach of the

Deity. Plutarch saith well to that purpose: “Surely,” saith he, “I

had rather a great deal men should say there was no such man at all

as Plutarch, than that they should say that there was one Plutarch

that would eat his children[200] as soon as they were born,” as the

poets speak of Saturn; and, as the contumely is greater towards God,

so the danger is greater towards men. Atheism leaves a man to sense,

to philosophy, to natural piety, to laws, to reputation, all which may

be guides to an outward moral virtue, though religion were not; but

superstition dismounts all these, and erecteth an absolute monarchy

in the minds of men. Therefore atheism did never perturb states; for

it makes men wary of themselves, as looking no further, and we see

the times inclined to atheism (as the time of Augustus Cæsar) were

civil times; but superstition hath been the confusion of many states,

and bringeth in a new _primum mobile_,[201] that ravisheth all the

spheres of government. The master of superstition is the people, and

in all superstition wise men follow fools; and arguments are fitted

to practice in a reversed order. It was gravely said by some of the

prelates in the Council of Trent,[202] where the doctrine of the

schoolmen bare great sway, that the schoolmen were like astronomers,

which did feign eccentrics[203] and epicycles,[204] and such engines of

orbs to save[205] the phenomena, though they knew there were no such

things; and, in like manner, that the schoolmen had framed a number

of subtle and intricate axioms and theorems, to save the practice of

the Church. The causes of superstition are, pleasing and sensual rites

and ceremonies; excess of outward and pharisaical holiness; over-great

reverence of traditions, which cannot but load the Church; the

stratagems of prelates for their own ambition and lucre; the favoring

too much of good intentions, which openeth the gate to conceits and

novelties; the taking an aim at divine matters by human, which cannot

but breed mixture of imaginations; and, lastly, barbarous times,

especially joined with calamities and disasters. Superstition, without

a veil, is a deformed thing; for, as it addeth deformity to an ape to

be so like a man, so the similitude of superstition to religion makes

it the more deformed; and as wholesome meat corrupteth to little worms,

so good forms and orders corrupt into a number of petty observances.

There is a superstition in avoiding superstition, when men think to

do best if they go furthest from the superstition formerly received;

therefore care would be had that (as it fareth in ill purgings) the

good be not taken away with the bad, which commonly is done when the

people is the reformer.

XVIII.—OF TRAVEL.

Travel, in the younger sort, is a part of education; in the elder, a

part of experience. He that travelleth into a country before he hath

some entrance into the language, goeth to school, and not to travel.

That young men travel under some tutor or grave servant, I allow well,

so that he be such a one that hath the language, and hath been in the

country before; whereby he may be able to tell them what things are

worthy to be seen in the country where they go, what acquaintances they

are to seek, what exercises or discipline the place yieldeth; for else

young men shall go hooded, and look abroad little. It is a strange

thing that, in sea voyages, where there is nothing to be seen but sky

and sea, men should make diaries; but in land travel, wherein so much

is to be observed, for the most part they omit it, as if chance were

fitter to be registered than observation. Let diaries, therefore, be

brought in use. The things to be seen and observed are, the courts of

princes, especially when they give audience to ambassadors; the courts

of justice, while they sit and hear causes; and so of consistories[206]

ecclesiastic; the churches and monasteries, with the monuments which

are therein extant; the walls and fortifications of cities and towns;

and so the havens and harbors, antiquities and ruins, libraries,

colleges, disputations, and lectures, where any are; shipping and

navies; houses and gardens of state and pleasure, near great cities;

armories, arsenals, magazines, exchanges, burses, warehouses, exercises

of horsemanship, fencing, training of soldiers, and the like; comedies,

such whereunto the better sort of persons do resort; treasuries of

jewels and robes; cabinets and rarities; and, to conclude, whatsoever

is memorable in the places where they go, after all which the tutors

or servants ought to make diligent inquiry. As for triumphs, masks,

feasts, weddings, funerals, capital executions, and such shows, men

need not to be put in mind of them; yet they are not to be neglected.

If you will have a young man to put his travel into a little room,

and in short time to gather much, this you must do: first, as was

said, he must have some entrance into the language before he goeth;

then he must have such a servant, or tutor, as knoweth the country,

as was likewise said; let him carry with him also some card or book,

describing the country where he travelleth, which will be a good key

to his inquiry; let him keep also a diary; let him not stay long in

one city 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

from one end and part of the town to another, which is a great adamant

of acquaintance; let him sequester himself from the company of his

countrymen, and diet in such places where there is good company of the

nation where he travelleth; let him, upon his removes from one place

to another, procure recommendation to some person of quality residing

in the place whither he removeth, that he may use his favor in those

things he desireth to see or know: thus he may abridge his travel

with much profit. As for the acquaintance which is to be sought in

travel, that which is most of all profitable, is acquaintance with the

secretaries and employed men[207] of ambassadors, for so in travelling

in one country he shall suck the experience of many; let him also see

and visit eminent persons in all kinds which are of great name abroad,

that he may be able to tell how the life agreeth with the fame. For

quarrels, they are with care and discretion to be avoided; they are

commonly for mistresses, healths,[208] place, and words; and let a man

beware how he keepeth company with choleric and quarrelsome persons,

for they will engage him into their own quarrels. When a traveller

returneth home, let him not leave the countries where he hath travelled

altogether behind him, but maintain a correspondence by letters with

those of his acquaintance which are of most worth; and let his travel

appear rather in his discourse than in his apparel or gesture, and in

his discourse let him be rather advised in his answers, than forward

to tell stories; and let it appear that he doth not change his country

manners for those of foreign parts, but only prick in some flowers of

that he hath learned abroad into the customs of his own country.

XIX.—OF EMPIRE.

It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to desire, and

many things to fear; and yet that commonly is the case of kings, who,

being, at the highest, want matter of desire,[209] which makes their

minds more languishing; and have many representations of perils and

shadows, which makes their minds the less clear; and this is one

reason, also, of that effect which the Scripture speaketh of, “that

the king’s heart is inscrutable;”[210] for multitude of jealousies,

and lack of some predominant desire, that should marshal and put in

order all the rest, maketh any man’s heart hard to find or sound. Hence

it comes, likewise, that princes many times make themselves desires,

and set their hearts upon toys: sometimes upon a building; sometimes

upon erecting of an order; sometimes upon the advancing of a person;

sometimes upon obtaining excellency in some art or feat of the hand,—as

Nero for playing on the harp; Domitian for certainty of the hand with

the arrow; Commodus for playing at fence;[211] Caracalla for driving

chariots, and the like. This seemeth incredible unto those that know

not the principle, that the mind of man is more cheered and refreshed

by profiting in small things than by standing at a stay[212] in great.

We see, also, that kings that have been fortunate conquerors in their

first years, it being not possible for them to go forward infinitely,

but that they must have some check or arrest in their fortunes, turn

in their latter years to be superstitious and melancholy; as did

Alexander the Great, Diocletian,[213] and, in our memory, Charles the

Fifth,[214] and others; for he that is used to go forward, and findeth

a stop, falleth out of his own favor, and is not the thing he was.

To speak now of the true temper of empire, it is a thing rare and hard

to keep, for both temper and distemper consist of contraries; but it is

one thing to mingle contraries, another to interchange them. The answer

of Apollonius to Vespasian is full of excellent instruction. Vespasian

asked him, “What was Nero’s overthrow?” He answered, “Nero could touch

and tune the harp well; but in government sometimes he used to wind the

pins too high, sometimes to let them down too low.”[215] And certain

it is, that nothing destroyeth authority so much as the unequal and

untimely interchange of power pressed too far, and relaxed too much.

This is true, that the wisdom of all these latter times in princes’

affairs is rather fine deliveries, and shiftings of dangers and

mischiefs, when they are near, than solid and grounded courses to keep

them aloof; but this is but to try masteries with fortune, and let men

beware how they neglect and suffer matter of trouble to be prepared.

For no man can forbid the spark, nor tell whence it may come.

The difficulties in princes’ business are many and great; but the

greatest difficulty is often in their own mind. For it is common with

princes (saith Tacitus) to will contradictories: “Sunt plerumque regum

voluntates vehementes, et inter se contrariæ;”[216] for it is the

solecism of power to think to command the end, and yet not to endure

the mean.

Kings have to deal with their neighbors, their wives, their children,

their prelates or clergy, their nobles, their second nobles or

gentlemen, their merchants, their commons, and their men of war; and

from all these arise dangers, if care and circumspection be not used.

First, for their neighbors, there can no general rule be given (the

occasions are so variable), save one which ever holdeth; which is, that

princes do keep due sentinel, that none of their neighbors do overgrow

so (by increase of territory, by embracing of trade, by approaches,

or the like), as they become more able to annoy them than they were;

and this is generally the work of standing counsels to foresee and to

hinder it. During that triumvirate of kings, King Henry the Eighth of

England, Francis the First, King of France,[217] and Charles the Fifth,

Emperor, there was such a watch kept that none of the three could win

a palm of ground, but the other two would straightways balance it,

either by confederation, or, if need were, by a war; and would not,

in any wise, take up peace at interest; and the like was done by that

league (which Guicciardini[218] saith was the security of Italy) made

between Ferdinando, King of Naples, Lorenzius Medicis, and Ludovicus

Sforza, potentates, the one of Florence, the other of Milan. Neither is

the opinion of some of the schoolmen to be received, that a war cannot

justly be made, but upon a precedent injury or provocation; for there

is no question, but a just fear of an imminent danger, though there be

no blow given, is a lawful cause of a war.

For their wives, there are cruel examples of them. Livia is

infamed[219] for the poisoning of her husband; Roxolana, Solyman’s

wife,[220] was the destruction of that renowned prince, Sultan

Mustapha, and otherwise troubled his house and succession; Edward the

Second of England’s Queen[221] had the principal hand in the deposing

and murder of her husband.

This kind of danger is then to be feared chiefly when the wives have

plots for the raising of their own children, or else that they be

advoutresses.[222]

For their children, the tragedies likewise of dangers from them have

been many; and generally the entering of fathers into suspicion

of their children hath been ever unfortunate. The destruction of

Mustapha (that we named before) was so fatal to Solyman’s line, as the

succession of the Turks from Solyman until this day is suspected to be

untrue, and of strange blood; for that Selymus the Second was thought

to be supposititious.[223] The destruction of Crispus, a young prince

of rare towardness, by Constantinus the Great, his father, was in like

manner fatal to his house; for both Constantinus and Constance, his

sons, died violent deaths; and Constantius, his other son, did little

better, who died indeed of sickness, but after that Julianus had taken

arms against him. The destruction of Demetrius,[224] son to Philip the

Second of Macedon, turned upon the father, who died of repentance. And

many like examples there are; but few or none where the fathers had

good by such distrust, except it were where the sons were up in open

arms against them; as was Selymus the First against Bajazet, and the

three sons of Henry the Second, King of England.

For their prelates, when they are proud and great, there is also danger

from them; as it was in the times of Anselmus[225] and Thomas Becket,

Archbishops of Canterbury, who, with their crosiers, did almost try it

with the king’s sword; and yet they had to deal with stout and haughty

kings; William Rufus, Henry the First, and Henry the Second. The danger

is not from that state, but where it hath a dependence of foreign

authority; or where the churchmen come in and are elected, not by the

collation of the King, or particular patrons, but by the people.

For their nobles, to keep them at a distance it is not amiss; but to

depress them may make a king more absolute, but less safe, and less

able to perform anything that he desires. I have noted it in my History

of King Henry the Seventh of England, who depressed his nobility,

whereupon it came to pass that his times were full of difficulties and

troubles; for the nobility, though they continued loyal unto him, yet

did they not coöperate with him in his business; so that, in effect, he

was fain to do all things himself.

For their second nobles, there is not much danger from them, being

a body dispersed. They may sometimes discourse high, but that doth

little hurt; besides, they are a counterpoise to the higher nobility,

that they grow not too potent; and, lastly, being the most immediate

in authority with the common people, they do best temper popular

commotions.

For their merchants, they are “vena porta:”[226] and if they flourish

not, a kingdom may have good limbs, but will have empty veins, and

nourish little. Taxes and imposts upon them do seldom good to the

king’s revenue, for that which he wins[227] in the hundred[228] he

loseth in the shire; the particular rates being increased, but the

total bulk of trading rather decreased.

For their commons, there is little danger from them, except it be where

they have great and potent heads; or where you meddle with the point of

religion, or their customs, or means of life.

For their men of war, it is a dangerous state where they live and

remain in a body, and are used to donatives; whereof we see examples in

the Janizaries[229] and Prætorian bands of Rome; but trainings of men,

and arming them in several places, and under several commanders, and

without donatives, are things of defence and no danger.

Princes are like to heavenly bodies, which cause good or evil times;

and which have much veneration, but no rest. All precepts concerning

kings are in effect comprehended in those two remembrances, “Memento

quod es homo;”[230] and “Memento quod es Deus,”[231] or “vice

Dei;”[232] the one bridleth their power and the other their will.

XX.—OF COUNSEL.

The greatest trust between man and man is the trust of giving counsel;

for in other confidences men commit the parts of life, their lands,

their goods, their children, their credit, some particular affair;

but to such as they make their counsellors they commit the whole; by

how much the more they are obliged to all faith and integrity. The

wisest princes need not think it any diminution to their greatness, or

derogation to their sufficiency to rely upon counsel. God himself is

not without, but hath made it one of the great names of his blessed

Son, “The Counsellor.”[233] Solomon hath pronounced that, “in counsel

is stability.”[234] Things will have their first or second agitation:

if they be not tossed upon the arguments of counsel, they will be

tossed upon the waves of fortune, and be full of inconstancy, doing and

undoing, like the reeling of a drunken man. Solomon’s son[235] found

the force of counsel, as his father saw the necessity of it; for the

beloved kingdom of God was first rent and broken by ill counsel; upon

which counsel there are set for our instruction the two marks whereby

bad counsel is forever best discerned, that it was young counsel for

the persons, and violent counsel for the matter.

The ancient times do set forth in figure both the incorporation and

inseparable conjunction of counsel with kings, and the wise and politic

use of counsel by kings; the one, in that they say Jupiter did marry

Metis, which signifieth counsel; whereby they intend that sovereignty

is married to counsel; the other in that which followeth, which was

thus: they say, after Jupiter was married to Metis, she conceived by

him and was with child; but Jupiter suffered her not to stay till

she brought forth, but eat her up; whereby he became himself with

child, and was delivered of Pallas armed, out of his head.[236] Which

monstrous fable containeth a secret of empire, how kings are to make

use of their council of state; that first, they ought to refer matters

unto them, which is the first begetting or impregnation; but when they

are elaborate, moulded, and shaped in the womb of their counsel, and

grow ripe and ready to be brought forth, that then they suffer not

their council to go through with the resolution and direction, as if

it depended on them; but take the matter back into their own hands,

and make it appear to the world, that the decrees and final directions

(which, because they come forth with prudence and power, are resembled

to Pallas armed), proceeded from themselves; and not only from their

authority, but (the more to add reputation to themselves) from their

head and device.

Let us now speak of the inconveniences of counsel, and of the remedies.

The inconveniences that have been noted in calling and using counsel

are three: first, the revealing of affairs, whereby they become less

secret; secondly, the weakening of the authority of princes, as if they

were less of themselves; thirdly, the danger of being unfaithfully

counselled, and more for the good of them that counsel than of him

that is counselled; for which inconveniences, the doctrine of Italy,

and practice of France, in some kings’ times, hath introduced cabinet

councils; a remedy worse than the disease.[237]

As to secrecy, princes are not bound to communicate all matters with

all counsellors, but may extract and select; neither is it necessary

that he that consulteth what he should do, should declare what he will

do; but let princes beware that the unsecreting of their affairs comes

not from themselves; and, as for cabinet councils, it may be their

motto, “Plenus rimarum sum:”[238] one futile person, that maketh it

his glory to tell, will do more hurt than many that know it their duty

to conceal. It is true, there be some affairs which require extreme

secrecy, which will hardly go beyond one or two persons besides the

king. Neither are those counsels unprosperous; for, besides the

secrecy, they commonly go on constantly in one spirit of direction

without distraction; but then it must be a prudent king, such as is

able to grind with a hand-mill;[239] and those inward counsellors

had need also to be wise men, and especially true and trusty to the

king’s ends; as it was with King Henry the Seventh of England, who,

in his greatest business, imparted himself to none, except it were to

Morton[240] and Fox.[241]

For weakening of authority, the fable[242] showeth the remedy; nay,

the majesty of kings is rather exalted than diminished when they are

in the chair of council; neither was there ever prince bereaved of

his dependencies by his council, except where there hath been either

an over-greatness in one counsellor, or an over-strict combination in

divers, which are things soon found and holpen.[243]

For the last inconvenience, that men will counsel with an eye to

themselves; certainly, “non inveniet fidem super terram,”[244] is meant

of the nature of times,[245] and not of all particular persons. There

be that are in nature faithful and sincere, and plain and direct, not

crafty and involved: let princes, above all, draw to themselves such

natures. Besides, counsellors are not commonly so united, but that one

counsellor keepeth sentinel over another; so that if any do counsel out

of faction or private ends, it commonly comes to the king’s ear; but

the best remedy is, if princes know their counsellors, as well as their

counsellors know them:—

“Principis est virtus maxima nosse suos.”[246]

And on the other side, counsellors should not be too speculative

into their sovereign’s person. The true composition of a counsellor

is, rather to be skilful in their master’s business than in his

nature;[247] for then he is like to advise him, and not to feed his

humor. It is of singular use to princes, if they take the opinions of

their council both separately and together; for private opinion is

more free, but opinion before others is more reverend. In private,

men are more bold in their own humors; and in consort, men are more

obnoxious[248] to others’ humors; therefore it is good to take both;

and of the inferior sort rather in private, to preserve freedom; of

the greater, rather in consort, to preserve respect. It is in vain

for princes to take counsel concerning matters, if they take no

counsel likewise concerning persons; for all matters are as dead

images; and the life of the execution of affairs resteth in the good

choice of persons. Neither is it enough to consult concerning persons,

“secundum genera,”[249] as in an idea or mathematical description,

what the kind and character of the person should be; for the greatest

errors are committed, and the most judgment is shown, in the choice

of individuals. It was truly said, “Optimi consiliarii mortui:”[250]

“books will speak plain when counsellors blanch;”[251] therefore it

is good to be conversant in them, specially the books of such as

themselves have been actors upon the stage.

The councils at this day in most places are but familiar meetings,

where matters are rather talked on than debated; and they run too

swift to the order or act of council. It were better that in causes of

weight, the matter were propounded one day and not spoken to till the

next day; “In nocte consilium;”[252] so was it done in the commission

of union[253] between England and Scotland, which was a grave and

orderly assembly. I commend set days for petitions; for both it gives

the suitors more certainty for their attendance, and it frees the

meetings for matters of estate, that they may “hoc agere.”[254] In

choice of committees for ripening business for the council, it is

better to choose indifferent persons, than to make an indifferency

by putting in those that are strong on both sides. I commend, also,

standing commissions; as for trade, for treasure, for war, for suits,

for some provinces; for where there be divers particular councils, and

but one council of estate (as it is in Spain), they are in effect no

more than standing commissions, save that they have greater authority.

Let such as are to inform councils out of their particular professions

(as lawyers, seamen, mintmen, and the like) be first heard before

committees; and then, as occasion serves, before the council; and let

them not come in multitudes, or in a tribunitious[255] manner; for that

is to clamor councils, not to inform them. A long table and a square

table, or seats about the walls, seem things of form, but are things

of substance; for at a long table a few at the upper end, in effect,

sway all the business; but in the other form there is more use of

the counsellors’ opinions that sit lower. A king, when he presides in

council, let him beware how he opens his own inclination too much in

that which he propoundeth; for else counsellors will but take the wind

of him, and, instead of giving free counsel, will sing him a song of

“placebo.”[256]

XXI.—OF DELAYS.

Fortune is like the market, where, many times, if you can stay a

little, the price will fall; and again, it is sometimes like Sibylla’s

offer,[257] which at first offereth the commodity at full, then

consumeth part and part, and still holdeth up the price; for occasion

(as it is in the common verse) “turneth a bald noddle,[258] after she

hath presented her locks in front, and no hold taken;” or, at least,

turneth the handle of the bottle first to be received, and after the

belly, which is hard to clasp.[259] There is surely no greater wisdom

than well to time the beginnings and onsets of things. Dangers are no

more light, if they once seem light; and more dangers have deceived men

than forced them; nay, it were better to meet some dangers half-way,

though they come nothing near, than to keep too long a watch upon

their approaches; for if a man watch too long, it is odds he will

fall asleep. On the other side, to be deceived with too long shadows

(as some have been when the moon was low, and shone on their enemies’

back), and so to shoot off before the time; or to teach dangers to

come on by over early buckling towards them, is another extreme. The

ripeness or unripeness of the occasion (as we said) must ever be well

weighed; and generally it is good to commit the beginnings of all great

actions to Argus with his hundred eyes, and the ends to Briareus with

his hundred hands, first to watch and then to speed; for the helmet of

Pluto,[260] which maketh the politic man go invisible, is secrecy in

the council, and celerity in the execution; for when things are once

come to the execution, there is no secrecy comparable to celerity; like

the motion of a bullet in the air, which flieth so swift as it outruns

the eye.

XXII.—OF CUNNING.

We take cunning for a sinister, or crooked wisdom; and, certainly,

there is great difference between a cunning man and a wise man, not

only in point of honesty, but in point of ability. There be that can

pack the cards,[261] and yet cannot play well; so there are some that

are good in canvasses and factions, that are otherwise weak men. Again,

it is one thing to understand persons, and another thing to understand

matters; for many are perfect in men’s humors that are not greatly

capable of the real part of business, which is the constitution of one

that hath studied men more than books. Such men are fitter for practice

than for counsel, and they are good but in their own alley. Turn them

to new men, and they have lost their aim; so as the old rule, to know a

fool from a wise man, “Mitte ambos nudos ad ignotos, et videbis,”[262]

doth scarce hold for them; and, because these cunning men are like

haberdashers[263] of small wares, it is not amiss to set forth their

shop.

It is a point of cunning to wait upon[264] him with whom you speak with

your eye, as the Jesuits give it in precept; for there be many wise men

that have secret hearts and transparent countenances; yet this would be

done with a demure abasing of your eye sometimes, as the Jesuits also

do use.

Another is, that when you have any thing to obtain of present dispatch,

you entertain and amuse the party with whom you deal with some other

discourse, that he be not too much awake to make objections. I knew a

counsellor and secretary that never came to Queen Elizabeth of England,

with bills to sign, but he would always first put her into some

discourse of estate,[265] that she might the less mind the bills.

The like surprise may be made by moving things[266] when the party is

in haste, and cannot stay to consider advisedly of that is moved.

If a man would cross a business that he doubts some other would

handsomely and effectually move, let him pretend to wish it well, and

move it himself, in such sort as may foil it.

The breaking off in the midst of that one was about to say, as if he

took himself up, breeds a greater appetite in him with whom you confer

to know more.

And because it works better when any thing seemeth to be gotten from

you by question than if you offer it of yourself, you may lay a bait

for a question, by showing another visage and countenance than you are

wont; to the end, to give occasion for the party to ask what the matter

is of the change, as Nehemiah[267] did: “And I had not, before that

time, been sad before the king.”

In things that are tender and unpleasing, it is good to break the ice

by some whose words are of less weight, and to reserve the more weighty

voice to come in as by chance, so that he may be asked the question

upon the other’s speech; as Narcissus did, in relating to Claudius the

marriage[268] of Messalina and Silius.

In things that a man would not be seen in himself, it is a point of

cunning to borrow the name of the world; as to say, “The world says,”

or “There is a speech abroad.”

I knew one, that when he wrote a letter, he would put that which was

most material in a postscript, as if it had been a by-matter.

I knew another, that when he came to have speech,[269] he would pass

over that that he intended most; and go forth and come back again, and

speak of it as a thing that he had almost forgot.

Some procure themselves to be surprised at such times as it is like

the party that they work upon will suddenly come upon them, and to be

found with a letter in their hand, or doing somewhat which they are not

accustomed, to the end they may be apposed of[270] those things which

of themselves they are desirous to utter.

It is a point of cunning to let fall those words in a man’s own name,

which he would have another man learn and use, and thereupon take

advantage. I knew two that were competitors for the secretary’s place

in Queen Elizabeth’s time, and yet kept good quarter[271] between

themselves, and would confer one with another upon the business; and

the one of them said, that to be a secretary in the declination of a

monarchy was a ticklish thing, and that he did not affect it;[272]

the other straight caught up those words, and discoursed with divers

of his friends, that he had no reason to desire to be secretary in

the declination of a monarchy. The first man took hold of it, and

found means it was told the queen, who, hearing of a declination of a

monarchy, took it so ill, as she would never after hear of the other’s

suit.

There is a cunning, which we in England call “the turning of the cat in

the pan;” which is, when that which a man says to another, he lays it

as if another had said it to him; and, to say truth, it is not easy,

when such a matter passed between two, to make it appear from which of

them it first moved and began.

It is a way that some men have, to glance and dart at others by

justifying themselves by negatives; as to say, “This I do not;”

as Tigellinus did towards Burrhus: “Se non diversas spes, sed

incolumitatem imperatoris simpliciter spectare.”[273]

Some have in readiness so many tales and stories, as there is nothing

they would insinuate, but they can wrap it into a tale;[274] which

serveth both to keep themselves more in guard, and to make others carry

it with more pleasure.

It is a good point of cunning for a man to shape the answer he would

have in his own words and propositions; for it makes the other party

stick the less.

It is strange how long some men will lie in wait to speak somewhat

they desire to say; and how far about they will fetch,[275] and how

many other matters they will beat over to come near it. It is a thing

of great patience, but yet of much use.

A sudden, bold, and unexpected question doth many times surprise a

man, and lay him open. Like to him, that, having changed his name, and

walking in Paul’s,[276] another suddenly came behind him and called him

by his true name, whereat straightways he looked back.

But these small wares and petty points of cunning are infinite, and it

were a good deed to make a list of them; for that nothing doth more

hurt in a state than that cunning men pass for wise.

But certainly, some there are that know the resorts[277] and falls[278]

of business that cannot sink into the main of it;[279] like a house

that hath convenient stairs and entries, but never a fair room.

Therefore you shall see them find out pretty looses[280] in the

conclusion, but are noways able to examine or debate matters; and yet

commonly they take advantage of their inability, and would be thought

wits of direction. Some build rather upon the abusing of others, and

(as we now say) putting tricks upon them, than upon soundness of their

own proceedings; but Solomon saith: “Prudens advertit ad gressus suos;

stultus divertit ad dolos.”[281]

XXIII.—OF WISDOM FOR A MAN’S SELF.

An ant is a wise creature for itself, but it is a shrewd[282] thing

in an orchard or garden; and certainly, men that are great lovers of

themselves waste the public. Divide with reason between self-love and

society; and be so true to thyself as thou be not false to others,

specially to thy king and country. It is a poor centre of a man’s

actions, himself. It is right earth; for that only stands fast upon

his own centre;[283] whereas all things that have affinity with the

heavens, move upon the centre of another, which they benefit. The

referring of all to a man’s self is more tolerable in a sovereign

prince, because themselves are not only themselves, but their good and

evil is at the peril of the public fortune; but it is a desperate evil

in a servant to a prince, or a citizen in a republic; for whatsoever

affairs pass such a man’s hands, he crooketh them to his own ends,

which must needs be often eccentric to the ends of his master or state.

Therefore, let princes or states choose such servants as have not this

mark; except they mean their service should be made but the accessary.

That which maketh the effect more pernicious is, that all proportion

is lost. It were disproportion enough for the servant’s good to be

preferred before the master’s; but yet it is a greater extreme, when

a little good of the servant shall carry things against a great good

of the master. And yet that is the case of bad officers, treasurers,

ambassadors, generals, and other false and corrupt servants; which

set a bias upon their bowl, of their own petty ends and envies, to

the overthrow of their master’s great and important affairs; and, for

the most part, the good such servants receive is after the model of

their own fortune; but the hurt they sell for that good is after the

model of their master’s fortune. And certainly, it is the nature of

extreme self-lovers, as they will set a house on fire, an it were but

to roast their eggs; and yet these men many times hold credit with

their masters, because their study is but to please them, and profit

themselves; and for either respect they will abandon the good of their

affairs.

Wisdom for a man’s self is, in many branches thereof, a depraved

thing. It is the wisdom of rats, that will be sure to leave a house

somewhat before it fall; it is the wisdom of the fox, that thrusts

out the badger who digged and made room for him; it is the wisdom of

crocodiles, that shed tears when they would devour. But that which is

specially to be noted is, that those which (as Cicero says of Pompey)

are “sui amantes, sine rivali,”[284] are many times unfortunate; and

whereas they have all their times sacrificed to themselves, they become

in the end themselves sacrifices to the inconstancy of fortune, whose

wings they thought by their self-wisdom to have pinioned.

XXIV.—OF INNOVATIONS.

As the births of living creatures at first are ill-shapen, so are

all innovations, which are the births of time; yet, notwithstanding,

as those that first bring honor into their family are commonly more

worthy than most that succeed, so the first precedent (if it be good)

is seldom attained by imitation; for ill to man’s nature as it stands

perverted, hath a natural motion strongest in continuance, but good,

as a forced motion, strongest at first. Surely, every medicine[285]

is an innovation, and he that will not apply new remedies must expect

new evils, for time is the greatest innovator; and if time, of course,

alter things to the worse, and wisdom and counsel shall not alter

them to the better, what shall be the end? It is true, that what is

settled by custom, though it be not good, yet, at least, it is fit;

and those things which have long gone together, are, as it were,

confederate within themselves;[286] whereas new things piece not so

well; but, though they help by their utility, yet they trouble by their

inconformity; besides, they are like strangers, more admired and less

favored. All this is true, if time stood still, which, contrariwise,

moveth so round, that a froward retention of custom is as turbulent

a thing as an innovation; and they that reverence too much old times

are but a scorn to the new. It were good, therefore, that men in their

innovations would follow the example of time itself, which indeed

innovateth greatly, but quietly, and by degrees scarce to be perceived;

for, otherwise, whatsoever is new is unlooked for, and ever it

mends some and pairs[287] other; and he that is holpen, takes it for

a fortune, and thanks the time; and he that is hurt, for a wrong, and

imputeth it to the author. It is good, also, not to try experiments in

states, except the necessity be urgent, or the utility evident; and

well to beware that it be the reformation that draweth on the change,

and not the desire of change that pretendeth the reformation; and

lastly, that the novelty, though it be not rejected, yet be held for

a suspect,[288] and, as the Scripture saith, “That we make a stand

upon the ancient way, and then look about us, and discover what is the

straight and right way, and so to walk in it.”[289]

XXV.—OF DISPATCH.

Affected dispatch is one of the most dangerous things to business

that can be; it is like that which the physicians call predigestion,

or hasty digestion, which is sure to fill the body full of crudities,

and secret seeds of diseases. Therefore, measure not dispatch by the

times of sitting, but by the advancement of the business; and as in

races, it is not the large stride, or high lift, that makes the speed,

so in business, the keeping close to the matter, and not taking of it

too much at once, procureth dispatch. It is the care of some, only to

come off speedily for the time, or to contrive some false periods of

business, because they may seem men of dispatch; but it is one thing to

abbreviate by contracting,[290] another by cutting off; and business so

handled at several sittings, or meetings, goeth commonly backward and

forward in an unsteady manner. I knew a wise man[291] that had it for

a byword, when he saw men hasten to a conclusion, “Stay a little, that

we may make an end the sooner.”

On the other side, true dispatch is a rich thing; for time is the

measure of business, as money is of wares; and business is bought at

a dear hand where there is small dispatch. The Spartans and Spaniards

have been noted to be of small dispatch: “Mi venga la muerte de

Spagna;” “Let my death come from Spain;” for then it will be sure to be

long in coming.

Give good hearing to those that give the first information in business,

and rather direct them in the beginning, than interrupt them in the

continuance of their speeches; for he that is put out of his own order

will go forward and backward, and be more tedious while he waits upon

his memory, than he could have been if he had gone on in his own

course; but sometimes it is seen that the moderator is more troublesome

than the actor.

Iterations are commonly loss of time; but there is no such gain of time

as to iterate often the state of the question; for it chaseth away many

a frivolous speech as it is coming forth. Long and curious speeches

are as fit for dispatch as a robe, or mantle, with a long train, is

for a race. Prefaces, and passages,[292] and excusations,[293] and

other speeches of reference to the person, are great wastes of time;

and though they seem to proceed of modesty, they are bravery.[294]

Yet beware of being too material when there is any impediment, or

obstruction in men’s wills; for preoccupation of mind[295] ever

requireth preface of speech, like a fomentation to make the unguent

enter.

Above all things, order and distribution, and singling out of parts,

is the life of dispatch, so as the distribution be not too subtile;

for he that doth not divide will never enter well into business; and

he that divideth too much will never come out of it clearly. To choose

time is to save time; and an unseasonable motion is but beating the

air. There be three parts of business,—the preparation; the debate, or

examination; and the perfection. Whereof, if you look for dispatch, let

the middle only be the work of many, and the first and last the work of

few. The proceeding, upon somewhat conceived in writing, doth for the

most part facilitate dispatch; for though it should be wholly rejected,

yet that negative is more pregnant of direction than an indefinite, as

ashes are more generative than dust.

XXVI.—OF SEEMING WISE.

It hath been an opinion, that the French are wiser than they seem,

and the Spaniards seem wiser than they are; but howsoever it be

between nations, certainly it is so between man and man; for, as the

apostle saith of godliness, “Having a show of godliness, but denying

the power thereof,”[296] so certainly there are, in points of wisdom

and sufficiency, that do nothing, or little very solemnly,—“magno

conatu nugas.”[297] It is a ridiculous thing, and fit for a satire to

persons of judgment, to see what shifts these formalists have, and

what prospectives to make superficies to seem body, that hath depth

and bulk. Some are so close and reserved, as they will not show their

wares but by a dark light, and seem always to keep back somewhat; and

when they know within themselves they speak of that they do not well

know, would nevertheless seem to others to know of that which they may

not well speak. Some help themselves with countenance and gesture, and

are wise by signs; as Cicero saith of Piso, that when he answered him,

he fetched one of his brows up to his forehead, and bent the other

down to his chin: “Respondes, altero ad frontem sublato, altero ad

mentum depresso supercilio; crudelitatem tibi non placere.”[298] Some

think to bear it by speaking a great word, and being peremptory; and

go on, and take by admittance that which they cannot make good. Some,

whatsoever is beyond their reach, will seem to despise or make light of

it as impertinent or curious, and so would have their ignorance seem

judgment. Some are never without a difference, and commonly by amusing

men with a subtilty, blanch the matter; of whom A. Gellius saith,

“Hominem delirum, qui verborum minutiis rerum frangit pondera.”[299]

Of which kind also Plato, in his Protagoras, bringeth in Prodicus in

scorn, and maketh him make a speech that consisteth of distinctions

from the beginning to the end.[300] Generally such men, in all

deliberations, find ease to be[301] of the negative side, and affect a

credit to object and foretell difficulties; for when propositions are

denied, there is an end of them, but if they be allowed, it requireth

a new work; which false point of wisdom is the bane of business. To

conclude, there is no decaying merchant, or inward beggar,[302] hath

so many tricks to uphold the credit of their wealth, as these empty

persons have to maintain the credit of their sufficiency. Seeming wise

men may make shift to get opinion, but let no man choose them for

employment; for certainly, you were better take for business a man

somewhat absurd than over-formal.

XXVII.—OF FRIENDSHIP.

It had been hard for him that spake it, to have put more truth and

untruth together in few words than in that speech: “Whosoever is

delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast or a god:”[303] for it

is most true, that a natural and secret hatred and aversion towards

society in any man hath somewhat of the savage beast; but it is most

untrue, that it should have any character at all of the divine nature,

except it proceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a love

and desire to sequester a man’s self for a higher conversation; such

as is found to have been falsely and feignedly in some of the heathen;

as Epimenides,[304] the Candian; Numa, the Roman; Empedocles, the

Sicilian; and Apollonius, of Tyana; and truly and really in divers of

the ancient hermits and holy fathers of the church. But little do men

perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth; for a crowd is

not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a

tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. The Latin adage meeteth with

it a little: “Magna civitas, magna solitudo:”[305] because in a great

town friends are scattered, so that there is not that fellowship, for

the most part, which is in less neighborhoods: but we may go further,

and affirm most truly, that it is a mere and miserable solitude to want

true friends, without which the world is but a wilderness; and even in

this sense also of solitude, whosoever in the frame of his nature and

affections is unfit for friendship, he taketh it of the beasts, and not

from humanity.

A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and discharge of the

fulness and swellings of the heart, which passions of all kinds do

cause and induce. We know diseases of stoppings and suffocations are

the most dangerous in the body, and it is not much otherwise in the

mind. You may take sarza[306] to open the liver, steel to open the

spleen, flower of sulphur for the lungs, castoreum[307] for the brain,

but no receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may

impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever

lieth upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or

confession.

It is a strange thing to observe how high a rate great kings and

monarchs do set upon this fruit of friendship whereof we speak; so

great, as they purchase it many times at the hazard of their own safety

and greatness; for princes, in regard of the distance of their fortune

from that of their subjects and servants, cannot gather this fruit,

except (to make themselves capable thereof) they raise some persons to

be as it were companions, and almost equals to themselves, which many

times sorteth to inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such

persons the name of favorites, or privadoes, as if it were matter of

grace or conversation; but the Roman name attaineth the true use and

cause thereof, naming them “participes curarum;”[308] for it is that

which tieth the knot. And we see plainly that this hath been done, not

by weak and passionate princes only, but by the wisest and most politic

that ever reigned, who have oftentimes joined to themselves some of

their servants, whom both themselves have called friends, and allowed

others likewise to call them in the same manner, using the word which

is received between private men.

L. Sylla, when he commanded Rome, raised Pompey (after surnamed

the Great) to that height, that Pompey vaunted himself for Sylla’s

overmatch; for when he had carried the consulship for a friend of

his, against the pursuit of Sylla, and that Sylla did a little resent

thereat, and began to speak great, Pompey turned upon him again, and,

in effect, bade him be quiet; for that more men adored the sun rising

than the sun setting.[309] With Julius Cæsar, Decimus Brutus had

obtained that interest, as he set him down in his testament for heir

in remainder after his nephew; and this was the man that had power

with him to draw him forth to his death; for when Cæsar would have

discharged the senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially a

dream of Calphurnia, this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his

chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the senate till his

wife had dreamt a better dream;[310] and it seemeth his favor was so

great, as Antonius, in a letter which is recited verbatim in one of

Cicero’s Philippics, calleth him _venefica_, “witch,” as if he had

enchanted Cæsar.[311] Augustus raised Agrippa (though of mean birth) to

that height, as, when he consulted with Mæcenas about the marriage of

his daughter Julia, Mæcenas took the liberty to tell him, that he must

either marry his daughter to Agrippa, or take away his life; there was

no third way, he had made him so great. With Tiberius Cæsar, Sejanus

had ascended to that height, as they two were termed and reckoned

as a pair of friends. Tiberius, in a letter to him, saith, “Hæc pro

amicitiâ nostrâ non occultavi;”[312] and the whole senate dedicated

an altar to Friendship, as to a goddess, in respect of the great

dearness of friendship between them two. The like, or more, was between

Septimius Severus and Plautianus; for he forced his eldest son to

marry the daughter of Plautianus, and would often maintain Plautianus

in doing affronts to his son; and did write, also, in a letter to the

senate, by these words: “I love the man so well, as I wish he may

over-live me.”[313] Now, if these princes had been as a Trajan, or a

Marcus Aurelius, a man might have thought that this had proceeded of

an abundant goodness of nature; but being men so wise,[314] of such

strength and severity of mind, and so extreme lovers of themselves,

as all these were, it proveth most plainly that they found their own

felicity (though as great as ever happened to mortal men) but as an

half-piece, except they might have a friend to make it entire; and yet,

which is more, they were princes that had wives, sons, nephews; and yet

all these could not supply the comfort of friendship.

It is not to be forgotten what Comineus[315] observeth of his first

master, Duke Charles the Hardy,[316] namely, that he would communicate

his secrets with none, and, least of all, those secrets which troubled

him most. Whereupon he goeth on, and saith, that towards his latter

time, that closeness did impair and a little perish his understanding.

Surely, Comineus might have made the same judgment, also, if it had

pleased him, of his second master, Louis the Eleventh, whose closeness

was indeed his tormentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true:

“Cor ne edito,” “eat not the heart.”[317] Certainly, if a man would

give it a hard phrase, those that want friends to open themselves unto

are cannibals of their own hearts; but one thing is most admirable

(wherewith I will conclude this first fruit of friendship), which

is, that this communicating of a man’s self to his friend works two

contrary effects, for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halves;

for there is no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he

joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend,

but he grieveth the less. So that it is, in truth, of operation upon a

man’s mind of like virtue as the alchemists used to attribute to their

stone for man’s body, that it worketh all contrary effects, but still

to the good and benefit of nature. But yet, without praying in aid of

alchemists, there is a manifest image of this in the ordinary course of

nature; for, in bodies, union strengtheneth and cherisheth any natural

action; and, on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any violent

impression; and even so it is of minds.

The second fruit of friendship is healthful and sovereign for the

understanding, as the first is for the affections; for friendship

maketh indeed a fair day in the affections from storm and tempests,

but it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of darkness and

confusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be understood only of

faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from his friend; but before

you come to that, certain it is, that whosoever hath his mind fraught

with many thoughts, his wits and understanding do clarify and break

up in the communicating and discoursing with another; he tosseth his

thoughts more easily; he marshalleth them more orderly; he seeth how

they look when they are turned into words; finally, he waxeth wiser

than himself; and that more by an hour’s discourse than by a day’s

meditation. It was well said by Themistocles to the king of Persia:

“That speech was like cloth of Arras,[318] opened and put abroad,

whereby the imagery doth appear in figure; whereas in thoughts they lie

but as in packs.”[319] Neither is this second fruit of friendship, in

opening the understanding, restrained only to such friends as are able

to give a man counsel (they indeed are best), but even without that a

man learneth of himself, and bringeth his own thoughts to light, and

whetteth his wits as against a stone, which itself cuts not. In a word,

a man were better relate himself to a statue or picture, than to suffer

his thoughts to pass in smother.

Add now, to make this second fruit of friendship complete, that other

point which lieth more open, and falleth within vulgar observation;

which is faithful counsel from a friend. Heraclitus saith well, in

one of his enigmas, “Dry light is ever the best;”[320] and certain it

is, that the light that a man receiveth by counsel from another, is

drier and purer than that which cometh from his own understanding and

judgment, which is ever infused and drenched in his affections and

customs. So, as there is as much difference between the counsel that a

friend giveth, and that a man giveth himself, as there is between the

counsel of a friend and of a flatterer; for there is no such flatterer

as is a man’s self, and there is no such remedy against flattery of a

man’s self, as the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts,—the

one concerning manners, the other concerning business; for the first,

the best preservative to keep the mind in health, is the faithful

admonition of a friend. The calling of a man’s self to a strict account

is a medicine sometimes too piercing and corrosive; reading good books

of morality is a little flat and dead; observing our faults in others

is sometimes improper for our case; but the best receipt (best, I say,

to work, and best to take), is the admonition of a friend. It is a

strange thing to behold what gross errors and extreme absurdities many

(especially of the greater sort) do commit for want of a friend to

tell them of them, to the great damage both of their fame and fortune;

for, as St. James saith, they are as men “that look sometimes into a

glass, and presently forget their own shape and favor.”[321] As for

business, a man may think, if he will, that two eyes see no more than

one; or, that a gamester seeth always more than a looker-on; or, that

a man in anger is as wise as he that has said over the four and twenty

letters;[322] or, that a musket may be shot off as well upon the arm as

upon a rest;[323] and such other fond and high imaginations, to think

himself all in all; but when all is done, the help of good counsel is

that which setteth business straight. And if any man think that he

will take counsel, but it shall be by pieces, asking counsel in one

business of one man, and in another business of another man; it is well

(that is to say, better, perhaps, than if he asked none at all); but he

runneth two dangers,—one, that he shall not be faithfully counselled;

for it is a rare thing, except it be from a perfect and entire friend,

to have counsel given, but such as shall be bowed and crooked to some

ends which he hath that giveth it; the other, that he shall have

counsel given, hurtful and unsafe (though with good meaning), and

mixed partly of mischief, and partly of remedy; even as if you would

call a physician, that is thought good for the cure of the disease you

complain of, but is unacquainted with your body; and, therefore, may

put you in a way for a present cure, but overthroweth your health in

some other kind, and so cure the disease and kill the patient.

But a friend, that is wholly acquainted with a man’s estate, will

beware, by furthering any present business, how he dasheth upon other

inconvenience; and, therefore, rest not upon scattered counsels; they

will rather distract and mislead, than settle and direct.

After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the affections,

and support of the judgment), followeth the last fruit, which is like

the pomegranate, full of many kernels; I mean aid, and bearing a part

in all actions and occasions. Here the best way to represent to life

the manifold use of friendship, is to cast and see how many things

there are which a man cannot do himself; and then it will appear that

it was a sparing speech of the ancients to say, “that a friend is

another himself,” for that a friend is far more than himself. Men have

their time, and die many times in desire of some things which they

principally take to heart; the bestowing of a child, the finishing of

a work, or the like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest almost

secure that the care of those things will continue after him; so that

a man hath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A man hath a body,

and that body is confined to a place; but where friendship is, all

offices of life are, as it were, granted to him and his deputy, for he

may exercise them by his friend. How many things are there, which a

man cannot, with any face or comeliness, say or do himself? A man can

scarce allege his own merits with modesty, much less extol them; a

man cannot sometimes brook to supplicate, or beg, and a number of the

like; but all these things are graceful in a friend’s mouth, which are

blushing in a man’s own. So, again, a man’s person hath many proper

relations which he cannot put off. A man cannot speak to his son but as

a father; to his wife but as a husband; to his enemy but upon terms;

whereas, a friend may speak as the case requires, and not as it sorteth

with the person. But to enumerate these things were endless; I have

given the rule, where a man cannot fitly play his own part. If he have

not a friend, he may quit the stage.

XXVIII.—OF EXPENSE.

Riches are for spending, and spending for honor and good actions;

therefore, extraordinary expense must be limited by the worth of the

occasion; for voluntary undoing may be as well for a man’s country as

for the kingdom of heaven; but ordinary expense ought to be limited

by a man’s estate, and governed with such regard, as it be within his

compass, and not subject to deceit and abuse of servants, and ordered

to the best show, that the bills may be less than the estimation

abroad. Certainly, if a man will keep but of even hand, his ordinary

expenses ought to be but to the half of his receipts; and, if he think

to wax rich, but to the third part. It is no baseness for the greatest

to descend and look into their own estate. Some forbear it, not upon

negligence alone, but doubting to bring themselves into melancholy, in

respect they shall find it broken; but wounds cannot be cured without

searching. He that cannot look into his own estate at all, had need

both choose well those whom he employeth, and change them often; for

new are more timorous, and less subtle. He that can look into his

estate but seldom, it behooveth him to turn all to certainties. A man

had need, if he be plentiful in some kind of expense, to be as saving

again in some other: as, if he be plentiful in diet, to be saving in

apparel; if he be plentiful in the hall, to be saving in the stable;

and the like. For he that is plentiful in expenses of all kinds, will

hardly be preserved from decay. In clearing[324] of a man’s estate,

he may as well hurt himself in being too sudden, as in letting it run

on too long; for hasty selling is commonly as disadvantageable as

interest. Besides, he that clears at once will relapse; for, finding

himself out of straits, he will revert to his customs; but he that

cleareth by degrees induceth a habit of frugality, and gaineth as

well upon his mind as upon his estate. Certainly, who hath a state

to repair, may not despise small things; and, commonly, it is less

dishonorable to abridge petty charges, than to stoop to petty

gettings. A man ought warily to begin charges, which once begun will

continue; but in matters that return not, he may be more magnificent.

XXIX.—OF THE TRUE GREATNESS OF KINGDOMS AND ESTATES.

The speech of Themistocles, the Athenian, which was haughty and

arrogant, in taking so much to himself, had been a grave and wise

observation and censure, applied at large to others. Desired at a feast

to touch a lute, he said, “He could not fiddle, but yet he could make

a small town a great city.”[325] These words (holpen a little with a

metaphor) may express two different abilities in those that deal in

business of estate; for if a true survey be taken of counsellors and

statesmen, there may be found (though rarely) those which can make a

small state great, and yet cannot fiddle: as, on the other side there

will be found a great many that can fiddle very cunningly, but yet

are so far from being able to make a small state great, as their gift

lieth the other way,—to bring a great and flourishing estate to ruin

and decay. And certainly, those degenerate arts and shifts, whereby

many counsellors and governors gain both favor with their masters and

estimation with the vulgar, deserve no better name than fiddling;

being things rather pleasing for the time, and graceful to themselves

only, than tending to the weal and advancement of the state which they

serve. There are also (no doubt) counsellors and governors which may

be held sufficient, “negotiis pares,”[326] able to manage affairs,

and to keep them from precipices and manifest inconveniences; which,

nevertheless, are far from the ability to raise and amplify an estate

in power, means, and fortune. But be the workmen what they may be,

let us speak of the work; that is, the true greatness of kingdoms

and estates, and the means thereof. An argument fit for great and

mighty princes to have in their hand; to the end, that neither by

overmeasuring their forces, they lose themselves in vain enterprises:

nor, on the other side, by undervaluing them, they descend to fearful

and pusillanimous counsels.

The greatness of an estate, in bulk and territory, doth fall under

measure; and the greatness of finances and revenue doth fall under

computation. The population may appear by musters, and the number and

greatness of cities and towns by cards and maps; but yet there is not

anything amongst civil affairs more subject to error than the right

valuation and true judgment concerning the power and forces of an

estate. The kingdom of heaven is compared, not to any great kernel, or

nut, but to a grain of mustard-seed;[327] which is one of the least

grains, but hath in it a property and spirit hastily to get up and

spread. So are there states great in territory, and yet not apt to

enlarge or command; and some that have but a small dimension of stem,

and yet apt to be the foundations of great monarchies.

Walled towns, stored arsenals and armories, goodly races of horse,

chariots of war, elephants, ordnance, artillery, and the like; all this

is but a sheep in a lion’s skin, except the breed and disposition of

the people be stout and warlike. Nay, number itself in armies importeth

not much, where the people is of weak courage; for, as Virgil saith,

“It never troubles a wolf how many the sheep be.”[328] The army of

the Persians in the plains of Arbela was such a vast sea of people,

as it did somewhat astonish the commanders in Alexander’s army, who

came to him, therefore, and wished him to set upon them by night; but

he answered, “He would not pilfer the victory;” and the defeat was

easy.[329]—When Tigranes,[330] the Armenian, being encamped upon

a hill with four hundred thousand men, discovered the army of the

Romans, being not above fourteen thousand, marching towards him, he

made himself merry with it, and said, “Yonder men are too many for an

ambassage, and too few for a fight;” but before the sun set, he found

them enow to give him the chase with infinite slaughter. Many are the

examples of the great odds between number and courage; so that a man

may truly make a judgment, that the principal point of greatness in any

state is to have a race of military men. Neither is money the sinews

of war (as it is trivially said), where the sinews of men’s arms,

in base and effeminate people, are failing: for Solon said well to

Crœsus (when in ostentation he showed him his gold), “Sir, if any

other come that hath better iron than you, he will be master of all

this gold.” Therefore, let any prince or state, think soberly of his

forces, except his militia of natives be of good and valiant soldiers;

and let princes, on the other side, that have subjects of martial

disposition, know their own strength, unless they be otherwise wanting

unto themselves. As for mercenary forces (which is the help in this

case), all examples show that, whatsoever estate or prince doth rest

upon them, he may spread his feathers for a time, but he will mew them

soon after.

The blessing of Judah and Issachar[331] will never meet; that the

same people, or nation, should be both the lion’s whelp and the ass

between burdens; neither will it be, that a people overlaid with taxes

should ever become valiant and martial. It is true that taxes, levied

by consent of the estate, do abate men’s courage less; as it hath been

seen notably in the excises of the Low Countries, and, in some degree,

in the subsidies[332] of England; for, you must note, that we speak now

of the heart, and not of the purse; so that, although the same tribute

and tax, laid by consent or by imposing, be all one to the purse, yet

it works diversely upon the courage. So that you may conclude, that no

people overcharged with tribute is fit for empire.

Let states that aim at greatness take heed how their nobility and

gentlemen do multiply too fast; for that maketh the common subject grow

to be a peasant and base swain, driven out of heart, and, in effect,

but the gentleman’s laborer. Even as you may see in coppice woods; if

you leave your staddles[333] too thick, you shall never have clean

underwood, but shrubs and bushes. So in countries, if the gentlemen

be too many, the commons will be base; and you will bring it to that,

that not the hundred poll will be fit for a helmet, especially as

to the infantry, which is the nerve of an army; and so there will be

great population and little strength. This which I speak of, hath been

nowhere better seen than by comparing of England and France; whereof

England, though far less in territory and population, hath been,

nevertheless, an overmatch; in regard, the middle people of England

make good soldiers, which the peasants of France do not. And herein

the device of King Henry the Seventh (whereof I have spoken largely

in the history of his life) was profound and admirable; in making

farms and houses of husbandry of a standard, that is, maintained with

such a proportion of land unto them as may breed a subject to live in

convenient plenty, and no servile condition, and to keep the plough in

the hands of the owners, and not mere hirelings; and thus, indeed, you

shall attain to Virgil’s character, which he gives to ancient Italy:—

“Terra potens armis atque ubere glebæ.”[334]

Neither is that state (which, for anything I know, is almost peculiar

to England, and hardly to be found anywhere else, except it be,

perhaps, in Poland), to be passed over; I mean the state of free

servants and attendants upon noblemen and gentlemen, which are noways

inferior unto the yeomanry for arms; and, therefore, out of all

question, the splendor and magnificence, and great retinues, and

hospitality of noblemen and gentlemen received into custom, do much

conduce unto martial greatness; whereas, contrariwise, the close and

reserved living of noblemen and gentlemen causeth a penury of military

forces.

By all means, it is to be procured that the trunk of Nebuchadnezzar’s

tree of monarchy[335] be great enough to bear the branches and the

boughs; that is, that the natural subjects of the crown, or state, bear

a sufficient proportion to the stranger subjects that they govern.

Therefore, all states that are liberal of naturalization towards

strangers are fit for empire; for to think that a handful of people

can, with the greatest courage and policy in the world, embrace too

large extent of dominion, it may hold for a time, but it will fail

suddenly. The Spartans were a nice people in point of naturalization;

whereby, while they kept their compass, they stood firm; but when

they did spread, and their boughs were becoming too great for their

stem, they became a windfall upon the sudden. Never any state was, in

this point, so open to receive strangers into their body as were the

Romans; therefore, it sorted with them accordingly, for they grew to

the greatest monarchy. Their manner was to grant naturalization (which

they called “jus civitatis”),[336] and to grant it in the highest

degree, that is, not only “jus commercii,”[337] “jus connubii,”[338]

“jus hæreditatis;”[339] but, also, “jus suffragii,”[340] and “jus

honorum;”[341] and this not to singular persons alone, but likewise to

whole families; yea, to cities and sometimes to nations. Add to this

their custom of plantation of colonies, whereby the Roman plant was

removed into the soil of other nations, and, putting both constitutions

together, you will say, that it was not the Romans that spread upon

the world, but it was the world that spread upon the Romans; and

that was the sure way of greatness. I have marvelled sometimes at

Spain, how they clasp and contain so large dominions with so few

natural Spaniards;[342] but sure the whole compass of Spain is a very

great body of a tree, far above Rome and Sparta at the first; and,

besides, though they have not had that usage to naturalize liberally,

yet they have that which is next to it; that is, to employ, almost

indifferently, all nations in their militia of ordinary soldiers;

yea, and sometimes in their highest commands; nay, it seemeth at

this instant they are sensible of this want of natives, as by the

pragmatical sanction,[343] now published, appeareth.

It is certain that sedentary and within-door arts, and delicate

manufactures (that require rather the finger than the arm), have in

their nature a contrariety to a military disposition; and, generally,

all warlike people are a little idle, and love danger better than

travail; neither must they be too much broken of it, if they shall be

preserved in vigor. Therefore, it was great advantage in the ancient

states of Sparta, Athens, Rome, and others, that they had the use

of slaves, which commonly did rid those manufactures; but that is

abolished, in greatest part, by the Christian law. That which cometh

nearest to it is, to leave those arts chiefly to strangers (which, for

that purpose, are the more easily to be received), and to contain the

principal bulk of the vulgar natives within those three kinds, tillers

of the ground, free servants, and handicraftsmen of strong and manly

arts; as smiths, masons, carpenters, &c., not reckoning professed

soldiers.

But, above all, for empire and greatness, it importeth most, that

a nation do profess arms as their principal honor, study, and

occupation; for the things which we formerly have spoken of are but

habilitations[344] towards arms; and what is habilitation without

intention and act? Romulus, after his death (as they report or feign),

sent a present to the Romans, that, above all, they should intend[345]

arms, and then they should prove the greatest empire of the world. The

fabric of the state of Sparta was wholly (though not wisely) framed

and composed to that scope and end; the Persians and Macedonians had

it for a flash;[346] the Gauls, Germans, Goths, Saxons, Normans, and

others, had it for a time; the Turks have it at this day, though in

great declination. Of Christian Europe, they that have it are in effect

only the Spaniards; but it is so plain, that every man profiteth in

that he most intendeth, that it needeth not to be stood upon. It is

enough to point at it, that no nation which doth not directly profess

arms, may look to have greatness fall into their mouths; and, on the

other side, it is a most certain oracle of time, that those states that

continue long in that profession (as the Romans and Turks principally

have done), do wonders; and those that have professed arms but for an

age have, notwithstanding, commonly attained that greatness in that age

which maintained them long after, when their profession and exercise of

arms had grown to decay.

Incident to this point is, for a state to have those laws or customs

which may reach forth unto them just occasions (as may be pretended)

of war; for there is that justice imprinted in the nature of men,

that they enter not upon wars (whereof so many calamities do ensue),

but upon some, at the least specious grounds and quarrels. The Turk

hath at hand, for cause of war, the propagation of his law or sect, a

quarrel that he may always command. The Romans, though they esteemed

the extending the limits of their empire to be great honor to their

generals when it was done, yet they never rested upon that alone to

begin a war. First, therefore, let nations that pretend to greatness

have this, that they be sensible of wrongs, either upon borderers,

merchants, or politic ministers; and that they sit not too long upon

a provocation: secondly, let them be pressed,[347] and ready to give

aids and succors to their confederates, as it ever was with the Romans;

insomuch, as if the confederate had leagues defensive with divers other

states, and, upon invasion offered, did implore their aids severally,

yet the Romans would ever be the foremost, and leave it to none other

to have the honor. As for the wars, which were anciently made on the

behalf of a kind of party, or tacit conformity of estate, I do not see

how they may be well justified: as when the Romans made a war for the

liberty of Græcia; or, when the Lacedæmonians and Athenians made wars

to set up or pull down democracies and oligarchies; or when wars were

made by foreigners, under the pretence of justice or protection, to

deliver the subjects of others from tyranny and oppression, and the

like. Let it suffice, that no estate expect to be great, that is not

awake upon any just occasion of arming.

Nobody can be healthful without exercise, neither natural body nor

politic; and, certainly, to a kingdom, or estate, a just and honorable

war is the true exercise. A civil war, indeed, is like the heat of a

fever; but a foreign war is like the heat of exercise, and serveth to

keep the body in health; for, in a slothful peace, both courages will

effeminate and manners corrupt. But, howsoever it be for happiness,

without all question for greatness, it maketh to be still, for the

most part, in arms; and the strength of a veteran army (though it be a

chargeable business) always on foot, is that which commonly giveth the

law, or, at least, the reputation amongst all neighbor states, as may

well be seen in Spain,[348] which hath had, in one part or other, a

veteran army, almost continually, now by the space of sixscore years.

To be master of the sea is an abridgment of a monarchy. Cicero, writing

to Atticus, of Pompey’s preparation against Cæsar, saith, “Consilium

Pompeii plane Themistocleum est; putat enim, qui mari potitur, eum

rerum potiri;[349] and, without doubt, Pompey had tired out Cæsar, if

upon vain confidence he had not left that way. We see the great effects

of battles by sea. The battle of Actium decided the empire of the

world: the battle of Lepanto arrested the greatness of the Turk. There

be many examples where sea-fights have been final to the war; but this

is when princes, or states, have set up their rest upon the battles.

But thus much is certain, that he that commands the sea is at great

liberty, and may take as much and as little of the war as he will;

whereas, those that be strongest by land are many times, nevertheless,

in great straits. Surely, at this day, with us of Europe, the vantage

of strength at sea (which is one of the principal dowries of this

kingdom of Great Britain) is great; both because most of the kingdoms

of Europe are not merely inland, but girt with the sea most part of

their compass; and because the wealth of both Indies seems, in great

part, but an accessary to the command of the seas.

The wars of latter ages seem to be made in the dark, in respect of

the glory and honor which reflected upon men from the wars in ancient

time. There be now, for martial encouragement, some degrees and orders

of chivalry, which, nevertheless, are conferred promiscuously upon

soldiers and no soldiers; and some remembrance, perhaps, upon the

escutcheon, and some hospitals for maimed soldiers, and such like

things; but in ancient times, the trophies erected upon the place of

the victory; the funeral laudatives,[350] and monuments for those

that died in the wars; the crowns and garlands personal; the style of

emperor which the great kings of the world after borrowed; the triumphs

of the generals upon their return; the great donatives and largesses

upon the disbanding of the armies; were things able to inflame all

men’s courages. But, above all, that of the triumph amongst the

Romans was not pageants or gaudery, but one of the wisest and noblest

institutions that ever was; for it contained three things: honor to the

general, riches to the treasury out of the spoils, and donatives to

the army. But that honor, perhaps, were not fit for monarchies, except

it be in the person of the monarch himself, or his sons; as it came

to pass in the times of the Roman emperors, who did impropriate the

actual triumphs to themselves and their sons, for such wars as they did

achieve in person, and left only for wars achieved by subjects, some

triumphal garments and ensigns to the general.

To conclude. No man can by care-taking (as the Scripture saith) “add

a cubit to his stature,”[351] in this little model of a man’s body;

but in the great frame of kingdoms and commonwealths, it is in the

power of princes, or estates, to add amplitude and greatness to

their kingdom; for, by introducing such ordinances, constitutions,

and customs, as we have now touched, they may sow greatness to their

posterity and succession: but these things are commonly not observed,

but left to take their chance.

XXX.—OF REGIMEN OF HEALTH.

There is a wisdom in this beyond the rules of physic. A man’s own

observation, what he finds good of, and what he finds hurt of, is the

best 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 offence of this, therefore I may use it;” for strength

of nature in youth passeth over many excesses which are owing[352] a

man till his age. Discern of the coming on of years, and think not to

do the same things still; for age will not be defied. Beware of sudden

change in any great point of diet, and, if necessity enforce it, fit

the rest to it; for it is a secret both in nature and state, that it

is safer to change many things than one. Examine thy customs of diet,

sleep, exercise, apparel, and the like; and try, in any thing thou

shalt judge hurtful, to discontinue it by little and little; but so, as

if thou dost find any inconvenience by the change, thou come back to

it again; for it is hard to distinguish that which is generally held

good and wholesome, from that which is good particularly,[353] and fit

for thine own body. To be free-minded and cheerfully disposed at hours

of meat, and of sleep, and of exercise, is one of the best precepts of

long lasting. As for the passions and studies of the mind, avoid envy,

anxious fears, anger fretting inwards, subtle and knotty inquisitions,

joys, and exhilarations in excess, sadness not communicated. Entertain

hopes, mirth rather than joy, variety of delights, rather than surfeit

of them; wonder and admiration, and therefore novelties; studies that

fill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories,

fables, and contemplations of nature. If you fly physic in health

altogether, it will be too strange for your body when you shall need

it; if you make it too familiar, it will work no extraordinary effect

when sickness cometh. I commend rather some diet, for certain seasons,

than frequent use of physic, except it be grown into a custom; for

those diets alter the body more, and trouble it less. Despise no new

accident[354] in your body, but ask opinion[355] of it. In sickness,

respect health principally; and in health, action; for those that put

their bodies to endure in health, may, in most sicknesses which are

not very sharp, be cured only with diet and tendering. Celsus could

never have spoken it as a physician, had he not been a wise man withal,

when he giveth it for one of the great precepts of health and lasting,

that a man do vary and interchange contraries, but with an inclination

to the more benign extreme. Use fasting and full eating, but rather

full eating;[356] watching and sleep, but rather sleep; sitting and

exercise, but rather exercise, and the like; so shall nature be

cherished, and yet taught masteries.[357] Physicians are some of them

so pleasing and conformable to the humor of the patient, as they

press not the true cure of the disease; and some other are so regular

in proceeding according to art for the disease, as they respect not

sufficiently the condition of the patient. Take one of a middle temper;

or, if it may not be found in one man, combine two of either sort; and

forget not to call as well the best acquainted with your body, as the

best reputed of for his faculty.

XXXI.—OF SUSPICION.

Suspicions amongst thoughts are like bats amongst birds, they ever

fly by twilight. Certainly they are to be repressed, or at the least

well guarded; for they cloud the mind, they lose friends, and they

check with business, whereby business cannot go on currently and

constantly. They dispose kings to tyranny, husbands to jealousy, wise

men to irresolution and melancholy. They are defects, not in the heart

but in the brain; for they take place in the stoutest natures, as in

the example of Henry the Seventh of England. There was not a more

suspicious man, nor a more stout, and in such a composition they do

small hurt; for commonly they are not admitted, but with examination,

whether they be likely or no; but in fearful natures they gain ground

too fast. There is nothing makes a man suspect much, more than to know

little; and, therefore, men should remedy suspicion by procuring to

know more, and not to keep their suspicions in smother. What would men

have? Do they think those they employ and deal with are saints? Do they

not think they will have their own ends, and be truer to themselves

than to them? Therefore, there is no better way to moderate suspicions,

than to account upon such suspicions as true, and yet to bridle them

as false:[358] for so far a man ought to make use of suspicions as to

provide, as if that should be true that he suspects, yet it may do him

no hurt. Suspicions that the mind of itself gathers are but buzzes; but

suspicions that are artificially nourished, and put into men’s heads by

the tales and whisperings of others, have stings. Certainly, the best

mean, to clear the way in this same wood of suspicions, is frankly to

communicate them with the party that he suspects: for thereby he shall

be sure to know more of the truth of them than he did before; and,

withal, shall make that party more circumspect, not to give further

cause of suspicion. But this would not be done to men of base natures;

for they, if they find themselves once suspected, will never be true.

The Italian says, “Sospetto licentia fede;”[359] as if suspicion did

give a passport to faith; but it ought rather to kindle it to discharge

itself.

XXXII.—OF DISCOURSE.

Some in their discourse desire rather commendation of wit, in being

able to hold all arguments,[360] than of judgment, in discerning what

is true; as if it were a praise to know what might be said and not

what should be thought. Some have certain commonplaces and themes,

wherein they are good, and want variety; which kind of poverty is for

the most part tedious, and, when it is once perceived, ridiculous. The

honorablest part of talk is to give the occasion,[361] and again to

moderate and pass to somewhat else; for then a man leads the dance.

It is good in discourse, and speech of conversation, to vary and

intermingle speech of the present occasion with arguments, tales with

reasons, asking of questions with telling of opinions, and jest with

earnest; for it is a dull thing to tire, and, as we say now, to jade

any thing too far. As for jest, there be certain things which ought

to be privileged from it; namely, religion, matters of state, great

persons, any man’s present business of importance, and any case that

deserveth pity; yet there be some that think their wits have been

asleep, except they dart out somewhat that is piquant, and to the

quick; that is a vein which would be bridled:[362]—

“Parce, puer, stimulis, et fortius utere loris.”[363]

And, generally, men ought to find the difference between saltness and

bitterness. Certainly, he that hath a satirical vein, as he maketh

others afraid of his wit, so he had need be afraid of others’ memory.

He that questioneth much, shall learn much, and content much, but

especially if he apply his questions to the skill of the persons whom

he asketh: for he shall give them occasion to please themselves in

speaking, and himself shall continually gather knowledge; but let

his questions not be troublesome, for that is fit for a poser.[364]

And let him be sure to leave other men their turns to speak; nay, if

there be any that would reign and take up all the time, let him find

means to take them off, and to bring others on, as musicians used to

do with those that dance too long galliards.[365] If you dissemble

sometimes your knowledge of that you are thought to know, you shall be

thought, another time, to know that you know not. Speech of a man’s

self ought to be seldom, and well chosen. I knew one was wont to say

in scorn, “He must needs be a wise man, he speaks so much of himself;”

and there is but one case wherein a man may commend himself with good

grace, and that is in commending virtue in another, especially if it

be such a virtue whereunto himself pretendeth. Speech of touch[366]

towards others should be sparingly used; for discourse ought to be as

a field, without coming home to any man. I knew two noblemen, of the

west part of England, whereof the one was given to scoff, but kept

ever royal cheer in his house; the other would ask of those that had

been at the other’s table, “Tell truly, was there never a flout[367]

or dry blow[368] given?” To which the guest would answer, “Such and

such a thing passed.” The lord would say, “I thought he would mar a

good dinner.” Discretion of speech is more than eloquence; and to speak

agreeably to him with whom we deal, is more than to speak in good

words, or in good order. A good continued speech, without a good speech

of interlocution, shows slowness; and a good reply, or second speech,

without a good settled speech, showeth shallowness and weakness. As

we see in beasts, that those that are weakest in the course, are yet

nimblest in the turn; as it is betwixt the greyhound and the hare. To

use too many circumstances, ere one come to the matter, is wearisome;

to use none at all, is blunt.

XXXIII.—OF PLANTATIONS.[369]

Plantations are amongst ancient, primitive, and heroical works. When

the world was young, it begat more children; but now it is old, it

begets fewer; for I may justly account new plantations to be the

children of former kingdoms. I like a plantation in a pure soil;

that is, where people are not displanted,[370] to the end to plant

in others; for else it is rather an extirpation than a plantation.

Planting of countries is like planting of woods; for you must make

account to lose almost twenty years’ profit, and expect your recompense

in the end; for the principal thing that hath been the destruction

of most plantations, hath been the base and hasty drawing of profit

in the first years. It is true, speedy profit is not to be neglected,

as far as may stand with the good of the plantation, but no further.

It is a shameful and unblessed thing[371] to take the scum of people

and wicked condemned men, to be the people with whom you plant; and

not only so, but it spoileth the plantation; for they will ever live

like rogues, and not fall to work; but be lazy, and do mischief, and

spend victuals, and be quickly weary, and then certify over to their

country to the discredit of the plantation. The people wherewith you

plant ought to be gardeners, ploughmen, laborers, smiths, carpenters,

joiners, fishermen, fowlers, with some few apothecaries, surgeons,

cooks, and bakers. In a country of plantations, first look about what

kind of victual the country yields of itself to hand; as chestnuts,

walnuts, pine-apples, olives, dates, plums, cherries, wild honey,

and the like, and make use of them. Then consider what victual, or

esculent things there are, which grow speedily, and within the year; as

parsnips, carrots, turnips, onions, radish, artichokes of Jerusalem,

maize, and the like. For wheat, barley, and oats, they ask too much

labor; but with pease and beans you may begin, both because they ask

less labor, and because they serve for meat as well as for bread;

and of rice, likewise, cometh a great increase, and it is a kind of

meat. Above all, there ought to be brought store of biscuit, oatmeal,

flour, meal, and the like, in the beginning, till bread may be had. For

beasts, or birds, take chiefly such as are least subject to diseases,

and multiply fastest; as swine, goats, cocks, hens, turkeys, geese,

house-doves, and the like. The victual in plantations ought to be

expended almost as in a besieged town, that is, with certain allowance;

and let the main part of the ground employed to gardens or corn, be to

a common stock; and to be laid in, and stored up, and then delivered

out in proportion; besides some spots of ground that any particular

person will manure for his own private use. Consider, likewise, what

commodities the soil where the plantation is doth naturally yield, that

they may some way help to defray the charge of the plantation; so it be

not, as was said, to the untimely prejudice of the main business, as

it hath fared with tobacco in Virginia.[372] Wood commonly aboundeth

but too much; and therefore timber is fit to be one. If there be iron

ore, and streams whereupon to set the mills, iron is a brave commodity

where wood aboundeth. Making of bay-salt, if the climate be proper for

it, would be put in experience; growing silk, likewise, if any be, is

a likely commodity; pitch and tar, where store of firs and pines are,

will not fail; so drugs and sweet woods, where they are, cannot but

yield great profit; soap-ashes, likewise, and other things that may

be thought of; but moil[373] not too much under ground, for the hope

of mines is very uncertain, and useth to make the planters lazy in

other things. For government, let it be in the hands of one, assisted

with some counsel; and let them have commission to exercise martial

laws, with some limitation; and, above all, let men make that profit

of being in the wilderness, as they have God always, and his service,

before their eyes. Let not the government of the plantation depend upon

too many counsellors and undertakers in the country that planteth,

but upon a temperate number; and let those be rather noblemen and

gentlemen, than merchants, for they look ever to the present gain. Let

there be freedoms from custom, till the plantation be of strength; and

not only freedom from custom, but freedom to carry their commodities

where they may make their best of them, except there be some special

cause of caution. Cram not in people, by sending too fast company

after company; but rather hearken how they waste, and send supplies

proportionably; but so as the number may live well in the plantation,

and not by surcharge be in penury. It hath been a great endangering to

the health of some plantations, that they have built along the sea and

rivers, in marish[374] and unwholesome grounds; therefore, though you

begin there, to avoid carriage and other like discommodities, yet

build still rather upwards from the streams than along. It concerneth,

likewise, the health of the plantation, that they have good store of

salt with them, that they may use it in their victuals when it shall

be necessary. If you plant where savages are, do not only entertain

them with trifles and gingles,[375] but use them justly and graciously,

with sufficient guard, nevertheless; and do not win their favor by

helping them to invade their enemies, but for their defence it is not

amiss; and send oft of them over to the country that plants, that they

may see a better condition than their own, and commend it when they

return. When the plantation grows to strength, then it is time to plant

with women as well as with men; that the plantation may spread into

generations, and not be ever pieced from without. It is the sinfullest

thing in the world, to forsake or destitute a plantation once in

forwardness; for, besides the dishonor, it is the guiltiness of blood

of many commiserable persons.

XXXIV.—OF RICHES.

I cannot call riches better than the baggage of virtue; the Roman word

is better, “impedimenta;” for as the baggage is to an army, so is

riches to virtue; it cannot be spared nor left behind, but it hindereth

the march; yea, and the care of it sometimes loseth or disturbeth

the victory. Of great riches there is no real use, except it 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 owner, but

the sight of it with his eyes?”[376] The personal fruition in any man

cannot reach to feel great riches: there is a custody of them, or a

power of dole and donative of them, or a fame of them, but no solid use

to the owner. Do you not see what feigned prices are set upon little

stones and rarities? and what works of ostentation are undertaken,

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 or troubles;

as Solomon saith: “Riches are as a strong-hold in the imagination of

the rich man;”[377] but this is excellently expressed, that it is in

imagination, and not always in fact; for, certainly, great riches have

sold more men than they have bought out. Seek not proud riches, but

such as thou mayest get justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully,

and leave contentedly; yet have no abstract nor friarly contempt of

them, but distinguish, as Cicero saith well of Rabirius Posthumus:

“In studio rei amplificandæ apparebat, non avaritiæ prædam, sed

instrumentum bonitati quæri.”[378] Hearken also to Solomon, and beware

of hasty gathering of riches: “Qui festinat ad divitias, non erit

insons.”[379] The poets feign, that when Plutus (which is riches) is

sent from Jupiter, he limps, and goes slowly; 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[380] (as by the course of inheritance, 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, and unjust means), they come upon speed.

The ways to enrich are many, and most of them foul: parsimony is one

of the best, and yet is not innocent; for it withholdeth men from works

of liberality and charity. The improvement of the ground is the most

natural obtaining of riches; for it is our great mother’s blessing, the

earth’s, but it is slow; and yet, where men of great wealth do stoop

to husbandry, it multiplieth riches exceedingly. I knew a nobleman,

in England, that had the greatest audits[381] of any man in my time,

a great grazier, a great sheep-master, a great timber-man, a great

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 a sea

to him in respect of the perpetual importation. It was truly observed

by one, “That himself came very hardly to a little riches, and very

easily to great riches;” for when a man’s stock is come to that, that

he can expect the prime of markets,[382] and overcome those bargains,

which for their greatness are few men’s money, and be partner in the

industries of younger men, he cannot but increase mainly. The gains of

ordinary trades and vocations are honest, and furthered by two things,

chiefly: by diligence, and by a good name for good and fair dealing;

but the gains of bargains are of a more doubtful nature, when men shall

wait upon others’ necessity: broke by servants and instruments to draw

them on; put off others cunningly that would be better chapmen; and

the like practices, which are crafty and naught. As for the chopping

of bargains, when a man buys not to hold, but to sell over again,

that commonly grindeth double, both upon the seller and upon the

buyer. Sharings do greatly enrich, if the hands be well chosen that

are trusted. Usury is the certainest means of gain, though one of the

worst; as that whereby a man doth eat his bread, “in sudore vultûs

alieni;”[383] and, besides, doth plough upon Sundays; but yet certain

though it be, it hath flaws, for that the scriveners and brokers do

value unsound men to serve their own turn. The fortune, in being the

first in an invention, or in a privilege, doth cause sometimes a

wonderful overgrowth in riches, as it was with the first sugar-man[384]

in the Canaries; therefore, if a man can play the true logician, to

have 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 to poverty; it is good, therefore, to

guard adventures with certainties that may uphold losses. Monopolies,

and coemption of wares for resale, where they are not restrained, are

great means to enrich; especially if the party have intelligence what

things are like to come into request, and so store himself beforehand.

Riches gotten by service, though it be of the best rise, yet when they

are gotten by flattery, feeding humors, and other servile conditions,

they may be placed amongst the worst. As for fishing for testaments

and executorships (as Tacitus saith of Seneca, “Testamenta et orbos

tanquam indagine capi”),[385] it is yet worse, by how much men submit

themselves to meaner persons than in service. Believe not much them

that seem to despise riches, for they despise them that despair of

them; and none worse when they come to them. Be not penny-wise; riches

have wings, and sometimes they fly away of themselves, sometimes they

must be set flying to bring in more. Men leave their riches either to

their kindred, or to the public; and moderate portions prosper best in

both. A great state left to an heir, is as a lure to all the birds of

prey round about to seize on him, if he be not the better stablished

in years and judgment; likewise, glorious gifts and foundations are

like sacrifices without salt, and but the painted sepulchres of alms,

which soon will putrefy and corrupt inwardly. Therefore, measure not

thine advancements by quantity, but frame them by measure, and defer

not 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.

XXXV.—OF PROPHECIES.

I mean not to speak of divine prophecies, nor of heathen oracles,

nor of natural predictions; but only of prophecies that have been of

certain memory, and from hidden causes. Saith the Pythonissa[386] to

Saul, “To-morrow thou and thy sons shall be with me.” Virgil hath these

verses from Homer:—

“Hic domus Æneæ cunctis dominabitur oris,

Et nati natorum, et qui nascentur ab illis.”[387]

A prophecy, as it seems, of the Roman empire. Seneca the tragedian hath

these verses:—

“Venient annis

Sæcula seris, quibus Oceanus

Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens

Pateat Tellus, Tiphysque novos

Detegat orbes; nec sit terris

Ultima Thule.”[388]

A prophecy of the discovery of America. The daughter of

Polycrates[389] dreamed that Jupiter bathed her father, and Apollo

anointed him; and it came to pass that he was crucified in an open

place, where the sun made his body run with sweat, and the rain washed

it. Philip of Macedon dreamed he sealed up his wife’s belly, whereby

he did expound it, that his wife should be barren; but Aristander the

soothsayer told him his wife was with child, because men do not use

to seal vessels that are empty.[390] A phantasm that appeared to M.

Brutus in his tent, said to him, “Philippis iterum me videbis.”[391]

Tiberius said to Galba, “Tu quoque, Galba, degustabis imperium.”[392]

In Vespasian’s time, there went a prophecy in the East, that those

that should come forth of Judea, should reign over the world; which,

though it may be was meant of our Saviour, yet Tacitus expounds it of

Vespasian.[393] Domitian dreamed, the night before he was slain, that a

golden head was growing out of the nape of his neck;[394] and, indeed,

the succession that followed him, for many years, made golden times.

Henry the Sixth of England said of Henry the Seventh, when he was a

lad, and gave him water, “This is the lad that shall enjoy the crown

for which we strive.” When I was in France, I heard from one Dr. Pena,

that the queen mother,[395] who was given to curious arts, caused the

king her husband’s nativity to be calculated under a false name; and

the astrologer gave a judgment, that he should be killed in a duel; at

which the queen laughed, thinking her husband to be above challenges

and duels; but he was slain upon a course at tilt, the splinters of the

staff of Montgomery going in at his beaver. The trivial prophecy which

I heard when I was a child, and Queen Elizabeth was in the flower of

her years, was,

“When hempe is spunne,

England’s done;”

whereby it was generally conceived, that after the princes had reigned

which had the principal letters of that word hempe (which were Henry,

Edward, Mary, Philip, and Elizabeth), England should come to utter

confusion; which, thanks be to God, is verified only in the change of

the name; for that the king’s style is now no more of England, but

of Britain.[396] There was also another prophecy before the year of

eighty-eight, which I do not well understand.

“There shall be seen upon a day,

Between the Baugh and the May,

The black fleet of Norway.

When that that is come and gone,

England build houses of lime and stone,

For after wars you shall have none.”

It was generally conceived to be meant of the Spanish fleet that came

in eighty-eight; for that the king of Spain’s surname, as they say, is

Norway. The prediction of Regiomontanus,

“Octogesimus octavus mirabilis annus,”[397]

was thought likewise accomplished in the sending of that great fleet,

being the greatest in strength, though not in number, of all that

ever swam upon the sea. As for Cleon’s dream,[398] I think it was

a jest; it was, that he was devoured of a long dragon; and it was

expounded of a maker of sausages, that troubled him exceedingly. There

are numbers of the like kind, especially if you include dreams,

and predictions of astrology; but I have set down these few only of

certain credit, for example. My judgment is, that they ought all to

be despised, and ought to serve but for winter talk by the fireside;

though, when I say despised, I mean it as for belief; for otherwise,

the spreading or publishing of them is in no sort to be despised,

for they have done much mischief; and I see many severe laws made

to suppress them. That that hath given them grace, and some credit,

consisteth in three things. First, that men mark when they hit, and

never mark when they miss;[399] as they do, generally, also of dreams.

The second is, that probable conjectures, or obscure traditions, many

times turn themselves into prophecies; while the nature of man, which

coveteth divination, thinks it no peril to foretell that which indeed

they do but collect, as that of Seneca’s verse; for so much was then

subject to demonstration, that the globe of the earth had great parts

beyond the Atlantic, which might be probably conceived not to be all

sea; and adding thereto the tradition in Plato’s Timæus, and his

Atlanticus,[400] it might encourage one to turn it to a prediction.

The third and last (which is the great one), is, that almost all of

them, being infinite in number, have been impostures, and, by idle and

crafty brains, merely contrived and feigned, after the event past.

XXXVI.—OF AMBITION.

Ambition is like choler, which is a humor that maketh men active,

earnest, full of alacrity, and stirring, if it be not stopped; but if

it be stopped, and cannot have its way, it becometh adust,[401] and

thereby malign and venomous. So ambitious men, if they find the way

open for their rising, and still get forward, they are rather busy

than dangerous; but if they be checked in their desires, they become

secretly discontent, and look upon men and matters with an evil eye,

and are best pleased when things go backward; which is the worst

property in a servant of a prince or state. Therefore, it is good

for princes, if they use ambitious men, to handle it so, as they be

still progressive, and not retrograde; which, because it cannot be

without inconvenience, it is good not to use such natures at all;

for if they rise not with their service, they will take order to make

their service fall with them. But since we have said, it were good

not to use men of ambitious natures, except it be upon necessity, it

is fit we speak in what cases they are of necessity. Good commanders

in the wars must be taken, be they never so ambitious; for the use

of their service dispenseth with the rest; and to take a soldier

without ambition, is to pull off his spurs. There is also great use

of ambitious men in being screens to princes in matters of danger and

envy; for no man will take that part, except he be like a seeled[402]

dove, that mounts and mounts, because he cannot see about him. There

is use, also, of ambitious men, in pulling down the greatness of any

subject that overtops; as Tiberius used Macro[403] in the pulling

down of Sejanus. Since, therefore, they must be used in such cases,

there resteth to speak how they are to be bridled, that they may

be less dangerous. There is less danger of them if they be of mean

birth, than if they be noble; and if they be rather harsh of nature,

than gracious and popular; and if they be rather new raised, than

grown cunning and fortified in their greatness. It is counted by some

a weakness in princes to have favorites; but it is, of all others,

the best remedy against ambitious great ones; for when the way of

pleasuring and displeasuring lieth by the favorite, it is impossible

any other should be over-great. Another means to curb them, is, to

balance them by others as proud as they; but then there must be some

middle counsellors, to keep things steady, for without that ballast,

the ship will roll too much. At the least, a prince may animate and

inure some meaner persons to be, as it were, scourges to ambitious

men. As for the having of them obnoxious to[404] ruin, if they be of

fearful natures, it may do well; but if they be stout and daring, it

may precipitate their designs, and prove dangerous. As for the pulling

of them down, if the affairs require it, and that it may not be done

with safety suddenly, the only way is, the interchange continually of

favors and disgraces, whereby they may not know what to expect, and be,

as it were, in a wood. Of ambitions, it is less harmful the ambition to

prevail in great things, than that other to appear in every thing; for

that breeds confusion, and mars business; but yet, it is less danger to

have an ambitious man stirring in business, than great in dependencies.

He that seeketh to be eminent amongst able men, hath a great task, but

that is ever good for the public; but he that plots to be the only

figure amongst ciphers, is the decay of a whole age. Honor hath three

things in it: the vantage-ground to do good; the approach to kings and

principal persons; and the raising of a man’s own fortunes. He that

hath the best of these intentions, when he aspireth, is an honest man;

and that prince that can discern of these intentions in another that

aspireth, is a wise prince. Generally, let princes and states choose

such ministers as are more sensible of duty than of rising, and such as

love business rather upon conscience than upon bravery; and let them

discern a busy nature from a willing mind.

XXXVII.—OF MASQUES AND TRIUMPHS.

These things are but toys to come amongst such serious observations;

but yet, since princes will have such things, it is better they should

be graced with elegancy, than daubed with cost. Dancing to song is a

thing of great state and pleasure. I understand it that the song be in

choir, placed aloft, and accompanied with some broken music, and the

ditty fitted to the device. Acting in song, especially in dialogues,

hath an extreme good grace; I say acting, not dancing (for that is

a mean and vulgar thing); and the voices of the dialogue would be

strong and manly (a base and a tenor, no treble), and the ditty high

and tragical, not nice or dainty. Several choirs, placed one over

against another, and taking the voices by catches anthem-wise, give

great pleasure. Turning dances into figure is a childish curiosity;

and, generally, let it be noted, that those things which I here set

down are such as do naturally take the sense, and not respect petty

wonderments. It is true, the alterations of scenes, so it be quietly

and without noise, are things of great beauty and pleasure: for they

feed and relieve the eye before it be full of the same object. Let the

scenes abound with light, specially colored and varied; and let the

masquers, or any other that are to come down from the scene, have some

motions upon the scene itself before their coming down; for it draws

the eye strangely, and makes it with great pleasure to desire to see

that it cannot perfectly discern. Let the songs be loud and cheerful,

and not chirpings or pulings;[405] let the music, likewise, be sharp

and loud, and well placed. The colors that show best by candlelight,

are white, carnation, and a kind of sea-water green; and ouches,[406]

or spangs,[407] as they are of no great cost, so they are of most

glory. As for rich embroidery, it is lost and not discerned. Let the

suits of the masquers be graceful, and such as become the person

when the vizors are off; not after examples of known attires, Turks,

soldiers, mariners, and the like. Let anti-masques[408] not be long;

they have been commonly of fools, satyrs, baboons, wild men, antics,

beasts, sprites, witches, Ethiopes, pigmies, turquets,[409] nymphs,

rustics, Cupids, statues moving, and the like. As for angels, it is

not comical enough to put them in anti-masques; and any thing that

is hideous, as devils, giants, is, on the other side, as unfit; but,

chiefly, let the music of them be recreative, and with some strange

changes. Some sweet odors suddenly coming forth, without any drops

falling, are, in such a company as there is steam and heat, things of

great pleasure and refreshment. Double masques, one of men, another of

ladies, addeth state and variety; but all is nothing, except the room

be kept clear and neat.

For justs, and tourneys, and barriers, the glories of them are chiefly

in the chariots, wherein the challengers make their entry; especially

if they be drawn with strange beasts, as lions, bears, camels, and the

like; or in the devices of their entrance, or in the bravery of their

liveries, or in the goodly furniture of their horses and armor. But

enough of these toys.

XXXVIII.—OF NATURE IN MEN.

Nature is often hidden, sometimes overcome, seldom extinguished. Force

maketh nature more violent in the return; doctrine and discourse maketh

nature less importune, but custom only doth alter and subdue nature.

He that seeketh victory over his nature, let him not set himself too

great nor too small tasks; for the first will make him dejected by

often failings, and the second will make him a small proceeder, though

by often prevailings. And at the first, let him practise with helps,

as swimmers do with bladders, or rushes; but, after a time, let him

practise with disadvantages, as dancers do with thick shoes; for it

breeds great perfection, if the practice be harder than the use. Where

nature is mighty, and therefore the victory hard, the degrees had need

be, first, to stay and arrest nature in time; like to him that would

say over the four and twenty letters when he was angry; then to go less

in quantity: as if one should, in forbearing wine, come from drinking

healths to a draught at a meal; and, lastly, to discontinue altogether;

but if a man have the fortitude and resolution to enfranchise himself

at once, that is the best:—

“Optimus ille animi vindex lædentia pectus

Vincula qui rupit, dedoluitque semel.”[410]

Neither is the ancient rule amiss, to bend nature as a wand to a

contrary extreme, whereby to set it right; understanding it where

the contrary extreme is no vice. Let not a man force a habit upon

himself with a perpetual continuance, but with some intermission, for

both the pause reinforceth the new onset; and if a man that is not

perfect be ever in practice, he shall as well practise his errors as

his abilities, and induce one habit of both; and there is no means to

help this but by seasonable intermissions. But let not a man trust his

victory over his nature too far; for nature will lie buried a great

time, and yet revive upon the occasion or temptation; like as it was

with Æsop’s damsel, turned from a cat to a woman, who sat very demurely

at the board’s end till a mouse ran before her. Therefore, let a man

either avoid the occasion altogether, or put himself often to it, that

he may be little moved with it. A man’s nature is best perceived in

privateness, for there is no affectation; in passion, for that putteth

a man out of his precepts; and in a new case or experiment, for there

custom leaveth him. They are happy men whose natures sort with their

vocations; otherwise they may say, “Multum incola fuit anima mea,”[411]

when they converse in those things they do not affect. In studies,

whatsoever a man commandeth upon himself, let him set hours for it: but

whatsoever is agreeable to his nature, let him take no care for any set

times; for his thoughts will fly to it of themselves, so as the spaces

of other business or studies will suffice. A man’s nature runs either

to herbs or weeds; therefore, let him seasonably water the one, and

destroy the other.

XXXIX.—OF CUSTOM AND EDUCATION.

Men’s thoughts are much according to their inclination;[412] their

discourse and speeches according to their learning and infused

opinions; but their deeds are, after, as they have been accustomed;

and, therefore, as Machiavel well noteth (though in an evil-favored

instance), there is no trusting to the force of nature, nor to the

bravery of words, except it be corroborate by custom.[413] His instance

is, that, for the achieving of a desperate conspiracy, a man should

not rest upon the fierceness of any man’s nature, or his resolute

undertakings, but take such a one as hath had his hands formerly

in blood; but Machiavel knew not of a Friar Clement,[414] nor a

Ravaillac,[415] nor a Jaureguy,[416] nor a Baltazar Gerard;[417] yet

his rule holdeth still, that nature, nor the engagement of words, are

not so forcible as custom. Only superstition is now so well advanced,

that men of the first blood are as firm as butchers by occupation; and

votary[418] resolution is made equipollent to custom, even in matter

of blood. In other things, the predominancy of custom is everywhere

visible, insomuch as a man would wonder to hear men profess, protest,

engage, give great words, and then do just as they have done before,

as if they were dead images and engines, moved only by the wheels of

custom. We see, also, the reign or tyranny of custom, what it is.

The Indians[419] (I mean the sect of their wise men) lay themselves

quietly upon a stack of wood, and so sacrifice themselves by fire;

nay, the wives strive to be burned with the corpses of their husbands.

The lads of Sparta, of ancient time, were wont to be scourged upon

the altar of Diana, without so much as quecking.[420] I remember, in

the beginning of Queen Elizabeth’s time of England, an Irish rebel

condemned, put up a petition to the deputy that he might be hanged in

a withe, and not in a halter, because it had been so used with former

rebels. There be monks in Russia for penance, that will sit a whole

night in a vessel of water, till they be engaged with hard ice. Many

examples may be put of the force of custom, both upon mind and body;

therefore, since custom is the principal magistrate of man’s life,

let men, by all means, endeavor to obtain good customs. Certainly,

custom is most perfect when it beginneth in young years: this we call

education, which is, in effect, but an early custom. So we see, in

languages, the tongue is more pliant to all expressions and sounds, the

joints are more supple to all feats of activity and motions in youth,

than afterwards; for it is true, that late learners cannot so well take

the ply, except it be in some minds that have not suffered themselves

to fix, but have kept themselves open and prepared to receive continual

amendment, which is exceeding rare. But if the force of custom, simple

and separate, be great, the force of custom, copulate and conjoined

and collegiate, is far greater; for there example teacheth, company

comforteth, emulation quickeneth, glory raiseth; so as in such places

the force of custom is in his exaltation. Certainly, the great

multiplication of virtues upon human nature resteth upon societies well

ordained and disciplined; for commonwealths and good governments do

nourish virtue grown, but do not much mend the seeds; but the misery

is, that the most effectual means are now applied to the ends least to

be desired.

XL.—OF FORTUNE.

It cannot be denied, but outward accidents conduce much to fortune;

favor, opportunity, death of others, occasion fitting virtue; but,

chiefly, the mould of a man’s fortune is in his own hands: “Faber

quisque fortunæ suæ,”[421] saith the poet; and the most frequent

of external causes, is that the folly of one man is the fortune of

another; for no man prospers so suddenly as by others’ errors. “Serpens

nisi serpentem comederit non fit draco.”[422] Overt and apparent

virtues bring forth praise: but there be secret and hidden virtues that

bring forth fortune; certain deliveries of a man’s self, which have no

name. The Spanish name, “disemboltura,”[423] partly expresseth them,

when there be not stonds[424] nor restiveness in a man’s nature, but

that the wheels of his mind keep way with the wheels of his fortune;

for so Livy (after he had described Cato Major in these words, “In

illo viro, tantum robur corporis et animi fuit, ut quocunque loco

natus esset, fortunam sibi facturus videretur,”)[425] falleth upon

that, that he had “versatile ingenium:”[426] therefore, if a man look

sharply and attentively, he shall see Fortune; for though she be

blind, yet she is not invisible. The way of Fortune is like the milky

way in the sky; which is a meeting, or knot, of a number of small

stars, not seen asunder, but giving light together; so are there a

number of little and scarce discerned virtues, or rather faculties

and customs, that make men fortunate. The Italians note some of them,

such as a man would little think. When they speak of one that cannot

do amiss, they will throw in into his other conditions, that he hath

“Poco di matto;”[427] and, certainly, there be not two more fortunate

properties, than to have a little of the fool, and not too much of

the honest; therefore, extreme lovers of their country, or masters,

were never fortunate; neither can they be, for when a man placeth

his thoughts without himself, he goeth not his own way. A hasty

fortune maketh an enterpriser and remover (the French hath it better,

“entreprenant,” or “remuant”); but the exercised fortune maketh the

able man. Fortune is to be honored and respected, and it be but for her

daughters, Confidence and Reputation; for those two Felicity breedeth;

the first within a man’s self, the latter in others towards him. All

wise men, to decline the envy of their own virtues, use to ascribe them

to Providence and Fortune; for so they may the better assume them;

and, besides, it is greatness in a man to be the care of the higher

powers. So Cæsar said to the pilot in the tempest, “Cæsarem portas,

et fortunam ejus.”[428] So Sylla chose the name of “Felix,”[429] and

not of “Magnus;”[430] and it hath been noted, that those who ascribe

openly too much to their own wisdom and policy, end unfortunate. It

is written, that Timotheus[431] the Athenian, after he had, in the

account he gave to the state of his government, often interlaced his

speech, “and in this Fortune had no part,” never prospered in any

thing he undertook afterwards. Certainly there be, whose fortunes are

like Homer’s verses, that have a slide[432] and easiness more than

the verses of other poets; as Plutarch saith of Timoleon’s fortune in

respect of that of Agesilaus or Epaminondas; and that this should be,

no doubt it is much in a man’s self.

XLI.—OF USURY.[433]

Many have made witty invectives against usury. They say that it is pity

the devil should have God’s part, which is the tithe; that the usurer

is the greatest Sabbath-breaker, because his plough goeth every Sunday;

that the usurer is the drone that Virgil speaketh of:—

“Ignavum fucos pecus a præsepibus arcent;”[434]

that the usurer breaketh the first law that was made for mankind

after the fall, which was, “in sudore vultûs tui comedes panem

tuum;”[435] not, “in sudore vultûs alieni;”[436] that usurers should

have orange-tawny[437] bonnets, because they do Judaize; that it is

against nature for money to beget money, and the like. I say this only,

that usury is a “concessum propter duritiem cordis;”[438] for, since

there must be borrowing and lending, and men are so hard of heart as

they will not lend freely, usury must be permitted. Some others have

made suspicious and cunning propositions of banks, discovery of men’s

estates, and other inventions; but few have spoken of usury usefully.

It is good to set before us the incommodities and commodities of usury,

that the good may be either weighed out, or culled out; and warily to

provide, that, while we make forth to that which is better, we meet not

with that which is worse.

The discommodities of usury are, first, that it makes fewer merchants;

for were it not for this lazy trade of usury, money would not lie

still, but would, in great part, be employed upon merchandising,

which is the “vena porta”[439] of wealth in a state. The second, that

it makes poor merchants; for as a farmer cannot husband his ground

so well if he sit at a great rent, so the merchant cannot drive his

trade so well if he sit[440] at great usury. The third is incident to

the other two; and that is, the decay of customs of kings, or states,

which ebb or flow with merchandising. The fourth, that it bringeth the

treasure of a realm or state into a few hands; for the usurer being at

certainties, and others at uncertainties, at the end of the game most

of the money will be in the box; and ever a state flourisheth when

wealth is more equally spread. The fifth, that it beats down the price

of land; for the employment of money is chiefly either merchandising or

purchasing, and usury waylays both. The sixth, that it doth dull and

damp all industries, improvements, and new inventions, wherein money

would be stirring, if it were not for this slug. The last, that it is

the canker and ruin of many men’s estates, which, in process of time,

breeds a public poverty.

On the other side, the commodities of usury are, first, that, howsoever

usury in some respect hindereth merchandising, yet in some other

it advanceth it; for it is certain that the greatest part of trade

is driven by young merchants upon borrowing at interest; so as if

the usurer either call in, or keep back his money, there will ensue

presently a great stand of trade. The second is, that, were it not for

this easy borrowing upon interest, men’s necessities would draw upon

them a most sudden undoing, in that they would be forced to sell their

means (be it lands or goods), far under foot; and so, whereas usury

doth but gnaw upon them, bad markets would swallow them quite up. As

for mortgaging or pawning, it will little mend the matter; for either

men will not take pawns without use, or, if they do, they will look

precisely for the forfeiture. I remember a cruel moneyed man in the

country, that would say, “The devil take this usury, it keeps us from

forfeitures of mortgages and bonds.” The third and last is, that it is

a vanity to conceive that there would be ordinary borrowing without

profit; and it is impossible to conceive the number of inconveniences

that will ensue, if borrowing be cramped. Therefore, to speak of the

abolishing of usury is idle; all states have ever had it in one kind

or rate, or other; so as that opinion must be sent to Utopia.[441]

To speak now of the reformation and reglement[442] of usury, how the

discommodities of it may be best avoided, and the commodities retained.

It appears, by the balance of commodities and discommodities of usury,

two things are to be reconciled; the one, that the tooth of usury be

grinded, that it bite not too much; the other, that there be left

open a means to invite moneyed men to lend to the merchants, for the

continuing and quickening of trade. This cannot be done, except you

introduce two several sorts of usury, a less and a greater; for if you

reduce usury to one low rate, it will ease the common borrower, but

the merchant will be to seek for money; and it is to be noted that the

trade of merchandise being the most lucrative, may bear usury at a good

rate; other contracts not so.

To serve both intentions, the way would be briefly thus: that there

be two rates of usury; the one free and general for all; the other

under license only to certain persons, and in certain places of

merchandising. First, therefore, let usury in general be reduced to

five in the hundred, and let that rate be proclaimed to be free and

current; and let the state shut itself out to take any penalty for the

same. This will preserve borrowing from any general stop or dryness;

this will ease infinite borrowers in the country; this will, in good

part, raise the price of land, because land purchased at sixteen years’

purchase will yield six in the hundred, and somewhat more, whereas

this rate of interest yields but five. This, by like reason, will

encourage and edge industrious and profitable improvements, because

many will rather venture in that kind, than take five in the hundred,

especially having been used to greater profit. Secondly, let there be

certain persons licensed to lend to known merchants upon usury, at a

higher rate, and let it be with the cautions following: Let the rate

be, even with the merchant himself, somewhat more easy than that he

used formerly to pay; for, by that means, all borrowers shall have some

ease by this reformation, be he merchant, or whosoever; let it be no

bank or common stock, but every man be master of his own money; not

that I altogether mislike banks, but they will hardly be brooked, in

regard of certain suspicions. Let the state be answered[443] some small

matter for the license, and the rest left to the lender; for if the

abatement be but small, it will no whit discourage the lender; for he,

for example, that took before ten or nine in the hundred, will sooner

descend to eight in the hundred, than give over his trade of usury, and

go from certain gains to gains of hazard. Let these licensed lenders

be in number indefinite, but restrained to certain principal cities

and towns of merchandising; for then they will be hardly able to color

other men’s moneys in the country, so as the license of nine will not

suck away the current rate of five; for no man will send his moneys far

off, nor put them into unknown hands.

If it be objected, that this doth in a sort authorize usury, which

before was in some places but permissive; the answer is, that it is

better to mitigate usury by declaration, than to suffer it to rage by

connivance.[444]

XLII.—OF YOUTH AND AGE.

A man that is young in years may be old in hours, if he have lost no

time; but that happeneth rarely. Generally, youth is like the first

cogitations, not so wise as the second; for there is a youth in

thoughts as well as in ages; and yet the invention of young men is

more lively than that of old, and imaginations stream into their minds

better, and, as it were, more divinely. Natures that have much heat,

and great and violent desires and perturbations, are not ripe for

action till they have passed the meridian of their years: as it was

with Julius Cæsar and Septimius Severus; of the latter of whom it is

said, “Juventutem egit erroribus, imo furoribus plenam;”[445] and yet

he was the ablest emperor, almost, of all the list; but reposed natures

may do well in youth, as it is seen in Augustus Cæsar, Cosmus Duke of

Florence, Gaston de Foix,[446] and others. On the other side, heat

and vivacity in age is an excellent composition for business. Young

men are fitter to invent than to judge, fitter for execution than for

counsel, and fitter for new projects than for settled business; for

the experience of age, in things that fall within the compass of it,

directeth them; but in new things abuseth them. The errors of young

men are the ruin of business; but the errors of aged men amount but to

this, that more might have been done, or sooner.

Young men, in the conduct and manage of actions, embrace more than

they can hold, stir more than they can quiet; fly to the end, without

consideration of the means and degrees; pursue some few principles

which they have chanced upon absurdly; care not to innovate, which

draws unknown inconveniences; use extreme remedies at first; and that,

which doubleth all errors, will not acknowledge or retract them,

like an unready horse, that will neither stop nor turn. Men of age

object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too

soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period, but content

themselves with a mediocrity of success. Certainly, it is good to

compound employments of both; for that will be good for the present,

because the virtues of either age may correct the defects of both;

and good for succession, that young men may be learners, while men

in age are actors; and, lastly, good for externe accidents, because

authority followeth old men, and favor and popularity youth; but, for

the moral part, perhaps, youth will have the preëminence, as age hath

for the politic. A certain rabbin, upon the text, “Your young men shall

see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams,”[447] 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; and age doth profit

rather in the powers of understanding, than in the virtues of the will

and affections. There be some have an over-early ripeness in their

years, which fadeth betimes; these are, first, such as have brittle

wits, the edge whereof is soon turned; such as was Hermogenes[448] the

rhetorician, whose books are exceedingly subtle; who afterwards waxed

stupid. A second sort is of those that have some natural dispositions,

which have better grace in youth than in age; such as is a fluent and

luxuriant speech, which becomes youth well, but not age; so Tully saith

of Hortensius: “Idem manebat, neque idem decebat.”[449] The third is of

such as take too high a strain at the first, and are magnanimous more

than tract of years can uphold; as was Scipio Africanus, of whom Livy

saith, in effect, “Ultima primis cedebant.”[450]

XLIII.—OF BEAUTY.

Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set; and surely virtue is best

in a body that is comely, though not of delicate features, and that

hath rather dignity of presence than beauty of aspect; neither is it

always most seen, that very beautiful persons are otherwise of great

virtue; as if nature were rather busy not to err, than in labor to

produce excellency; and therefore they prove accomplished, but not of

great spirit, and study rather behavior than virtue. But this holds

not always; for Augustus Cæsar, Titus Vespasianus, Philip le Bel of

France, Edward the Fourth of England,[451] Alcibiades of Athens, Ismael

the Sophy of Persia, were all high and great spirits, and yet the most

beautiful men of their times. In beauty, that of favor is more than

that of color; and that of decent and gracious motion, more than that

of favor.[452] That is the best part of beauty, which a picture cannot

express; no, nor the first sight of the life. There is no excellent

beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion. A man cannot

tell whether Apelles, or Albert Durer, were the more trifler; whereof

the one would make a personage by geometrical proportions; the other,

by taking the best parts out of divers faces to make one excellent.

Such personages, I think, would please nobody but the painter that made

them: not but I think a painter may make a better face than ever was;

but he must do it by a kind of felicity (as a musician that maketh an

excellent air in music), and not by rule. A man shall see faces, that,

if you examine them part by part, you shall find never a good, and yet

altogether do well. If it be true that the principal part of beauty is

in decent motion, certainly it is no marvel, though persons in years

seem many times more amiable; “Pulchrorum autumnus pulcher;”[453] for

no youth can be comely but by pardon,[454] and considering the youth

as to make up the comeliness. Beauty is as summer fruits, which are

easy to corrupt, and cannot last; and, for the most part, it makes

a dissolute youth, and an age a little out of countenance; but yet

certainly again, if it light well, it maketh virtues shine, and vices

blush.

XLIV.—OF DEFORMITY.

Deformed persons are commonly even with nature; for, as nature hath

done ill by them, so do they by nature, being for the most part (as

the Scripture saith) “void of natural affection;”[455] and so they

have their revenge of nature. Certainly, there is a consent between the

body and the mind, and where nature erreth in the one, she ventureth

in the other: “Ubi peccat in uno, periclitatur in altero.”[456]

But because there is in man an election, touching the frame of his

mind, and a necessity in the frame of his body, the stars of natural

inclination are sometimes obscured by the sun of discipline and virtue;

therefore, it is good to consider of deformity, not as a sign which is

more deceivable, but as a cause which seldom faileth of the effect.

Whosoever hath any thing fixed in his person that doth induce contempt,

hath also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself

from scorn; therefore, all deformed persons are extreme bold; first,

as in their own defence, as being exposed to scorn, but, in process

of time, by a general habit. Also, it stirreth in them industry, and

especially of this kind, to watch and observe the weakness of others,

that they may have somewhat to repay. Again, in their superiors, it

quencheth jealousy towards them, as persons that they think they may

at pleasure despise; and it layeth their competitors and emulators

asleep, as never believing they should be in possibility of advancement

till they see them in possession; so that upon the matter, in a great

wit, deformity is an advantage to rising. Kings in ancient times (and

at this present in some countries) were wont to put great trust in

eunuchs, because they that are envious towards all are more obnoxious

and officious towards one; but yet their trust towards them hath rather

been as to good spials,[457] and good whisperers, than good magistrates

and officers; and much like is the reason of deformed persons. Still

the ground is, they will, if they be of spirit, seek to free themselves

from scorn, which must be either by virtue or malice; and, therefore,

let it not be marvelled, if sometimes they prove excellent persons; as

was Agesilaüs, Zanger, the son of Solyman,[458] Æsop, Gasca president

of Peru; and Socrates may go likewise amongst them, with others.

XLV.—OF BUILDING.

Houses are built to live in, and not to look on, therefore, let use be

preferred before uniformity, except where both may be had. Leave the

goodly fabrics of houses, for beauty only, to the enchanted palaces

of the poets, who build them with small cost. He that builds a fair

house upon an ill seat,[459] committeth himself to prison; neither do I

reckon it an ill seat only where the air is unwholesome, but likewise

where the air is unequal. As you shall see many fine seats set upon

a knap[460] of ground environed with higher hills round about it,

whereby the heat of the sun is pent in, and the wind gathereth as in

troughs; so as you shall have, and that suddenly, as great diversity of

heat and cold as if you dwelt in several places. Neither is it ill air

only that maketh an ill seat; but ill ways, ill markets, and, if you

will consult with Momus,[461] ill neighbors. I speak not of many more:

want of water, want of wood, shade, and shelter, want of fruitfulness,

and mixture of grounds of several natures; want of prospect, want of

level grounds, want of places at some near distance for sports of

hunting, hawking, and races; too near the sea, too remote; having

the commodity of navigable rivers, or the discommodity of their

overflowing; too far off from great cities, which may hinder business;

or too near them, which lurcheth[462] all provisions, and maketh every

thing dear; where a man hath a great living laid together, and where he

is scanted; all which, as it is impossible perhaps to find together, so

it is good to know them, and think of them, that a man may take as many

as he can; and if he have several dwellings, that he sort them so, that

what he wanteth in the one he may find in the other. Lucullus answered

Pompey well, who, when he saw his stately galleries and rooms so large

and lightsome, in one of his houses, said, “Surely, an excellent place

for summer, but how do you do in winter?” Lucullus answered, “Why,

do you not think me as wise as some fowls are, that ever change their

abode towards the winter?”[463]

To pass from the seat to the house itself, we will do as Cicero doth in

the orator’s art, who writes books De Oratore, and a book he entitles

Orator; whereof the former delivers the precepts of the art, and the

latter the perfection. We will therefore describe a princely palace,

making a brief model thereof; for it is strange to see, now in Europe,

such huge buildings as the Vatican and Escurial,[464] and some others

be, and yet scarce a very fair room in them.

First, therefore, I say, you cannot have a perfect palace, except you

have two several sides; a side for the banquet, as is spoken of in

the book of Esther,[465] and a side for the household; the one for

feasts and triumphs, and the other for dwelling. I understand both

these sides to be not only returns, but parts of the front, and to be

uniform without, though severally partitioned within; and to be on both

sides of a great and stately tower in the midst of the front, that, as

it were, joineth them together on either hand. I would have, on the

side of the banquet in front, one only goodly room above stairs, of

some forty foot high; and under it a room for a dressing or preparing

place, at times of triumphs. On the other side, which is the household

side, I wish it divided at the first into a hall and a chapel, (with a

partition between), both of good state and bigness; and those not to go

all the length, but to have at the further end a winter and a summer

parlor, both fair; and under these rooms a fair and large cellar sunk

under ground; and likewise some privy kitchens, with butteries, and

pantries, and the like. As for the tower, I would have it two stories,

of eighteen foot high apiece above the two wings; and a goodly leads

upon the top, railed, with statues interposed; and the same tower to

be divided into rooms, as shall be thought fit. The stairs likewise to

the upper rooms, let them be upon a fair open newel,[466] and finely

railed in with images of wood cast into a brass color, and a very fair

landing-place at the top. But this to be, if you do not point any of

the lower rooms for a dining-place of servants; for, otherwise, you

shall have the servants’ dinner after your own; for the steam of it

will come up as in a tunnel.[467] And so much for the front; only I

understand the height of the first stairs to be sixteen foot, which is

the height of the lower room.

Beyond this front is there to be a fair court, but three sides of it

of a far lower building than the front; and in all the four corners of

that court fair staircases, cast into turrets on the outside, and not

within the row of buildings themselves; but those towers are not to

be of the height of the front, but rather proportionable to the lower

building. Let the court not be paved, for that striketh up a great

heat in summer, and much cold in winter; but only some side alleys

with a cross, and the quarters to graze, being kept shorn, but not

too near shorn. The row of return on the banquet side, let it be all

stately galleries; in which galleries let there be three or five fine

cupolas in the length of it, placed at equal distance, and fine colored

windows of several works; on the household side, chambers of presence

and ordinary entertainments, with some bedchambers; and let all three

sides be a double house, without thorough lights on the sides, that you

may have rooms from the sun, both for forenoon and afternoon. Cast it,

also, that you may have rooms both for summer and winter; shady for

summer, and warm for winter. You shall have sometimes fair houses so

full of glass, that one cannot tell where to become[468] to be out of

the sun or cold. For imbowed[469] windows, I hold them of good use; (in

cities, indeed, upright[470] do better, in respect of the uniformity

towards the street;) for they be pretty retiring places for conference;

and, besides, they keep both the wind and sun off; for that which

would strike almost through the room doth scarce pass the window: but

let them be but few, four in the court, on the sides only.

Beyond this court, let there be an inward court, of the same square

and height, which is to be environed with the garden on all sides;

and in the inside, cloistered on all sides upon decent and beautiful

arches, as high as the first story; on the under story towards the

garden, let it be turned to grotto, or place of shade, or estivation;

and only have opening and windows towards the garden, and be level

upon the floor, no whit sunk under ground to avoid all dampishness;

and let there be a fountain, or some fair work of statues in the

midst of this court, and to be paved as the other court was. These

buildings to be for privy lodgings on both sides, and the end for

privy galleries; whereof you must foresee that one of them be for an

infirmary, if the prince or any special person should be sick, with

chambers, bedchamber, “anticamera,”[471] and “recamera,”[472] joining

to it; this upon the second story. Upon the ground story, a fair

gallery, open, upon pillars; and upon the third story, likewise, an

open gallery upon pillars, to take the prospect and freshness of the

garden. At both corners of the further side, by way of return, let

there be two delicate or rich cabinets, daintily paved, richly hanged,

glazed with crystalline glass, and a rich cupola in the midst, and all

other elegancy that can be thought upon. In the upper gallery, too,

I wish that there may be, if the place will yield it, some fountains

running in divers places from the wall, with some fine avoidances.[473]

And thus much for the model of the palace, save that you must have,

before you come to the front, three courts: a green court plain, with

a wall about it; a second court of the same, but more garnished with

little turrets, or rather embellishments, upon the wall; and a third

court, to make a square with the front, but not to be built, nor yet

inclosed with a naked wall, but inclosed with terraces leaded aloft,

and fairly garnished on the three sides, and cloistered on the inside

with pillars, and not with arches below. As for offices, let them stand

at distance, with some low galleries to pass from them to the palace

itself.

XLVI.—OF GARDENS.

God Almighty first planted a garden; and, indeed, it is the purest of

human pleasures; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man;

without which buildings and palaces are but gross handyworks; and a

man shall ever see, that, when ages grow to civility and elegancy, men

come to build stately, sooner than to garden finely; as if gardening

were the greater perfection. I do hold it, in the royal ordering of

gardens, there ought to be gardens for all the months in the year, in

which, severally, things of beauty may be then in season. For December,

and January, and the latter part of November, you must take such things

as are green all winter: holly, ivy, bays, juniper, cypress-trees,

yew, pineapple-trees;[474] fir-trees, rosemary, lavender; periwinkle,

the white, the purple, and the blue; germander, flags, orange-trees,

lemon-trees, and myrtles, if they be stoved;[475] and sweet marjoram,

warm set. There followeth, for the latter part of January and February,

the mezereon-tree, which then blossoms; crocus vernus, both the yellow

and the gray; primroses, anemones, the early tulip, the hyacinthus

orientalis, chamaïris fritellaria. For March, there come violets,

especially the single blue, which are the earliest; the yellow

daffodil, the daisy, the almond-tree in blossom, the peach-tree in

blossom, the cornelian-tree in blossom, sweet-brier. In April, follow

the double white violet, the wall-flower, the stock-gillyflower,

the cowslip, flower-de-luces, and lilies of all natures; rosemary

flowers, the tulip, the double peony, the pale daffodil, the French

honeysuckle, the cherry-tree in blossom, the damascene[476] and

plum-trees in blossom, the white thorn in leaf, the lilac-tree. In May

and June come pinks of all sorts, especially the blush-pink; roses

of all kinds, except the musk, which comes later; honeysuckles,

strawberries, bugloss, columbine, the French marigold, flos Africanus,

cherry-tree in fruit, ribes,[477] figs in fruit, rasps, vine-flowers,

lavender in flowers, the sweet satyrian, with the white flower; herba

muscaria, lilium convallium, the apple-tree in blossom. In July come

gillyflowers of all varieties, musk-roses, the lime-tree in blossom,

early pears, and plums in fruit, genitings,[478] codlins. In August

come plums of all sorts in fruit, pears, apricots, barberries,

filberts, musk-melons, monks-hoods, of all colors. In September come

grapes, apples, poppies of all colors, peaches, melocotones,[479]

nectarines, cornelians,[480] wardens,[481] quinces. In October, and the

beginning of November, come services, medlars, bullaces, roses cut or

removed to come late, hollyoaks, and such like. These particulars are

for the climate of London; but my meaning is perceived, that you may

have “ver perpetuum,”[482] as the place affords.

And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where

it comes and goes, like the warbling of music), than in the hand,

therefore nothing is more fit for that delight, than to know what be

the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air. Roses, damask

and red, are fast flowers[483] of their smell, so that you may walk by

a whole row of them, and find nothing of their sweetness; yea, though

it be in a morning’s dew. Bays, likewise, yield no smell as they grow,

rosemary little, nor sweet marjoram; that which, above all others,

yields the sweetest smell in the air, is the violet, especially the

white double violet, which comes twice a year, about the middle of

April, and about Bartholomew-tide. Next to that is the musk-rose;

then the strawberry leaves dying, with a most excellent cordial smell;

then the flower of the vines, it is a little dust like the dust of a

bent,[484] which grows upon the cluster in the first coming forth; then

sweet-brier, then wall-flowers, which are very delightful to be set

under a parlor or lower chamber window; then pinks and gillyflowers,

specially the matted pink and clove gillyflower; then the flowers of

the lime-tree; then the honeysuckles, so they be somewhat afar off.

Of bean-flowers[485] I speak not, because they are field-flowers; but

those which perfume the air most delightfully, not passed by as the

rest, but being trodden upon and crushed, are three; that is, burnet,

wild thyme, and water-mints; therefore you are to set whole alleys of

them, to have the pleasure when you walk or tread.

For gardens (speaking of those which are indeed prince-like, as we

have done of buildings), the contents ought not well to be under thirty

acres of ground, and to be divided into three parts; a green in the

entrance, a heath, or desert, in the going forth, and the main garden

in the midst, besides alleys on both sides; and I like well that four

acres of ground be assigned to the green, six to the heath, four and

four to either side, and twelve to the main garden. The green hath two

pleasures: the one, because nothing is more pleasant to the eye than

green grass kept finely shorn; the other, because it will give you a

fair alley in the midst, by which you may go in front upon a stately

hedge, which is to inclose the garden. But because the alley will be

long, and in great heat of the year, or day, you ought not to buy the

shade in the garden by going in the sun through the green; therefore

you are, of either side the green, to plant a covert alley, upon

carpenter’s work, about twelve foot in height, by which you may go in

shade into the garden. As for the making of knots or figures, with

divers colored earths, that they may lie under the windows of the house

on that side which the garden stands, they be but toys; you may see

as good sights many times in tarts. The garden is best to be square,

encompassed on all the four sides with a stately arched hedge: the

arches to be upon pillars of carpenter’s work, of some ten foot high,

and six foot broad, and the spaces between of the same dimension with

the breadth of the arch. Over the arches let there be an entire hedge

of some four foot high, framed also upon carpenter’s work; and upon the

upper hedge, over every arch a little turret, with a belly enough to

receive a cage of birds; and over every space between the arches some

other little figure, with broad plates of round colored glass gilt,

for the sun to play upon; but this hedge I intend to be raised upon

a bank, not steep, but gently slope, of some six foot, set all with

flowers. Also, I understand that this square of the garden should not

be the whole breadth of the ground, but to leave on either side ground

enough for diversity of side alleys, unto which the two covert alleys

of the green may deliver you;[486] but there must be no alleys with

hedges at either end of this great inclosure; not at the hither end,

for letting[487] your prospect upon this fair hedge from the green; nor

at the further end for letting your prospect from the hedge through the

arches upon the heath.

For the ordering of the ground within the great hedge, I leave it to

variety of device; advising, nevertheless, that whatsoever form you

cast it into first, it be not too bushy, or full of work; wherein I,

for my part, do not like images cut out in juniper or other garden

stuff; they be for children. Little low hedges, round like welts, with

some pretty pyramids, I like well; and in some places fair columns,

upon frames of carpenter’s work. I would also have the alleys spacious

and fair. You may have closer alleys upon the side grounds, but none

in the main garden. I wish, also, in the very middle, a fair mount,

with three ascents and alleys, enough for four to walk abreast;

which I would have to be perfect circles, without any bulwarks or

embossments; and the whole mount to be thirty foot high, and some fine

banqueting-house, with some chimneys neatly cast, and without too much

glass.

For fountains, they are a great beauty and refreshment; but pools mar

all, and make the garden unwholesome, and full of flies and frogs.

Fountains I intend to be of two natures; the one that sprinkleth or

spouteth water; the other, a fair receipt of water, of some thirty

or forty foot square, but without fish, or slime, or mud. For the

first, the ornaments of images, gilt or of marble, which are in use,

do well; but the main matter is so to convey the water, as it never

stay, either in the bowls or in the cistern; that the water be never by

rest discolored, green, or red, or the like, or gather any mossiness

or putrefaction; besides that, it is to be cleansed every day by the

hand; also, some steps up to it, and some fine pavement about it,

doth well. As for the other kind of fountain, which we may call a

bathing-pool, it may admit much curiosity and beauty, wherewith we

will not trouble ourselves: as, that the bottom be finely paved, and

with images; the sides likewise; and, withal, embellished with colored

glass, and such things of lustre; encompassed, also, with fine rails

of low statues. But the main point is the same that we mentioned in

the former kind of fountain; which is, that the water be in perpetual

motion, fed by a water higher than the pool, and delivered into it by

fair spouts, and then discharged away under ground, by some equality of

bores, that it stay little; and for fine devices, of arching water[488]

without spilling, and making it rise in several forms (of feathers,

drinking-glasses, canopies, and the like), they be pretty things to

look on, but nothing to health and sweetness.

For the heath, which was the third part of our plot, I wish it to be

framed as much as may be to a natural wildness. Trees I would have none

in it, but some thickets made only of sweet-brier and honeysuckle, and

some wild vine amongst; and the ground set with violets, strawberries,

and primroses; for these are sweet, and prosper in the shade, and

these to be in the heath here and there, not in any order. I like

also little heaps, in the nature of molehills (such as are in wild

heaths), to be set, some with wild thyme, some with pinks, some with

germander, that gives a good flower to the eye; some with periwinkle,

some with violets, some with strawberries, some with cowslips, some

with daisies, some with red roses, some with lilium convallium,[489]

some with sweet-williams red, some with bear’s-foot, and the like

low flowers, being withal sweet and sightly; part of which heaps to

be with standards of little bushes pricked upon their top, and part

without; the standards to be roses, juniper, holly, barberries (but

here and there, because of the smell of their blossom), red currants,

gooseberries, rosemary, bays, sweetbrier, and such like; but these

standards to be kept with cutting, that they grow not out of course.

For the side grounds, you are to fill them with variety of alleys,

private, to give a full shade; some of them wheresoever the sun be.

You are to frame some of them likewise for shelter, that when the wind

blows sharp, you may walk as in a gallery: and those alleys must be

likewise hedged at both ends, to keep out the wind; and these closer

alleys must be ever finely gravelled, and no grass, because of going

wet. In many of these alleys, likewise, you are to set fruit-trees of

all sorts, as well upon the walls as in ranges;[490] and this should be

generally observed, that the borders wherein you plant your fruit-trees

be fair, and large, and low, and not steep; and set with fine flowers,

but thin and sparingly, lest they deceive[491] the trees. At the end

of both the side grounds I would have a mount of some pretty height,

leaving the wall of the inclosure breast high, to look abroad into the

fields.

For the main garden, I do not deny but there should be some fair

alleys ranged on both sides with fruit-trees, and some pretty tufts of

fruit-trees and arbors with seats, set in some decent order; but these

to be by no means set too thick, but to leave the main garden so as it

be not close, but the air open and free. For as for shade, I would have

you rest upon the alleys of the side grounds, there to walk, if you be

disposed, in the heat of the year or day; but to make account[492] that

the main garden is for the more temperate parts of the year, and in the

heat of summer for the morning and the evening or overcast days.

For aviaries, I like them not, except they be of that largeness as they

may be turfed, and have living plants and bushes set in them; that the

birds may have more scope and natural nestling, and that no foulness

appear in the floor of the aviary. So I have made a platform of a

princely garden, partly by precept, partly by drawing; not a model,

but some general lines of it; and in this I have spared for no cost.

But it is nothing for great princes, that, for the most part, taking

advice with workmen, with no less cost set their things together, and

sometimes add statues and such things for state and magnificence, but

nothing to the true pleasure of a garden.

XLVII.—OF NEGOTIATING.

It is generally better to deal by speech than by letter; and by the

mediation of a third, than by a man’s self. Letters are good, when a

man would draw an answer by letter back again; or when it may serve

for a man’s justification afterwards to produce his own letter, or

where it may be danger to be interrupted or heard by pieces. To deal

in person is good, when a man’s face breedeth regard, as commonly with

inferiors; or in tender cases, where a man’s eye upon the countenance

of him with whom he speaketh, may give him a direction how far to go;

and, generally, where a man will reserve to himself liberty, either to

disavow or to expound. In choice of instruments, it is better to choose

men of a plainer sort, that are like to do that that is committed to

them, and to report back again faithfully the success, than those that

are cunning to contrive out of other men’s business somewhat to grace

themselves, and will help the matter in report, for satisfaction

sake. Use also such persons as affect[493] the business wherein they

are employed, for that quickeneth much; and such as are fit for the

matter, as bold men for expostulation, fairspoken men for persuasion,

crafty men for inquiry and observation, froward and absurd men for

business that doth not well bear out itself. Use also such as have

been lucky and prevailed before in things wherein you have employed

them; for that breeds confidence, and they will strive to maintain

their prescription. It is better to sound a person with whom one deals

afar off, than to fall upon the point at first, except you mean to

surprise him by some short question. It is better dealing with men in

appetite,[494] than with those that are where they would be. If a man

deal with another upon conditions, the start of first performance is

all; which a man cannot reasonably demand, except either the nature of

the thing be such, which must go before; or else a man can persuade the

other party, that he shall still need him in some other thing; or else

that he be counted the honester man. All practice is to discover, or to

work. Men discover themselves in trust, in passion, at unawares; and,

of necessity, when they would have somewhat done, and cannot find an

apt pretext. If you would work any man, you must either know his nature

and fashions, and so lead him; or his ends, and so persuade him; or his

weakness and disadvantages, and so awe him; or those that have interest

in him, and so govern him. In dealing with cunning persons, we must

ever consider their ends, to interpret their speeches; and it is good

to say little to them, and that which they least look for. In all

negotiations of difficulty, a man may not look to sow and reap at once;

but must prepare business, and so ripen it by degrees.

XLVIII.—OF FOLLOWERS AND FRIENDS.

Costly followers are not to be liked, lest, while a man maketh his

train longer, he make his wings shorter. I reckon to be costly,

not them alone which charge the purse, but which are wearisome and

importune in suits. Ordinary followers ought to challenge no higher

conditions than countenance, recommendation, and protection from

wrongs. Factious followers are worse to be liked, which follow not

upon affection to him with whom they range themselves, but upon

discontentment conceived against some other; whereupon commonly ensueth

that ill intelligence, that we many times see between great personages.

Likewise glorious[495] followers, who make themselves as trumpets of

the commendations of those they follow, are full of inconvenience,

for they taint business through want of secrecy; and they export

honor from a man, and make him a return in envy. There is a kind of

followers, likewise, which are dangerous, being indeed espials; which

inquire the secrets of the house, and bear tales of them to others;

yet such men, many times, are in great favor, for they are officious,

and commonly exchange tales. The following, by certain estates[496] of

men, answerable to that which a great person himself professeth (as of

soldiers to him that hath been employed in the wars, and the like),

hath ever been a thing civil and well taken even in monarchies, so it

be without too much pomp or popularity. But the most honorable kind of

following, is to be followed as one that apprehendeth to advance virtue

and desert in all sorts of persons; and yet, where there is no eminent

odds in sufficiency, it is better to take with the more passable, than

with the more able; and, besides, to speak truth in base times, active

men are of more use than virtuous. It is true, that, in government,

it is good to use men of one rank equally; for to countenance some

extraordinarily, is to make them insolent, and the rest discontent,

because they may claim a due: but, contrariwise, in favor, to use men

with much difference and election is good: for it maketh the persons

preferred more thankful, and the rest more officious, because all is

of favor. It is good discretion not to make too much of any man at the

first, because one cannot hold out that proportion. To be governed,

as we call it, by one, is not safe, for it shows softness,[497] and

gives a freedom to scandal and disreputation; for those that would not

censure, or speak ill of a man immediately, will talk more boldly of

those that are so great with them, and thereby wound their honor; yet

to be distracted with many is worse, for it makes men to be of the last

impression, and full of change. To take advice of some few friends is

ever honorable; for lookers-on many times see more than gamesters,

and the vale best discovereth the hill. There is little friendship in

the world, and least of all between equals, which was wont[498] to be

magnified. That that is, is between superior and inferior,[499] whose

fortunes may comprehend the one the other.

XLIX.—OF SUITORS.

Many ill matters and projects are undertaken; and private suits do

putrefy the public good. Many good matters are undertaken with bad

minds; I mean not only corrupt minds, but crafty minds, that intend not

performance. Some embrace suits, which never mean to deal effectually

in them; but if they see there may be life in the matter, by some other

mean they will be content to win a thank, or take a second reward, or,

at least, to make use, in the mean time, of the suitor’s hopes. Some

take hold of suits only for an occasion to cross some other, or to make

an information, whereof they could not otherwise have apt pretext,

without care what become of the suit when that turn is served; or,

generally, to make other men’s business a kind of entertainment to

bring in their own: nay, some undertake suits with a full purpose to

let them fall, to the end to gratify the adverse party, or competitor.

Surely, there is in some sort a right in every suit; either a right of

equity, if it be a suit of controversy, or a right of desert, if it be

a suit of petition. If affection lead a man to favor the wrong side

in justice, let him rather use his countenance to compound the matter

than to carry it. If affection lead a man to favor the less worthy in

desert, let him do it without depraving[500] or disabling the better

deserver. In suits which a man doth not well understand, it is good

to refer them to some friend of trust and judgment, that may report

whether he may deal in them with honor; but let him choose well his

referendaries,[501] for else he may be led by the nose. Suitors are so

distasted[502] with delays and abuses, that plain dealing in denying to

deal in suits at first, and reporting the success barely,[503] and in

challenging no more thanks than one hath deserved, is grown not only

honorable, but also gracious. In suits of favor, the first coming ought

to take little place;[504] so far forth[505] consideration may be had

of his trust, that if intelligence of the matter could not otherwise

have been had but by him, advantage be not taken of the note,[506] but

the party left to his other means, and in some sort recompensed for his

discovery. To be ignorant of the value of a suit is simplicity; as well

as to be ignorant of the right thereof, is want of conscience. Secrecy

in suits is a great mean of obtaining; for voicing them to be in

forwardness may discourage some kind of suitors, but doth quicken and

awake others. But timing of the suit is the principal; timing, I say,

not only in respect of the person that should grant it, but in respect

of those which are like to cross it. Let a man, in the choice of his

mean, rather choose the fittest mean, than the greatest mean; and

rather them that deal in certain things, than those that are general.

The reparation of a denial is sometimes equal to the first grant, if

a man show himself neither dejected nor discontented. “Iniquum petas,

ut æquum feras,”[507] is a good rule, where a man hath strength of

favor; but otherwise a man were better rise in his suit; for he that

would have ventured at first to have lost the suitor, will not, in the

conclusion, lose both the suitor and his own former favor. Nothing is

thought so easy a request to a great person as his letter: and yet if

it be not in a good cause, it is so much out of his reputation. There

are no worse instruments than these general contrivers of suits; for

they are but a kind of poison and infection to public proceedings.

L.—OF STUDIES.[508]

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief

use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is

in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of

business; for expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars

one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling

of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much

time in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is

affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of

a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for

natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study;

and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large,

except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies,

simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not

their own use; but that is a wisdom without them and above them, won

by observation. Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and

take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and

consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some

few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only

in parts; others to be read, but not curiously;[509] and some few to be

read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be

read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be

only in the less important arguments and the meaner sort of books; else

distilled books are, like common distilled waters, flashy[510] things.

Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact

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 read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that

he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics,

subtile; natural philosophy, deep; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric,

able to contend: “Abeunt studia in mores;”[511] nay, there is no stand

or impediment in the wit, but may be wrought out by fit studies.

Like as diseases of the body may have appropriate exercises, bowling

is good for the stone and reins, shooting for the lungs and breast,

gentle walking for the stomach, riding for the head and the like; so,

if a man’s wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in

demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he must

begin again; if his wit be not apt to distinguish or find difference,

let him study the schoolmen, for they are “Cymini sectores.”[512] If he

be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and

illustrate another, let him study the lawyers’ cases; so every defect

of the mind may have a special receipt.

LI.—OF FACTION.

Many have an opinion not wise, that for a prince to govern his

estate, or for a great person to govern his proceedings, according

to the respect of factions, is a principal part of policy; whereas,

contrariwise, the chiefest wisdom is, either in ordering those things

which are general, and wherein men of several factions do nevertheless

agree, or in dealing with correspondence to particular persons, one

by one; but I say not, that the consideration of factions is to be

neglected. Mean men in their rising must adhere; but great men, that

have strength in themselves, were better to maintain themselves

indifferent and neutral; yet, even in beginners, to adhere so

moderately, as he be a man of the one faction, which is most passable

with the other, commonly giveth best way. The lower and weaker faction

is the firmer in conjunction; and it is often seen, that a few that

are stiff, do tire out a great number that are more moderate. When

one of the factions is extinguished, the remaining subdivideth; as

the faction between Lucullus and the rest of the nobles of the senate

(which they called “optimates”), held out a while against the faction

of Pompey and Cæsar; but when the senate’s authority was pulled down,

Cæsar and Pompey soon after brake. The faction or party of Antonius

and Octavianus Cæsar, against Brutus and Cassius, held out likewise

for a time; but when Brutus and Cassius were overthrown, then soon

after Antonius and Octavianus brake and subdivided. These examples are

of wars, but the same holdeth in private factions; and, therefore,

those that are seconds in factions do many times, when the faction

subdivideth, prove principals; but many times also they prove ciphers,

and cashiered, for many a man’s strength is in opposition; and when

that faileth, he groweth out of use. It is commonly seen, that men once

placed, take in with the contrary faction to that by which they enter;

thinking, belike, that they have the first sure, and now are ready for

a new purchase. The traitor in faction lightly goeth away with it; for

when matters have stuck long in balancing, the winning of some one man

casteth them,[513] and he getteth all the thanks. The even carriage

between two factions proceedeth not always of moderation, but of a

trueness to a man’s self, with end to make use of both. Certainly, in

Italy, they hold it a little suspect in popes, when they have often

in their mouth, “Padre commune;”[514] and take it to be a sign of one

that meaneth to refer all to the greatness of his own house. Kings

had need beware how they side themselves, and make themselves as of a

faction or party; for leagues within the state are ever pernicious to

monarchies; for they raise an obligation paramount to obligation of

sovereignty, and make the king “tanquam unus ex nobis,”[515] as was

to be seen in the League of France. When factions are carried too high

and too violently, it is a sign of weakness in princes, and much to the

prejudice both of their authority and business. The motions of factions

under kings, ought to be like the motions (as the astronomers speak) of

the inferior orbs, which may have their proper motions, but yet still

are quietly carried by the higher motion of “primum mobile.”[516]

LII.—OF CEREMONIES AND RESPECTS.

He that is only real, had need have exceeding great parts of virtue;

as the stone had need to be rich that is set without foil; but if a

man mark it well, it is in praise and commendation of men, as it is in

gettings and gains; for the proverb is true, that “Light gains make

heavy purses;” for light gains come thick, whereas great come but now

and then. So it is true, that small matters win great commendation,

because they are continually in use and in note; whereas the occasion

of any great virtue cometh but on festivals; therefore it doth much

add to a man’s reputation, and is (as Queen Isabella[517] said) like

perpetual letters commendatory, to have good forms. To attain them, it

almost sufficeth not to despise them; for so shall a man observe them

in others; and let him trust himself with the rest; for if he labor

too much to express them, he shall lose their grace, which is to be

natural and unaffected. Some men’s behavior is like a verse, wherein

every syllable is measured; how can a man comprehend great matters,

that breaketh his mind too much to small observations? Not to use

ceremonies at all, is to teach others not to use them again, and so

diminisheth respect to himself; especially they be not to be omitted to

strangers and formal natures; but the dwelling upon them, and exalting

them above the moon, is not only tedious, but doth diminish the faith

and credit of him that speaks; and, certainly, there is a kind of

conveying of effectual and imprinting passages amongst compliments,

which is of singular use, if a man can hit upon it. Amongst a man’s

peers, a man shall be sure of familiarity, and, therefore, it is good a

little to keep state; amongst a man’s inferiors, one shall be sure of

reverence, and therefore it is good a little to be familiar. He that is

too much in any thing, so that he giveth another occasion of satiety,

maketh himself cheap. To apply one’s self to others, is good, so it

be with demonstration that a man doth it upon regard, and not upon

facility. It is a good precept, generally in seconding another, yet to

add somewhat of one’s own; as, if you will grant his opinion, let it be

with some distinction; if you will follow his motion, let it be with

condition; if you allow his counsel, let it be with alleging further

reason. Men had need beware how they be too perfect in compliments; for

be they never so sufficient otherwise, their enviers will be sure to

give them that attribute to the disadvantage of their greater virtues.

It is loss, also, in business, to be too full of respects, or to be too

curious in observing times and opportunities. Solomon saith, “He that

considereth the wind shall not sow, and he that looketh to the clouds

shall not reap.”[518] A wise man will make more opportunities than he

finds. Men’s behavior should be like their apparel, not too strait or

point device,[519] but free for exercise or motion.

LIII.—OF PRAISE.

Praise is the reflection of virtue; but it is glass, or body, which

giveth the reflection. If it be from the common people, it is commonly

false and naught, and rather followeth vain persons than virtuous;

for the common people understand not many excellent virtues. The

lowest virtues draw praise from them, the middle virtues work in them

astonishment or admiration, but of the highest virtues they have

no sense or perceiving at all; but shows and “species virtutibus

similes,”[520] serve best with them. Certainly, fame is like a river,

that beareth up things light and swollen, and drowns things weighty and

solid; but if persons of quality and judgment concur, then it is (as

the Scripture saith), “Nomen bonum instar unguenti fragrantis:”[521]

it filleth all round about, and will not easily away; for the odors

of ointments are more durable than those of flowers. There be so many

false points of praise, that a man may justly hold it a suspect. Some

praises proceed merely of flattery; and if he be an ordinary flatterer,

he will have certain common attributes, which may serve every man; if

he be a cunning flatterer, he will follow the arch-flatterer, which is

a man’s self, and wherein a man thinketh best of himself, therein the

flatterer will uphold him most. But if he be an impudent flatterer,

look wherein a man is conscious to himself that he is most defective,

and is most out of countenance in himself, that will the flatterer

entitle him to, perforce, “spretâ conscientiâ.”[522] Some praises come

of good wishes and respects, which is a form due in civility to kings

and great persons, “laudando præcipere;”[523] when, by telling men what

they are, they represent to them what they should be; some men are

praised maliciously to their hurt, thereby to stir envy and jealousy

towards them: “Pessimum genus inimicorum laudantium;”[524] insomuch as

it was a proverb amongst the Grecians, that “he that was praised to

his hurt, should have a push[525] rise upon his nose;” as we say that

a blister will rise upon one’s tongue that tells a lie; certainly,

moderate praise, used with opportunity, and not vulgar, is that which

doth the good. Solomon saith: “He that praiseth his friend aloud,

rising early, it shall be to him no better than a curse.”[526] Too much

magnifying of man or matter doth irritate contradiction, and procure

envy and scorn. To praise a man’s self cannot be decent, except it be

in rare cases; but to praise a man’s office[527] or profession, he may

do it with good grace, and with a kind of magnanimity. The cardinals

of Rome, which are theologues,[528] and friars, and schoolmen, have

a phrase of notable contempt and scorn towards civil business; for

they call all temporal business of wars, embassages, judicature, and

other employments, sbirrerie, which is under-sheriffries, as if they

were but matters for under-sheriffs and catchpoles; though many times

those under-sheriffries do more good than their high speculations.

St. Paul, when he boasts of himself, he doth oft interlace, “I speak

like a fool:”[529] but speaking of his calling, he saith, “Magnificabo

apostolatum meum.”[530]

LIV.—OF VAINGLORY.

It was prettily devised of Æsop, the fly sat upon the axle-tree of the

chariot-wheel, and said, “What a dust do I raise!” So are there some

vain persons, that, whatsoever goeth alone, or moveth upon greater

means, if they have never so little hand in it, they think it is they

that carry it. They that are glorious, must needs be factious; for all

bravery[531] stands upon comparisons. They must needs be violent, to

make good their own vaunts; neither can they be secret, and therefore

not effectual; but, according to the French proverb, “Beaucoup de

bruit, peu de fruit;”—“much bruit,[532] little fruit.” Yet, certainly,

there is use of this quality in civil affairs: where there is an

opinion[533] and fame to be created, either of virtue or greatness,

these men are good trumpeters. Again, as Titus Livius noteth, in the

case of Antiochus and the Ætolians,[534] there are sometimes great

effects of cross lies; as if a man that negotiates between two princes,

to draw them to join in a war against the third, doth extol the forces

of either of them above measure, the one to the other; and sometimes

he that deals between man and man, raiseth his own credit with both,

by pretending greater interest than he hath in either; and in these,

and the like kinds, it often falls out, that somewhat is produced of

nothing; for lies are sufficient to breed opinion, and opinion brings

on substance. In military commanders and soldiers, vainglory is an

essential point; for as iron sharpens iron, so by glory one courage

sharpeneth another. In cases of great enterprise upon charge[535]

and adventure, a composition of glorious natures doth put life into

business; and those that are of solid and sober natures, have more of

the ballast than of the sail. In fame of learning, the flight will be

slow without some feathers of ostentation: “Qui de contemnendâ gloriâ

libros scribunt, nomen suum inscribunt.”[536] Socrates, Aristotle,

Galen, were men full of ostentation: certainly, vainglory helpeth to

perpetuate a man’s memory; and virtue was never so beholden to human

nature, as it received its due at the second hand. Neither had the fame

of Cicero, Seneca, Plinius Secundus,[537] borne her age so well if it

had not been joined with some vanity in themselves; like unto varnish,

that makes ceilings not only shine, but last. But all this while, when

I speak of vainglory, I mean not of that property that Tacitus doth

attribute to Mucianus, “Omnium, quæ dixerat feceratque, arte quâdam

ostentator;”[538] for that[539] proceeds not of vanity, but of natural

magnanimity and discretion; and, in some persons, is not only comely,

but gracious; for excusations,[540] cessions,[541] modesty itself, well

governed, are but arts of ostentation; and amongst those arts there is

none better than that which Plinius Secundus speaketh of, which is

to be liberal of praise and commendation to others, in that wherein a

man’s self hath any perfection. For, saith Pliny, very wittily, “In

commending another, you do yourself right;[542] for he that you commend

is either superior to you in that you commend, or inferior: if he be

inferior, if he be to be commended, you much more; if he be superior,

if he be not to be commended, you much less.” Glorious[543] men are the

scorn of wise men, the admiration of fools, the idols of parasites, and

the slaves of their own vaunts.

LV.—OF HONOR AND REPUTATION.

The winning of honor is but the revealing of a man’s virtue and worth

without disadvantage; for some in their actions do woo and affect honor

and reputation; which sort of men are commonly much talked of, but

inwardly little admired; and some, contrariwise, darken their virtue

in the show of it, so as they be undervalued in opinion. If a man

perform that which hath not been attempted before, or attempted and

given over, or hath been achieved, but not with so good circumstance,

he shall purchase more honor than by affecting a matter of greater

difficulty or virtue, wherein he is but a follower. If a man so temper

his actions, as in some one of them he doth content every faction

or combination of people, the music will be the fuller. A man is an

ill husband of his honor that entereth into any action, the failing

wherein may disgrace him more than the carrying of it through can honor

him. Honor that is gained and broken upon another hath the quickest

reflection, like diamonds cut with facets; and therefore let a man

contend to excel any competitors of his in honor, in outshooting them,

if he can, in their own bow. Discreet followers and servants help much

to reputation: “Omnis fama a domesticis emanat.”[544] Envy, which is

the canker of honor, is best extinguished by declaring a man’s self in

his ends, rather to seek merit than fame; and by attributing a man’s

successes rather to Divine providence and felicity, than to his own

virtue or policy. The true marshalling of the degrees of sovereign

honor are these. In the first place are “conditores imperiorum,”[545]

founders of states and commonwealths; such as were Romulus, Cyrus,

Cæsar, Ottoman,[546] Ismael: in the second place are “legislatores,”

lawgivers, which are also called second founders, or “perpetui

principes,”[547] because they govern by their ordinances after they

are gone; such were Lycurgus, Solon, Justinian, Edgar,[548] Alphonsus

of Castile, the Wise, that made the “Siete Partidas:”[549] in the third

place are “liberatores,” or “salvatores,”[550] such as compound the

long miseries of civil wars, or deliver their countries from servitude

of strangers or tyrants, as Augustus Cæsar, Vespasianus, Aurelianus,

Theodoricus, King Henry the Seventh of England, King Henry the Fourth

of France: in the fourth place are “propagatores,” or “propugnatores

imperii,”[551] such as in honorable wars enlarge their territories, or

make noble defence against invaders: and, in the last place are “patres

patriæ,”[552] which reign justly, and make the times good wherein they

live; both which last kinds need no examples, they are in such number.

Degrees of honor in subjects are, first, “participes curarum,”[553]

those upon whom princes do discharge the greatest weight of their

affairs, their right hands, as we call them; the next are “duces

belli,”[554] great leaders, such as are princes’ lieutenants, and do

them notable services in the wars; the third are “gratiosi,” favorites,

such as exceed not this scantling,[555] to be solace to the sovereign,

and harmless to the people; and the fourth, “negotiis pares,”[556]

such as have great places under princes, and execute their places with

sufficiency. There is an honor, likewise, which may be ranked amongst

the greatest, which happeneth rarely; that is, of such as sacrifice

themselves to death or danger for the good of their country; as was M.

Regulus, and the two Decii.

LVI.—OF JUDICATURE.

Judges ought to remember that their office is “jus dicere,”[557] and

not “jus dare;”[558] to interpret law, and not to make law, or give

law; else will it be like the authority claimed by the Church of Rome,

which, under pretext of exposition of Scripture, doth not stick to

add and alter, and to pronounce that which they do not find, and, by

show of antiquity, to introduce novelty. Judges ought to be more

learned than witty, more reverend than plausible, and more advised than

confident. Above all things, integrity is their portion and proper

virtue. “Cursed (saith the law)[559] is he that removeth the landmark.”

The mislayer of a mere stone is to blame; but it is the unjust judge

that is the capital remover of landmarks, when he defineth amiss of

lands and property. One foul sentence doth more hurt than many foul

examples; for these do but corrupt the stream, the other corrupteth

the fountain: so saith Solomon, “Fons turbatus et vena corrupta est

justus cadens in causâ suâ coram adversario.”[560] The office of judges

may have reference unto the parties that sue, unto the advocates that

plead, unto the clerks and ministers of justice underneath them, and to

the sovereign or state above them.

First, for the causes or parties that sue. “There be (saith the

Scripture) that turn judgment into wormwood;”[561] and surely there be,

also, that turn it into vinegar; for injustice maketh it bitter, and

delays make it sour. The principal duty of a judge is to suppress force

and fraud; whereof force is the more pernicious when it is open, and

fraud when it is close and disguised. Add thereto contentious suits,

which ought to be spewed out, as the surfeit of courts. A judge ought

to prepare his way to a just sentence, as God useth to prepare his way,

by raising valleys and taking down hills; so when there appeareth on

either side a high hand, violent prosecution, cunning advantages taken,

combination, power, great counsel, then is the virtue of a judge seen

to make inequality equal, that he may plant his judgment as upon an

even ground. “Qui fortiter emungit, elicit sanguinem;”[562] and where

the wine-press is hard wrought, it yields a harsh wine, that tastes of

the grape-stone. Judges must beware of hard constructions and strained

inferences; for there is no worse torture than the torture of laws.

Especially in case of laws penal, they ought to have care that that

which was meant for terror be not turned into rigor; and that they

bring not upon the people that shower whereof the Scripture speaketh,

“Pluet super eos laqueos;”[563] for penal laws pressed,[564] are a

shower of snares upon the people. Therefore let penal laws, if they

have been sleepers of long, or if they be grown unfit for the present

time, be by wise judges confined in the execution: “Judicis officium

est, ut res, ita tempora rerum,” &c.[565] In causes of life and death,

judges ought (as far as the law permitteth) in justice to remember

mercy, and to cast a severe eye upon the example, but a merciful eye

upon the person.

Secondly, for the advocates and counsel that plead. Patience[566] and

gravity of hearing is an essential part of justice, and an overspeaking

judge is no well-tuned cymbal. It is no grace to a judge first to find

that which he might have heard in due time from the bar; or to show

quickness of conceit in cutting off evidence or counsel too short,

or to prevent information by questions, though pertinent. The parts

of a judge in hearing are four: to direct the evidence; to moderate

length, repetition, of impertinency of speech; to recapitulate,

select, and collate the material points of that which hath been said;

and to give the rule or sentence. Whatsoever is above these is too

much, and proceedeth either of glory, and willingness to speak, or of

impatience to hear, or of shortness of memory, or of want of a staid

and equal attention. It is a strange thing to see that the boldness

of advocates should prevail with judges; whereas, they should imitate

God in whose seat they sit, who represseth the presumptuous, and

giveth grace to the modest; but it is more strange, that judges should

have noted favorites, which cannot but cause multiplication of fees,

and suspicion of by-ways. There is due from the judge to the advocate

some commendation and gracing, where causes are well handled and fair

pleaded, especially towards the side which obtaineth not;[567] for that

upholds in the client the reputation of his counsel, and beats down

in him the conceit[568] of his cause. There is likewise due to the

public a civil reprehension of advocates, where there appeareth cunning

counsel, gross neglect, slight information, indiscreet pressing, or an

over-bold defence; and let not the counsel at the bar chop[569] with

the judge, nor wind himself into the handling of the cause anew after

the judge hath declared his sentence; but, on the other side, let not

the judge meet the cause half-way, nor give occasion to the party to

say, his counsel or proofs were not heard.

Thirdly, for that that concerns clerks and ministers. The place of

justice is a hallowed place; and, therefore, not only the bench,

but the foot-pace and precincts, and purprise thereof, ought to be

preserved without scandal and corruption; for, certainly, “Grapes (as

the Scripture saith) will not be gathered of thorns or thistles;”[570]

neither can justice yield her fruit with sweetness amongst the briers

and brambles of catching and polling[571] clerks and ministers. The

attendance of courts is subject to four bad instruments: first, certain

persons that are sowers of suits, which make the court swell, and

the country pine: the second sort is of those that engage courts in

quarrels of jurisdiction, and are not truly “amici curiæ,”[572] but

“parasiti curiæ,”[573] in puffing a court up beyond her bounds for

their own scraps and advantage: the third sort is of those that may be

accounted the left hands of courts; persons that are full of nimble

and sinister tricks and shifts, whereby they pervert the plain and

direct courses of courts, and bring justice into oblique lines and

labyrinths: and the fourth is the poller and exacter of fees; which

justifies the common resemblance of the courts of justice to the bush,

whereunto while the sheep flies for defence in weather, he is sure to

lose part of his fleece. On the other side, an ancient clerk, skilful

in precedents, wary in proceeding, and understanding in the business of

the court, is an excellent finger of a court, and doth many times point

the way to the judge himself.

Fourthly, for that which may concern the sovereign and estate. Judges

ought, above all, to remember the conclusion of the Roman Twelve

Tables,[574] “Salus populi suprema lex;”[575] and to know that laws,

except they be in order to that end, are but things captious, and

oracles not well inspired; therefore it is a happy thing in a state,

when kings and states do often consult with judges; and again, when

judges do often consult with the king and state: the one, when there

is matter of law intervenient in business of state; the other, when

there is some consideration of state intervenient in matter of law;

for many times the things deduced to judgment may be “meum”[576]

and “tuum,”[577] when the reason and consequence thereof may trench

to point of estate. I call matter of estate, not only the parts of

sovereignty, but whatsoever introduceth any great alteration, or

dangerous precedent, or concerneth manifestly any great portion of

people; and let no man weakly conceive, that just laws and true policy

have any antipathy, for they are like the spirits and sinews, that one

moves with the other. Let judges also remember, that Solomon’s throne

was supported by lions[578] on both sides; let them be lions, but yet

lions under the throne, being circumspect that they do not check or

oppose any points of sovereignty. Let not judges also be so ignorant of

their own right, as to think there is not left to them, as a principal

part of their office, a wise use and application of laws; for they

may remember what the apostle saith of a greater law than theirs: “Nos

scimus quia lex bona est, modo quis eâ utatur legitime.”[579]

LVII.—OF ANGER.

To seek to extinguish anger utterly is but a bravery[580] of the

Stoics. We have better oracles: “Be angry, but sin not; let not the sun

go down upon your anger.”[581] Anger must be limited and confined, both

in race and in time. We will first speak how the natural inclination

and habit, “to be angry,” may be attempered and calmed; secondly,

how the particular motions of anger may be repressed, or, at least,

refrained from doing mischief; thirdly, how to raise anger, or appease

anger in another.

For the first, there is no other way but to meditate and ruminate well

upon the effects of anger, how it troubles man’s life; and the best

time to do this is, to look back upon anger when the fit is thoroughly

over. Seneca saith well, “that anger is like ruin, which breaks itself

upon that it falls.”[582] The Scripture exhorteth us “to possess our

souls in patience;”[583] whosoever is out of patience, is out of

possession of his soul. Men must not turn bees:—

“animasque in vulnere ponunt.”[584]

Anger is certainly a kind of baseness; as it appears well in the

weakness of those subjects in whom it reigns, children, women, old

folks, sick folks. Only men must beware that they carry their anger

rather with scorn than with fear; so that they may seem rather to be

above the injury than below it; which is a thing easily done, if a man

will give law to himself in it.

For the second point, the causes and motives of anger are chiefly

three. First, to be too sensible of hurt, for no man is angry that

feels not himself hurt; and therefore tender and delicate persons must

needs be oft angry, they have so many things to trouble them, which

more robust natures have little sense of: the next is, the apprehension

and construction of the injury offered, to be, in the circumstances

thereof, full of contempt; for contempt is that which putteth an edge

upon anger, as much, or more, than the hurt itself; and therefore,

when men are ingenious in picking out circumstances of contempt,

they do kindle their anger much: lastly, opinion of the touch[585]

of a man’s reputation doth multiply and sharpen anger; wherein the

remedy is, that a man should have, as Gonsalvo was wont to say, “Telam

honoris crassiorem.”[586] But in all refrainings of anger, it is the

best remedy to win time, and to make a man’s self believe that the

opportunity of his revenge is not yet come; but that he foresees a time

for it, and so to still himself in the mean time, and reserve it.

To contain anger from mischief, though it take hold of a man, there be

two things whereof you must have special caution: the one, of extreme

bitterness of words, especially if they be aculeate and proper,[587]

for “communia maledicta”[588] are nothing so much; and, again, that in

anger a man reveal no secrets, for that makes him not fit for society:

the other, that you do not peremptorily break off in any business in a

fit of anger; but, howsoever you show bitterness, do not act any thing

that is not revocable.

For raising and appeasing anger in another, it is done chiefly by

choosing of times when men are frowardest and worst disposed to incense

them; again, by gathering (as was touched before) all that you can

find out to aggravate the contempt: and the two remedies are by the

contraries; the former to take good times, when first to relate to a

man an angry business, for the first impression is much; and the other

is, to sever, as much as may be, the construction of the injury from

the point of contempt; imputing it to misunderstanding, fear, passion,

or what you will.

LVIII.—OF VICISSITUDE OF THINGS.

Solomon saith, “There is no new thing upon the earth;”[589] so

that as Plato[590] had an imagination that all knowledge was but

remembrance, so Solomon giveth his sentence, “That all novelty is but

oblivion;”[591] whereby you may see, that the river of Lethe runneth

as well above ground as below. There is an abstruse astrologer that

saith, if it were not for two things that are constant (the one is,

that the fixed stars ever stand at like distance one from another, and

never come nearer together, nor go further asunder; the other, that

the diurnal motion perpetually keepeth time), no individual would last

one moment; certain it is, that the matter is in a perpetual flux, and

never at a stay. The great winding-sheets that bury all things in

oblivion, are two,—deluges and earthquakes. As for conflagrations and

great droughts, they do not merely dispeople, but destroy. Phaeton’s

car went but a day; and the three years’ drought in the time of

Elias,[592] was but particular,[593] and left people alive. As for the

great burnings by lightnings, which are often in the West Indies,[594]

they are but narrow;[595] but in the other two destructions, by deluge

and earthquake, it is further to be noted, that the remnant of people

which happen to be reserved, are commonly ignorant and mountainous

people, that can give no account of the time past; so that the oblivion

is all one, as if none had been left. If you consider well of the

people of the West Indies, it is very probable that they are a newer,

or a younger people than the people of the old world; and it is much

more likely that the destruction that hath heretofore been there, was

not by earthquakes, (as the Egyptian priest told Solon, concerning the

Island of Atlantis,[596] that it was swallowed by an earthquake), but

rather that it was desolated by a particular deluge, for earthquakes

are seldom in those parts; but, on the other side, they have such

pouring rivers, as the rivers of Asia, and Africa, and Europe, are but

brooks to them. Their Andes, likewise, or mountains, are far higher

than those with us; whereby it seems, that the remnants of generations

of men were in such a particular deluge saved. As for the observation

that Machiavel hath, that the jealousy of sects doth much extinguish

the memory of things,[597] traducing Gregory the Great, that he did

what in him lay to extinguish all heathen antiquities, I do not find

that those zeals do any great effects, nor last long; as it appeared in

the succession of Sabinian,[598] who did revive the former antiquities.

The vicissitude, or mutations, in the superior globe, are no fit matter

for this present argument. It may be, Plato’s great year,[599] if the

world should last so long, would have some effect, not in renewing

the state of like individuals (for that is the fume[600] of those

that conceive the celestial bodies have more accurate influences upon

these things below, than indeed they have), but in gross. Comets, out

of question, have likewise power and effect over the gross and mass

of things; but they are rather gazed, and waited upon[601] in their

journey, than wisely observed in their effects, especially in their

respective effects; that is, what kind of comet for magnitude, color,

version of the beams, placing in the region of heaven, or lasting,

produceth what kind of effects.

There is a toy,[602] which I have heard, and I would not have it given

over, but waited upon a little. They say it is observed in the Low

Countries (I know not in what part), that every five and thirty years

the same kind and suit of years and weather comes about again; as great

frosts, great wet, great droughts, warm winters, summers with little

heat, and the like; and they call it the prime. It is a thing I do

the rather mention, because, computing backwards, I have found some

concurrence.

But to leave these points of nature, and to come to men. The greatest

vicissitude of things amongst men, is the vicissitude of sects and

religions; for those orbs rule in men’s minds most. The true religion

is built upon the rock; the rest are tossed upon the waves of time. To

speak, therefore, of the causes of new sects, and to give some counsel

concerning them, as far as the weakness of human judgment can give stay

to so great revolutions.

When the religion formerly received is rent by discords, and when the

holiness of the professors of religion is decayed and full of scandal,

and, withal, the times be stupid, ignorant, and barbarous, you may

doubt the springing up of a new sect; if then, also, there should arise

any extravagant and strange spirit to make himself author thereof; all

which points held when Mahomet published his law. If a new sect have

not two properties, fear it not, for it will not spread. The one is the

supplanting or the opposing of authority established, for nothing is

more popular than that; the other is, the giving license to pleasures

and a voluptuous life; for as for speculative heresies (such as were in

ancient times the Arians, and now the Arminians),[603] though they work

mightily upon men’s wits, yet they do not produce any great alterations

in states, except it be by the help of civil occasions. There be three

manner of plantations of new sects: by the power of signs and miracles;

by the eloquence and wisdom of speech and persuasion; and by the

sword. For martyrdoms, I reckon them amongst miracles, because they

seem to exceed the strength of human nature; and I may do the like of

superlative and admirable holiness of life. Surely, there is no better

way to stop the rising of new sects and schisms, than to reform abuses;

to compound the smaller differences; to proceed mildly, and not with

sanguinary persecutions; and rather to take off the principal authors,

by winning and advancing them, than to enrage them by violence and

bitterness.

The changes and vicissitude in wars are many, but chiefly in three

things: in the seats or stages of the war, in the weapons, and in the

manner of the conduct. Wars, in ancient time, seemed more to move from

east to west; for the Persians, Assyrians, Arabians, Tartars (which

were the invaders), were all eastern people. It is true the Gauls

were western; but we read but of two incursions of theirs, the one to

Gallo-Græcia, the other to Rome: but east and west have no certain

points of heaven; and no more have the wars, either from the east or

west, any certainty of observation; but north and south are fixed; and

it hath seldom or never been seen that the far southern people have

invaded the northern, but contrariwise: whereby it is manifest that

the northern tract of the world is in nature the more martial region,

be it in respect of the stars of that hemisphere,[604] or of the great

continents that are upon the north; whereas, the south part, for aught

that is known, is almost all sea; or (which is most apparent) of

the cold of the northern parts, which is that which, without aid of

discipline, doth make the bodies hardest, and the courage warmest.

Upon the breaking and shivering of a great state and empire, you may be

sure to have wars; for great empires, while they stand, do enervate and

destroy the forces of the natives which they have subdued, resting upon

their own protecting forces; and then, when they fail also, all goes

to ruin, and they become a prey. So was it in the decay of the Roman

empire, and likewise in the empire of Almaigne,[605] after Charles

the Great,[606] every bird taking a feather, and were not unlike to

befall to Spain, if it should break. The great accessions and unions

of kingdoms do likewise stir up wars; for when a state grows to an

over-power, it is like a great flood, that will be sure to overflow,

as it hath been seen in the states of Rome, Turkey, Spain, and others.

Look when the world hath fewest barbarous people, but such as commonly

will not marry or generate, except they know means to live (as it is

almost everywhere at this day, except Tartary), there is no danger of

inundations of people; but when there be great shoals of people, which

go on to populate, without foreseeing means of life and sustenation,

it is of necessity that once in an age or two they discharge a portion

of their people upon other nations, which the ancient northern people

were wont to do by lot; casting lots what part should stay at home,

and what should seek their fortunes. When a warlike state grows soft

and effeminate, they may be sure of a war, for commonly such states are

grown rich in the time of their degenerating; and so the prey inviteth,

and their decay in valor encourageth a war.

As for the weapons, it hardly falleth under rule and observation, yet

we see even they have returns and vicissitudes; for certain it is that

ordnance was known in the city of the Oxidraces, in India, and was that

which the Macedonians[607] called thunder and lightning, and magic;

and it is well known that the use of ordnance hath been in China above

two thousand years. The conditions of weapons, and their improvements

are, first, the fetching[608] afar off, for that outruns the danger,

as it is seen in ordnance and muskets; secondly, the strength of the

percussion, wherein, likewise, ordnance do exceed all arietations,[609]

and ancient inventions; the third is, the commodious use of them, as

that they may serve in all weathers, that the carriage may be light and

manageable, and the like.

For the conduct of the war: at the first, men rested extremely upon

number; they did put the wars likewise upon main force and valor,

pointing days for pitched fields, and so trying it out upon an even

match; and they were more ignorant in ranging and arraying their

battles. After they grew to rest upon number, rather competent than

vast, they grew to advantages of place, cunning diversions, and the

like, and they grew more skilful in the ordering of their battles.

In the youth of a state, arms do flourish; in the middle age of a

state, learning; and then both of them together for a time; in the

declining age of a state, mechanical arts and merchandise. Learning

hath its infancy when it is but beginning, and almost childish; then

its youth, when it is luxuriant and juvenile; then its strength of

years, when it is solid and reduced; and, lastly, its old age, when

it waxeth dry and exhaust. But it is not good to look too long upon

these turning wheels of vicissitude, lest we become giddy; as for the

philology of them, that is but a circle of tales, and therefore not fit

for this writing.

APPENDIX TO ESSAYS.

I.—A FRAGMENT OF AN ESSAY OF FAME.[610]

The poets make fame a monster; they describe her in part finely and

elegantly, and in part gravely and sententiously; they say, Look, how

many feathers she hath, so many eyes she hath underneath, so many

tongues, so many voices, she pricks up so many ears!

This is a flourish: there follow excellent parables; as that she

gathereth strength in going; that she goeth upon the ground, and yet

hideth her head in the clouds; that in the daytime she sitteth in a

watch-tower, and flieth most by night; that she mingleth things done

with things not done; and that she is a terror to great cities; but

that which passeth all the rest is, they do recount that the Earth,

mother of the giants that made war against Jupiter, and were by him

destroyed, thereupon in anger brought forth Fame; for certain it is,

that rebels, figured by the giants, and seditious fames and libels,

are but brothers and sisters, masculine and feminine. But now, if

a man can tame this monster, and bring her to feed at the hand and

govern her, and with her fly other ravening fowl, and kill them, it is

somewhat worth; but we are infected with the style of the poets. To

speak now in a sad and serious manner, there is not in all the politics

a place less handled, and more worthy to be handled, than this of fame.

We will, therefore, speak of these points. What are false fames, and

what are true fames, and how they may be best discerned; how fames may

be sown and raised; how they may be spread and multiplied; and how they

may be checked and lay dead; and other things concerning the nature

of fame. Fame is of that force, as there is scarcely any great action

wherein it hath not a great part, especially in the war. Mucianus

undid Vitellius by a fame that he scattered, that Vitellius had in

purpose to remove the legions of Syria into Germany, and the legions

of Germany into Syria; whereupon the legions of Syria were infinitely

inflamed.[611] Julius Cæsar took Pompey unprovided, and laid asleep his

industry and preparations by a fame that he cunningly gave out, how

Cæsar’s own soldiers loved him not; and being wearied with the wars,

and laden with the spoils of Gaul, would forsake him as soon as he came

into Italy.[612] Livia settled all things for the succession of her son

Tiberius, by continually giving out that her husband Augustus was upon

recovery and amendment;[613] and it is a usual thing with the bashaws

to conceal the death of the Grand Turk from the janizaries and men of

war, to save the sacking of Constantinople, and other towns, as their

manner is. Themistocles made Xerxes, king of Persia, post apace out

of Græcia, by giving out that the Grecians had a purpose to break his

bridge of ships which he had made athwart Hellespont.[614] There be a

thousand such like examples, and the more they are, the less they need

to be repeated, because a man meeteth with them everywhere; therefore,

let all wise governors have as great a watch and care over fames, as

they have of the actions and designs themselves.

II.—OF A KING.

1. A king is a mortal God on earth, unto whom the living God hath lent

his own name as a great honor; but withal told him, he should die like

a man, lest he should be proud and flatter himself, that God hath, with

his name, imparted unto him his nature also.

2. Of all kind of men, God is the least beholden unto them; for he doth

most for them, and they do, ordinarily, least for him.

3. A king that would not feel his crown too heavy for him, must wear

it every day; but if he think it too light, he knoweth not of what

metal it is made.

4. He must make religion the rule of government, and not to balance the

scale; for he that casteth in religion only to make the scales even,

his own weight is contained in those characters: “Mene, mene, tekel,

upharsin: He is found too light, his kingdom shall be taken from him.”

5. And that king that holds not religion the best reason of state, is

void of all piety and justice, the supporters of a king.

6. He must be able to give counsel himself, but not rely thereupon;

for though happy events justify their counsels, yet it is better that

the evil event of good advice be rather imputed to a subject than a

sovereign.

7. He is a fountain of honor, which should not run with a waste-pipe,

lest the courtiers sell the water, and then, as Papists say of their

holy wells, it loses the virtue.

8. He is the life of the law, not only as he is _Lex loquens_ himself,

but because he animateth the dead letter, making it active towards all

his subjects _præmio et pœna_.

9. A wise king must do less in altering his laws than he may; for new

government is ever dangerous. It being true in the body politic, as in

the corporal, that _omnis subita immutatio est periculosa_; and though

it be for the better, yet it is not without a fearful apprehension;

for he that changeth the fundamental laws of a kingdom, thinketh there

is no good title to a crown, but by conquest.

10. A king that setteth to sale seats of justice, oppresseth the

people; for he teacheth his judges to sell justice; and _pretio parata

pretio venditur justitia_.

11. Bounty and magnificence are virtues very regal, but a prodigal king

is nearer a tyrant than a parsimonious; for store at home draweth not

his contemplations abroad, but want supplieth itself of what is next,

and many times the next way. A king therein must be wise, and know what

he may justly do.

12. That king which is not feared, is not loved; and he that is well

seen in his craft, must as well study to be feared as loved; yet not

loved for fear, but feared for love.

13. Therefore, as he must always resemble Him whose great name he

beareth, and that as in manifesting the sweet influence of his mercy on

the severe stroke of his justice sometimes, so in this not to suffer

a man of death to live; for, besides that the land doth mourn, the

restraint of justice towards sin doth more retard the affection of

love, than the extent of mercy doth inflame it; and sure, where love is

[ill] bestowed, fear is quite lost.

14. His greatest enemies are his flatterers; for though they ever speak

on his side, yet their words still make against him.

15. The love which a king oweth to a weal public should not be

overstrained to any one particular; yet that his more especial favor do

reflect upon some worthy ones, is somewhat necessary, because there are

few of that capacity.

16. He must have a special care of five things, if he would not have

his crown to be but to him _infelix felicitas_.

First, that _simulata sanctitas_ be not in the church; for that is

_duplex iniquitas_.

Secondly, that _inutilis æquitas_ sit not in the chancery; for that is

_inepta misericordia_.

Thirdly, that _utilis iniquitas_ keep not the exchequer; for that is

_crudele latrocinium_.

Fourthly, that _fidelis temeritas_ be not his general; for that will

bring but _seram pœnitentiam_.

Fifthly, that _infidelis prudentia_ be not his secretary; for that is

_anguis sub viridi herbâ_.

To conclude: as he is of the greatest power, so he is subject to the

greatest cares, made the servant of his people, or else he were without

a calling at all.

He, then, that honoreth him not is next an atheist, wanting the fear of

God in his heart.

III.—ON DEATH.

1. I have often thought upon death, and I find it the least of all

evils. All that which is past is as a dream; and he that hopes or

depends upon time coming, dreams waking. So much of our life as we have

discovered is already dead; and all those hours which we share, even

from the breasts of our mothers, until we return to our grandmother the

earth, are part of our dying days, whereof even this is one, and those

that succeed are of the same nature, for we die daily; and, as others

have given place to us, so we must, in the end, give way to others.

2. Physicians, in the name of death, include all sorrow, anguish,

disease, calamity, or whatsoever can fall in the life of man, either

grievous or unwelcome. But these things are familiar unto us, and we

suffer them every hour; therefore we die daily, and I am older since I

affirmed it.

3. I know many wise men that fear to die, for the change is bitter,

and flesh would refuse to prove it; besides, the expectation brings

terror, and that exceeds the evil. But I do not believe that any man

fears to be dead, but only the stroke of death; and such are my hopes,

that if Heaven be pleased, and nature renew but my lease for twenty-one

years more without asking longer days, I shall be strong enough to

acknowledge without mourning, that I was begotten mortal. Virtue walks

not in the highway, though she go _per alta_; this is strength and the

blood to virtue, to contemn things that be desired, and to neglect that

which is feared.

4. Why should man be in love with his fetters, though of gold? Art thou

drowned in security? Then I say thou art perfectly dead. For though

thou movest, yet thy soul is buried within thee, and thy good angel

either forsakes his guard, or sleeps. There is nothing under heaven,

saving a true friend (who cannot be counted within the number of

movables), unto which my heart doth lean. And this dear freedom hath

begotten me this peace, that I mourn not for that end which must be,

nor spend one wish to have one minute added, to the uncertain date of

my years. It was no mean apprehension of Lucian, who says of Menippus,

that in his travels through hell, he knew not the kings of the earth

from other men but only by their louder cryings and tears, which were

fostered in them through the remorseful memory of the good days they

had seen, and the fruitful havings which they so unwillingly left

behind them. He that was well seated, looked back at his portion, and

was loath to forsake his farm; and others, either minding marriages,

pleasures, profit, or preferment, desired to be excused from death’s

banquet. They had made an appointment with earth, looking at the

blessings, not the hand that enlarged them, forgetting how unclothedly

they came hither, or with what naked ornaments they were arrayed.

5. But were we servants of the precept given, and observers of the

heathens’ rule, _Memento mori_, and not become benighted with this

seeming felicity, we should enjoy it as men prepared to lose, and

not wind up our thoughts upon so perishing a fortune. He that is not

slackly strong (as the servants of pleasure), how can he be found

unready to quit the vail and false visage of his perfection? The

soul having shaken off her flesh, doth then set up for herself, and

contemning things that are under, shows what finger hath enforced her;

for the souls of idiots are of the same piece with those of statesmen,

but now and then nature is at a fault, and this good guest of ours

takes soil in an imperfect body, and so is slackened from showing her

wonders, like an excellent musician, which cannot utter himself upon a

defective instrument.

6. But see how I am swerved, and lose my course, touching at the soul

that doth least hold action with death, who hath the surest property in

this frail act; his style is the end of all flesh, and the beginning of

incorruption.

This ruler of monuments leads men, for the most part, out of this world

with their heels forward, in token that he is contrary to life, which

being obtained, sends men headlong into this wretched theatre, where,

being arrived, their first language is that of mourning. Nor, in my own

thoughts, can I compare men more fitly to any thing than to the Indian

fig-tree, which, being ripened to his full height, is said to decline

his branches down to the earth, whereof she conceives again, and they

become roots in their own stock.

So man, having derived his being from the earth, first lives the life

of a tree, drawing his nourishment as a plant, and made ripe for death,

he tends downwards, and is sown again in his mother the earth, where he

perisheth not, but expects a quickening.

7. So we see death exempts not a man from being, but only presents

an alteration; yet there are some men (I think) that stand otherwise

persuaded. Death finds not a worse friend than an alderman, to whose

door I never knew him welcome; but he is an importunate guest, and will

not be said nay.

And though they themselves shall affirm that they are not within, yet

the answer will not be taken; and that which heightens their fear is,

that they know they are in danger to forfeit their flesh, but are not

wise of the payment-day, which sickly uncertainty is the occasion that

(for the most part) they step out of this world unfurnished for their

general account, and, being all unprovided, desire yet to hold their

gravity, preparing their souls to answer in scarlet.

Thus I gather, that death is unagreeable to most citizens, because they

commonly die intestate; this being a rule, that when their will is

made, they think themselves nearer a grave than before. Now they, out

of the wisdom of thousands, think to scare destiny, from which there is

no appeal, by not making a will, or to live longer by protestation of

their unwillingness to die. They are, for the most part, well made in

this world (accounting their treasure by legions, as men do devils).

Their fortune looks towards them, and they are willing to anchor at it,

and desire (if it be possible) to put the evil day far off from them,

and to adjourn their ungrateful and killing period.

No, these are not the men which have bespoken death, or whose looks are

assured to entertain a thought of him.

8. Death arrives gracious only to such as sit in darkness, or lie heavy

burdened with grief and irons; to the poor Christian, that sits bound

in the galley; to despairful widows, pensive prisoners, and deposed

kings; to them whose fortune runs back, and whose spirits mutiny: unto

such, death is a redeemer, and the grave a place for retiredness and

rest.

These wait upon the shore of death, and waft unto him to draw near,

wishing above all others to see his star, that they might be led to his

place; wooing the remorseless sisters to wind down the watch of their

life, and to break them off before the hour.

9. But death is a doleful messenger to a usurer, and fate untimely cuts

their thread; for it is never mentioned by him, but when rumors of war

and civil tumults put him in mind thereof.

And when many hands are armed, and the peace of a city in disorder,

and the foot of the common soldiers sounds an alarm on his stairs,

then perhaps such a one (broken in thoughts of his moneys abroad, and

cursing the monuments of coin which are in his house) can be content

to think of death, and (being hasty of perdition) will perhaps hang

himself, lest his throat should be cut; provided that he may do it in

his study, surrounded with wealth, to which his eye sends a faint and

languishing salute, even upon the turning off; remembering always, that

he have time and liberty, by writing, to depute himself as his own heir.

For that is a great peace to his end, and reconciles him wonderfully

upon the point.

10. Herein we all dally with ourselves, and are without proof of

necessity. I am not of those, that dare promise to pine away myself in

vainglory, and I hold such to be but feat boldness, and them that dare

commit it, to be vain. Yet, for my part, I think nature should do me

great wrong, if I should be so long in dying, as I was in being born.

To speak truth, no man knows the lists of his own patience, nor can

divine how able he shall be in his sufferings, till the storm come (the

perfectest virtue being tried in action); but I would (out of a care to

do the best business well) ever keep a guard, and stand upon keeping

faith and a good conscience.

11. And if wishes might find place, I would die together, and not

my mind often, and my body once; that is, I would prepare for the

messengers of death, sickness, and affliction, and not wait long, or be

attempted by the violence of pain.

Herein I do not profess myself a Stoic, to hold grief no evil, but

opinion, and a thing indifferent.

But I consent with Cæsar, that the suddenest passage is easiest, and

there is nothing more awakens our resolve and readiness to die than

the quieted conscience, strengthened with opinion that we shall be

well spoken of upon earth by those that are just, and of the family

of virtue; the opposite whereof is a fury to man, and makes even life

unsweet.

Therefore, what is more heavy than evil fame deserved? Or, likewise,

who can see worse days, than he that, yet living, doth follow at the

funerals of his own reputation?

I have laid up many hopes, that I am privileged from that kind of

mourning, and could wish the like peace to all those with whom I wage

love.

12. I might say much of the commodities that death can sell a man;

but, briefly, death is a friend of ours, and he that is not ready to

entertain him, is not at home. Whilst I am, my ambition is not to

foreflow the tide; I have but so to make my interest of it as I may

account for it; I would wish nothing but what might better my days,

nor desire any greater place than the front of good opinion. I make

not love to the continuance of days, but to the goodness of them; nor

wish to die, but refer myself to my hour, which the great Dispenser

of all things hath appointed me; yet, as I am frail, and suffered for

the first fault, were it given me to choose, I should not be earnest to

see the evening of my age; that extremity, of itself, being a disease,

and a mere return into infancy; so that, if perpetuity of life might be

given me, I should think what the Greek poet said; “Such an age is a

mortal evil.” And since I must needs be dead, I require it may not be

done before mine enemies, that I be not stript before I be cold; but

before my friends. The night is even now: but that name is lost; it is

not now late, but early. Mine eyes begin to discharge their watch, and

compound with this fleshly weakness for a time of perpetual rest; and

I shall presently be as happy for a few hours, as I had died the first

hour I was born.

THE WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS.

PREFACE.

The earliest antiquity lies buried in silence and oblivion, excepting

the remains we have of it in sacred writ. This silence was succeeded by

poetical fables, and these, at length, by the writings we now enjoy; so

that the concealed and secret learning of the ancients seems separated

from the history and knowledge of the following ages by a veil, or

partition-wall of fables, interposing between the things that are lost

and those that remain.[615]

Many may imagine that I am here entering upon a work of fancy, or

amusement, and design to use a poetical liberty, in explaining poetical

fables. It is true, fables, in general, are composed of ductile

matter, that may be drawn into great variety by a witty talent or an

inventive genius, and be delivered of plausible meanings which they

never contained. But this procedure has already been carried to excess;

and great numbers, to procure the sanction of antiquity to their own

notions and inventions, have miserably wrested and abused the fables of

the ancients.

Nor is this only a late or unfrequent practice, but of ancient date

and common even to this day. Thus Chrysippus, like an interpreter of

dreams, attributed the opinions of the Stoics to the poets of old;

and the chemists, at present, more childishly apply the poetical

transformations to their experiments of the furnace. And though I

have well weighed and considered all this, and thoroughly seen into

the levity which the mind indulges for allegories and allusions,

yet I cannot but retain a high value for the ancient mythology.

And, certainly, it were very injudicious to suffer the fondness and

licentiousness of a few to detract from the honor of all ego and

parable in general. This would be rash, and almost profane; for, since

religion delights in such shadows and disguises, to abolish them were,

in a manner, to prohibit all intercourse betwixt things divine and

human.

Upon deliberate consideration, my judgment is, that a concealed

instruction and allegory was originally intended in many of the ancient

fables. This opinion may, in some respect, be owing to the veneration

I have for antiquity, but more to observing that some fables discover

a great and evident similitude, relation, and connection with the

thing they signify, as well in the structure of the fable as in the

propriety of the names whereby the persons or actors are characterized;

insomuch, that no one could positively deny a sense and meaning to

be from the first intended, and purposely shadowed out in them. For

who can hear that Fame, after the giants were destroyed, sprung up as

their posthumous sister, and not apply it to the clamor of parties

and the seditious rumors which commonly fly about for a time upon the

quelling of insurrections? Or who can read how the giant Typhon cut out

and carried away Jupiter’s sinews—which Mercury afterwards stole, and

again restored to Jupiter—and not presently observe that this allegory

denotes strong and powerful rebellions, which cut away from kings

their sinews, both of money and authority; and that the way to have

them restored is by lenity, affability, and prudent edicts, which soon

reconcile, and, as it were, steal upon the affections of the subject?

Or who, upon hearing that memorable expedition of the gods against

the giants, when the braying of Silenus’s ass greatly contributed in

putting the giants to flight, does not clearly conceive that this

directly points at the monstrous enterprises of rebellious subjects,

which are frequently frustrated and disappointed by vain fears and

empty rumors?

Again, the conformity and purport of the names is frequently manifest

and self-evident. Thus Metis, the wife of Jupiter, plainly signifies

counsel; Typhon, swelling; Pan, universality; Nemesis, revenge, &c.

Nor is it a wonder, if sometimes a piece of history or other things

are introduced, by way of ornament; or, if the times of the action are

confounded; or, if part of one fable be tacked to another; or, if the

allegory be new turned; for all this must necessarily happen, as the

fables were the inventions of men who lived in different ages, and had

different views; some of them being ancient, others more modern; some

having an eye to natural philosophy, and others to morality or civil

policy.

It may pass for a further indication of a concealed and secret meaning,

that some of these fables are so absurd and idle in their narration,

as to show and proclaim an allegory, even afar off. A fable that

carries probability with it may be supposed invented for pleasure, or

in imitation of history; but those that could never be conceived or

related in this way must surely have a different use. For example,

what a monstrous fiction is this, that Jupiter should take Metis to

wife, and as soon as he found her pregnant eat her up, whereby he also

conceived, and out of his head brought forth Pallas armed. Certainly no

mortal could, but for the sake of the moral it couches, invent such an

absurd dream as this, so much out of the road of thought!

But the argument of most weight with me is this, that many of these

fables by no means appear to have been invented by the persons who

relate and divulge them, whether Homer, Hesiod, or others; for if I

were assured they first flowed from those later times and authors that

transmit them to us, I should never expect any thing singularly great

or noble from such an origin. But whoever attentively considers the

thing, will find that these fables are delivered down and related by

those writers, not as matters then first invented and proposed, but

as things received and embraced in earlier ages. Besides, as they are

differently related by writers nearly of the same ages, it is easily

perceived that the relators drew from the common stock of ancient

tradition, and varied but in point of embellishment, which is their

own. And this principally raises my esteem of these fables, which I

receive, not as the product of the age, or invention of the poets, but

as sacred relics, gentle whispers, and the breath of better times,

that from the traditions of more ancient nations came, at length,

into the flutes and trumpets of the Greeks. But if any one shall,

notwithstanding this, contend that allegories are always adventitious,

or imposed upon the ancient fables, and no way native or genuinely

contained in them, we might here leave him undisturbed in that gravity

of judgment he affects (though we cannot help accounting it somewhat

dull and phlegmatic), and, if it were worth the trouble, proceed to

another kind of argument.

Men have proposed to answer two different and contrary ends by the

use of parable; for parables serve as well to instruct or illustrate

as to wrap up and envelop; so that though, for the present, we drop

the concealed use, and suppose the ancient fables to be vague,

undeterminate things, formed for amusement, still, the other use must

remain, and can never be given up. And every man, of any learning,

must readily allow that this method of instructing is grave, sober,

or exceedingly useful, and sometimes necessary in the sciences, as

it opens an easy and familiar passage to the human understanding,

in all new discoveries that are abstruse and out of the road of

vulgar opinions. Hence, in the first ages, when such inventions and

conclusions of the human reason as are now trite and common were

new and little known, all things abounded with fables, parables,

similes, comparisons, and allusions, which were not intended to

conceal, but to inform and teach, whilst the minds of men continued

rude and unpractised in matters of subtilty and speculation, or even

impatient, and in a manner incapable of receiving such things as did

not fall directly under and strike the senses. For as hieroglyphics

were in use before writing, so were parables in use before arguments.

And even to this day, if any man would let new light in upon the

human understanding, and conquer prejudice, without raising contests,

animosities, opposition, or disturbance, he must still go in the same

path, and have recourse to the like method of allegory, metaphor, and

allusion.

To conclude, the knowledge of the early ages was either great or happy;

great, if they by design made this use of trope and figure; happy,

if, whilst they had other views, they afforded matter and occasion to

such noble contemplations. Let either be the case, our pains, perhaps,

will not be misemployed, whether we illustrate antiquity or things

themselves.

The like, indeed, has been attempted by others; but, to speak

ingenuously, their great and voluminous labors have almost destroyed

the energy, the efficacy, and grace of the thing; whilst, being

unskilled in nature, and their learning no more than that of

commonplace, they have applied the sense of the parables to certain

general and vulgar matters, without reaching to their real purport,

genuine interpretation, and full depth. For myself, therefore, I expect

to appear new in these common things, because, leaving untouched such

as are sufficiently plain and open, I shall drive only at those that

are either deep or rich.

THE WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS.

A SERIES OF MYTHOLOGICAL FABLES.[616]

I.—CASSANDRA, OR DIVINATION.

EXPLAINED OF TOO FREE AND UNSEASONABLE ADVICE.

The poets relate, that Apollo, falling in love with Cassandra, was

still deluded and put off by her, yet fed with hopes, till she had got

from him the gift of prophesy; and, having now obtained her end, she

flatly rejected his suit. Apollo, unable to recall his rash gift, yet

enraged to be outwitted by a girl, annexed this penalty to it, that

though she should always prophesy true, she should never be believed;

whence her divinations were always slighted, even when she again and

again predicted the ruin of her country.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems invented to express the insignificance

of unseasonable advice. For they who are conceited, stubborn, or

intractable, and listen not to the instructions of Apollo, the god of

harmony, so as to learn and observe the modulations and measures of

affairs, the sharps and flats of discourse, the difference between

judicious and vulgar ears, and the proper times of speech and silence,

let them be ever so intelligent, and ever so frank of their advice, or

their counsels ever so good and just, yet all their endeavors, either

of persuasion or force, are of little significance, and rather hasten

the ruin of those they advise. But, at last, when the calamitous event

has made the sufferers feel the effect of their neglect, they too late

reverence their advisers, as deep, foreseeing, and faithful prophets.

Of this, we have a remarkable instance in Cato of Utica, who discovered

afar off, and long foretold, the approaching ruin of his country,

both in the first conspiracy, and as it was prosecuted in the civil

war between Cæsar and Pompey, yet did no good the while, but rather

hurt the commonwealth, and hurried on its destruction, which Cicero

wisely observed in these words: “Cato, indeed, judges excellently, but

prejudices the state; for he speaks as in the commonwealth of Plato,

and not as in the dregs of Romulus.”

II.—TYPHON, OR A REBEL.

EXPLAINED OF REBELLION.

The fable runs, that Juno, enraged at Jupiter’s bringing forth Pallas

without her assistance, incessantly solicited all the gods and

goddesses, that she might produce without Jupiter; and having by

violence and importunity obtained the grant, she struck the earth, and

thence immediately sprung up Typhon, a huge and dreadful monster, whom

she committed to the nursing of a serpent. As soon as he was grown

up, this monster waged war on Jupiter, and taking him prisoner in the

battle, carried him away on his shoulders, into a remote and obscure

quarter; and there, cutting out the sinews of his hands and feet, he

bore them off, leaving Jupiter behind miserably maimed and mangled.

But Mercury afterwards stole these sinews from Typhon, and restored

them to Jupiter. Hence, recovering his strength, Jupiter again pursues

the monster; first wounds him with a stroke of his thunder, when

serpents arose from the blood of the wound; and now the monster being

dismayed, and taking to flight, Jupiter next darted Mount Ætna upon

him, and crushed him with the weight.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems designed to express the various fates

of kings, and the turns that rebellions sometimes take, in kingdoms.

For princes may be justly esteemed married to their states, as Jupiter

to Juno; but it sometimes happens, that, being depraved by long

wielding of the sceptre, and growing tyrannical, they would engross

all to themselves, and, slighting the counsel of their senators and

nobles, conceive by themselves; that is, govern according to their own

arbitrary will and pleasure. This inflames the people, and makes them

endeavor to create and set up some head of their own. Such designs

are generally set on foot by the secret motion and instigation of the

peers and nobles, under whose connivance the common sort are prepared

for rising; whence proceeds a swell in the state, which is appositely

denoted by the nursing of Typhon. This growing posture of affairs is

fed by the natural depravity and malignant dispositions of the vulgar,

which to kings is an envenomed serpent. And now the disaffected,

uniting their force, at length break out into open rebellion, which,

producing infinite mischiefs, both to prince and people, is represented

by the horrid and multiplied deformity of Typhon, with his hundred

heads, denoting the divided powers; his flaming mouths, denoting

fire and devastation; his girdles of snakes, denoting sieges and

destruction; his iron hands, slaughter and cruelty; his eagle’s talons,

rapine and plunder; his plumed body, perpetual rumors, contradictory

accounts, &c. And sometimes these rebellions grow so high, that kings

are obliged, as if carried on the backs of the rebels, to quit the

throne, and retire to some remote and obscure part of their dominions,

with the loss of their sinews, both of money and majesty.

But if now they prudently bear this reverse of fortune, they may, in a

short time, by the assistance of Mercury, recover their sinews again;

that is, by becoming moderate and affable; reconciling the minds and

affections of the people to them, by gracious speeches and prudent

proclamations, which will win over the subject cheerfully to afford

new aids and supplies, and add fresh vigor to authority. But prudent

and wary princes here seldom incline to try fortune by a war, yet do

their utmost, by some grand exploit, to crush the reputation of the

rebels; and if the attempt succeeds, the rebels, conscious of the wound

received, and distrustful of their cause, first betake themselves to

broken and empty threats, like the hissings of serpents; and next, when

matters are grown desperate, to flight. And now, when they thus begin

to shrink, it is safe and seasonable for kings to pursue them with

their forces, and the whole strength of the kingdom; thus effectually

quashing and suppressing them, as it were by the weight of a mountain.

III.—THE CYCLOPS, OR THE MINISTERS OF TERROR.

EXPLAINED OF BASE COURT OFFICERS.

It is related that the Cyclops, for their savageness and cruelty,

were by Jupiter first thrown into Tartarus, and there condemned to

perpetual imprisonment; but that afterwards Tellus persuaded Jupiter it

would be for his service to release them, and employ them in forging

thunderbolts. This he accordingly did; and they, with unwearied pains

and diligence, hammered out his bolts, and other instruments of terror,

with a frightful and continual din of the anvil.

It happened, long after, that Jupiter was displeased with Æsculapius,

the son of Apollo, for having, by the art of medicine, restored a

dead man to life; but concealing his indignation, because the action

in itself was pious and illustrious, he secretly incensed the Cyclops

against him, who, without remorse, presently slew him with their

thunderbolts: in revenge whereof, Apollo, with Jupiter’s connivance,

shot them all dead with his arrows.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to point at the behavior of princes,

who, having cruel, bloody, and oppressive ministers, first punish

and displace them; but afterwards, by the advice of Tellus, that is,

some earthly-minded and ignoble person, employ them again, to serve

a turn, when there is occasion for cruelty in execution, or severity

in exaction; but these ministers being base in their nature, whet by

their former disgrace, and well aware of what is expected from them,

use double diligence in their office; till, proceeding unwarily, and

over-eager to gain favor, they sometimes, from the private nods, and

ambiguous orders of their prince, perform some odious or execrable

action: when princes, to decline the envy themselves, and knowing they

shall never want such tools at their back, drop them, and give them

up to the friends and followers of the injured person; thus exposing

them, as sacrifices to revenge and popular odium: whence, with great

applause, acclamations, and good wishes to the prince, these miscreants

at last meet with their desert.

IV.—NARCISSUS, OR SELF-LOVE.

Narcissus is said to have been extremely beautiful and comely, but

intolerably proud and disdainful; so that, pleased with himself, and

scorning the world, he led a solitary life in the woods; hunting only

with a few followers, who were his professed admirers, amongst whom the

nymph Echo was his constant attendant. In this method of life, it was

once his fate to approach a clear fountain, where he laid himself down

to rest, in the noonday heat; when, beholding his image in the water,

he fell into such a rapture and admiration of himself, that he could by

no means be got away, but remained continually fixed and gazing, till

at length he was turned into a flower, of his own name, which appears

early in the spring, and is consecrated to the infernal deities, Pluto,

Proserpine, and the Furies.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to paint the behavior and fortune of

those, who, for their beauty, or other endowments, wherewith nature

(without any industry of their own) has graced and adorned them,

are extravagantly fond of themselves: for men of such a disposition

generally affect retirement, and absence from public affairs; as a

life of business must necessarily subject them to many neglects and

contempts, which might disturb and ruffle their minds: whence such

persons commonly lead a solitary, private, and shadowy life: see little

company, and those only such as highly admire and reverence them; or,

like an echo, assent to all they say.

And they who are depraved, and rendered still fonder of themselves by

this custom, grow strangely indolent, inactive, and perfectly stupid.

The Narcissus, a spring flower, is an elegant emblem of this temper,

which at first flourishes, and is talked of, but, when ripe, frustrates

the expectation conceived of it.

And that this flower should be sacred to the infernal powers, carries

out the allusion still further; because men of this humor are perfectly

useless in all respects: for whatever yields no fruit, but passes, and

is no more, like the way of a ship in the sea, was by the ancients

consecrated to the infernal shades and powers.

V.—THE RIVER STYX, OR LEAGUES.

EXPLAINED OF NECESSITY, IN THE OATHS OR SOLEMN LEAGUES OF PRINCES.

The only solemn oath, by which the gods irrevocably obliged themselves,

is a well known thing, and makes a part of many ancient fables. To this

oath they did not invoke any celestial divinity, or divine attribute,

but only called to witness the River Styx, which, with many meanders,

surrounds the infernal court of Dis. For this form alone, and none

but this, was held inviolable and obligatory; and the punishment of

falsifying it, was that dreaded one of being excluded, for a certain

number of years, the table of the gods.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems invented to show the nature of the

compacts and confederacies of princes; which, though ever so solemnly

and religiously sworn to, prove but little the more binding for it: so

that oaths, in this case, seem used rather for decorum, reputation, and

ceremony, than for fidelity, security, and effectuating. And though

these oaths were strengthened with the bonds of affinity, which are

the links and ties of nature, and again, by mutual services and good

offices, yet we see all this will generally give way to ambition,

convenience, and the thirst of power: the rather, because it is easy

for princes, under various specious pretences, to defend, disguise,

and conceal their ambitious desires and insincerity, having no judge

to call them to account. There is, however, one true and proper

confirmation of their faith, though no celestial divinity, but that

great divinity of princes, Necessity; or, the danger of the state; and

the securing of advantage.

This necessity is elegantly represented by Styx, the fatal river that

can never be crossed back. And this deity it was, which Iphicrates the

Athenian invoked in making a league; and because he roundly and openly

avows what most others studiously conceal, it may be proper to give

his own words. Observing that the Lacedæmonians were inventing and

proposing a variety of securities, sanctions, and bonds of alliance,

he interrupted them thus: “There may, indeed, my friends, be one bond

and means of security between us; and that is, for you to demonstrate

you have delivered into our hands, such things as that, if you had the

greatest desire to hurt us, you could not be able.” Therefore, if the

power of offending be taken away, or if, by a breach of compact, there

be danger of destruction or diminution to the state or tribute, then

it is that covenants will be ratified, and confirmed, as it were by

the Stygian oath, whilst there remains an impending danger of being

prohibited and excluded the banquet of the gods; by which expression

the ancients denoted the rights and prerogatives, the affluence and the

felicities, of empire and dominion.

VI.—PAN, OR NATURE.[617]

EXPLAINED OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.

The ancients have, with great exactness, delineated universal nature

under the person of Pan. They leave his origin doubtful; some asserting

him the son of Mercury, and others the common offspring of all

Penelope’s suitors. The latter supposition doubtless occasioned some

later rivals to entitle this ancient fable Penelope; a thing frequently

practised when the earlier relations are applied to more modern

characters and persons, though sometimes with great absurdity and

ignorance, as in the present case; for Pan was one of the ancientest

gods, and long before the time of Ulysses; besides, Penelope was

venerated by antiquity for her matronal chastity. A third sort will

have him the issue of Jupiter and Hybris, that is, Reproach. But

whatever his origin was, the Destinies are allowed his sisters.

He is described by antiquity, with pyramidal horns reaching up to

heaven, a rough and shaggy body, a very long beard, of a biform figure,

human above, half brute below, ending in goat’s feet. His arms, or

ensigns of power, are, a pipe in his left hand, composed of seven

reeds; in his right a crook; and he wore for his mantle a leopard’s

skin.

His attributes and titles were the god of hunters, shepherds, and all

the rural inhabitants; president of the mountains; and, after Mercury,

the next messenger of the gods. He was also held the leader and ruler

of the Nymphs, who continually danced and frisked about him, attended

with the Satyrs and their elders, the Sileni. He had also the power

of striking terrors, especially such as were vain and superstitious;

whence they came to be called panic terrors.[618]

Few actions are recorded of him; only a principal one is, that he

challenged Cupid at wrestling, and was worsted. He also catched the

giant Typhon in a net, and held him fast. They relate further of him,

that when Ceres, growing disconsolate for the rape of Proserpine, hid

herself, and all the gods took the utmost pains to find her, by going

out different ways for that purpose, Pan only had the good fortune

to meet her, as he was hunting, and discovered her to the rest. He

likewise had the assurance to rival Apollo in music, and in the

judgment of Midas was preferred; but the judge had, though with great

privacy and secrecy, a pair of ass’s ears fastened on him for his

sentence.[619]

There is very little said of his amours; which may seem strange among

such a multitude of gods, so profusely amorous. He is only reported to

have been very fond of Echo, who was also esteemed his wife; and one

nymph more, called Syrinx, with the love of whom Cupid inflamed him for

his insolent challenge; so he is reported once to have solicited the

moon to accompany him apart into the deep woods.

Lastly, Pan had no descendant, which also is a wonder, when the male

gods were so extremely prolific; only he was the reputed father of

a servant-girl called Iambe, who used to divert strangers with her

ridiculous prattling stories.

This fable is perhaps the noblest of all antiquity, and pregnant

with the mysteries and secrets of nature. Pan, as the name imports,

represents the universe, about whose origin there are two opinions,

viz: that it either sprung from Mercury, that is, the divine word,

according to the Scriptures and philosophical divines, or from the

confused seeds of things. For they who allow only one beginning of

all things, either ascribe it to God, or, if they suppose a material

beginning, acknowledge it to be various in its powers; so that the

whole dispute comes to these points, viz: either that nature proceeds

from Mercury, or from Penelope and all her suitors.[620]

The third origin of Pan seems borrowed by the Greeks from the Hebrew

mysteries, either by means of the Egyptians, or otherwise; for it

relates to the state of the world, not in its first creation, but

as made subject to death and corruption after the fall; and in this

state it was and remains, the offspring of God and Sin, or Jupiter and

Reproach. And therefore these three several accounts of Pan’s birth

may seem true, if duly distinguished in respect of things and times.

For this Pan, or the universal nature of things, which we view and

contemplate, had its origin from the divine word and confused matter,

first created by God himself, with the subsequent introduction of sin,

and, consequently, corruption.

The Destinies, or the natures and fates of things, are justly made

Pan’s sisters, as the chain of natural causes links together the rise,

duration, and corruption; the exaltation, degeneration, and workings;

the processes, the effects, and changes, of all that can any way happen

to things.

Horns are given him, broad at the roots, but narrow and sharp at the

top, because the nature of all things seems pyramidal; for individuals

are infinite, but being collected into a variety of species, they

rise up into kinds, and these again ascend, and are contracted into

generals, till at length nature may seem collected to a point. And no

wonder if Pan’s horns reach to the heavens, since the sublimities of

nature, or abstract ideas, reach in a manner to things divine; for

there is a short and ready passage from metaphysics to natural theology.

Pan’s body, or the body of nature, is, with great propriety and

elegance, painted shaggy and hairy, as representing the rays of things;

for rays are as the hair or fleece of nature, and more or less worn by

all bodies. This evidently appears in vision, and in all effects and

operations at a distance; for whatever operates thus, may be properly

said to emit rays.[621] But particularly the beard of Pan is exceeding

long, because the rays of the celestial bodies penetrate, and act to a

prodigious distance, and have descended into the interior of the earth,

so far as to change its surface; and the sun himself, when clouded on

its upper part, appears to the eye bearded.

Again, the body of nature is justly described biform, because of the

difference between its superior and inferior parts, as the former, for

their beauty, regularity of motion, and influence over the earth, may

be properly represented by the human figure, and the latter, because of

their disorder, irregularity, and subjection to the celestial bodies,

are by the brutal. This biform figure also represents the participation

of one species with another; for there appear to be no simple natures,

but all participate or consist of two: thus, man has somewhat of the

brute, the brute somewhat of the plant, the plant somewhat of the

mineral; so that all natural bodies have really two faces, or consist

of a superior and an inferior species.

There lies a curious allegory in the making of Pan goat-footed, on

account of the motion of ascent which the terrestrial bodies have

towards the air and heavens; for the goat is a clambering creature,

that delights in climbing up rocks and precipices; and in the same

manner the matters destined to this lower globe strongly affect to rise

upwards, as appears from the clouds and meteors.

Pan’s arms, or the ensigns he bears in his hands, are of two kinds—the

one an emblem of harmony, the other of empire. His pipe, composed of

seven reeds, plainly denotes the consent and harmony, or the concords

and discords of things, produced by the motion of the seven planets.

His crook, also, contains a fine representation of the ways of nature,

which are partly straight and partly crooked; thus the staff, having

an extraordinary bend towards the top, denotes that the works of

Divine Providence are generally brought about by remote means, or in

a circuit, as if somewhat else were intended rather than the effect

produced, as in the sending of Joseph into Egypt, &c. So likewise in

human government, they who sit at the helm, manage and wind the people

more successfully by pretext and oblique courses, than they could by

such as are direct and straight; so that, in effect, all sceptres are

crooked at the top.

Pan’s mantle, or clothing, is with great ingenuity made of a leopard’s

skin, because of the spots it has; for in like manner the heavens are

sprinkled with stars, the sea with islands, the earth with flowers, and

almost each particular thing is variegated, or wears a mottled coat.

The office of Pan could not be more livelily expressed than by making

him the god of hunters; for every natural action, every motion and

process, is no other than a chase. Thus arts and sciences hunt out

their works, and human schemes and counsels their several ends; and all

living creatures either hunt out their aliment, pursue their prey, or

seek their pleasures, and this in a skilful and sagacious manner.[622]

He is also styled the god of the rural inhabitants, because men in this

situation live more according to nature than they do in cities and

courts, where nature is so corrupted with effeminate arts, that the

saying of the poet may be verified:—

—pars minima est ipsa puella sui.[623]

He is likewise particularly styled President of the Mountains, because

in mountains and lofty places the nature of things lies more open and

exposed to the eye and the understanding.

In his being called the messenger of the gods, next after Mercury, lies

a divine allegory, as next after the Word of God, the image of the

world is the herald of the Divine power and wisdom, according to the

expression of the Psalmist: “The heavens declare the glory of God, and

the firmament showeth his handiwork.”[624]

Pan is delighted with the company of the Nymphs, that is, the souls of

all living creatures are the delight of the world; and he is properly

called their governor, because each of them follows its own nature, as

a leader, and all dance about their own respective rings, with infinite

variety and never-ceasing motion. And with these continually join the

Satyrs and Sileni, that is, youth and age; for all things have a kind

of young, cheerful, and dancing time; and again their time of slowness,

tottering, and creeping. And whoever, in a true light, considers the

motions and endeavors of both these ages, like another Democritus, will

perhaps find them as odd and strange as the gesticulations and antic

motions of the Satyrs and Sileni.

The power he had of striking terrors contains a very sensible doctrine;

for nature has implanted fear in all living creatures, as well to

keep them from risking their lives, as to guard against injuries and

violence; and yet this nature or passion keeps not its bounds, but with

just and profitable fears always mixes such as are vain and senseless;

so that all things, if we could see their insides, would appear full

of panic terrors. Thus mankind, particularly the vulgar, labor under a

high degree of superstition, which is nothing more than a panic-dread,

that principally reigns in unsettled and troublesome times.

The presumption of Pan in challenging Cupid to the conflict denotes

that matter has an appetite and tendency to a dissolution of the world,

and falling back to its first chaos again, unless this depravity and

inclination were restrained and subdued by a more powerful concord

and agreement of things, properly expressed by Love, or Cupid: it is

therefore well for mankind, and the state of all things, that Pan was

thrown and conquered in the struggle.

His catching and detaining Typhon in the net receives a similar

explanation; for whatever vast and unusual swells, which the word

typhon signifies, may sometimes be raised in nature, as in the sea,

the clouds, the earth, or the like, yet nature catches, entangles, and

holds all such outrages and insurrections in her inextricable net,

wove, as it were, of adamant.

That part of the fable which attributes the discovery of lost Ceres to

Pan whilst he was hunting—a happiness denied the other gods, though

they diligently and expressly sought her—contains an exceeding just

and prudent admonition; viz: that we are not to expect the discovery

of things useful in common life, as that of corn, denoted by Ceres,

from abstract philosophies, as if these were the gods of the first

order,—no, not though we used our utmost endeavors this way,—but only

from Pan; that is, a sagacious experience and general knowledge of

nature, which is often found, even by accident, to stumble upon such

discoveries whilst the pursuit was directed another way.

The event of his contending with Apollo in music affords us a useful

instruction, that may help to humble the human reason and judgment,

which is too apt to boast and glory in itself. There seem to be two

kinds of harmony,—the one of Divine providence, the other of human

reason; but the government of the world, the administration of its

affairs, and the more secret Divine judgments, sound harsh and

dissonant to human ears or human judgment; and though this ignorance

be justly rewarded with asses’ ears, yet they are put on and worn, not

openly, but with great secrecy; nor is the deformity of the thing seen

or observed by the vulgar.

We must not find it strange if no amours are related of Pan besides his

marriage with Echo; for nature enjoys itself, and in itself all other

things. He that loves, desires enjoyment, but in profusion there is no

room for desire; and therefore Pan, remaining content with himself,

has no passion unless it be for discourse, which is well shadowed

out by Echo, or talk, or, when it is more accurate, by Syrinx, or

writing.[625] But Echo makes a most excellent wife for Pan, as being no

other than genuine philosophy, which faithfully repeats his words, or

only transcribes exactly as nature dictates; thus representing the true

image and reflection of the world without adding a tittle.

It tends, also, to the support and perfection of Pan, or nature, to be

without offspring; for the world generates in its parts, and not in

the way of a whole, as wanting a body external to itself wherewith to

generate.

Lastly, for the supposed or spurious prattling daughter of Pan, it is

an excellent addition to the fable, and aptly represents the talkative

philosophies that have at all times been stirring, and filled the

world with idle tales; being ever barren, empty, and servile, though

sometimes indeed diverting and entertaining, and sometimes again

troublesome and importunate.

VII.—PERSEUS,[626] OR WAR.

EXPLAINED OF THE PREPARATION AND CONDUCT NECESSARY TO WAR.

“The fable relates, that Perseus was dispatched from the east, by

Pallas, to cut off Medusa’s head, who had committed great ravage upon

the people of the west; for this Medusa was so dire a monster, as to

turn into stone all those who but looked upon her. She was a Gorgon,

and the only mortal one of the three, the other two being invulnerable.

Perseus, therefore, preparing himself for this grand enterprise, had

presents made him from three of the gods: Mercury gave him wings for

his heels; Pluto, a helmet; and Pallas, a shield and a mirror. But,

though he was now so well equipped, he posted not directly to Medusa,

but first turned aside to the Greæ, who were half-sisters to the

Gorgons. These Greæ were grayheaded, and like old women, from their

birth, having among them all three but one eye, and one tooth, which,

as they had occasion to go out, they each wore by turns, and laid them

down again upon coming back. This eye and this tooth they lent to

Perseus, who now judging himself sufficiently furnished, he, without

further stop, flies swiftly away to Medusa, and finds her asleep.

But not venturing his eyes, for fear she should wake, he turned his

head aside, and viewed her in Pallas’s mirror, and thus directing his

stroke, cut off her head; when immediately, from the gushing blood,

there darted Pegasus winged. Perseus now inserted Medusa’s head into

Pallas’s shield, which thence retained the faculty of astonishing and

benumbing all who looked on it.”

This fable seems invented to show the prudent method of choosing,

undertaking, and conducting a war; and, accordingly, lays down three

useful precepts about it, as if they were the precepts of Pallas.

The first is, that no prince should be over-solicitous to subdue a

neighboring nation; for the method of enlarging an empire is very

different from that of increasing an estate. Regard is justly had to

contiguity, or adjacency, in private lands and possessions; but in

the extending of empire, the occasion, the facility, and advantage of

a war, are to be regarded instead of vicinity. It is certain that the

Romans, at the time they stretched but little beyond Liguria to the

west, had by their arms subdued the provinces as far as Mount Taurus to

the east. And thus Perseus readily undertook a very long expedition,

even from the east to the extremities of the west.

The second precept is, that the cause of the war be just and honorable;

for this adds alacrity both to the soldiers, and the people who

find the supplies; procures aids, alliances, and numerous other

conveniences. Now there is no cause of war more just and laudable than

the suppressing of tyranny; by which a people are dispirited, benumbed,

or left without life and vigor, as at the sight of Medusa.

Lastly, it is prudently added, that, as there were three of the

Gorgons, who represent war, Perseus singled her out for this expedition

that was mortal; which affords this precept, that such kind of wars

should be chose as may be brought to a conclusion without pursuing vast

and infinite hopes.

Again, Perseus’s setting-out is extremely well adapted to his

undertaking, and in a manner commands success; he received dispatch

from Mercury, secrecy from Pluto, and foresight from Pallas. It also

contains an excellent allegory, that the wings given him by Mercury

were for his heels, not for his shoulders; because expedition is not so

much required in the first preparations for war, as in the subsequent

matters, that administer to the first; for there is no error more

frequent in war, than, after brisk preparations, to halt for subsidiary

forces and effective supplies.

The allegory of Pluto’s helmet, rendering men invisible and secret,

is sufficiently evident of itself; but the mystery of the shield and

the mirror lies deeper; and denotes, that not only a prudent caution

must be had to defend, like the shield, but also such an address and

penetration as may discover the strength, the motions, the counsels,

and designs of the enemy; like the mirror of Pallas.

But though Perseus may now seem extremely well prepared, there still

remains the most important thing of all; before he enters upon the

war, he must of necessity consult the Greæ. These Greæ are treasons;

half, but degenerate sisters of the Gorgons; who are representatives of

wars; for wars are generous and noble; but treasons base and vile. The

Greæ are elegantly described as hoary-headed, and like old women from

their birth; on account of the perpetual cares, fears, and trepidations

attending traitors. Their force, also, before it breaks out into

open revolt, consists either in an eye or a tooth; for all faction,

alienated from a state, is both watchful and biting; and this eye and

tooth are, as it were, common to all the disaffected; because whatever

they learn and know is transmitted from one to another, as by the hands

of faction. And for the tooth, they all bite with the same: and clamor

with one throat; so that each of them singly expresses the multitude.

These Greæ, therefore, must be prevailed upon by Perseus to lend him

their eye and their tooth; the eye to give him indications, and make

discoveries; the tooth for sowing rumors, raising envy, and stirring up

the minds of the people. And when all these things are thus disposed

and prepared, then follows the action of the war.

He finds Medusa asleep; for whoever undertakes a war with prudence,

generally falls upon the enemy unprepared, and nearly in a state of

security; and here is the occasion for Pallas’s mirror: for it is

common enough, before the danger presents itself, to see exactly into

the state and posture of the enemy; but the principal use of the glass

is, in the very instant of danger, to discover the manner thereof, and

prevent consternation; which is the thing intended by Perseus’s turning

his head aside, and viewing the enemy in the glass.[627]

Two effects here follow the conquest: 1. The darting forth of Pegasus;

which evidently denotes fame, that flies abroad, proclaiming the

victory far and near. 2. The bearing of Medusa’s head in the shield,

which is the greatest possible defence and safeguard; for one grand and

memorable enterprise, happily accomplished, bridles all the motions and

attempts of the enemy, stupefies disaffection, and quells commotions.

VIII.—ENDYMION, OR A FAVORITE.

EXPLAINED OF COURT FAVORITES.

The goddess Luna is said to have fallen in love with the shepherd

Endymion, and to have carried on her amours with him in a new and

singular manner; it being her custom, whilst he lay reposing in his

native cave, under Mount Latmus, to descend frequently from her sphere,

enjoy his company whilst he slept, and then go up to heaven again.

And all this while, Endymion’s fortune was no way prejudiced by his

unactive and sleepy life, the goddess causing his flocks to thrive,

and grow so exceeding numerous, that none of the other shepherds could

compare with him.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to describe the tempers and dispositions

of princes, who, being thoughtful and suspicious, do not easily admit

to their privacies such men as are prying, curious, and vigilant, or,

as it were, sleepless; but rather such as are of an easy, obliging

nature, and indulge them in their pleasures, without seeking anything

further; but seeming ignorant, insensible, or, as it were, lulled

asleep before them.[628] Princes usually treat such persons familiarly;

and quitting their throne, like Luna, think they may, with safety,

unbosom to them. This temper was very remarkable in Tiberius, a prince

exceedingly difficult to please, and who had no favorites but those

that perfectly understood his way, and, at the same time, obstinately

dissembled their knowledge, almost to a degree of stupidity.

The cave is not improperly mentioned in the fable; it being a common

thing for the favorites of a prince to have their pleasant retreats,

whither to invite him, by way of relaxation, though without prejudice

to their own fortunes; these favorites usually making a good provision

for themselves.

For though their prince should not, perhaps, promote them to dignities,

yet, out of real affection, and not only for convenience, they

generally feel the enriching influence of his bounty.

IX.—THE SISTER OF THE GIANTS, OR FAME.

EXPLAINED OF PUBLIC DETRACTION.

The poets relate, that the giants, produced from the earth, made war

upon Jupiter, and the other gods, but were repulsed and conquered by

thunder; whereat the earth, provoked, brought forth Fame, the youngest

sister of the giants, in revenge for the death of her sons.

EXPLANATION.—The meaning of the fable seems to be this: the earth

denotes the nature of the vulgar, who are always swelling, and rising

against their rulers, and endeavoring at changes. This disposition,

getting a fit opportunity, breeds rebels and traitors, who, with

impetuous rage, threaten and contrive the overthrow and destruction of

princes.

And when brought under and subdued, the same vile and restless nature

of the people, impatient of peace, produces rumors, detractions,

slanders, libels, &c., to blacken those in authority; so that

rebellious actions and seditious rumors, differ not in origin and

stock, but only, as it were, in sex; treasons and rebellions being the

brothers, and scandal or detraction the sister.

X.—ACTEON AND PENTHEUS, OR A CURIOUS MAN.

EXPLAINED OF CURIOSITY, OR PRYING INTO THE SECRETS OF PRINCES AND

DIVINE MYSTERIES.

The ancients afford us two examples for suppressing the impertinent

curiosity of mankind, in diving into secrets, and imprudently longing

and endeavoring to discover them. The one of these is in the person

of Acteon, and the other in that of Pentheus. Acteon, undesignedly

chancing to see Diana naked, was turned into a stag, and torn to pieces

by his own hounds. And Pentheus, desiring to pry into the hidden

mysteries of Bacchus’s sacrifice, and climbing a tree for that purpose,

was struck with a frenzy. This frenzy of Pentheus caused him to see

things double, particularly the sun, and his own city, Thebes, so that

running homewards, and immediately espying another Thebes, he runs

towards that; and thus continues incessantly, tending first to the one,

and then to the other, without coming at either.

EXPLANATION.—The first of these fables may relate to the secrets of

princes, and the second to divine mysteries. For they who are not

intimate with a prince, yet, against his will, have a knowledge of

his secrets, inevitably incur his displeasure; and therefore, being

aware that they are singled out, and all opportunities watched against

them, they lead the life of a stag, full of fears and suspicions. It

likewise frequently happens that their servants and domestics accuse

them, and plot their overthrow, in order to procure favor with the

prince; for whenever the king manifests his displeasure, the person it

falls upon must expect his servants to betray him, and worry him down,

as Acteon was worried by his own dogs.

The punishment of Pentheus is of another kind; for they who, unmindful

of their mortal state, rashly aspire to divine mysteries, by climbing

the heights of nature and philosophy, here represented by climbing a

tree,—their fate is perpetual inconstancy, perplexity, and instability

of judgment. For as there is one light of nature, and another

light that is divine, they see, as it were, two suns. And as the

actions of life, and the determinations of the will, depend upon the

understanding, they are distracted as much in opinion as in will; and

therefore judge very inconsistently, or contradictorily; and see, as

it were, Thebes double; for Thebes being the refuge and habitation of

Pentheus, here denotes the ends of actions; whence they know not what

course to take, but remaining undetermined and unresolved in their

views and designs, they are merely driven about by every sudden gust

and impulse of the mind.

XI.—ORPHEUS, OR PHILOSOPHY.

EXPLAINED OF NATURAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY.

INTRODUCTION.—The fable of Orpheus, though trite and common, has never

been well interpreted, and seems to hold out a picture of universal

philosophy; for to this sense may be easily transferred what is said

of his being a wonderful and perfectly divine person, skilled in all

kinds of harmony, subduing and drawing all things after him by sweet

and gentle methods and modulations. For the labors of Orpheus exceed

the labors of Hercules, both in power and dignity, as the works of

knowledge exceed the works of strength.

FABLE.—Orpheus having his beloved wife snatched from him by sudden

death, resolved upon descending to the infernal regions, to try if, by

the power of his harp, he could reobtain her. And, in effect, he so

appeased and soothed the infernal powers by the melody and sweetness

of his harp and voice, that they indulged him the liberty of taking

her back, on condition that she should follow him behind, and he not

turn to look upon her till they came into open day; but he, through

the impatience of his care and affection, and thinking himself almost

past danger, at length looked behind him, whereby the condition was

violated, and she again precipitated to Pluto’s regions. From this

time Orpheus grew pensive and sad, a hater of the sex, and went into

solitude, where, by the same sweetness of his harp and voice, he first

drew the wild beasts of all sorts about him; so that, forgetting their

natures, they were neither actuated by revenge, cruelty, lust, hunger,

or the desire of prey, but stood gazing about him, in a tame and gentle

manner, listening attentively to his music. Nay, so great was the power

and efficacy of his harmony, that it even caused the trees and stones

to remove, and place themselves in a regular manner about him. When

he had for a time, and with great admiration, continued to do this,

at length the Thracian women, raised by the instigation of Bacchus,

first blew a deep and hoarse-sounding horn, in such an outrageous

manner, that it quite drowned the music of Orpheus. And thus the power

which, as the link of their society, held all things in order, being

dissolved, disturbance reigned anew; each creature returned to its own

nature, and pursued and preyed upon its fellow, as before. The rocks

and woods also started back to their former places; and even Orpheus

himself was at last torn to pieces by these female furies, and his

limbs scattered all over the desert. But, in sorrow and revenge for his

death, the River Helicon, sacred to the Muses, hid its waters under

ground, and rose again in other places.

EXPLANATION.—The fable receives this explanation. The music of Orpheus

is of two kinds; one that appeases the infernal powers, and the other

that draws together the wild beasts and trees. The former properly

relates to natural, and the latter to moral philosophy, or civil

society. The reinstatement and restoration of corruptible things is

the noblest work of natural philosophy; and, in a less degree, the

preservation of bodies in their own state, or a prevention of their

dissolution and corruption. And if this be possible, it can certainly

be effected no other way than by proper and exquisite attemperations of

nature; as it were by the harmony and fine touching of the harp. But

as this is a thing of exceeding great difficulty, the end is seldom

obtained; and that, probably, for no reason more than a curious and

unseasonable impatience and solicitude.

And, therefore, philosophy, being almost unequal to the task, has cause

to grow sad, and hence betakes itself to human affairs, insinuating

into men’s minds the love of virtue, equity, and peace, by means of

eloquence and persuasion; thus forming men into societies; bringing

them under laws and regulations; and making them forget their unbridled

passions and affections, so long as they hearken to precepts and submit

to discipline. And thus they soon after build themselves habitations,

form cities, cultivate lands, plant orchards, gardens, &c. So that they

may not improperly be said to remove and call the trees and stones

together.

And this regard to civil affairs is justly and regularly placed after

diligent trial made for restoring the mortal body; the attempt being

frustrated in the end—because the unavoidable necessity of death, thus

evidently laid before mankind, animates them to seek a kind of eternity

by works of perpetuity, character, and fame.

It is also prudently added, that Orpheus was afterwards averse to women

and wedlock, because the indulgence of the married state, and the

natural affections which men have for their children, often prevent

them from entering upon any grand, noble, or meritorious enterprise for

the public good; as thinking it sufficient to obtain immortality by

their descendants, without endeavoring at great actions.

And even the works of knowledge, though the most excellent among human

things, have their periods; for after kingdoms and commonwealths have

flourished for a time, disturbances, seditions, and wars, often arise,

in the din whereof, first the laws are silent, and not heard; and then

men return to their own depraved natures—whence cultivated lands and

cities soon become desolate and waste. And if this disorder continues,

learning and philosophy is infallibly torn to pieces; so that only

some scattered fragments thereof can afterwards be found up and down,

in a few places, like planks after a shipwreck. And barbarous times

succeeding, the River Helicon dips under-ground; that is, letters are

buried, till things having undergone their due course of changes,

learning rises again, and shows its head, though seldom in the same

place, but in some other nation.[629]

XII.—CŒLUM, OR BEGINNINGS.

EXPLAINED OF THE CREATION, OR ORIGIN OF ALL THINGS.

The poets relate, that Cœlum was the most ancient of all the gods;

that his parts of generation were cut off by his son Saturn; that

Saturn had a numerous offspring, but devoured all his sons, as soon

as they were born; that Jupiter at length escaped the common fate;

and when grown up, drove his father Saturn into Tartarus; usurped the

kingdom; cut off his father’s genitals, with the same knife wherewith

Saturn had dismembered Cœlum, and throwing them into the sea, thence

sprung Venus.

Before Jupiter was well established in his empire, two memorable wars

were made upon him; the first by the Titans, in subduing of whom, Sol,

the only one of the Titans who favored Jupiter, performed him singular

service; the second by the giants, who being destroyed and subdued by

the thunder and arms of Jupiter, he now reigned secure.

EXPLANATION.—This fable appears to be an enigmatical account of the

origin of all things, not greatly differing from the philosophy

afterwards embraced by Democritus, who expressly asserts the eternity

of matter, but denies the eternity of the world; thereby approaching to

the truth of sacred writ, which makes chaos, or uninformed matter, to

exist before the six days’ works.

The meaning of the fable seems to be this: Cœlum denotes the concave

space, or vaulted roof that incloses all matter, and Saturn the matter

itself, which cuts off all power of generation from his father; as one

and the same quantity of matter remains invariable in nature, without

addition or diminution. But the agitations and struggling motions of

matter, first produced certain imperfect and ill-joined compositions

of things, as it were so many first rudiments, or essays of worlds;

till, in process of time, there arose a fabric capable of preserving

its form and structure. Whence the first age was shadowed out by the

reign of Saturn; who, on account of the frequent dissolutions, and

short durations of things, was said to devour his children. And the

second age was denoted by the reign of Jupiter; who thrust, or drove

those frequent and transitory changes into Tartarus—a place expressive

of disorder. This place seems to be the middle space, between the

lower heavens and the internal parts of the earth, wherein disorder,

imperfection, mutation, mortality, destruction, and corruption, are

principally found.

Venus was not born during the former generation of things, under the

reign of Saturn; for whilst discord and jar had the upper hand of

concord and uniformity in the matter of the universe, a change of

the entire structure was necessary. And in this manner things were

generated and destroyed, before Saturn was dismembered. But when this

manner of generation ceased, there immediately followed another,

brought about by Venus, or a perfect and established harmony of things;

whereby changes were wrought in the parts, whilst the universal fabric

remained entire and undisturbed. Saturn, however, is said to be thrust

out and dethroned, not killed, and become extinct; because, agreeably

to the opinion of Democritus, the world might relapse into its old

confusion and disorder, which Lucretius hoped would not happen in his

time.[630]

But now, when the world was compact, and held together by its own

bulk and energy, yet there was no rest from the beginning; for first,

there followed considerable motions and disturbances in the celestial

regions, though so regulated and moderated by the power of the Sun,

prevailing over the heavenly bodies, as to continue the world in its

state. Afterwards there followed the like in the lower parts, by

inundations, storms, winds, general earthquakes, &c., which, however,

being subdued and kept under, there ensued a more peaceable and lasting

harmony, and consent of things.

It may be said of this fable, that it includes philosophy; and again,

that philosophy includes the fable; for we know, by faith, that all

these things are but the oracle of sense, long since ceased and

decayed; but the matter and fabric of the world being justly attributed

to a creator.

XIII.—PROTEUS, OR MATTER.

EXPLAINED OF MATTER AND ITS CHANGES.

Proteus, according to the poets, was Neptune’s herdsman; an old man,

and a most extraordinary prophet, who understood things past and

present, as well as future; so that besides the business of divination,

he was the revealer and interpreter of all antiquity, and secrets of

every kind. He lived in a vast cave, where his custom was to tell over

his herd of sea-calves at noon, and then to sleep. Whoever consulted

him, had no other way of obtaining an answer, but by binding him with

manacles and fetters; when he, endeavoring to free himself, would

change into all kinds of shapes and miraculous forms; as of fire,

water, wild beasts, &c.; till at length he resumed his own shape again.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to point at the secrets of nature, and

the states of matter. For the person of Proteus denotes matter, the

oldest of all things, after God himself;[631] that resides, as in a

cave, under the vast concavity of the heavens. He is represented as the

servant of Neptune, because the various operations and modifications

of matter are principally wrought in a fluid state. The herd, or flock

of Proteus, seems to be no other than the several kinds of animals,

plants, and minerals, in which matter appears to diffuse and spend

itself; so that after having formed these several species, and as it

were finished its task, it seems to sleep and repose, without otherwise

attempting to produce any new ones. And this is the moral of Proteus’s

counting his herd, then going to sleep.

This is said to be done at noon, not in the morning or evening; by

which is meant the time best fitted and disposed for the production of

species, from a matter duly prepared, and made ready beforehand, and

now lying in a middle state, between its first rudiments and decline;

which, we learn from sacred history, was the case at the time of the

creation; when, by the efficacy of the divine command, matter directly

came together, without any transformation or intermediate changes,

which it affects; instantly obeyed the order, and appeared in the form

of creatures.

And thus far the fable reaches of Proteus, and his flock, at liberty

and unrestrained. For the universe, with the common structures, and

fabrics of the creatures, is the face of matter, not under constraint,

or as the flock wrought upon and tortured by human means. But if any

skilful minister of nature shall apply force to matter, and by design

torture and vex it, in order to its annihilation, it, on the contrary,

being brought under this necessity, changes and transforms itself

into a strange variety of shapes and appearances; for nothing but the

power of the Creator can annihilate, or truly destroy it; so that

at length, running through the whole circle of transformations, and

completing its period, it in some degree restores itself, if the force

be continued. And that method of binding, torturing, or detaining, will

prove the most effectual and expeditious, which makes use of manacles

and fetters; that is, lays hold and works upon matter in the extremest

degrees.

The addition in the fable that makes Proteus a prophet, who had the

knowledge of things past, present, and future, excellently agrees with

the nature of matter; as he who knows the properties, the changes, and

the processes of matter, must, of necessity, understand the effects and

sum of what it does, has done, or can do, though his knowledge extends

not to all the parts and particulars thereof.

XIV.—MEMNON, OR A YOUTH TOO FORWARD.

EXPLAINED OF THE FATAL PRECIPITANCY OF YOUTH.

The poets made Memnon the son of Aurora, and bring him to the

Trojan war in beautiful armor, and flushed with popular praise;

where, thirsting after further glory, and rashly hurrying on to the

greatest enterprises, he engages the bravest warrior of all the

Greeks, Achilles, and falls by his hand in single combat. Jupiter,

in commiseration of his death, sent birds to grace his funeral, that

perpetually chanted certain mournful and bewailing dirges. It is also

reported, that the rays of the rising sun, striking his statue, used to

give a lamenting sound.

EXPLANATION.—This fable regards the unfortunate end of those promising

youths, who, like sons of the morning, elate with empty hopes and

glittering outsides, attempt things beyond their strength; challenge

the bravest heroes; provoke them to the combat; and, proving unequal,

die in their high attempts.

The death of such youths seldom fails to meet with infinite pity; as no

mortal calamity is more moving and afflicting, than to see the flower

of virtue cropped before its time. Nay, the prime of life enjoyed to

the full, or even to a degree of envy, does not assuage or moderate

the grief occasioned by the untimely death of such hopeful youths;

but lamentations and bewailings fly, like mournful birds, about their

tombs, for a long while after; especially upon all fresh occasions, new

commotions, and the beginning of great actions, the passionate desire

of them is renewed, as by the sun’s morning rays.

XV.—TYTHONUS, OR SATIETY.

EXPLAINED OF PREDOMINANT PASSIONS.

It is elegantly fabled by Tythonus, that being exceedingly beloved by

Aurora, she petitioned Jupiter that he might prove immortal, thereby to

secure herself the everlasting enjoyment of his company; but through

female inadvertence she forgot to add, that he might never grow old; so

that, though he proved immortal, he became miserably worn and consumed

with age, insomuch that Jupiter, out of pity, at length transformed him

to a grasshopper.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to contain an ingenious description of

pleasure; which at first, as it were in the morning of the day, is so

welcome, that men pray to have it everlasting, but forget that satiety

and weariness of it will, like old age, overtake them, though they

think not of it; so that at length, when their appetite for pleasurable

actions is gone, their desires and affections often continue; whence

we commonly find that aged persons delight themselves with the

discourse and remembrance of the things agreeable to them in their

better days. This is very remarkable in men of a loose, and men of a

military life; the former whereof are always talking over their amours,

and the latter the exploits of their youth; like grasshoppers, that

show their vigor only by their chirping.

XVI.—JUNO’S SUITOR, OR BASENESS.

EXPLAINED OF SUBMISSION AND ABJECTION.

The poets tell us, that Jupiter, to carry on his love-intrigues,

assumed many different shapes; as of a bull, an eagle, a swan, a golden

shower, &c.; but when he attempted Juno, he turned himself into the

most ignoble and ridiculous creature,—even that of a wretched, wet,

weather-beaten, affrighted, trembling and half-starved cuckoo.

EXPLANATION.—This is a wise fable, and drawn from the very entrails of

morality. The moral is, that men should not be conceited of themselves,

and imagine that a discovery of their excellences will always render

them acceptable; for this can only succeed according to the nature

and manners of the person they court, or solicit; who, if he be a man

not of the same gifts and endowments, but altogether of a haughty

and contemptuous behavior, here represented by the person of Juno,

they must entirely drop the character that carries the least show

of worth or gracefulness; if they proceed upon any other footing,

it is downright folly; nor is it sufficient to act the deformity of

obsequiousness, unless they really change themselves, and become abject

and contemptible in their persons.

XVII.—CUPID, OR AN ATOM.

EXPLAINED OF THE CORPUSCULAR PHILOSOPHY.

The particulars related by the poets of Cupid, or Love, do not properly

agree to the same person, yet they differ only so far, that if the

confusion of persons be rejected, the correspondence may hold. They

say, that Love was the most ancient of all the gods, and existed before

every thing else, except Chaos, which is held coeval therewith. But

for Chaos, the ancients never paid divine honors, nor gave the title

of a god thereto. Love is represented absolutely without progenitor,

excepting only that he is said to have proceeded from the egg of

Nox; but that himself begot the gods, and all things else, on Chaos.

His attributes are four; viz: 1, perpetual infancy; 2, blindness; 3,

nakedness; and 4, archery.

There was also another Cupid, or Love, the youngest son of the

gods, born of Venus; and upon him the attributes of the elder are

transferred, with some degree of correspondence.

EXPLANATION.—This fable points at, and enters, the cradle of nature.

Love seems to be the appetite, or incentive, of the primitive matter;

or, to speak more distinctly, the natural motion, or moving principle,

of the original corpuscles, or atoms; this being the most ancient

and only power that made and wrought all things out of matter. It is

absolutely without parent, that is, without cause; for causes are as

parents to effects; but this power or efficacy could have no natural

cause; for, excepting God, nothing was before it; and therefore it

could have no efficient in nature. And as nothing is more inward with

nature, it can neither be a genus nor a form; and therefore, whatever

it is, it must be somewhat positive, though inexpressible. And if it

were possible to conceive its modus and process, yet it could not be

known from its cause, as being, next to God, the cause of causes, and

itself without a cause. And, perhaps, we are not to hope that the modus

of it should fall, or be comprehended, under human inquiry. Whence it

is properly feigned to be the egg of Nox, or laid in the dark.

The divine philosopher declares, that “God has made every thing

beautiful in its season; and has given over the world to our disputes

and inquiries; but that man cannot find out the work which God has

wrought, from its beginning up to its end.” Thus the summary or

collective law of nature, or the principle of love, impressed by God

upon the original particles of all things, so as to make them attack

each other and come together, by the repetition and multiplication

whereof all the variety in the universe is produced, can scarce

possibly find full admittance into the thoughts of men, though some

faint notion may be had thereof. The Greek philosophy is subtile, and

busied in discovering the material principles of things, but negligent

and languid in discovering the principles of motion, in which the

energy and efficacy of every operation consists. And here the Greek

philosophers seem perfectly blind and childish; for the opinion of the

Peripatetics, as to the stimulus of matter, by privation, is little

more than words, or rather sound than signification. And they who refer

it to God, though they do well therein, yet they do it by a start, and

not by proper degrees of assent; for doubtless there is one summary, or

capital law, in which nature meets, subordinate to God, viz: the law

mentioned in the passage above quoted from Solomon; or the work which

God has wrought from its beginning to its end.

Democritus, who further considered this subject, having first supposed

an atom, or corpuscle, of some dimension or figure, attributed thereto

an appetite, desire, or first motion simply, and another comparatively,

imagining that all things properly tended to the centre of the world;

those containing more matter falling faster to the centre, and thereby

removing, and in the shock driving away, such as held less. But this

is a slender conceit, and regards too few particulars; for neither

the revolutions of the celestial bodies, nor the contractions and

expansions of things, can be reduced to this principle. And for the

opinion of Epicurus, as to the declination and fortuitous agitation of

atoms, this only brings the matter back again to a trifle, and wraps it

up in ignorance and night.

Cupid is elegantly drawn a perpetual child; for compounds are larger

things, and have their periods of age; but the first seeds or atoms of

bodies are small, and remain in a perpetual infant state.

He is again justly represented naked; as all compounds may properly

be said to be dressed and clothed, or to assume a personage; whence

nothing remains truly naked, but the original particles of things.

The blindness of Cupid contains a deep allegory; for this same Cupid,

Love, or appetite of the world, seems to have very little foresight,

but directs his steps and motions conformably to what he finds next

him, as blind men do when they feel out their way; which renders the

divine and overruling Providence and foresight the more surprising;

as by a certain steady law, it brings such a beautiful order and

regularity of things out of what seems extremely casual, void of

design, and, as it were, really blind.

The last attribute of Cupid is archery, viz: a virtue or power

operating at a distance; for every thing that operates at a distance

may seem, as it were, to dart, or shoot with arrows. And whoever allows

of atoms and vacuity, necessarily supposes that the virtue of atoms

operates at a distance; for without this operation, no motion could be

excited, on account of the vacuum interposing, but all things would

remain sluggish and unmoved.

As to the other Cupid, he is properly said to be the youngest son

of the gods, as his power could not take place before the formation

of species, or particular bodies. The description given us of him

transfers the allegory to morality, though he still retains some

resemblance with the ancient Cupid; for as Venus universally excites

the affection of association, and the desire of procreation, her

son Cupid applies the affection to individuals; so that the general

disposition proceeds from Venus, but the more close sympathy from

Cupid. The former depends upon a near approximation of causes, but the

latter upon deeper, more necessitating and uncontrollable principles,

as if they proceeded from the ancient Cupid, on whom all exquisite

sympathies depend.

XVIII.—DIOMED, OR ZEAL.

EXPLAINED OF PERSECUTION, OR ZEAL FOR RELIGION.

Diomed acquired great glory and honor at the Trojan war, and was highly

favored by Pallas, who encouraged and excited him by no means to spare

Venus, if he should casually meet her in fight. He followed the advice

with too much eagerness and intrepidity, and accordingly wounded that

goddess in her hand. This presumptuous action remained unpunished

for a time, and when the war was ended he returned with great glory

and renown to his own country, where, finding himself embroiled with

domestic affairs, he retired into Italy. Here also at first he was

well received and nobly entertained by King Daunus, who, besides other

gifts and honors, erected statues for him over all his dominions.

But upon the first calamity that afflicted the people after the

stranger’s arrival, Daunus immediately reflected that he entertained

a devoted person in his palace, an enemy to the gods, and one who had

sacrilegiously wounded a goddess with his sword, whom it was impious

but to touch. To expiate, therefore, his country’s guilt, he, without

regard to the laws of hospitality, which were less regarded by him

than the laws of religion, directly slew his guest, and commanded his

statues and all his honors to be razed and abolished. Nor was it safe

for others to commiserate or bewail so cruel a destiny; but even his

companions in arms, whilst they lamented the death of their leader,

and filled all places with their complaints, were turned into a kind

of swans, which are said, at the approach of their own death, to chant

sweet melancholy dirges.

EXPLANATION.—This fable intimates an extraordinary and almost singular

thing, for no hero besides Diomed is recorded to have wounded any of

the gods. Doubtless we have here described the nature and fate of a man

who professedly makes any divine worship or sect of religion, though,

in itself vain and light, the only scope of his actions, and resolves

to propagate it by fire and sword. For although the bloody dissensions

and differences about religion were unknown to the ancients, yet so

copious and diffusive was their knowledge, that what they knew not by

experience they comprehended in thought and representation. Those,

therefore, who endeavor to reform or establish any sect of religion,

though vain, corrupt, and infamous (which is here denoted under the

person of Venus), not by the force of reason, learning, sanctity of

manners, the weight of arguments, and examples, but would spread or

extirpate it by persecution, pains, penalties, tortures, fire, and

sword, may, perhaps, be instigated hereto by Pallas, that is, by a

certain rigid, prudential consideration, and a severity of judgment,

by the vigor and efficacy whereof they see thoroughly into the

fallacies and fictions of the delusions of this kind; and through

aversion to depravity and a well-meant zeal, these men usually for

a time acquire great fame and glory, and are by the vulgar, to whom

no moderate measures can be acceptable, extolled and almost adored,

as the only patrons and protectors of truth and religion, men of any

other disposition seeming, in comparison with these, to be lukewarm,

mean-spirited, and cowardly. This fame and felicity, however, seldom

endures to the end; but all violence, unless it escapes the reverses

and changes of things by untimely death, is commonly unprosperous

in the issue; and if a change of affairs happens, and that sect

of religion which was persecuted and oppressed gains strength and

rises again, then the zeal and warm endeavors of this sort of men

are condemned, their very name becomes odious, and all their honors

terminate in disgrace.

As to the point that Diomed should be slain by his hospitable

entertainer, this denotes that religious dissensions may cause

treachery, bloody animosities, and deceit, even between the nearest

friends.

That complaining or bewailing should not, in so enormous a case, be

permitted to friends affected by the catastrophe without punishment,

includes this prudent admonition, that almost in all kinds of

wickedness and depravity men have still room left for commiseration,

so that they who hate the crime may yet pity the person and bewail his

calamity, from a principle of humanity and good-nature; and to forbid

the overflowings and intercourses of pity upon such occasions were

the extremest of evils; yet in the cause of religion and impiety the

very commiserations of men are noted and suspected. On the other hand,

the lamentations and complainings of the followers and attendants of

Diomed, that is, of men of the same sect or persuasion, are usually

very sweet, agreeable, and moving, like the dying notes of swans, or

the birds of Diomed. This also is a noble and remarkable part of the

allegory, denoting that the last words of those who suffer for the sake

of religion strongly affect and sway men’s minds, and leave a lasting

impression upon the sense and memory.

XIX.—DÆDALUS, OR MECHANICAL SKILL.

EXPLAINED OF ARTS AND ARTISTS IN KINGDOMS AND STATES.

The ancients have left us a description of mechanical skill, industry,

and curious arts converted to ill uses, in the person of Dædalus, a

most ingenious but execrable artist. This Dædalus was banished for the

murder of his brother artist and rival, yet found a kind reception in

his banishment from the kings and states where he came. He raised many

incomparable edifices to the honor of the gods, and invented many new

contrivances for the beautifying and ennobling of cities and public

places, but still he was most famous for wicked inventions. Among the

rest, by his abominable industry and destructive genius, he assisted

in the fatal and infamous production of the monster Minotaur, that

devourer of promising youths. And then, to cover one mischief with

another, and provide for the security of this monster, he invented

and built a labyrinth; a work infamous for its end and design, but

admirable and prodigious for art and workmanship. After this, that

he might not only be celebrated for wicked inventions, but be sought

after, as well for prevention, as for instruments of mischief, he

formed that ingenious device of his clue, which led directly through

all the windings of the labyrinth. This Dædalus was persecuted by Minos

with the utmost severity, diligence, and inquiry; but he always found

refuge and means of escaping. Lastly, endeavoring to teach his son

Icarus the art of flying, the novice, trusting too much to his wings,

fell from his towering flight, and was drowned in the sea.

EXPLANATION.—The sense of the fable runs thus. It first denotes envy,

which is continually upon the watch, and strangely prevails among

excellent artificers; for no kind of people are observed to be more

implacably and destructively envious to one another than these.

In the next place, it observes an impolitic and improvident kind of

punishment inflicted upon Dædalus—that of banishment; for good workmen

are gladly received everywhere, so that banishment to an excellent

artificer is scarce any punishment at all; whereas other conditions of

life cannot easily flourish from home. For the admiration of artists

is propagated and increased among foreigners and strangers; it being

a principle in the minds of men to slight and despise the mechanical

operators of their own nation.

The succeeding part of the fable is plain, concerning the use of

mechanic arts, whereto human life stands greatly indebted, as receiving

from this treasury numerous particulars for the service of religion,

the ornament of civil society, and the whole provision and apparatus of

life; but then the same magazine supplies instruments of lust, cruelty,

and death. For, not to mention the arts of luxury and debauchery, we

plainly see how far the business of exquisite poisons, guns, engines of

war, and such kind of destructive inventions, exceeds the cruelty and

barbarity of the Minotaur himself.

The addition of the labyrinth contains a beautiful allegory,

representing the nature of mechanic arts in general; for all ingenious

and accurate mechanical inventions may be conceived as a labyrinth,

which, by reason of their subtilty, intricacy, crossing, and

interfering with one another, and the apparent resemblances they have

among themselves, scarce any power of the judgment can unravel and

distinguish; so that they are only to be understood and traced by the

clue of experience.

It is no less prudently added, that he who invented the windings of the

labyrinth, should also show the use and management of the clue; for

mechanical arts have an ambiguous or double use, and serve as well to

produce as to prevent mischief and destruction; so that their virtue

almost destroys or unwinds itself.

Unlawful arts and indeed frequently arts themselves, are persecuted by

Minos, that is, by laws, which prohibit and forbid their use among the

people; but notwithstanding this, they are hid, concealed, retained,

and everywhere find reception and skulking-places; a thing well

observed by Tacitus of the astrologers and fortune-tellers of his time.

“These,” says he, “are a kind of men that will always be prohibited,

and yet will always be retained in our city.”

But lastly, all unlawful and vain arts, of what kind soever, lose

their reputation in tract of time; grow contemptible and perish,

through their overconfidence, like Icarus; being commonly unable to

perform what they boasted. And to say the truth, such arts are better

suppressed by their own vain pretensions, than checked or restrained by

the bridle of laws.[632]

XX.—ERICTHONIUS, OR IMPOSTURE.

EXPLAINED OF THE IMPROPER USE OF FORCE IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.

The poets feign that Vulcan attempted the chastity of Minerva, and

impatient of refusal, had recourse to force; the consequence of which

was the birth of Ericthonius, whose body from the middle upwards was

comely and well-proportioned, but his thighs and legs small, shrunk,

and deformed, like an eel. Conscious of this defect, he became the

inventor of chariots, so as to show the graceful, but conceal the

deformed part of his body.

EXPLANATION.—This strange fable seems to carry this meaning. Art is

here represented under the person of Vulcan, by reason of the various

uses it makes of fire; and nature, under the person of Minerva, by

reason of the industry employed in her works. Art, therefore, whenever

it offers violence to nature, in order to conquer, subdue, and bend

her to its purpose, by tortures and force of all kinds, seldom obtains

the end proposed; yet upon great struggle and application, there

proceed certain imperfect births, or lame abortive works, specious in

appearance, but weak and unstable in use; which are, nevertheless,

with great pomp and deceitful appearances, triumphantly carried about,

and shown by impostors. A procedure very familiar, and remarkable in

chemical productions, and new mechanical inventions; especially when

the inventors rather hug their errors than improve upon them, and go on

struggling with nature, not courting her.

XXI.—DEUCALION, OR RESTITUTION.

EXPLAINED OF A USEFUL HINT IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.

The poets tell us, that the inhabitants of the old world being totally

destroyed by the universal deluge, excepting Deucalion and Pyrrha,

these two, desiring with zealous and fervent devotion to restore

mankind, received this oracle for answer, that “they should succeed by

throwing their mother’s bones behind them.” This at first cast them

into great sorrow and despair, because, as all things were levelled by

the deluge, it was in vain to seek their mother’s tomb; but at length

they understood the expression of the oracle to signify the stones of

the earth, which is esteemed the mother of all things.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to reveal a secret of nature, and correct

an error familiar to the mind; for men’s ignorance leads them to

expect the renovation or restoration of things from their corruption

and remains, as the phœnix is said to be restored out of its ashes;

which is a very improper procedure, because such kind of materials

have finished their course, and are become absolutely unfit to supply

the first rudiments of the same things again; whence, in cases of

renovation, recourse should be had to more common principles.

XXII.—NEMESIS, OR THE VICISSITUDE OF THINGS.

EXPLAINED OF THE REVERSES OF FORTUNE.

Nemesis is represented as a goddess venerated by all, but feared by the

powerful and the fortunate. She is said to be the daughter of Nox and

Oceanus.

She is drawn with wings, and a crown; a javelin of ash in her right

hand; a glass containing Ethiopians in her left; and riding upon a stag.

EXPLANATION.—The fable receives this explanation. The word Nemesis

manifestly signifies revenge, or retribution; for the office of this

goddess consisted in interposing, like the Roman tribunes, with an “I

forbid it,” in all courses of constant and perpetual felicity, so as

not only to chastise haughtiness, but also to repay even innocent and

moderate happiness with adversity; as if it were decreed, that none

of human race should be admitted to the banquet of the gods, but for

sport. And, indeed, to read over that chapter of Pliny wherein he has

collected the miseries and misfortunes of Augustus Cæsar, whom, of

all mankind, one would judge most fortunate,—as he had a certain art

of using and enjoying prosperity, with a mind no way tumid, light,

effeminate, confused, or melancholic,—one cannot but think this a

very great and powerful goddess, who could bring such a victim to her

altar.[633]

The parents of this goddess were Oceanus and Nox; that is, the

fluctuating change of things, and the obscure and secret divine

decrees. The changes of things are aptly represented by the Ocean, on

account of its perpetual ebbing and flowing; and secret providence

is justly expressed by Night. Even the heathens have observed this

secret Nemesis of the night, or the difference betwixt divine and human

judgment.[634]

Wings are given to Nemesis, because of the sudden and unforeseen

changes of things; for, from the earliest account of time, it has been

common for great and prudent men to fall by the dangers they most

despised. Thus Cicero, when admonished by Brutus of the infidelity

and rancor of Octavius, coolly wrote back: “I cannot, however, but be

obliged to you, Brutus, as I ought, for informing me, though of such a

trifle.”[635]

Nemesis also has her crown, by reason of the invidious and malignant

nature of the vulgar, who generally rejoice, triumph, and crown her,

at the fall of the fortunate and the powerful. And for the javelin in

her right hand, it has regard to those whom she has actually struck

and transfixed. But whoever escapes her stroke, or feels not actual

calamity or misfortune, she affrights with a black and dismal sight

in her left hand; for doubtless, mortals on the highest pinnacle of

felicity have a prospect of death, diseases, calamities, perfidious

friends, undermining enemies, reverses of fortune, &c., represented

by the Ethiopians in her glass. Thus Virgil, with great elegance,

describing the battle of Actium, says of Cleopatra, that “she did not

yet perceive the two asps behind her;”[636] but soon after, which way

soever she turned, she saw whole troops of Ethiopians still before her.

Lastly, it is significantly added, that Nemesis rides upon a stag,

which is a very long-lived creature; for though perhaps some, by an

untimely death in youth, may prevent or escape this goddess, yet they

who enjoy a long flow of happiness and power, doubtless become subject

to her at length, and are brought to yield.

XXIII.—ACHELOUS, OR BATTLE.

EXPLAINED OF WAR BY INVASION.

The ancients relate, that Hercules and Achelous being rivals in the

courtship of Deianira, the matter was contested by single combat;

when Achelous having transformed himself, as he had power to do, into

various shapes, by way of trial; at length, in the form of a fierce

wild bull, prepares himself for the fight; but Hercules still retains

his human shape, engages sharply with him, and in the issue broke off

one of the bull’s horns; and now Achelous, in great pain and fright, to

redeem his horn, presents Hercules with the cornucopia.

EXPLANATION.—This fable relates to military expeditions and

preparations; for the preparation of war on the defensive side, here

denoted by Achelous, appears in various shapes, whilst the invading

side has but one simple form, consisting either in an army, or perhaps

a fleet. But the country that expects the invasion is employed infinite

ways, in fortifying towns, blockading passes, rivers, and ports,

raising soldiers, disposing garrisons, building and breaking down

bridges, procuring aids, securing provisions, arms, ammunition, &c. So

that there appears a new face of things every day; and at length, when

the country is sufficiently fortified and prepared, it represents to

the life the form and threats of a fierce fighting bull.

On the other side, the invader presses on to the fight, fearing to be

distressed in an enemy’s country. And if after the battle he remains

master of the field, and has now broke, as it were, the horn of his

enemy, the besieged, of course, retire inglorious, affrighted, and

dismayed, to their stronghold, there endeavoring to secure themselves,

and repair their strength; leaving, at the same time, their country a

prey to the conqueror, which is well expressed by the Amalthean horn,

or cornucopia.

XXIV.—DIONYSUS, OR BACCHUS.[637]

EXPLAINED OF THE PASSIONS.

The fable runs, that Semele, Jupiter’s mistress, having bound him

by an inviolable oath to grant her an unknown request, desired he

would embrace her in the same form and manner he used to embrace

Juno; and the promise being irrevocable, she was burnt to death with

lightning in the performance. The embryo, however, was sewed up, and

carried in Jupiter’s thigh till the complete time of its birth; but

the burden thus rendering the father lame, and causing him pain, the

child was thence called Dionysus. When born, he was committed, for

some years, to be nursed by Proserpina; and when grown up, appeared

with so effeminate a face, that his sex seemed somewhat doubtful. He

also died, and was buried for a time, but afterwards revived. When a

youth, he first introduced the cultivation and dressing of vines, the

method of preparing wine, and taught the use thereof; whence becoming

famous, he subdued the world, even to the utmost bounds of the Indies.

He rode in a chariot drawn by tigers. There danced about him certain

deformed demons called Cobali, &c. The Muses also joined in his train.

He married Ariadne, who was deserted by Theseus. The ivy was sacred to

him. He was also held the inventor and institutor of religious rites

and ceremonies, but such as were wild, frantic, and full of corruption

and cruelty. He had also the power of striking men with frenzies.

Pentheus and Orpheus were torn to pieces by the frantic women at his

orgies; the first for climbing a tree to behold their outrageous

ceremonies, and the other for the music of his harp. But the acts of

this god are much entangled and confounded with those of Jupiter.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to contain a little system of morality,

so that there is scarce any better invention in all ethics. Under

the history of Bacchus, is drawn the nature of unlawful desire or

affection, and disorder; for the appetite and thirst of apparent good

is the mother of all unlawful desire, though ever so destructive, and

all unlawful desires are conceived in unlawful wishes or requests,

rashly indulged or granted before they are well understood or

considered, and when the affection begins to grow warm, the mother

of it (the nature of good) is destroyed and burnt up by the heat.

And whilst an unlawful desire lies in the embryo, or unripened in

the mind, which is its father, and here represented by Jupiter, it

is cherished and concealed, especially in the inferior part of the

mind, corresponding to the thigh of the body, where pain twitches and

depresses the mind so far as to render its resolutions and actions

imperfect and lame. And even after this child of the mind is confirmed,

and gains strength by consent and habit, and comes forth into action,

it must still be nursed by Proserpina for a time; that is, it skulks

and hides its head in a clandestine manner, as it were under ground,

till at length, when the checks of shame and fear are removed, and

the requisite boldness acquired, it either assumes the pretext of

some virtue, or openly despises infamy. And it is justly observed,

that every vehement passion appears of a doubtful sex, as having the

strength of a man at first, but at last the impotence of a woman.

It is also excellently added, that Bacchus died and rose again; for

the affections sometimes seem to die and be no more; but there is no

trusting them, even though they were buried, being always apt and ready

to rise again whenever the occasion or object offers.

That Bacchus should be the inventor of wine, carries a fine allegory

with it; for every affection is cunning and subtle in discovering a

proper matter to nourish and feed it; and of all things known to

mortals, wine is the most powerful and effectual for exciting and

inflaming passions of all kinds, being, indeed, like a common fuel to

all.

It is again, with great elegance, observed of Bacchus, that he subdued

provinces, and undertook endless expeditions, for the affections never

rest satisfied with what they enjoy, but with an endless and insatiable

appetite thirst after something further. And tigers are prettily

feigned to draw the chariot; for as soon as any affection shall, from

going on foot, be advanced to ride, it triumphs over reason, and exerts

its cruelty, fierceness, and strength against all that oppose it.

It is also humorously imagined, that ridiculous demons dance and frisk

about this chariot; for every passion produces indecent, disorderly,

interchangeable and deformed motions in the eyes, countenance, and

gesture, so that the person under the impulse, whether of anger,

insult, love, &c., though to himself he may seem grand, lofty, or

obliging, yet in the eyes of others appears mean, contemptible, or

ridiculous.

The Muses also are found in the train of Bacchus, for there is scarce

any passion without its art, science, or doctrine to court and flatter

it; but in this respect the indulgence of men of genius has greatly

detracted from the majesty of the Muses, who ought to be the leaders

and conductors of human life, and not the handmaids of the passions.

The allegory of Bacchus falling in love with a cast mistress, is

extremely noble; for it is certain that the affections always court

and covet what has been rejected upon experience. And all those who

by serving and indulging their passions immensely raise the value of

enjoyment, should know, that whatever they covet and pursue, whether

riches, pleasure, glory, learning, or anything else, they only pursue

those things that have been forsaken and cast off with contempt by

great numbers in all ages, after possession and experience.

Nor is it without a mystery that the ivy was sacred to Bacchus, and

this for two reasons: first, because ivy is an evergreen, or flourishes

in the winter; and secondly, because it winds and creeps about so

many things, as trees, walls, and buildings, and raises itself above

them. As to the first, every passion grows fresh, strong, and vigorous

by opposition and prohibition, as it were by a kind of contrast or

antiperistasis, like the ivy in the winter. And for the second, the

predominant passion of the mind throws itself, like the ivy, round all

human actions, entwines all our resolutions, and perpetually adheres

to, and mixes itself among, or even overtops them.

And no wonder that superstitious rites and ceremonies are attributed

to Bacchus, when almost every ungovernable passion grows wanton and

luxuriant in corrupt religions; nor again, that fury and frenzy should

be sent and dealt out by him, because every passion is a short frenzy,

and if it be vehement, lasting, and take deep root, it terminates in

madness. And hence the allegory of Pentheus and Orpheus being torn to

pieces is evident; for every headstrong passion is extremely bitter,

severe, inveterate, and revengeful upon all curious inquiry, wholesome

admonition, free counsel, and persuasion.

Lastly; the confusion between the persons of Jupiter and Bacchus will

justly admit of an allegory, because noble and meritorious actions

may sometimes proceed from virtue, sound reason, and magnanimity, and

sometimes again from a concealed passion and secret desire of ill,

however they may be extolled and praised, insomuch that it is not easy

to distinguish betwixt the acts of Bacchus and the acts of Jupiter.

XXV.—ATALANTA AND HIPPOMENES, OR GAIN.

EXPLAINED OF THE CONTEST BETWIXT ART AND NATURE.

Atalanta, who was exceedingly fleet, contended with Hippomenes in

the course, on condition that, if Hippomenes won, he should espouse

her, or forfeit his life if he lost. The match was very unequal, for

Atalanta had conquered numbers, to their destruction. Hippomenes,

therefore, had recourse to stratagem. He procured three golden apples,

and purposely carried them with him; they started; Atalanta outstripped

him soon; then Hippomenes bowled one of his apples before her, across

the course, in order not only to make her stoop, but to draw her out

of the path. She, prompted by female curiosity, and the beauty of the

golden fruit, starts from the course to take up the apple. Hippomenes,

in the mean time, holds on his way, and steps before her; but she, by

her natural swiftness, soon fetches up her lost ground, and leaves him

again behind. Hippomenes, however, by rightly timing his second and

third throw, at length won the race, not by his swiftness, but his

cunning.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to contain a noble allegory of the

contest betwixt art and nature. For art, here denoted by Atalanta, is

much swifter, or more expeditious in its operations than nature, when

all obstacles and impediments are removed, and sooner arrives at its

end. This appears almost in every instance. Thus, fruit comes slowly

from the kernel, but soon by inoculation or incision; clay, left to

itself, is a long time in acquiring a stony hardness, but is presently

burnt by fire into brick. So again, in human life, nature is a long

while in alleviating and abolishing the remembrance of pain, and

assuaging the troubles of the mind; but moral philosophy, which is the

art of living, performs it presently. Yet this prerogative and singular

efficacy of art is stopped and retarded to the infinite detriment of

human life, by certain golden apples; for there is no one science or

art that constantly holds on its true and proper course to the end,

but they are all continually stopping short, forsaking the track, and

turning aside to profit and convenience, exactly like Atalanta.[638]

Whence it is no wonder that art gets not the victory over nature,

nor, according to the condition of the contest, brings her under

subjection; but, on the contrary, remains subject to her, as a wife to

a husband.[639]

XXVI.—PROMETHEUS, OR THE STATE OF MAN.

EXPLAINED OF AN OVERRULING PROVIDENCE, AND OF HUMAN NATURE.

The ancients relate that man was the work of Prometheus, and formed of

clay; only the artificer mixed in with the mass, particles taken from

different animals. And being desirous to improve his workmanship, and

endow, as well as create, the human race, he stole up to heaven with

a bundle of birch-rods, and kindling them at the chariot of the Sun,

thence brought down fire to the earth for the service of men.

They add that, for this meritorious act, Prometheus was repayed with

ingratitude by mankind, so that, forming a conspiracy, they arraigned

both him and his invention before Jupiter. But the matter was otherwise

received than they imagined; for the accusation proved extremely

grateful to Jupiter and the gods, insomuch that, delighted with the

action, they not only indulged mankind the use of fire, but moreover

conferred upon them a most acceptable and desirable present, viz:

perpetual youth.

But men, foolishly overjoyed hereat, laid this present of the gods

upon an ass, who, in returning back with it, being extremely thirsty,

strayed to a fountain. The serpent, who was guardian thereof, would

not suffer him to drink, but upon condition of receiving the burden he

carried, whatever it should be. The silly ass complied, and thus the

perpetual renewal of youth was, for a drop of water, transferred from

men to the race of serpents.

Prometheus, not desisting from his unwarrantable practices, though now

reconciled to mankind, after they were thus tricked of their present,

but still continuing inveterate against Jupiter, had the boldness to

attempt deceit, even in a sacrifice, and is said to have once offered

up two bulls to Jupiter, but so as in the hide of one of them to wrap

all the flesh and fat of both, and stuffing out the other hide only

with the bones; then, in a religious and devout manner, gave Jupiter

his choice of the two. Jupiter, detesting this sly fraud and hypocrisy,

but having thus an opportunity of punishing the offender, purposely

chose the mock bull.

And now giving way to revenge, but finding he could not chastise the

insolence of Prometheus without afflicting the human race (in the

production whereof Prometheus had strangely and insufferably prided

himself), he commanded Vulcan to form a beautiful and graceful woman,

to whom every god presented a certain gift, whence she was called

Pandora.[640] They put into her hands an elegant box, containing all

sorts of miseries and misfortunes; but Hope was placed at the bottom

of it. With this box she first goes to Prometheus, to try if she

could prevail upon him to receive and open it; but he being upon his

guard, warily refused the offer. Upon this refusal, she comes to his

brother Epimetheus, a man of a very different temper, who rashly and

inconsiderately opens the box. When finding all kinds of miseries and

misfortunes issued out of it, he grew wise too late, and with great

hurry and struggle endeavored to clap the cover on again; but with all

his endeavor could scarce keep in Hope, which lay at the bottom.

Lastly, Jupiter arraigned Prometheus of many heinous crimes; as that he

formerly stole fire from heaven; that he contemptuously and deceitfully

mocked him by a sacrifice of bones; that he despised his present,[641]

adding withal a new crime, that he attempted to ravish Pallas; for all

which, he was sentenced to be bound in chains, and doomed to perpetual

torments. Accordingly, by Jupiter’s command, he was brought to Mount

Caucasus, and there fastened to a pillar, so firmly that he could no

way stir. A vulture or eagle stood by him, which in the daytime gnawed

and consumed his liver; but in the night the wasted parts were supplied

again; whence matter for his pain was never wanting.

They relate, however, that his punishment had an end; for Hercules

sailing the ocean, in a cup, or pitcher, presented him by the Sun,

came at length to Caucasus, shot the eagle with his arrows, and set

Prometheus free. In certain nations, also, there were instituted

particular games of the torch, to the honor of Prometheus, in which

they who ran for the prize carried lighted torches; and as any one of

these torches happened to go out, the bearer withdrew himself, and gave

way to the next; and that person was allowed to win the prize, who

first brought in his lighted torch to the goal.

EXPLANATION.—This fable contains and enforces many just and serious

considerations; some whereof have been long since well observed,

but some again remain perfectly untouched. Prometheus clearly and

expressly signifies Providence; for of all the things in nature, the

formation and endowment of man was singled out by the ancients, and

esteemed the peculiar work of Providence. The reason hereof seems,

1. That the nature of man includes a mind and understanding, which

is the seat of Providence. 2. That it is harsh and incredible to

suppose reason and mind should be raised, and drawn out of senseless

and irrational principles; whence it becomes almost inevitable, that

providence is implanted in the human mind in conformity with, and by

the direction and the design of the greater overruling Providence.

But, 3. The principal cause is this: that man seems to be the thing in

which the whole world centres, with respect to final causes; so that

if he were away, all other things would stray and fluctuate, without

end or intention, or become perfectly disjointed, and out of frame;

for all things are made subservient to man, and he receives use and

benefit from them all. Thus the revolutions, places, and periods, of

the celestial bodies, serve him for distinguishing times and seasons,

and for dividing the world into different regions; the meteors afford

him prognostications of the weather; the winds sail our ships, drive

our mills, and move our machines; and the vegetables and animals of all

kinds either afford us matter for houses and habitations, clothing,

food, physic; or tend to ease, or delight, to support, or refresh us so

that everything in nature seems not made for itself, but for man.

And it is not without reason added, that the mass of matter whereof

man was formed, should be mixed up with particles taken from different

animals, and wrought in with the clay, because it is certain, that of

all things in the universe, man is the most compounded and recompounded

body; so that the ancients, not improperly, styled him a Microcosm,

or little world within himself. For although the chemists have

absurdly, and too literally, wrested and perverted the elegance of the

term microcosm, whilst they pretend to find all kind of mineral and

vegetable matters, or something corresponding to them, in man, yet it

remains firm and unshaken, that the human body is, of all substances,

the most mixed and organical; whence it has surprising powers and

faculties; for the powers of simple bodies are but few, though certain

and quick; as being little broken, or weakened, and not counterbalanced

by mixture; but excellence and quantity of energy reside in mixture and

composition.

Man, however, in his first origin, seems to be a defenceless, naked

creature, slow in assisting himself, and standing in need of numerous

things. Prometheus, therefore, hastened to the invention of fire, which

supplies and administers to nearly all human uses and necessities,

insomuch that, if the soul may be called the form of forms, if the hand

may be called the instrument of instruments, fire may, as properly, be

called the assistant of assistants, or the helper of helps; for hence

proceed numberless operations, hence all the mechanic arts, and hence

infinite assistances are afforded to the sciences themselves.

The manner wherein Prometheus stole this fire is properly described

from the nature of the thing; he being said to have done it by applying

a rod of birch to the chariot of the Sun; for birch is used in striking

and beating, which clearly denotes the generation of fire to be from

the violent percussions and collisions of bodies; whereby the matters

struck are subtilized, rarefied, put into motion, and so prepared to

receive the heat of the celestial bodies; whence they, in a clandestine

and secret manner, collect and snatch fire, as it were by stealth, from

the chariot of the Sun.

The next is a remarkable part of the fable, which represents that

men, instead of gratitude and thanks, fell into indignation and

expostulation, accusing both Prometheus and his fire to Jupiter,—and

yet the accusation proved highly pleasing to Jupiter; so that he, for

this reason, crowned these benefits of mankind with a new bounty.

Here it may seem strange that the sin of ingratitude to a creator and

benefactor, a sin so heinous as to include almost all others, should

meet with approbation and reward. But the allegory has another view,

and denotes, that the accusation and arraignment, both of human nature

and human art among mankind, proceeds from a most noble and laudable

temper of the mind, and tends to a very good purpose; whereas the

contrary temper is odious to the gods, and unbeneficial in itself.

For they who break into extravagant praises of human nature, and the

arts in vogue, and who lay themselves out in admiring the things they

already possess, and will needs have the sciences cultivated among

them, to be thought absolutely perfect and complete, in the first

place, show little regard to the divine nature, whilst they extol their

own inventions almost as high as his perfection. In the next place,

men of this temper are unserviceable and prejudicial in life, whilst

they imagine themselves already got to the top of things, and there

rest, without further inquiry. On the contrary, they who arraign and

accuse both nature and art, and are always full of complaints against

them, not only preserve a more just and modest sense of mind, but are

also perpetually stirred up to fresh industry and new discoveries.

Is not, then, the ignorance and fatality of mankind to be extremely

pitied, whilst they remain slaves to the arrogance of a few of their

own fellows, and are dotingly fond of that scrap of Grecian knowledge,

the Peripatetic philosophy; and this to such a degree, as not only to

think all accusation or arraignment thereof useless, but even hold it

suspect and dangerous? Certainly the procedure of Empedocles, though

furious—but especially that of Democritus (who with great modesty

complained that all things were abstruse; that we know nothing; that

truth lies hid in deep pits; that falsehood is strangely joined and

twisted along with truth, &c.)—is to be preferred before the confident,

assuming, and dogmatical school of Aristotle. Mankind are, therefore,

to be admonished, that the arraignment of nature and of art is pleasing

to the gods; and that a sharp and vehement accusation of Prometheus,

though a creator, a founder, and a master, obtained new blessings and

presents from the divine bounty, and proved more sound and serviceable

than a diffusive harangue of praise and gratulation. And let men be

assured that the fond opinion that they have already acquired enough,

is a principal reason why they have acquired so little.

That the perpetual flower of youth should be the present which mankind

received as a reward for their accusation, carries this moral; that

the ancients seem not to have despaired of discovering methods, and

remedies, for retarding old age, and prolonging the period of human

life; but rather reckoned it among those things which, through sloth

and want of diligent inquiry, perish and come to nothing, after having

been once undertaken, than among such as are absolutely impossible,

or placed beyond the reach of the human power. For they signify

and intimate from the true use of fire, and the just and strenuous

accusation and conviction of the errors of art, that the divine bounty

is not wanting to men in such kind of presents, but that men indeed

are wanting to themselves, and lay such an inestimable gift upon the

back of a slow-paced ass; that is, upon the back of the heavy, dull,

lingering thing, experience; from whose sluggish and tortoise-pace

proceeds that ancient complaint of the shortness of life, and the

slow advancement of arts. And certainly it may well seem, that the

two faculties of reasoning and experience are not hitherto properly

joined and coupled together, but to be still new gifts of the gods,

separately laid, the one upon the back of a light bird, or abstract

philosophy, and the other upon an ass, or slow-paced practice and

trial. And yet good hopes might be conceived of this ass, if it were

not for his thirst and the accidents of the way. For we judge, that if

any one would constantly proceed, by a certain law and method, in the

road of experience, and not by the way thirst after such experiments as

make for profit or ostentation, nor exchange his burden, or quit the

original design for the sake of these, he might be an useful bearer of

a new and accumulated divine bounty to mankind.

That this gift of perpetual youth should pass from men to serpents,

seems added by way of ornament, and illustration to the fable; perhaps

intimating, at the same time, the shame it is for men, that they, with

their fire, and numerous arts, cannot procure to themselves those

things which nature has bestowed upon many other creatures.

The sudden reconciliation of Prometheus to mankind, after being

disappointed of their hopes, contains a prudent and useful admonition.

It points out the levity and temerity of men in new experiments,

when, not presently succeeding, or answering to expectation, they

precipitantly quit their new undertakings, hurry back to their old

ones, and grow reconciled thereto.

After the fable has described the state of man, with regard to arts

and intellectual matters, it passes on to religion; for after the

inventing and settling of arts, follows the establishment of divine

worship, which hypocrisy presently enters into and corrupts. So that by

the two sacrifices we have elegantly painted the person of a man truly

religious, and of an hypocrite. One of these sacrifices contained the

fat, or the portion of God, used for burning and incensing; thereby

denoting affection and zeal, offered up to his glory. It likewise

contained the bowels, which are expressive of charity, along with

the good and useful flesh. But the other contained nothing more than

dry bones, which nevertheless stuffed out the hide, so as to make it

resemble a fair, beautiful, and magnificent sacrifice; hereby finely

denoting the external and empty rites and barren ceremonies, wherewith

men burden and stuff out the divine worship,—things rather intended for

show and ostentation than conducing to piety. Nor are mankind simply

content with this mock-worship of God, but also impose and further it

upon him, as if he had chosen and ordained it. Certainly the prophet,

in the person of God, has a fine expostulation, as to this matter of

choice: “Is this the fasting which I have chosen, that a man should

afflict his soul for a day, and bow down his head like a bulrush?”

After thus touching the state of religion, the fable next turns to

manners, and the conditions of human life. And though it be a very

common, yet is it a just interpretation, that Pandora denotes the

pleasures and licentiousness which the cultivation and luxury of

the arts of civil life introduce, as it were, by the instrumental

efficacy of fire; whence the works of the voluptuary arts are properly

attributed to Vulcan, the God of Fire. And hence infinite miseries and

calamities have proceeded to the minds, the bodies, and the fortunes

of men, together with a late repentance; and this not in each man’s

particular, but also in kingdoms and states; for wars, and tumults, and

tyrannies, have all arisen from this same fountain, or box of Pandora.

It is worth observing, how beautifully and elegantly the fable has

drawn two reigning characters in human life, and given two examples,

or tablatures of them, under the persons of Prometheus and Epimetheus.

The followers of Epimetheus are improvident, see not far before them,

and prefer such things as are agreeable for the present; whence they

are oppressed with numerous straits, difficulties, and calamities, with

which they almost continually struggle; but in the mean time gratify

their own temper, and, for want of a better knowledge of things, feed

their minds with many vain hopes; and as with so many pleasing dreams,

delight themselves, and sweeten the miseries of life.

But the followers of Prometheus are the prudent, wary men, that look

into futurity, and cautiously guard against, prevent, and undermine

many calamities and misfortunes. But this watchful, provident temper,

is attended with a deprivation of numerous pleasures, and the loss of

various delights, whilst such men debar themselves the use even of

innocent things, and what is still worse, rack and torture themselves

with cares, fears, and disquiets; being bound fast to the pillar of

necessity, and tormented with numberless thoughts (which for their

swiftness are well compared to an eagle), that continually wound,

tear, and gnaw their liver or mind, unless, perhaps, they find some

small remission by intervals, or as it were at nights; but then

new anxieties, dreads, and fears, soon return again, as it were in

the morning. And, therefore, very few men, of either temper, have

secured to themselves the advantages of providence, and kept clear of

disquiets, troubles, and misfortunes.

Nor indeed can any man obtain this end without the assistance of

Hercules; that is, of such fortitude and constancy of mind as stands

prepared against every event, and remains indifferent to every change;

looking forward without being daunted, enjoying the good without

disdain, and enduring the bad without impatience. And it must be

observed, that even Prometheus had not the power to free himself,

but owed his deliverance to another; for no natural inbred force and

fortitude could prove equal to such a task. The power of releasing him

came from the utmost confines of the ocean, and from the sun; that is,

from Apollo, or knowledge; and again, from a due consideration of the

uncertainty, instability, and fluctuating state of human life, which

is aptly represented by sailing the ocean. Accordingly, Virgil has

prudently joined these two together, accounting him happy who knows the

causes of things, and has conquered all his fears, apprehensions, and

superstitions.[642]

It is added, with great elegance, for supporting and confirming the

human mind, that the great hero who thus delivered him sailed the ocean

in a cup, or pitcher, to prevent fear, or complaint; as if, through

the narrowness of our nature, or a too great fragility thereof, we

were absolutely incapable of that fortitude and constancy to which

Seneca finely alludes, when he says: “It is a noble thing, at once to

participate in the frailty of man and the security of a god.”

We have hitherto, that we might not break the connection of things,

designedly omitted the last crime of Prometheus—that of attempting

the chastity of Minerva—which heinous offence it doubtless was, that

caused the punishment of having his liver gnawed by the vulture. The

meaning seems to be this,—that when men are puffed up with arts and

knowledge, they often try to subdue even the divine wisdom and bring

it under the dominion of sense and reason, whence inevitably follows a

perpetual and restless rending and tearing of the mind. A sober and

humble distinction must, therefore, be made betwixt divine and human

things, and betwixt the oracles of sense and faith, unless mankind had

rather choose an heretical religion, and a fictitious and romantic

philosophy.[643]

The last particular in the fable is the Games of the Torch, instituted

to Prometheus, which again relates to arts and sciences, as well as the

invention of fire, for the commemoration and celebration whereof these

games were held. And here we have an extremely prudent admonition,

directing us to expect the perfection of the sciences from succession,

and not from the swiftness and abilities of any single person; for

he who is fleetest and strongest in the course may perhaps be less

fit to keep his torch alight, since there is danger of its going

out from too rapid as well as from too slow a motion.[644] But this

kind of contest, with the torch, seems to have been long dropped and

neglected; the sciences appearing to have flourished principally in

their first authors, as Aristotle, Galen, Euclid, Ptolemy, &c.; whilst

their successors have done very little, or scarce made any attempts.

But it were highly to be wished that these games might be renewed,

to the honor of Prometheus, or human nature, and that they might

excite contest, emulation, and laudable endeavors, and the design meet

with such success as not to hang tottering, tremulous, and hazarded,

upon the torch of any single person. Mankind, therefore, should be

admonished to rouse themselves, and try and exert their own strength

and chance, and not place all their dependence upon a few men, whose

abilities and capacities, perhaps, are not greater than their own.

These are the particulars which appear to us shadowed out by this trite

and vulgar fable, though without denying that there may be contained

in it several intimations that have a surprising correspondence with

the Christian mysteries. In particular, the voyage of Hercules, made

in a pitcher, to release Prometheus, bears an allusion to the word of

God, coming in the frail vessel of the flesh to redeem mankind. But we

indulge ourselves no such liberties as these, for fear of using strange

fire at the altar of the Lord.

XXVII.—ICARUS AND SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS, OR THE MIDDLE WAY.

EXPLAINED OF MEDIOCRITY IN NATURAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY.

Mediocrity, or the holding a middle course, has been highly extolled in

morality, but little in matters of science, though no less useful and

proper here; whilst in politics it is held suspected, and ought to be

employed with judgment. The ancients described mediocrity in manners by

the course prescribed to Icarus; and in matters of the understanding

by the steering betwixt Scylla and Charybdis, on account of the great

difficulty and danger in passing those straits.

Icarus, being to fly across the sea, was ordered by his father neither

to soar too high nor fly too low, for, as his wings were fastened

together with wax, there was danger of its melting by the sun’s heat in

too high a flight, and of its becoming less tenacious by the moisture

if he kept too near the vapor of the sea. But he, with a juvenile

confidence, soared aloft, and fell down headlong.

EXPLANATION.—The fable is vulgar, and easily interpreted; for the path

of virtue lies straight between excess on the one side, and defect on

the other. And no wonder that excess should prove the bane of Icarus,

exulting in juvenile strength and vigor; for excess is the natural vice

of youth, as defect is that of old age; and if a man must perish by

either, Icarus chose the better of the two; for all defects are justly

esteemed more depraved than excesses. There is some magnanimity in

excess, that, like a bird, claims kindred with the heavens; but defect

is a reptile, that basely crawls upon the earth. It was excellently

said by Heraclitus: “A dry light makes the best soul;” for if the soul

contracts moisture from the earth, it perfectly degenerates and sinks.

On the other hand, moderation must be observed, to prevent this fine

light from burning, by its too great subtility and dryness. But these

observations are common.

In matters of the understanding, it requires great skill and a

particular felicity to steer clear of Scylla and Charybdis. If the ship

strikes upon Scylla, it is dashed in pieces against the rocks; if upon

Charybdis, it is swallowed outright. This allegory is pregnant with

matter; but we shall only observe the force of it lies here, that a

mean be observed in every doctrine and science, and in the rules and

axioms thereof, between the rocks of distinctions and the whirlpools

of universalities: for these two are the bane and shipwreck of fine

geniuses and arts.

XXVIII.—SPHINX, OR SCIENCE.

EXPLAINED OF THE SCIENCES.

They relate that Sphinx was a monster, variously formed, having the

face and voice of a virgin, the wings of a bird, and the talons of a

griffin. She resided on the top of a mountain, near the city Thebes,

and also beset the highways. Her manner was to lie in ambush and seize

the travellers, and having them in her power, to propose to them

certain dark and perplexed riddles, which it was thought she received

from the Muses, and if her wretched captives could not solve and

interpret these riddles, she, with great cruelty, fell upon them, in

their hesitation and confusion, and tore them to pieces. This plague

having reigned a long time, the Thebans at length offered their kingdom

to the man who could interpret her riddles, there being no other way

to subdue her. Œdipus, a penetrating and prudent man, though lame

in his feet, excited by so great a reward, accepted the condition, and

with a good assurance of mind, cheerfully presented himself before the

monster, who directly asked him: “What creature that was, which, being

born four-footed, afterwards became two-footed, then three-footed, and

lastly four-footed again?” Œdipus, with presence of mind, replied it

was man, who, upon his first birth and infant state, crawled upon all

fours in endeavoring to walk; but not long after went upright upon his

two natural feet; again, in old age walked three-footed, with a stick;

and at last, growing decrepit, lay four-footed confined to his bed;

and having by this exact solution obtained the victory, he slew the

monster, and, laying the carcass upon an ass, led her away in triumph;

and upon this he was, according to the agreement, made king of Thebes.

EXPLANATION.—This is an elegant, instructive fable, and seems invented

to represent science, especially as joined with practice. For science

may, without absurdity, be called a monster, being strangely gazed

at and admired by the ignorant and unskilful. Her figure and form

is various, by reason of the vast variety of subjects that science

considers; her voice and countenance are represented female, by

reason of her gay appearance and volubility of speech; wings are

added, because the sciences and their inventions run and fly about

in a moment, for knowledge like light communicated from one torch

to another, is presently caught and copiously diffused; sharp and

hooked talons are elegantly attributed to her, because the axioms and

arguments of science enter the mind, lay hold of it, fix it down, and

keep it from moving or slipping away. This the sacred philosopher

observed, when he said: “The words of the wise are like goads or nails

driven far in.”[645] Again, all science seems placed on high, as it

were on the tops of mountains that are hard to climb; for science is

justly imagined a sublime and lofty thing, looking down upon ignorance

from an eminence, and at the same time taking an extensive view on all

sides, as is usual on the tops of mountains. Science is said to beset

the highways, because through all the journey and peregrination of

human life there is matter and occasion offered of contemplation.

Sphinx is said to propose various difficult questions and riddles to

men, which she received from the Muses; and these questions, so long

as they remain with the Muses, may very well be unaccompanied with

severity, for while there is no other end of contemplation and inquiry

but that of knowledge alone, the understanding is not oppressed, or

driven to straits and difficulties, but expatiates and ranges at large,

and even receives a degree of pleasure from doubt and variety; but

after the Muses have given over their riddles to Sphinx, that is, to

practice, which urges and impels to action, choice, and determination,

then it is that they become torturing, severe, and trying, and, unless

solved and interpreted, strangely perplex and harass the human mind,

rend it every way, and perfectly tear it to pieces. All the riddles of

Sphinx, therefore, have two conditions annexed, viz: dilaceration to

those who do not solve them, and empire to those that do. For he who

understands the thing proposed, obtains his end, and every artificer

rules over his work.[646]

Sphinx has no more than two kinds of riddles, one relating to the

nature of things, the other to the nature of man; and correspondent to

these, the prizes of the solution are two kinds of empire,—the empire

over nature, and the empire over man. For the true and ultimate end of

natural philosophy is dominion over natural things, natural bodies,

remedies, machines, and numberless other particulars, though the

schools, contented with what spontaneously offers, and swollen with

their own discourses, neglect, and in a manner despise, both things and

works.

But the riddle proposed to Œdipus, the solution whereof acquired

him the Theban kingdom, regarded the nature of man; for he who has

thoroughly looked into and examined human nature, may in a manner

command his own fortune, and seems born to acquire dominion and rule.

Accordingly, Virgil properly makes the arts of government to be the

arts of the Romans.[647] It was, therefore, extremely apposite in

Augustus Cæsar to use the image of Sphinx in his signet, whether this

happened by accident or by design; for he of all men was deeply versed

in politics, and through the course of his life very happily solved

abundance of new riddles with regard to the nature of man; and unless

he had done this with great dexterity and ready address, he would

frequently have been involved in imminent danger, if not destruction.

It is with the utmost elegance added in the fable, that when Sphinx was

conquered, her carcass was laid upon an ass; for there is nothing so

subtile and abstruse, but after being once made plain, intelligible,

and common, it may be received by the slowest capacity.

We must not omit that Sphinx was conquered by a lame man, and impotent

in his feet; for men usually make too much haste to the solution of

Sphinx’s riddles; whence it happens, that she prevailing, their minds

are rather racked and torn by disputes, than invested with command by

works and effects.

XXIX.—PROSERPINE, OR SPIRIT.

EXPLAINED OF THE SPIRIT INCLUDED IN NATURAL BODIES.

They tell us, Pluto having, upon that memorable division of empire

among the gods, received the infernal regions for his share, despaired

of winning any one of the goddesses in marriage by an obsequious

courtship, and therefore through necessity resolved upon a rape.

Having watched his opportunity, he suddenly seized upon Proserpine,

a most beautiful virgin, the daughter of Ceres, as she was gathering

narcissus flowers in the meads of Sicily, and hurrying her to his

chariot, carried her with him to the subterraneal regions, where she

was treated with the highest reverence, and styled the Lady of Dis.

But Ceres, missing her only daughter, whom she extremely loved, grew

pensive and anxious beyond measure, and taking a lighted torch in her

hand, wandered the world over in quest of her daughter,—but all to no

purpose, till, suspecting she might be carried to the infernal regions,

she, with great lamentation and abundance of tears, importuned Jupiter

to restore her; and with much ado prevailed so far as to recover and

bring her away, if she had tasted nothing there. This proved a hard

condition upon the mother, for Proserpine was found to have eaten three

kernels of a pomegranate. Ceres, however, desisted not, but fell to

her entreaties and lamentations afresh, insomuch that at last it was

indulged her that Proserpine should divide the year betwixt her husband

and her mother, and live six months with the one and as many with the

other. After this, Theseus and Perithous, with uncommon audacity,

attempted to force Proserpine away from Pluto’s bed, but happening

to grow tired in their journey, and resting themselves upon a stone

in the realms below, they could never rise from it again, but remain

sitting there forever. Proserpine, therefore, still continued queen of

the lower regions, in honor of whom there was also added this grand

privilege, that though it had never been permitted any one to return

after having once descended thither, a particular exception was made,

that he who brought a golden bough as a present to Proserpine, might

on that condition descend and return. This was an only bough that

grew in a large dark grove, not from a tree of its own, but like the

mistletoe from another, and when plucked away a fresh one always shot

out in its stead.

EXPLANATION.—This fable seems to regard natural philosophy, and

searches deep into that rich and fruitful virtue and supply in

subterraneous bodies, from whence all the things upon the earth’s

surface spring, and into which they again relapse and return. By

Proserpine, the ancients denoted that ethereal spirit shut up and

detained within the earth, here represented by Pluto,—the spirit being

separated from the superior globe, according to the expression of

the poet.[648] This spirit is conceived as ravished, or snatched up

by the earth, because it can in no way be detained, when it has time

and opportunity to fly off, but is only wrought together and fixed

by sudden intermixture and comminution, in the same manner as if one

should endeavor to mix air with water, which cannot otherwise be done

than by a quick and rapid agitation, that joins them together in froth

whilst the air is thus caught up by the water. And it is elegantly

added, that Proserpine was ravished whilst she gathered narcissus

flowers, which have their name from numbedness or stupefaction; for the

spirit we speak of is in the fittest disposition to be embraced by

terrestrial matter when it begins to coagulate, or grow torpid as it

were.

It is an honor justly attributed to Proserpine, and not to any other

wife of the gods, that of being the lady or mistress of her husband,

because this spirit performs all its operations in the subterraneal

regions, whilst Pluto, or the earth, remains stupid, or as it were

ignorant of them.

The ether, or the efficacy of the heavenly bodies, denoted by Ceres,

endeavors with infinite diligence to force out this spirit, and restore

it to its pristine state. And by the torch in the hand of Ceres, or

the ether, is doubtless meant the sun, which disperses light over

the whole globe of the earth, and if the thing were possible, must

have the greatest share in recovering Proserpine, or reinstating

the subterraneal spirit. Yet Proserpine still continues and dwells

below, after the manner excellently described in the condition betwixt

Jupiter and Ceres. For first, it is certain that there are two ways

of detaining the spirit, in solid and terrestrial matter,—the one by

condensation or obstruction, which is mere violence and imprisonment;

the other by administering a proper aliment, which is spontaneous

and free. For after the included spirit begins to feed and nourish

itself, it is not in a hurry to fly off, but remains as it were fixed

in its own earth. And this is the moral of Proserpine’s tasting the

pomegranate; and were it not for this, she must long ago have been

carried up by Ceres, who with her torch wandered the world over, and

so the earth have been left without its spirit. For though the spirit

in metals and minerals may perhaps be, after a particular manner,

wrought in by the solidity of the mass, yet the spirit of vegetables

and animals has open passages to escape at, unless it be willingly

detained, in the way of sipping and tasting them.

The second article of agreement, that of Proserpine’s remaining

six months with her mother and six with her husband, is an elegant

description of the division of the year; for the spirit diffused

through the earth lives above-ground in the vegetable world during the

summer months, but in the winter returns under ground again.

The attempt of Theseus and Perithous to bring Proserpine away, denotes

that the more subtile spirits, which descend in many bodies to the

earth, may frequently be unable to drink in, unite with themselves, and

carry off the subterraneous spirit, but on the contrary be coagulated

by it, and rise no more, so as to increase the inhabitants and add to

the dominion of Proserpine.[649]

The alchemists will be apt to fall in with our interpretation of the

golden bough, whether we will or no, because they promise golden

mountains, and the restoration of natural bodies from their stone,

as from the gates of Pluto; but we are well assured that their theory

had no just foundation, and suspect they have no very encouraging or

practical proofs of its soundness. Leaving, therefore, their conceits

to themselves, we shall freely declare our own sentiments upon this

last part of the fable. We are certain, from numerous figures and

expressions of the ancients, that they judged the conservation, and

in some degree the renovation, of natural bodies to be no desperate

or impossible thing, but rather abstruse and out of the common road

than wholly impracticable. And this seems to be their opinion in the

present case, as they have placed this bough among an infinite number

of shrubs, in a spacious and thick wood. They supposed it of gold,

because gold is the emblem of duration. They feigned it adventitious,

not native, because such an effect is to be expected from art, and not

from any medicine or any simple or mere natural way of working.

XXX.—METIS, OR COUNSEL.

EXPLAINED OF PRINCES AND THEIR COUNCIL.

The ancient poets relate that Jupiter took Metis to wife, whose name

plainly denotes counsel, and that he, perceiving she was pregnant by

him, would by no means wait the time of her delivery, but directly

devoured her; whence himself also became pregnant, and was delivered in

a wonderful manner; for he from his head or brain brought forth Pallas

armed.

EXPLANATION.—This fable, which in its literal sense appears monstrously

absurd, seems to contain a state secret, and shows with what art kings

usually carry themselves towards their council, in order to preserve

their own authority and majesty not only inviolate, but so as to have

it magnified and heightened among the people. For kings commonly

link themselves, as it were, in a nuptial bond to their council, and

deliberate and communicate with them after a prudent and laudable

custom upon matters of the greatest importance, at the same time justly

conceiving this no diminution of their majesty; but when the matter

once ripens to a decree or order, which is a kind of birth, the king

then suffers the council to go on no further, lest the act should seem

to depend upon their pleasure. Now, therefore, the king usually assumes

to himself whatever was wrought, elaborated, or formed, as it were, in

the womb of the council (unless it be a matter of an invidious nature,

which he is sure to put from him), so that the decree and the execution

shall seem to flow from himself.[650] And as this decree or execution

proceeds with prudence and power, so as to imply necessity, it is

elegantly wrapped up under the figure of Pallas armed.

Nor are kings content to have this seem the effect of their own

authority, free will, and uncontrollable choice, unless they also take

the whole honor to themselves, and make the people imagine that all

good and wholesome decrees proceed entirely from their own head, that

is, their own sole prudence and judgment.

XXXI.—THE SIRENS, OR PLEASURES.

EXPLAINED OF MEN’S PASSION FOR PLEASURES.

INTRODUCTION.—The fable of the Sirens is, in a vulgar sense, justly

enough explained of the pernicious incentives to pleasure; but the

ancient mythology seems to us like a vintage ill-pressed and trod; for

though something has been drawn from it, yet all the more excellent

parts remain behind in the grapes that are untouched.

FABLE.—The Sirens are said to be the daughters of Achelous and

Terpsichore, one of the Muses. In their early days they had wings,

but lost them upon being conquered by the Muses, with whom they

rashly contended; and with the feathers of these wings the Muses made

themselves crowns, so that from this time the Muses wore wings on their

heads, except only the mother to the Sirens.

These Sirens resided in certain pleasant islands, and when, from their

watch-tower, they saw any ship approaching, they first detained the

sailors by their music, then, enticing them to shore, destroyed them.

Their singing was not of one and the same kind, but they adapted their

tunes exactly to the nature of each person, in order to captivate and

secure him. And so destructive had they been, that these islands of

the Sirens appeared, to a very great distance, white with the bones of

their unburied captives.

Two different remedies were invented to protect persons against them,

the one by Ulysses, the other by Orpheus. Ulysses commanded his

associates to stop their ears close with wax; and he, determining to

make the trial, and yet avoid the danger, ordered himself to be tied

fast to a mast of the ship, giving strict charge not to be unbound,

even though himself should entreat it; but Orpheus, without any binding

at all, escaped the danger, by loudly chanting to his harp the praises

of the gods, whereby he drowned the voices of the Sirens.

EXPLANATION.—This fable is of the moral kind, and appears no less

elegant than easy to interpret. For pleasures proceed from plenty and

affluence, attended with activity or exultation of the mind.[651]

Anciently their first incentives were quick, and seized upon men

as if they had been winged, but learning and philosophy afterwards

prevailing, had at least the power to lay the mind under some

restraint, and make it consider the issue of things, and thus deprived

pleasures of their wings.

This conquest redounded greatly to the honor and ornament of the

Muses; for after it appeared, by the example of a few, that philosophy

could introduce a contempt of pleasures, it immediately seemed to be a

sublime thing that could raise and elevate the soul, fixed in a manner

down to the earth, and thus render men’s thoughts, which reside in the

head, winged as it were, or sublime.

Only the mother of the Sirens was not thus plumed on the head, which

doubtless denotes superficial learning, invented and used for delight

and levity; an eminent example whereof we have in Petronius, who,

after receiving sentence of death, still continued his gay frothy

humor, and as Tacitus observes, used his learning to solace or divert

himself, and instead of such discourses as give firmness and constancy

of mind, read nothing but loose poems and verses.[652] Such learning as

this seems to pluck the crowns again from the Muses’ heads, and restore

them to the Sirens.

The Sirens are said to inhabit certain islands, because pleasures

generally seek retirement, and often shun society. And for their songs,

with the manifold artifice and destructiveness thereof, this is too

obvious and common to need explanation. But that particular of the

bones stretching like white cliffs along the shores, and appearing afar

off, contains a more subtile allegory, and denotes that the examples of

others’ calamity and misfortunes, though ever so manifest and apparent,

have yet but little force to deter the corrupt nature of man from

pleasures.

The allegory of the remedies against the Sirens is not difficult, but

very wise and noble; it proposes, in effect, three remedies, as well

against subtile as violent mischiefs, two drawn from philosophy and one

from religion.

The first means of escaping is to resist the earliest temptation in

the beginning, and diligently avoid and cut off all occasions that may

solicit or sway the mind; and this is well represented by shutting up

the ears, a kind of remedy to be necessarily used with mean and vulgar

minds, such as the retinue of Ulysses.

But nobler spirits may converse, even in the midst of pleasures, if

the mind be well guarded with constancy and resolution. And thus some

delight to make a severe trial of their own virtue, and thoroughly

acquaint themselves with the folly and madness of pleasures, without

complying or being wholly given up to them; which is what Solomon

professes of himself when he closes the account of all the numerous

pleasures he gave a loose to, with this expression: “But wisdom still

continued with me.” Such heroes in virtue may, therefore, remain

unmoved by the greatest incentives to pleasure, and stop themselves on

the very precipice of danger; if, according to the example of Ulysses,

they turn a deaf ear to pernicious counsel, and the flatteries of their

friends and companions, which have the greatest power to shake and

unsettle the mind.

But the most excellent remedy, in every temptation, is that of Orpheus,

who, by loudly chanting and resounding the praises of the gods,

confounded the voices, and kept himself from hearing the music of the

Sirens; for divine contemplations exceed the pleasures of sense, not

only in power but also in sweetness.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] By B. Montagu. Appendix, note 3, 1.

[2] Baconiana, 201.

[3] Bacon’s Apophthegms.

[4] It is not surprising that ladies then received an education rare

in our own times. It should be remembered that in the sixteenth

century Latin was the language of courts and schools, of diplomacy,

politics, and theology; it was the universal language, and there was

then no literature in the modern tongues, except the Italian; indeed

all knowledge, ancient and modern, was conveyed to the world in the

language of the ancients. The great productions of Athens and Rome

were the intellectual all of our ancestors down to the middle of the

sixteenth century.

[5] _Prospetto delle Memorie aneddote dei Lincei da_ F. Cancellieri.

Roma, 1823. This fact is quoted by Monsieur Cousin, in a note to his

_Fragments de Philosophie Cartésienne_.

[6] Sir Robert Cecil.

[7] Gray’s Inn is one of the four Inns or companies for the study of

law.

[8] King’s or Queen’s Counsel are barristers that plead for the

government; they receive fees but no salary; the first were appointed

in the reign of Charles II. Queen’s Counsel extraordinary was a title

peculiar to Bacon, granted, as the patent specially states, _honoris

causa_.

[9] Letter to Lord Burleigh.

[10] The Solicitor-General is a law-officer inferior in rank to the

Attorney-General, with whom he is associated in the management of the

law business of the crown. He pleads also for private individuals, but

not against government. He has a small salary, but very considerable

fees. The salary in Bacon’s time was but seventy pounds.

[11] Bacon was, like other courtiers, in the habit of presenting the

Queen with a New Year’s gift. On one occasion, it was a white satin

petticoat embroidered with snakes and fruitage, as emblems of wisdom

and beauty. The donors varied in rank from the Lord Keeper down to the

dust-man.

[12] Essays.

[13] The Attorney-General is the public prosecutor on behalf of the

Crown, where the state is actually and not nominally the prosecutor.

He pleads also as a barrister in private causes, provided they are not

against the government. As he receives a fee for every case in which

the government is concerned, his emoluments are considerable; but he

has no salary. His official position secures to him the best practice

at the bar. The salary was, in Bacon’s time, but 81_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ per

annum; but the situation yielded him six thousand pounds yearly.

[14] Preliminary Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy.

[15] Essay xvi.

[16] Decisions being given against the parties is no proof of

uncorruptness; it is always the party who loses his suit that

complains; the gainer receives the price of his bribe, and is silent.

[17] The exactions of his servants appear to have been very great;

their indulgence in every kind of extravagance, and the lavish

profuseness of his own expenses, were the principal causes of his ruin.

Mallet relates that one day, during the investigation into his conduct,

the Chancellor passed through a room where several of his servants were

sitting; as they arose from their seats to greet him, “Sit down, my

masters,” exclaimed he, “your rise hath been my fall.”

[18] Essay xi.

[19] Macaulay’s Essays.

[20] He was not, as has been erroneously supposed, stripped of his

titles of nobility; this was proposed; but it was negatived by the

majority formed by means of the bishops.

[21] The Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles the First, was before he

ascended the throne the patron of Bacon, who said of him in his will,

“my most gracious sovereign, who _ever when he was prince_ was my

patron.”

[22] The Seasons.

[23] Lives of the Lord Chancellors and Keepers of the Great Seal of

England.

[24] Bracton is one of the earliest writers of English law. He

flourished in the thirteenth century. The title of his work is _De

Legibus et Consuetudinibus Angliæ_, first printed in 1569.

[25] The woods on his estate of Gorhambury.

[26] Of the Interpretation of Nature.

[27] Ibid.

[28] New Atlantis.

[29] Advancement of Learning.

[30] Edinburgh Review.

[31] Essays.

[32] Advancement of Learning.

[33] Preliminary Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy.

[34] Tattler, No. 267.

[35] Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the fifteenth,

sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries.

[36] Montaigne says, in his author’s address to the reader:—

“_Ie veulx qu’on m’y veoye en ma façon simple, naturelle et ordinaire,

sans estude et artifice; car c’est moi que je peinds._” He says again

elsewhere: “_Ie n’ay pas plus faict mon livre, que mon livre m’a faict;

livre consubstantiel à son aucteur, d’une occupation propre, membre de

ma vie, non d’une occupation et fin tierce et estrangiere, comme touts

aultres livres_.” (Livre ii. ch. xviii.)

[37] Introduction to the Encyclopædia.

[38] Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the fifteenth,

sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries.

[39] Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the 15th, 16th, and

17th centuries.

[40] No. 267.

[41] Essays.

[42] He refers to the following passage in the Gospel of St. John,

xviii. 38: “Pilate saith unto him, What is truth? And when he had said

this, he went out again unto the Jews, and saith unto them, I find in

him no fault at all.”

[43] He probably refers to the “New Academy,” a sect of Greek

philosophers, one of whose moot questions was, “What is truth?” Upon

which they came to the unsatisfactory conclusion, that mankind has no

criterion by which to form a judgment.

[44] Perhaps he was thinking of St. Augustine.—See _Aug. Confess._ i.

25, 26.

[45] “The wine of evil spirits.”

[46] Genesis i. 3: “And God said, Let there be light, and there was

light.”

[47] At the moment when “The Lord God formed man out of the dust of

the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man

became a living soul.”—_Genesis_ ii. 7.

[48] Lucretius, the Roman poet and Epicurean philosopher, is alluded

to.—_Lucret._ ii. _init._ Comp. _Adv. of Learning_, i. 8, 5.

[49] He refers to the sect which followed the doctrines of Epicurus.

The life of Epicurus himself was pure and abstemious in the extreme.

One of his leading tenets was, that the aim of all speculation should

be to enable men to judge with certainty what course is to be chosen,

in order to secure health of body and tranquillity of mind. The

adoption, however, of the term “pleasure,” as denoting this object,

has at all periods subjected the Epicurean system to great reproach;

which, in fact, is due rather to the conduct of many who, for their own

purposes, have taken shelter under the system in name only, than to

the tenets themselves, which did not inculcate libertinism. Epicurus

admitted the existence of the Gods, but he deprived them of the

characteristics of Divinity, either as creators or preservers of the

world.

[50] Lord Bacon has either translated this passage of Lucretius from

memory or has purposely paraphrased it. The following is the literal

translation of the original: “’Tis a pleasant thing, from the shore,

to behold the dangers of another upon the mighty ocean, when the

winds are lashing the main; not because it is a grateful pleasure

for any one to be in misery, but because it is a pleasant thing to

see those misfortunes from which you yourself are free: ’tis also

a pleasant thing to behold the mighty contests of warfare, arrayed

upon the plains, without a share in the danger; but nothing is there

more delightful than to occupy the elevated temples of the wise, well

fortified by tranquil learning, whence you may be able to look down

upon others, and see them straying in every direction, and wandering in

search of the path of life.”

[51] Michael de Montaigne, the celebrated French Essayist. His _Essays_

embrace a variety of topics, which are treated in a sprightly and

entertaining manner, and are replete with remarks indicative of strong

native good sense. He died in 1592. The following quotation is from

the second book of the _Essays_, c. 18: “Lying is a disgraceful vice,

and one that Plutarch, an ancient writer, paints in most disgraceful

colors, when he says that it is ‘affording testimony that one _first_

despises God, and then fears men;’ it is not possible more happily to

describe its horrible, disgusting, and abandoned nature; for, can we

imagine anything more vile than to be cowards with regard to men, and

brave with regard to God?”

[52] St. Luke xviii. 8: “Nevertheless, when the Son of man cometh,

shall he find faith upon the earth?”

[53] A portion of this _Essay_ is borrowed from the writings of Seneca.

See his _Letters to Lucilius_, B. iv. Ep. 24 and 82.

[54] “The array of the death-bed has more terrors than death itself.”

This quotation is from Seneca.

[55] He probably alludes to the custom of hanging the room in black

where the body of the deceased lay, a practice much more usual in

Bacon’s time than at the present day.

[56] Tacit. Hist. ii. 49.

[57] Ad Lucil. 77.

[58] “Reflect how often you do the same things; a man may wish to die,

not only because either he is brave or wretched, but even because he is

surfeited with life.”

[59] “Livia, mindful of our union, live on, and fare thee well.”—_Suet.

Aug. Vit._ c. 100.

[60] “His bodily strength and vitality were now forsaking Tiberius, but

not his duplicity.”—_Ann._ vi. 50.

[61] This was said as a reproof to his flatterers, and in spirit is not

unlike the rebuke administered by Canute to his retinue.—_Suet. Vespas.

Vit._ c. 23.

[62] “I am become a Divinity, I suppose.”

[63] “If it be for the advantage of the Roman people, strike.”—_Tac.

Hist._ i. 41.

[64] “If aught remains to be done by me, dispatch.”—_Dio Cass._ 76, _ad

fin._

[65] These were the followers of Zeno, a philosopher of Citium, in

Cyprus, who founded the Stoic school, or “School of the Portico,” at

Athens. The basis of his doctrines was the duty of making virtue the

object of all our researches. According to him, the pleasures of the

mind were preferable to those of the body, and his disciples were

taught to view with indifference health or sickness, riches or poverty,

pain or pleasure.

[66] “Who reckons the close of his life among the boons of nature.”

Lord Bacon here quotes from memory; the passage is in the tenth Satire

of Juvenal, and runs thus:—

“Fortem posce animum, mortis terrore carentem,

Qui spatium vitæ extremum inter munera ponat

Naturæ”—

“Pray for strong resolve, void of the fear of death, that reckons the

closing period of life among the boons of nature.”

[67] He alludes to the song of Simeon, to whom the Holy Ghost had

revealed, “that he should not see death before he had seen the Lord’s

Christ.” When he beheld the infant Jesus in the temple, he took

the child in his arms and burst forth into a song of thanksgiving,

commencing, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,

according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”—_St.

Luke_ ii. 29.

[68] “When dead, the same person shall be beloved.”—_Hor. Ep._ ii. 1,

14.

[69] “Behold, he is in the desert.”—_St. Matthew_ xxiv. 26.

[70] “Behold, he is in the secret chambers.”—_Ib._

[71] He alludes to 1 Corinthians xiv. 23: “If, therefore, the whole

church be come together into one place, and all speak with tongues, and

there come in those that are unlearned, or unbelievers, will they not

say that ye are mad?”

[72] Psalm i. 1: “Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel

of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the

seat of the scornful.”

[73] This dance, which was originally called the Morisco dance is

supposed to have been derived from the Moors of Spain; the dancers in

earlier times blackening their faces to resemble Moors. It was probably

a corruption of the ancient Pyrrhic dance, which was performed by

men in armor, and which is mentioned as still existing in Greece, in

Byron’s “Song of the Greek Captive:”—

“You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet.”

Attitude and gesture formed one of the characteristics of the dance. It

is still practised in some parts of England.—_Rabelais, Pantag._ ii. 7.

[74] 2 Kings ix. 18.

[75] He alludes to the words in Revelation, c. iii. v. 14, 15, 16: “And

unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans write; These things

saith the Amen, the faithful and true Witness, the beginning of the

creation of God; I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor

hot.—I will spue thee out of my mouth.” Laodicea was a city of Asia

Minor. St. Paul established the church there which is here referred to.

[76] St. Matthew xii. 30.

[77] “In the garment there may be many colors, but let there be no

rending of it.”

[78] “Avoid profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of science,

falsely so called.”—1 _Tim._ vi. 20.

[79] He alludes to the dream of Nebuchadnezzar, significant of the

limited duration of his kingdom.—See _Daniel_ ii. 33, 41.

[80] Mahomet proselytized by giving to the nations which he conquered,

the option of the Koran or the sword.

[81] “To deeds so dreadful could religion prompt.” The poet refers

to the sacrifice by Agamemnon, the Grecian leader, of his daughter

Iphigenia, with the view of appeasing the wrath of Diana.—_Lucret._ i.

95.

[82] He alludes to the massacre of the Huguenots, or Protestants, in

France, which took place on St. Bartholomew’s day, August 24, 1572,

by the order of Charles IX. and his mother, Catherine de Medici. On

this occasion about 60,000 persons perished, including the Admiral De

Coligny, one of the most virtuous men that France possessed, and the

main stay of the Protestant cause.

[83] More generally known as “The Gunpowder Plot.”

[84] Isa. xiv. 14.

[85] Allusion is made to the “caduceus,” with which Mercury, the

messenger of the Gods, summoned the souls of the departed to the

infernal regions.

[86] “The wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.”—_James_

i. 20.

[87] He alludes to Cosmo de Medici, or Cosmo I., chief of the Republic

of Florence, the encourager of literature and the fine arts.

[88] Job ii. 10.—“Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall

we not receive evil?”

[89] By “public revenges,” he means punishment awarded by the state

with the sanction of the laws.

[90] He alludes to the retribution dealt by Augustus and Anthony to the

murderers of Julius Cæsar. It is related by ancient historians, as a

singular fact, that not one of them died a natural death.

[91] Henry III. of France was assassinated in 1599, by Jacques Clement,

a Jacobin monk, in the frenzy of fanaticism. Although Clement justly

suffered punishment, the end of this bloodthirsty and bigoted tyrant

may be justly deemed a retribution dealt by the hand of an offended

Providence; so truly does the Poet say:—

“neque enim lex æquior ulla

Quam necis artifices arte perire suâ.”

[92] Sen. Ad Lucil. 66.

[93] Ibid. 53.

[94] Stesichorus, Apollodorus, and others. Lord Bacon makes a similar

reference to this myth in his treatise “On the Wisdom of the Ancients.”

“It is added with great elegance, to console and strengthen the minds

of men, that this mighty hero (Hercules) sailed in a cup or ‘urceus,’

in order that they may not too much fear and allege the narrowness

of their nature and its frailty; as if it were not capable of such

fortitude and constancy; of which very thing Seneca argued well, when

he said, ‘It is a great thing to have at the same time the frailty of a

man, and the security of a God.’”

[95] Funereal airs. It must be remembered that many of the Psalms of

David were written by him when persecuted by Saul, as also in the

tribulation caused by the wicked conduct of his son Absalom. Some of

them, too, though called “The Psalms of David,” were really composed

by the Jews in their captivity at Babylon; as, for instance, the 137th

Psalm, which so beautifully commences, “By the waters of Babylon there

we sat down.” One of them is supposed to be the composition of Moses.

[96] This fine passage, beginning at “Prosperity is the blessing,”

which was not published till 1625, twenty-eight years after the first

Essays, has been quoted by Macaulay, with considerable justice, as a

proof that the writer’s fancy did not decay with the advance of old

age, and that his style in his later years became richer and softer.

The learned critic contrasts this passage with the terse style of the

Essay of Studies (Essay 50), which was published in 1597.

[97] Tac. Ann. v. 1.

[98] Tac. Hist. ii. 76.

[99] A word now unused, signifying the “traits,” or “features.”

[100] A truth.—_A. L._ II. xxiii. 14.

[101] Proverbs x. 1: “A wise son maketh a glad father, but a foolish

son is the heaviness of his mother.”

[102] Petted—spoiled.

[103] This word seems here to mean “a plan,” or “method,” as proved by

its results.

[104] Ends in.

[105] There is considerable justice in this remark. Children should be

taught to do what is right for its own sake, and because it is their

duty to do so, and not that they may have the selfish gratification of

obtaining the reward which their companions have failed to secure, and

of being led to think themselves superior to their companions. When

launched upon the world, emulation will be quite sufficiently forced

upon them by stern necessity.

[106] “Select _that course of life_ which is the most advantageous;

habit will soon render it pleasant and easily endured.”

[107] His meaning is, that if clergymen have the expenses of a family

to support, they will hardly find means for the exercise of benevolence

toward their parishioners.

[108] “He preferred his aged wife Penelope to immortality.” This

was when Ulysses was entreated by the goddess Calypso to give up

all thoughts of returning to Ithaca, and to remain with her in the

enjoyment of immortality.—_Plut. Gryll._ 1.

[109] “May have a pretext,” or “excuse.”

[110] Thales, _Vide_ Diog. Laert. i. 26.

[111] So prevalent in ancient times was the notion of the injurious

effects of the eye of envy, that, in common parlance, the Romans

generally used the word “_præfiscini_,”—“without risk of enchantment,”

or “fascination,” when they spoke in high terms of themselves. They

supposed that they thereby averted the effects of enchantment produced

by the evil eye of any envious person who might at that moment possibly

be looking upon them. Lord Bacon probably here alludes to St. Mark vii.

21, 22: “Out of the heart of men proceedeth—deceit, lasciviousness, an

evil eye.” Solomon also speaks of the evil eye, Prov. xxiii. 6, and

xxviii. 22.

[112] To be even with him.

[113] “There is no person a busybody, but what he is ill-natured too.”

This passage is from the Stichus of Plautus.

[114] Narses superseded Belisarius in the command of the armies of

Italy, by the orders of the Emperor Justinian. He defeated Totila, the

king of the Goths (who had taken Rome), in a decisive engagement, in

which the latter was slain. He governed Italy with consummate ability

for thirteen years, when he was ungratefully recalled by Justin the

Second, the successor of Justinian.

[115] Tamerlane, or Timour, was a native of Samarcand, of which

territory he was elected emperor. He overran Persia, Georgia,

Hindostan, and captured Bajazet, the valiant Sultan of the Turks, at

the battle of Angora, 1402, whom he is said to have inclosed in a

cage of iron. His conquests extended from the Irtish and Volga to the

Persian Gulf, and from the Ganges to the Grecian Archipelago. While

preparing for the invasion of China, he died, in the 70th year of his

age, A. D. 1405. He was tall and corpulent in person, but was maimed in

one hand, and lame on the right side.

[116] Spartian Vit. Adrian, 15.

[117] Comes under the observation.

[118] “By a leap,” _i. e._ over the heads of others.

[119] “How vast _the evils_ we endure.”

[120] He probably alludes to the custom of the Athenians, who

frequently ostracized or banished by vote their public men, lest they

should become too powerful.

[121] From _in_ and _video_,—“to look upon;” with reference to the

so-called “evil eye” of the envious.

[122] “Envy keeps no holidays.”

[123] See St. Matthew xiii. 25.

[124] Beholden.

[125] He iniquitously attempted to obtain possession of the person of

Virginia, who was killed by her father Virginius, to prevent her from

falling a victim to his lust. This circumstance caused the fall of the

Decemviri at Rome, who had been employed in framing the code of laws

afterwards known as “The Laws of the Twelve Tables.” They narrowly

escaped being burned alive by the infuriated populace.

[126] “We are a sufficient theme for contemplation, the one for the

other.”—_Sen. Epist. Mor._ 1. 7. (A. L. l. iii. 6.) Pope seems,

notwithstanding this censure of Bacon, to have been of the same opinion

with Epicurus:—

“Know then thyself, presume not God to scan,

The proper study for mankind is man.”

_Essay on Man_, Ep. ii. 1. 2.

Indeed, Lord Bacon seems to have misunderstood the saying of Epicurus,

who did not mean to recommend man as the sole object of the bodily

vision, but as the proper theme for mental contemplation.

[127] Amare et sapere vix Deo conceditur.—_Pub. Syr. Sent._ 15. (A. L.

ii. proœ. 10.)

[128] He refers here to the judgment of Paris, mentioned by Ovid in his

Epistles, of the Heroines.

[129] Montaigne has treated this subject before Bacon, under the title

of _De l’incommodité de la Grandeur_. (B. iii. ch. vii.)

[130] “Since you are not what you were, there is no reason why you

should wish to live.”

[131] “Death presses heavily upon him, who, well known to all others,

dies unknown to himself.”—_Sen. Thyest._ ii. 401.

[132] “And God turned to behold the works which his hands had made, and

he saw that everything was very good.”—See _Gen._ i. 31.

[133] “As a matter of course.”

[134] Too great easiness of access.

[135] Predilections that are undeserved.

[136] Proverbs xxviii. 21. The whole passage stands thus in our

version: “He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent. To

have respect of persons is not good; for, for a piece of bread, that

man will transgress.”

[137] “By the consent of all he was fit to govern, if he had not

governed.”

[138] “Of the emperors, Vespasian alone changed for the better _after

his accession_.”—_Tac. Hist._ i. 49, 50 (A. L. ii. xxii. 5).

[139] Plut. vit. Demosth. 17, 18.

[140] It is not improbable that this passage suggested Pope’s beautiful

lines in the _Essay on Man_, Ep. i. 125-28.

“Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes,

Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell,

Aspiring to be angels, men rebel.”

[141] Auger Gislen Busbec, or Busbequius, a learned traveller, born at

Comines, in Flanders, in 1522. He was employed by the Emperor Ferdinand

as ambassador to the Sultan Solyman II. He was afterwards ambassador to

France, where he died, in 1592. His “Letters” relative to his travels

in the East, which are written in Latin, contain much interesting

information. They were the pocket companion of Gibbon, and are highly

praised by him.

[142] In this instance the stork or crane was probably protected, not

on the abstract grounds mentioned in the text, but for reasons of state

policy and gratitude combined. In Eastern climates the cranes and dogs

are far more efficacious than human agency in removing filth and offal,

and thereby diminishing the chances of pestilence. Superstition, also,

may have formed another motive, as we learn from a letter written from

Adrianople, by Lady Montagu, in 1718, that storks were “held there in

a sort of religious reverence, because they are supposed to make every

winter the pilgrimage to Mecca. To say truth, they are the happiest

subjects under the Turkish government, and are so sensible of their

privileges, that they walk the streets without fear, and generally

build their nests in the lower parts of the houses. Happy are those

whose houses are so distinguished, as the vulgar Turks are perfectly

persuaded that they will not be that year attacked either by fire or

pestilence.” Storks are still protected, by municipal law, in Holland,

and roam unmolested about the market-places.

[143] Nicolo Machiavelli, a Florentine statesman. He wrote “Discourses

on the first Decade of Livy,” which were conspicuous for their

liberality of sentiment, and just and profound reflections. This work

was succeeded by his famous treatise, “Il Principe,” “The Prince;”

his patron, Cæsar Borgia, being the model of the perfect prince there

described by him. The whole scope of this work is directed to one

object—the maintenance of power, however acquired. Though its precepts

are no doubt based upon the actual practice of the Italian politicians

of that day, it has been suggested by some writers that the work was

a covert exposure of the deformity of the shocking maxims that it

professes to inculcate. The question of his motives has been much

discussed, and is still considered open. The word “Machiavellism” has,

however, been adopted to denote all that is deformed, insincere, and

perfidious in politics. He died in great poverty, in the year 1527.

[144] _Vide_ Disc. Sop. Liv. ii. 2.

[145] St. Matthew v. 45. “For he maketh his sun rise on the evil and on

the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.”

[146] This is a portion of our Saviour’s reply to the rich man who

asked him what he should do to inherit eternal life: “Then Jesus

beholding him, loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest:

go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou

shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, take up the cross, and follow

me.”—_St. Mark_ x. 21.

[147] See St. Luke xvi. 21.

[148] Timon of Athens, as he is generally called (being so styled by

Shakspeare in the play which he has founded on his story), was surnamed

the “Misanthrope,” from the hatred which he bore to his fellow-men.

He was attached to Apemantus, another Athenian of similar character

to himself, and he professed to esteem Alcibiades, because he foresaw

that he would one day bring ruin on his country. Going to the public

assembly on one occasion, he mounted the rostrum, and stated that he

had a fig-tree, on which many worthy citizens had ended their days

by the halter; that he was going to cut it down for the purpose of

building on the spot, and therefore recommended all such as were

inclined, to avail themselves of it before it was too late.

[149] A piece of timber that has grown crooked, and has been so cut

that the trunk and branch form an angle.

[150] He probably here refers to the myrrh-tree. Incision is the method

usually adopted for extracting the resinous juices of trees; as in the

India-rubber and gutta-percha trees.

[151] “A votive,” and, in the present instance, a “vicarious offering.”

He alludes to the words of St. Paul in his Second Epistle to Timothy

ii. 10: “Therefore I endure all things for the elect’s sake, that they

may also obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal

glory.”

[152] Consideration of, or predilection for, particular persons.

[153] The Low Countries had then recently emancipated themselves from

the galling yoke of Spain. They were called the Seven United Provinces

of the Netherlands.

[154] This passage may at first sight appear somewhat contradictory;

but he means to say, that those who are first ennobled will commonly be

found more conspicuous for the prominence of their qualities, both good

and bad.

[155] Consistent with reason and justice.

[156] The periods of the Equinoxes.

[157] “He often warns, too, that secret revolt is impending, that

treachery and open warfare are ready to burst forth.”—_Virg. Georg._ i.

465.

[158] “Mother Earth, exasperated at the wrath of the Deities, produced

her, as they tell, a last birth, a sister to the giants Cœus, and

Enceladus.”—_Virg. Æn._ iv. 179.

[159] “Great public odium once excited, his deeds, whether good or

whether bad, cause his downfall.” Bacon has here quoted incorrectly,

probably from memory. The words of Tacitus are (_Hist._ B. i. C. 7):

“Inviso semel principe, seu bene, seu male, facta premunt,”—“The ruler

once detested, his actions, whether good or whether bad, cause his

downfall.”

[160] “They attended to their duties; but still, as preferring rather

to discuss the commands of their rulers, than to obey them.”—_Tac.

Hist._ ii. 39.

[161] He alludes to the bad policy of Henry the Third of France, who

espoused the part of “The League,” which was formed by the Duke of

Guise and other Catholics for the extirpation of the Protestant faith.

When too late he discovered his error, and finding his own authority

entirely superseded, he caused the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal De

Lorraine, his brother, to be assassinated.

[162] “The primary motive power.” He alludes to an imaginary centre of

gravitation, or central body, which was supposed to set all the other

heavenly bodies in motion.

[163] “Too freely to remember their own rulers.”

[164] “I will unloose the girdles of kings.” He probably alludes here

to the first verse of the 45th chapter of Isaiah: “Thus saith the Lord

to his anointed, to Cyrus, whose right hand I have holden, to subdue

nations before him; and I will loose the loins of kings, to open before

him the two-leaved gates.”

[165] “Hence devouring usury, and interest accumulating in lapse

of time; hence shaken credit, and warfare, profitable to the

many.”—_Lucan. Phars._ i. 181.

[166] “Warfare profitable to the many.”

[167] “To grief there is a limit, not so to fear.”

[168] “Check,” or “daunt.”

[169] This is similar to the proverb now in common use: “’Tis the last

feather that breaks the back of the camel.”

[170] The state.

[171] Though sumptuary laws are probably just in theory, they have been

found impracticable in any other than infant states. Their principle,

however, is certainly recognized in such countries as by statutory

enactment discountenance gaming. Those who are opposed to such laws

upon principle, would do well to look into Bernard Mandeville’s

“Fable of the Bees,” or “Private Vices Public Benefits.” The Romans

had numerous sumptuary laws, and in the Middle Ages there were many

enactments in this country against excess of expenditure upon wearing

apparel and the pleasures of the table.

[172] He means that they do not add to the capital of the country.

[173] At the expense of foreign countries.

[174] “The workmanship will surpass the material.”—_Ovid, Met._ B. ii.

l. 5.

[175] He alludes to the manufactures of the Low Countries.

[176] Like manure.

[177] Sometimes printed _engrossing, great pasturages_. By

_engrossing_, is meant the trade of _engrossers_—men who buy up all

that can be got of a particular commodity, then raise the price. By

_great pasturages_ is meant turning corn land into pasture. Of this

practice great complaints had been made for near a century before

Bacon’s time, and a law passed to prevent it.—See _Lord Herbert of

Cherbury’s History of Henry VIII._

[178] The myth of Pandora’s box, which is here referred to, is related

in the _Works and Days_ of Hesiod. Epimetheus was the personification

of “Afterthought,” while his brother Prometheus represented

“Forethought,” or prudence. It was not Epimetheus that opened the box,

but Pandora—“All-gift,” whom, contrary to the advice of his brother, he

had received at the hands of Mercury, and had made his wife. In their

house stood a closed jar, which they were forbidden to open. Till her

arrival, this had been kept untouched; but her curiosity prompting her

to open the lid, all the evils hitherto unknown to man flew out and

spread over the earth, and she only shut it down in time to prevent the

escape of Hope.

[179] “Sylla did not know his letters, _and so_ he could not dictate.”

This saying is attributed by Suetonius to Julius Cæsar. It is a play

on the Latin verb _dictare_, which means either “to dictate,” or “to

act the part of Dictator,” according to the context. As this saying was

presumed to be a reflection on Sylla’s ignorance, and to imply that by

reason thereof he was unable to maintain his power, it was concluded

by the Roman people that Cæsar, who was an elegant scholar, feeling

himself subject to no such inability, did not intend speedily to yield

the reins of power.—_Suet. Vit. C. Jul. Cæs._ 77, i. and _Cf._ _A. L._

i. vii. 12.

[180] “That soldiers were levied by him, not bought.”—_Tac. Hist._ i. 5.

[181] “If I live, there shall no longer be need of soldiers in the

Roman empire.”—_Flav. Vop. Vit. Prob._ 20.

[182] “And such was the state of feeling, that a few dared to

perpetrate the worst of crimes; more wished to do so; all submitted to

it.”—_Hist._ i. 28.

[183] He probably alludes to the legends or miraculous stories of the

saints; such as walking with their heads off, preaching to the fishes,

sailing over the sea on a cloak, &c. &c.

[184] This is a book that contains the Jewish traditions, and the

rabbinical explanations of the law. It is replete with wonderful

narratives.

[185] This passage not improbably contains the germ of Pope’s famous

lines:—

“A little learning is a dangerous thing;

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.”

[186] A philosopher of Abdera; the first who taught the system of

atoms, which was afterwards more fully developed by Democritus and

Epicurus.

[187] He was a disciple of the last-named philosopher, and held the

same principles; he also denied the existence of the soul after death.

He is considered to have been the parent of experimental philosophy,

and was the first to teach, what is now confirmed by science, that the

Milky Way is an accumulation of stars.

[188] Spirit.

[189] Psalm xiv. 1, and liii. 1.

[190] To whose (seeming) advantage it is; the wish being father to the

thought.

[191] “It is not profane to deny _the existence of_ the deities of the

vulgar; but, to apply to the divinities the received notions of the

vulgar, is profane.”—_Diog. Laert._ x. 123.

[192] He alludes to the native tribes of the continent of America and

the West Indies.

[193] He was an Athenian philosopher, who, from the greatest

superstition, became an avowed atheist. He was proscribed by the

Areiopagus for speaking against the gods with ridicule and contempt,

and is supposed to have died at Corinth.

[194] A Greek philosopher, a disciple of Theodorus the atheist, to

whose opinions he adhered. His life was said to have been profligate,

and his death superstitious.

[195] Lucian ridiculed the follies and pretensions of some of the

ancient philosophers; but though the freedom of his style was such as

to cause him to be censured for impiety, he hardly deserves the stigma

of atheism here cast upon him by the learned author.

[196] “It is not for us now to say, ‘Like priest like people,’ for

the people are not even so _bad_ as the priest.” St. Bernard, abbot

of Clairvaux, preached the second Crusade against the Saracens, and

was unsparing in his censures of the sins then prevalent among the

Christian priesthood. His writings are voluminous, and by some he has

been considered as the latest of the fathers of the Church.

[197] “A superior nature.”

[198] “We may admire ourselves, conscript fathers, as much as we

please; still, neither by numbers _did we vanquish_ the Spaniards,

nor by bodily strength the Gauls, nor by cunning the Carthaginians,

nor through the arts the Greeks, nor, in fine, by the inborn and

native good sense of this _our_ nation, and this _our_ race and soil,

the Italians and Latins themselves; but through our devotion and

our religious feeling, and this, the sole _true_ wisdom, the having

perceived that all things are regulated and governed by the providence

of the immortal Gods, have we subdued all races and nations.”—_Cic. de.

Harus. Respon._ 9.

[199] The justice of this position is, perhaps, somewhat doubtful. The

superstitious man _must_ have _some_ scruples, while he who believes

not in a God (if there is such a person), _needs_ have _none_.

[200] Time was personified in Saturn, and by this story was meant its

tendency to destroy whatever it has brought into existence.—_Plut. de

Superstit._ x.

[201] The primary motive power.

[202] This Council commenced in 1545, and lasted eighteen years.

It was convened for the purpose of opposing the rising spirit of

Protestantism, and of discussing and settling the disputed points of

the Catholic faith.

[203] Irregular or anomalous movements.

[204] An epicycle is a smaller circle, whose centre is in the

circumference of a greater one.

[205] To account for.

[206] Synods, or councils.

[207] At the present day called _attachés_.

[208] He probably means the refusing to join on the occasion of

drinking healths when taking wine.

[209] Something to create excitement.

[210] “The heart of kings is unsearchable.”—_Prov._ v. 3.

[211] Commodus fought naked in public as a gladiator, and prided

himself on his skill as a swordsman.

[212] Making a stop at, or dwelling too long upon.

[213] After a prosperous reign of twenty-one years, Diocletian

abdicated the throne, and retired to a private station.

[214] After having reigned thirty-five years, he abdicated the thrones

of Spain and Germany, and passed the last two years of his life in

retirement at St. Just, a convent in Estremadura.

[215] Philost. vit. Apoll. Tyan. v. 28.

[216] “The desires of monarchs are generally impetuous and conflicting

among themselves.”—Quoted rightly, _A. L._ ii. xxii. 5, from _Sallust_

(B. J. 113).

[217] He was especially the rival of the Emperor Charles the Fifth,

and was one of the most distinguished sovereigns that ever ruled over

France.

[218] An eminent historian of Florence. His great work, which is here

alluded to, is, “The History of Italy during his own Time,” which is

considered one of the most valuable productions of that age.

[219] Spoken badly of. Livia was said to have hastened the death of

Augustus, to prepare the accession of her son Tiberius to the throne.

[220] Solyman the Magnificent was one of the most celebrated of the

Ottoman monarchs. He took the Isle of Rhodes from the Knights of St.

John. He also subdued Moldavia, Wallachia, and the greatest part of

Hungary, and took from the Persians Georgia and Bagdad. He died A. D.

1566. His wife Roxolana (who was originally a slave called Rosa or

Hazathya), with the Pasha Rustan, conspired against the life of his

son Mustapha, and by their instigation this distinguished prince was

strangled in his father’s presence.

[221] The infamous Isabella of Anjou.

[222] Adulteresses.

[223] He, however, distinguished himself by taking Cyprus from the

Venetians in the year 1571.

[224] He was falsely accused by his brother Perseus of attempting to

dethrone his father, on which he was put to death by the order of

Philip, B. C. 180.

[225] Anselm was Archbishop of Canterbury in the time of William Rufus

and Henry the First. Though his private life was pious and exemplary,

through his rigid assertion of the rights of the clergy he was

continually embroiled with his sovereign. Thomas à Becket pursued a

similar course, but with still greater violence.

[226] The great vessel that conveys the blood to the liver, after it

has been enriched by the absorption of nutriment from the intestines.

[227] This is an expression similar to our proverb, “Penny-wise and

pound-foolish.”

[228] A subdivision of the shire.

[229] The Janizaries were the body-guards of the Turkish sultans, and

enacted the same disgraceful part in making and unmaking monarchs, as

the mercenary Prætorian guards of the Roman Empire.

[230] “Remember that thou art a man.”

[231] “Remember that thou art a God.”

[232] “The representative of God.”

[233] Isaiah ix. 6: “His name shall be called, Wonderful, Counsellor,

The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

[234] Prov. xx. 18: “Every purpose is established by counsel: and with

good advice make war.”

[235] The wicked Rehoboam, from whom the ten tribes of Israel revolted,

and elected Jeroboam their king.—See 1 _Kings_ xii.

[236] Hesiod, Theog. 886.

[237] The political world has not been convinced of the truth of this

doctrine of Lord Bacon; as cabinet councils are now held probably by

every sovereign in Europe.

[238] “I am full of outlets.”—_Ter. Eun._ I. ii. 25.

[239] That is, without a complicated machinery of government.

[240] Master of the Rolls and Privy Councillor under Henry VI., to

whose cause he faithfully adhered. Edward IV. promoted him to the See

of Ely, and made him Lord Chancellor. He was elevated to the See of

Canterbury by Henry VII., and in 1493 received the Cardinal’s hat.

[241] Privy Councillor and Keeper of the Privy Seal to Henry VII.,

and, after enjoying several bishoprics in succession, translated to

the See of Winchester. He was an able statesman, and highly valued by

Henry VII. On the accession of Henry VIII. his political influence was

counteracted by Wolsey; on which he retired to his diocese, and devoted

the rest of his life to acts of piety and munificence.

[242] Before mentioned, relative to Jupiter and Metis.

[243] Remedied.

[244] “He shall not find faith upon the earth.” Lord Bacon probably

alludes to the words of our Saviour, St. Luke xviii. 8: “When the Son

of man cometh, shall he find faith upon the earth?”

[245] He means to say, that this remark was only applicable to a

particular time, namely, the coming of Christ. The period of the

destruction of Jerusalem was probably referred to.

[246] “’Tis the especial virtue of a prince to know his own men.”

[247] In his disposition, or inclination.

[248] Liable to opposition from.

[249] “According to classes,” or, as we vulgarly say, “in the lump.”

Lord Bacon means that princes are not, as a matter of course, to take

counsellors merely on the presumption of talent, from their rank and

station; but that, on the contrary, they are to select such as are

tried men, and with regard to whom there can be no mistake.

[250] “The best counsellors are the dead.”

[251] “Are afraid” to open their mouths.

[252] “Night-time for counsel.”—ἐν νυκτὶ βουλή. _Gaisf. Par. Gr._ B.

359.

[253] On the accession of James the Sixth of Scotland to the throne of

England in 1603.

[254] A phrase much in use with the Romans, signifying, “to attend to

the business in hand.”

[255] A tribunitial or declamatory manner.

[256] “I’ll follow the bent of your humor.”

[257] The Sibyl alluded to here is the Cumæan, the most celebrated, who

offered the Sibylline Books for sale to Tarquin the Proud.

“At this time, an unknown woman appeared at court, loaded with nine

volumes, which she offered to sell, but at a very considerable price.

Tarquin refusing to give it, she withdrew and burnt three of the nine.

Some time after she returned to court, and demanded the same price for

the remaining six. This made her looked upon as a mad woman, and she

was driven away with scorn. Nevertheless, having burnt the half of what

were left, she came a third time, and demanded for the remaining three

the same price which she had asked for the whole nine. The novelty of

such a proceeding, made Tarquin curious to have the books examined.

They were put, therefore, into the hands of the augurs, who, finding

them to be the oracles of the Sybil of Cumæ, declared them to be an

invaluable treasure. Upon this the woman was paid the sum she demanded,

and she soon after disappeared, having first exhorted the Romans to

preserve her books with care.”—_Hooke’s Roman History._

[258] Bald head. He alludes to the common saying: “Take time by the

forelock.”

[259] Phæd. viii.

[260] Hom. Il. v. 845.

[261] Packing the cards is an admirable illustration of the author’s

meaning. It is a cheating exploit, by which knaves, who, perhaps, are

inferior players, insure to themselves the certainty of good hands.

[262] “Send them both naked among strangers, and _then_ you will see.”

[263] This word is used here in its primitive sense of “retail

dealers.” It is said to have been derived from a custom of the

Flemings, who first settled in this country in the fourteenth century,

stopping the passengers as they passed their shops, and saying to them,

“Haber das, herr?”—“Will you take this, sir?” The word is now generally

used as synonymous with linen-draper.

[264] To watch.

[265] State.

[266] Discussing matters.

[267] He refers to the occasion when Nehemiah, on presenting the wine,

as cup-bearer to King Artaxerxes, appeared sorrowful, and, on being

asked the reason of it, entreated the king to allow Jerusalem to be

rebuilt.—_Nehemiah_ ii. 1.

[268] This can hardly be called a marriage, as, at the time of the

intrigue, Messalina was the wife of Claudius; but she forced Caius

Silius, of whom she was deeply enamored, to divorce his own wife,

that she herself might enjoy his society. The intrigue was disclosed

to Claudius by Narcissus, who was his freedman, and the pander to his

infamous vices; on which Silius was put to death. Vide _Tac. Ann._ xi.

29, _seq._

[269] To speak in his turn.

[270] Be questioned upon.

[271] Kept on good terms.

[272] Desire it.

[273] “That he did not have various hopes in view, but solely the

safety of the emperor.” Tigellinus was the profligate minister of Nero,

and Africanus Burrhus was the chief of the Prætorian Guards.—_Tac.

Ann._ xiv. 57.

[274] As Nathan did, when he reproved David for his criminality with

Bathsheba.—2 _Samuel_ xii.

[275] Use indirect stratagems.

[276] He alludes to the old Cathedral of St. Paul, in London, which, in

the sixteenth century, was a common lounge for idlers.

[277] Movements, or springs.

[278] Chances, or vicissitudes.

[279] Enter deeply into.

[280] Faults, or weak points.

[281] “The wise man gives heed to his own footsteps; the fool turneth

aside to the snare.” No doubt he here alludes to Ecclesiastes xiv. 2,

which passage is thus rendered in our version: “The wise man’s eyes are

in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness.”

[282] Mischievous.

[283] It must be remembered that Bacon was not a favorer of the

Copernican system.

[284] “Lovers of themselves without a rival.”—_Ad. Qu. Fr._ iii. 8.

[285] Remedy.

[286] Adapted to each other.

[287] Injures or impairs.

[288] A thing suspected.

[289] He probably alludes to Jeremiah vi. 16: “Thus saith the Lord,

Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the

good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.”

[290] That is, by means of good management.

[291] It is supposed that he here alludes to Sir Amyas Paulet, a very

able statesman, and the ambassador of Queen Elizabeth to the court of

France.

[292] Quotations.

[293] Apologies.

[294] Boasting.

[295] Prejudice.

[296] 2 Tim. iii. 5.

[297] “Trifles with great effort.”

[298] “With one brow raised to your forehead, the other bent downward

to your chin, you answer that cruelty delights you not.”—_In Pis._ 6.

[299] “A foolish man, who fritters away the weight of matters by

finespun trifling on words.”—Vide _Quint._ x. 1.

[300] Plat. Protag. i. 337.

[301] Find it easier to make difficulties and objections than to

originate.

[302] One really in insolvent circumstances, though to the world he

does not appear so.

[303] He here quotes from a passage in the _Politica_ of Aristotle,