62. OF DISCOURSE.

Some in their discourse desire rather commendation of wit, in being able to hold all arguments, 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 common places 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 honourablest part of talk is to give the occasion; 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;

"Parce, puer, stimulis, et fortius utere loris."

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; 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 use to do with those that dance too long galliards. 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 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 or dry blow 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 agreeable 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, shews slowness; and a good reply, or second speech, without a good settled speech, sheweth 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.

63. 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 almost seen, that very beautiful persons are otherwise of great virtue; as if nature were rather busy not to err, than in labour to produce excellency; and therefore they prove accomplished, but not of great spirit; and study rather behaviour, than virtue. But this holds not always: for Augustus Cæsar, Titus Vespasianus, Philip le Belle of France, Edward the Fourth of England, 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 favour, is more than that of colour; and that of decent and gracious motion, more than that of favour. 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;" for no youth can be comely but by pardon, and consider

ing 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.

64. 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;" 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:" 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, 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 Agesilaus, Zanger the son of Solyman, Esop, Gasca, president of Peru; and Socrates may go likewise amongst them, with others.

Robert Burton, 1576-1640. (Manual, p. 106.)

From the Anatomy of Mclanchely.

65.-PHILAUTIA, OR SELF-LOVE, A CAUSE OF MELANCHOLY.

Now the common cause of this mischief ariseth from our selves or others: we are active and passive. It proceeds inwardly from ourselves, as we are active causes, from an overweening conceit we have of our good parts, own worth (which indeed is no worth), our bounty, favour, grace, valour, strength, wealth, patience, meekness, hospitality, beauty, temperance, gentry, knowledge, wit, science, art, learning, our excellent gifts and fortunes, for which (Narcissus-like) we admire, flatter, and applaud ourselves, and think all the world esteems so of us; and, as deformed women easily believe those that tell them they be fair, we are too credulous of our own good parts and praises, too well persuaded of ourselves. We brag and vendicate our own works, and scorn all others in respect of us; inflati scientiâ, (saith Paul), our wisdom, our learning: all our geese are swans; and we as basely esteem and vilify other men's, as we do over-highly prize and value our own. We will not suffer them to be in secundis, no not in tertiis; what, mecum confertur Ulysses? they are mures, muscæ, culices præ se, nitts and flies compared to his inexorable and supercilious, eminent and arrogant worship, though indeed they be far before him. Only wise, only rich, only fortunate, valorous, and fair, puffed up with this tympany of self-conceit, as the proud Pharisee, they are not (as they suppose) like other men, of a purer and more precious metal: Soli rei gerendæ sunt efficaces (which that wise Periander held of such) meditantur omne qui prius negotium, &c. Novi quemdam (saith Erasmus) I knew one so arrogant that he thought himself inferiour to no man living, like Callisthenes the philosopher, that neither held Alexander's acts, or any other subject, worthy of his pen, such was his insolency; or Seleucus, king of Syria, who thought none fit to contend with him but the Romans; eos solos dignos ratus quibuscum de imperio certaret. That which Tully writ to Atticus long since, is still in force-there was never yet true poet or orator, that thought any other better than himself. And such, for the most part are your princes, potentates, great philosophers, historiographers, authors of sects or heresies, and all our great scholars, as Hierom defines: a natural philosopher is glory's creature, and a very slave of rumour, fame, and popular opinion: and, though they write de contemptu gloriæ, yet (as he observes) they will put their names to their books. Vobis et famæ me semper dedi, saith Trebellius Pollio, I have wholly consecrated myself to you and fame. 'Tis all my desire, night and day, 'tis all my study to raise my name. Proud Pliny seconds him: Quamquam 0, &c.,

and that vainglorious orator is not ashamed to confess in an Epistle of his to Marcus Lecceius, ardeo incredibili cupiditate, &c., 1 burn with an incredible desire to have my name registred in thy book.

66.-THE POWER OF LOVE.

Bocace hath a pleasant tale to this purpose, which he borrowed from the Greeks, and which Beroaldus hath turned into Latine, Bebelius into verse, of Cymon and Iphigenia. This Cymon was a fool, a proper man of person, and the governour of Cyprus son, but a very ass; insomuch that his father being ashamed of him, sent him to a farm-house he had in the country, to be brought up; where by chance, as his manner was, walking alone, he espied a gallant young gentlewoman named Iphigenia, a burgomaster's daughter of Cyprus, with her maid, by a brook side, in a little thicket, fast asleep in her smocke, where she had newly bathed her self. When Cymon saw her, he stood leaning on his staffe, gaping on her immovable, and in a maze: at last he fell so far in love with the glorious object, that he began to rouze himself up; to bethink what he was; would needs follow her to the city, and for her sake began to be civil, to learn to sing and dance, to play on instruments, and got all those gentleman-like qualities and complements, in a short space, which his friends were most glad of. In brief, he became from an idiot and a clown, to be one of the most complete gentlemen in Cyprus; did many valorous exploits, and all for the love of Mistress Iphigenia. In a word I may say this much of them all, let them be never so clownish, rude and horrid, Grobians and sluts, if once they be in love, they will be most neat and spruce; for, Omnibus rebus, et nitidis nitoribus antevenit amor; they will follow the fashion, begin to trick up, and to have a good opinion of themselves; venustatum enim mater Venus; a ship is not so long a rigging, as a young gentlewoman a trimming up herself, against her sweetheart comes. A painter's shop, a flowery meadow, no so gratious an aspect in Natures storehouse as a young maid, nubilis puella, a Novitsa or Venetian bride, that looks for an husband; or a young man that is her suiter; composed looks, composed gait, cloaths, gestures, actions, all composed; all the graces, elegancies, in the world, are in her face. Their best robes, ribbins, chains, jewels, lawns, linnens, laces, spangles, must come on, præter quam res patitur student elegantiæ, they are beyond all measure coy, nice, and too curious on a sudden. 'Tis all their study, all their business, how to wear their clothes neat, to be polite and terse, and to set out themselves. No sooner doth a young man see his sweetheart

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