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hitting men on the shins, if it were sensible of its own motion, would think it proceeded from its own will, unless it felt what lashed it. And is a man any wiser when he runs to one place for a benefice, to another for a bargain, and troubles the world with writing errors, and requiring answers, because he thinks he does it without other cause than his own will, and secth not what are the lashings that cause that will?

[Concerning the justice of punishing criminals on the supposition of necessity of the will, he remarks] The intention of the law is not to grieve the delinquent for that which is past, and not to be undone, but to make him and others just, that else would not be so; and respecteth not the evil act past, but the good to come; insomuch as, without the good intention for the future, no past act of a delinquent could justify his killing in the sight of God. But you will say, How is it just to kill one man to amend another, if what were done were necessary? To this I answer, that men are justly killed, not for that their actions are not necessitated, but because they are noxious; and that they are spared and preserved whose actions are not noxious. For where there is no law, there no killing, nor anything else, can be unjust; and by the right of nature we destroy (without being unjust) all that is noxious, both beasts and men.

When we make societies or commonwealths, we lay down our right to kill, excepting in certain cases, as murder, theft, or other offensive action; so that the right which the commonwealth hath to put a man to death for crimes, is not created by the law, but remains from the first right of nature which every man hath to preserve himself; for that the law doth not take that right away in the case of criminals, who were by law excepted. Men are not, therefore, put to death, or punished, for that their theft proceedeth from election; but because it was noxious, and contrary to men's preservation, and the punishment conducing to the preservation of the rest; inasmuch as, to punish those that do voluntary hurt, and none else, frameth and maketh men's wills such as men would have them. And thus it is plain, that from the necessity of a voluntary action cannot be inferred the injustice of the law that forbiddeth it, or of the magistrate that punisheth it.

tract on Human Nature has scarcely an ambiguous or a needless word. He has so great a power of always choosing the most significant term, that he never is reduced to the poor expedient of using many in its stead. He had so thoroughly studied the genius of the language, and knew so well to steer between pedantry and vulgarity, that two centuries have not superannuated probably more than a dozen of his words.'* Among his greatest philosophical errors are those of making no distinction between the intellectual and emotive faculties of man-of representing all human actions as the results of intellectual deliberation alone-and of in every case deriving just and benevolent actions from a cool survey of the advantages to self which may be expected to flow from them. In short, he has given to neither the moral nor the social sentiments a place in his scheme of human nature. The opponents of this selfish system have been numberless; nor is the controversy terminated even at the present day. The most eminent of those who have ranged themselves against Hobbes are Cumberland, Cudworth, Shaftesbury, Clarke, Butler, Hutcheson, Kames, Smith, Stewart, and Brown.


Among the distinguished persons whom we have mentioned as intimate with Hobbes, is LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY (1581-1648), a brave and high-spirited man, at a time when honourable feeling was rare at the English court. Like the philosopher of Malmesbury, he distinguished himself as a free-thinker; and, says Dr Leland, ‘as he was one of the first, so he was confessedly one of the greatest writers that have appeared among us in the deistical cause.'† He was born at Eyton, in Shropshire, studied at Oxford, and acquired, both at home and on the continent, a high reputation for the almost Quixotic chivalry of his character. In 1616 he was sent as ambassador to Paris, at which

place he published, in 1624, his celebrated deistical book, De Veritate, prout distinguitur à Revelatione Verisimili, Possibili, et à Falso-[' Of Truth, as it is distinguished from Probable, Possible, and False Revelation']. In this work, the first in which deism was ever reduced to a system, the author maintains the sufficiency, universality, and absolute perfection of natural religion, and the consequent use

religion he reduces to the following articles:-1. That there is one supreme God. 2. That he is chiefly to be worshipped. 3. That piety and virtue must repent of our sins, and if we do so, God will are the principal part of his worship. 4. That we pardon them. 5. That good men are rewarded, and bad men punished, in a future state; or, as he sometimes expresses it, both here and hereafter. reprinting the work at London in 1645, he added two tracts, De Causis Errorum [Of the Causes of Error'], and De Religione Laici [Of the Reli


[As to praise or dispraise]-These depend not at all on the necessity of the action praised or dis-lessness of supernatural revelation. This universal praised. For what is it else to praise, but to say a thing is good? Good, I say, for me, or for somebody else, or for the state and commonwealth. And what is it to say an action is good, but to say it is as I would wish, or as another would have it, or according to the will of the state; that is to say, according to the law? Does my lord think that no action can please me, or him, or the commonwealth, that should proceed from necessity? Things may be therefore necessary, and yet praiseworthy, as also necessary, and yet dispraised, and neither of them both in vain; because praise and dispraise, and likewise reward and punishment, do, by example, make and conform the will toon of a Layman']; and soon afterwards he published another book, entitled De Religione Gentilium, good or evil. It was a very great praise, in my Errorumque apud eos Causis, of which an English opinion, that Velleius Paterculus gives Cato, where he says, that he was good by nature, et quia aliter translation appeared in 1705, entitled The Ancient esse non potuit'-['and because he could not be Religion of the Gentiles, and Cause of their Errors, Considered.' The treatise 'De Veritate' was answered otherwise.'] by the French philosopher Gassendi, and numerous replies have appeared in England. Lord Herbert wrote a History of the Life and Reign of King Henry VIII., which was not printed till 1649, the year after his death. It is termed by Lord Orford a masterpiece

The style of Hobbes is characterised by Sir James Mackintosh as the very perfection of didactic language. Short, clear, precise, pithy, his language never has more than one meaning, which never requires a second thought to find. By the help of his exact method, it takes so firm a hold on the mind, that it will not allow attention to slacken. His little

* Second Preliminary Dissertation to Encyclopædia Britannica, p. 318.

+ Leland's View of the Deistical Writers, Letter II.

of historic biography;' and in Bishop Nicolson's opinion, the author has acquitted himself with the like reputation as Lord Chancellor Bacon gained by the Life of Henry VII, having, in the polite and martial part, been admirably exact, from the best records that remain.' He has been accused, however, of partiality to the tyrannical monarch whose actions he relates, and of having produced rather a panegyric, or an apology, than a fair and judicious representation. As to style, the work is considered one of the best old specimens of historical composition in the language, being manly and vigorous, and unsullied by the quaintness and pedantry of the age. Lord Herbert is remarkable also as the earliest of our autobiographers. The memoirs which he left of his own life were first printed in 1764, and have ever since been popular. In the following extract, there is evidence of the singular fact, that though he conceived revelation unnecessary in a religious point of view, he seriously looked for a communication of the Divine will as to the publication or suppression of his principal work :—


[Sir Thomas More's Resignation of the Great Seal.] Sir Thomas More, Lord Chancellor of England, after divers suits to be discharged of his place (which he had held two years and a-half), did at length by the king's good leave resign it. The example whereof being rare, will give me occasion to speak more particularly of him. Sir Thomas More, a person of sharp wit, and endued besides with excellent parts of learning (as his works may testify), was yet (out of I know not what natural facetiousness) given so much to jesting, that it detracted no little from the gravity and importance of his place, which, though generally noted and disliked, I do not think was enough to make him give it over in that merriment we shall find anon, or retire to a private life. Neither can I believe him so much addicted to his private opinions as to detest all other governments but his own Utopia, so that it is probable some vehement desire to follow his book, or secret offence taken against some person tended marriage, or the like, might be accounted) or matter (among which perchance the king's new inoccasioned this strange counsel; though, yet, I find no reason pretended for it, but infirmity and want of health. Our king hereupon taking the seal, and giving it, together with the order of knighthood, to Thomas Audeley, speaker of the Lower House, Sir Thomas More, without acquainting any body with what he had done, repairs to his family at Chelsea, where, after a mass celebrated the next day in the church, he comes to his lady's pew, with his hat in his hand (an office formerly done by one of his gentlemen), and says, Madam, my lord is gone.' But she thinking this at first to be but one of his jests, was little moved, till he told her sadly, he had given up the great seal; whereupon she speaking some passionate words, he called his daughters then present to see if they could not spy some fault about their mother's dressing; but they after search saying they could find none, he replied, Do you not perceive that your mother's nose standeth somewhat awry?'-of which jeer the provoked lady was so sensible, that she went from him in a rage. Shortly after, he acquainted his servants with what he had done, dismissing them also to the attendance of some other great personages, to whom he had recommended them. For his fool, he bestowed him on the lord mayor during his office, and afterwards on his successors in that charge. And now coming to himself, he began to consider how much he had left, and finding that it was not above one hundred pounds yearly in lands, besides some money, he advised with his daughters how to live together. But the grieved gentlewomen (who knew not what to reply, or indeed how to take these jests) remaining astonished, he says, 'We will begin with the slender diet of the students of the law, and if that will not hold out, we will take such commons as they have at Oxford; which yet if our purse will not stretch to maintain, for our last refuge we will go a-begging, and alms. But these jests were thought to have in them at every man's door sing together a Salve Regina to get more levity, than to be taken everywhere for current; he might have quitted his dignity without using such sarcasms, and betaken himself to a more retired and quiet life, without making them or himself contemptible. And certainly whatsoever he intended hereby, his family so little understood his meaning, that they This, how strange soever it may seem, I protest cannot persuade myself for all this talk, that so exneeded some more serious instructions. So that I before the eternal God is true, neither am I any way cellent a person would omit at fit times to give his superstitiously deceived herein, since I did not only clearly hear the noise, but in the serenest sky that family that sober account of his relinquishing this ever I saw, being without all cloud, did to my think-place, which I find he did to the Archbishop Warham, ing see the place from whence it came. Erasmus, and others.

My book, De Veritate, prout distinguitur à Revelatione Verisimili, Possibili, et à Falso, having been begun by me in England, and formed there in all its principal parts, was about this time finished; all the spare hours which I could get from my visits and negotiations being employed to perfect this work, which was no sooner done, but that I communicated it to Hugo Grotius, that great scholar, who, having escaped his prison in the Low Countries, came into France, and was much welcomed by me and Monsieur Tieleners also, one of the greatest scholars of his time, who, after they had perused it, and given it more commendations than it is fit for me to repeat, exhorted me earnestly to print and publish it; howbeit, as the frame of my whole book was so different from anything which had been written heretofore, I found I must either renounce the authority of all that had written formerly concerning the method of finding out truth, and consequently insist upon my own way, or hazard myself to a general censure, concerning the whole argument of my book; I must confess it did not a little animate me, that the two great persons abovementioned did so highly value it, yet, as I knew it would meet with much opposition, I did consider whether it was not better for me a suppress it. Being thus doubtful in my chamber, one fair day in the summer, my casement being open towards the south, the sun shining clear, and no wind stirring, I took my book De Veritate' in my hand, and, kneeling on my knees, devoutly said these words :

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O thou eternal God, author of the light which now shines upon me, and giver of all inward illuminations, I do beseech thee, of thy infinite goodness, to pardon a greater request than a sinner ought to make; I am not satisfied enough whether I shall publish this book De Veritate; if it be for thy glory, I beseech thee give me some sign from heaven; if not, I shall suppress it.'

I had no sooner spoken these words, but a loud, though yet gentle noise, came from the heavens (for it was like nothing on earth), which did so comfort and cheer me, that I took my petition as granted, and that I had the sign I demanded, whereupon also I resolved to print my book.

As a sample of his 'Life of Henry VIII.,' take his account of

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One of the most important literary undertak

ings of this era was the execution of the present that such devilish arts have been and are the other, authorised translation of the Bible. At the great what exact trial and severe punishment they merit: conference held in 1604 at Hampton Court, be- and therefore reason I, what kind of things are pos- . tween the established and puritan clergy, the ver-sible to be performed in these arts, and by what sion of Scripture then existing was generally dis- natural causes they may be. Not that touch every approved of, and the king consequently appointed particular thing of the devil's power, for that were infifty-four men, many of whom were eminent as finite but only, to speak scholasticly (since this Hebrew and Greek scholars, to commence a new cannot be spoken in our language), I reason upon translation. In 1607, forty-seven of the number genus, leaving species and differentia to be compremet, in six parties, at Oxford, Cambridge, and West- hended therein. As, for example, speaking of the minster, and proceeded to their task, a certain por- power of magicians in the first book and sixth chapter, tion of Scripture being assigned to each. Every I say that they can suddenly cause be brought unto individual of each division, in the first place, trans- them all kinds of dainty dishes by their familiar lated the portion assigned to the division, all of spirit: since as a thief he delights to steal, and as a which translations were collected; and when each spirit he can subtilly and suddenly enough transport party had determined on the construction of its part, the same. Now, under this genus may be comprehended it was proposed to the other divisions for general all particulars depending thereupon; such as the approbation. When they met together, one read the bringing wine out of a wall (as we have heard oft to new version, whilst all the rest held in their hands have been practised) and such others; which partieither copies of the original, or some valuable verculars are sufficiently proved by the reasons of the sion; and on any one objecting to a passage, the general. reader stopped till it was agreed upon. The result was published in 1611, and has ever since been reputed as a translation generally faithful, and an excellent specimen of the language of the time. Being universally read by all ranks of the people, it has contributed most essentially to give stability and uniformity to the English tongue.


[How Witches Travel.]

Philomathes. But by what way say they, or think ye it possible, they can come to these unlawful conven. tions?

Epistemon. There is the thing which I esteem their senses to be deluded in, and, though they lie not in confessing of it, because they think it to be true, yet not to be so in substance or effect, for they say, that KING JAMES was himself an author, but his works ing of their master, or to the putting in practice any by divers means they may convene either to the adorare now considered merely as curiosities. His most service of his committed unto their charge; one way is celebrated productions are the Basilicon Doron, Da-natural, which is natural riding, going, or sailing, at monology, and A Counterblast to Tobacco. The first what hour their master comes and advertises them. was written, for the instruction of his son Prince And this way may be easily believed. Another way Henry, a short time before the union of the crowns, is somewhat more strange, and yet it is possible to be and seems not to have been originally intended for true which is by being carried by the force of the the press. In the Dæmonology,' the British Solo- spirit which is their conductor, either above the earth or mon displays his wisdom and learning in maintain- above the sea, swiftly, to the place where they are to ing the existence and criminality of witches, and meet: which I am persuaded to be likewise possible, discussing the manner in which their feats are in respect that as Habakkuk was carried by the angel performed. Our readers will be amused by the in that form to the den where Daniel lay, so think I following extracts from this performance, the first the devil will be ready to imitate God, as well in that of which is from the preface:--as in other things: which is much more possible to him to do, being a spirit, than to a mighty wind, being but a natural meteor, to transport from one place in practice. But in this violent form they cannot be to another a solid body as is commonly and daily seen carried but a short bounds, agreeing with the space that they may retain their breath: for if it were longer, their breath could not remain unextinguished, their body being carried in such a violent and forcible his life is but in peril, according to the hard or soft manner, as, by example, if one fall off a small height, lighting; but if one fall from a high and stayl rock, fore he can win to the earth, as is oft seen by experi• his breath will be forcibly banished from the body be

[Sorcery and Witchcraft.]

The fearful abounding at this time in this country of these detestable slaves of the devil, the witches or enchanters, hath moved me (beloved reader) to despatch in post this following treatise of mine, not in any wise (as I protest) to serve for a show of my learning and ingine, but only, moved of conscience, to press thereby, so far as I can, to resolve the doubting hearts of many; both that such assaults of Sathan are most certainly practised, and that the instruments thereof merits most severely to be punished: against the damnable opinions of two principally in our age, whereof the one called Scot, an Englishman, is not ashamed in public print to deny that there can be such a thing as witchcraft; and so maintains the old error of the Sadducees in denying of spirits. The other called Wierus, a German physician, sets out a public apology for all these crafts-folks, whereby, procuring for their impunity, he plainly bewrays himself to have been one of that profession. And for to make this treatise the more pleasant and facile, I have put it in form of a dialogue, which I have divided into three books the first speaking of magic in general, and necromancy in special: the second, of sorcery and witchcraft and the third contains a discourse of all these kinds of spirits, and spectres that appears and troubles persons: together with a conclusion of the whole work. My intention in this labour is only to prove two things, as I have already said: the one,


And in this transporting they say themselves, that they are invisible to any other, except amongst themselves. For if the devil may form what kind of impressions he pleases in the air, as I have said before, speaking of magic, why may he not far casier thicken and obscure so the air that is next about them, by contracting it strait together, that the beams of any other man's eyes cannot pierce through the same, to see


But the third way of their coming to their conventions is that wherein I think them deluded: for some of them saith that, being transformed in the likeness of a little beast or fowl, they will come and pierce through whatsoever house or church, though all ordinary passages be closed, by whatsoever open the air may enter in at. And some saith, that their bo lies lying still, as in an ecstacy, their spirits will be

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ravished out of their bodies, and carried to such places; and for verifying thereof will give evident tokens, as well by witnesses that have seen their body lying senseless in the mean time, as by naming persons whomwith they met, and giving tokens what purpose was amongst them, whom otherwise they could not have known; for this form of journeying they affirm to use most when they are transported from one country to another.


One of the most entertaining prose writers of this age was ROBERT BURTON (1576-1639-40), rector of Segrave in Leicestershire, and a member of Christ-church, Oxford. Burton was a man of great benevolence, integrity, and learning, but of a whimsical and melancholy disposition. Though at certain times he was a facetious companion, at others his spirits were very low; and when in this condi

Robert Burton.

tion, he used to go down to the river near Oxford and dispel the gloom by listening to the coarse jests and ribaldry of the bargemen, which excited his violent laughter. To alleviate his mental distres, he wrote a book, entitled The Anatomy of Melancholy, which appeared in 1621, and presents, in quaint language, and with many shrewd and amusing remarks, a view of all the modifications of that disease, and the manner of curing it. The erudition displayed in this work is extraordinary, every page abounding with quotations from Latin authors. It was so successful at first, that the publisher realised a fortune by it; and Warton says, that the author's variety of learning, his quotations from scarce and curious books, his pedantry, sparkling with rude wit and shapeless elegance, miscellaneous matter, intermixture of agreeable tales and illustrations, and, perhaps above all, the singularities of his feelings, clothed in an uncommon quaintness of style, have contributed to render it, even to modern readers, a valuable repository of amusement and information.' It delighted Dr Johnson so much, that he said this was the only book that ever took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to rise.' Its reputation was considerably extended by the publication of Illustrations of Sterne,' in 1798. by the late Dr Ferriar of Manchester, who convicted that writer of copying passages,

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verbatim, from Burton, without acknowledgment. Many others have, with like silence, extracted materials from his pages. The book has lately been more than once reprinted.

Prefixed to the Anatomy of Melancholy' is a poem of twelve stanzas, from which Milton has borrowed some of the imagery of his 'Il Penserst. The first six stanzas are as follows:

[The Author's Abstract of Melancholy.]
When I go musing all alone,
Thinking of divers things foreknown,
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow, void of fear,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet.

All my joys to this are folly;
Nought so sweet as melancholy.

When I go walking all alone,
Recounting what I have ill-done,
My thoughts on me then tyrannise,
Fear and sorrow me surprise;
Whether I tarry still, or go,
Methinks the time moves very slow.
All my griefs to this are jolly;
Nought so sad as melancholy.

When to myself I act and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
By a brook side or wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, or unseen,
A thousand pleasures do me bless,
And crown my soul with happiness.
All my joys besides are folly;
None so sweet as melancholy.

When I lie, sit, or walk alone,
I sigh, I grieve, making great moan;
In a dark grove or irksome den,
With discontents and furics then,
A thousand miseries at once
Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce.
All my griefs to this are jolly;
None so sour as melancholy.

Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Sweet music, wondrous melody,
Towns, palaces, and cities, fine;
Here now, then there, the world is mine,
Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine,
Whate'er is lovely is divine.

All other joys to this are folly;
None so sweet as melancholy.

Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Ghost, goblins, fiends: my phantasie
Presents a thousand ugly shapes;
Headless bears, black men, and apes;
Doleful outcries and fearful sights
My sad and dismal soul affrights.

All my griefs to this are jolly;
None so damn'd as melancholy.


Of Burton's prose, the following will serve as a specimen :

[Melancholy and Contemplation.]

Voluntary solitariness is that which is familiar with melancholy, and gently brings on, like a Siren, a shooing-horn, or some sphinx, to this irrevocable gulf: a primary cause Piso calls it: most pleasant it is at first, to such as are melancholy given, to lie in bed

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whole days, and keep their chambers; to walk alone of our forefathers' devotion, consecrated to pious uses. in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, by a Some monasteries and collegiate cells might have been brook side; to meditate upon some delightsome and well spared, and their revenues otherwise employed, pleasant subject, which shall affect them most; 'ama- here and there one, in good towns or cities at least, bilis insania,' and 'mentis gratissimus error.' A most for men and women of all sorts and conditions to incomparable delight it is so to melancholise, and live in, to sequester themselves from the cares and build castles in the air; to go smiling to them- tumults of the world, that were not desirous or fit selves, acting an infinite variety of parts, which they to marry, or otherwise willing to be troubled with suppose and strongly imagine they represent, or that common affairs, and knew not well where to bestow they see acted or done. Blanda quidem ab initio' themselves; to live apart in, for more conveniency, -[pleasant, indeed, it is at first'], saith Lemnius, good education, better company sake; to follow their to conceive and meditate of such pleasant things studies (I say) to the perfection of arts and sciences, sometimes, present, past, or to come, as Rhasis speaks. common good, and, as some truly devoted monks of So delightsome these toys are at first, they could old had done, freely and truly to serve God: for these spend whole days and nights without sleep, even inen are neither solitary nor idle, as the poet made whole years alone in such contemplations and fan- answer to the husbandman in sop, that objected tastical meditations, which are like unto dreams: and idleness to him; he was never so idle as in his comthey will hardly be drawn from them, or willingly pany; or that Scipio Africanus, in Tully, ‘nunquam interrupt. So pleasant their vain conceits are, that minus solus, quam cum solus; nunquam minus they hinder their ordinary tasks and necessary busi- otiosus quam cum esset otiosus'-[' never less soliness; they cannot address themselves to them, or tary than when he was alone, never more busy than almost to any study or employment: these fantasti- when he seemed to be most idle']. It is reported cal and bewitching thoughts so covertly, so feelingly, by Plato, in his dialogue De Amore, in that proso urgently, so continually set upon, creep in, insinu- digious commendation of Socrates, how a deep mediate, possess, overcome, distract, and detain them; tation coming into Socrates's mind by chance, he they cannot, I say, go about their more necessary stood still musing, eodem vestigio cogitabundus,' business, stave off or extricate themselves, but are from morning to noon; and when, as then he had ever musing, melancholising, and carried along, as he not yet finished his meditation, 'perstabat cogitans,' (they say) that is led round about an heath with a he so continued till the evening; the soldiers (for he puck in the night. They run earnestly on in this then followed the camp) observed him with admiralabyrinth of anxious and solicitous melancholy me- tion, and on set purpose watched all night; but he ditations, and cannot well or willingly refrain, or persevered immoveable, ad exortum solis,' till the easily leave off winding and unwinding themselves, as sun rose in the morning, and then, saluting the sun, so many clocks, and still pleasing their humours, until went his ways. In what humour constant Socrates at last the scene is turned upon a sudden, by some did thus, I know not, or how he might be affected; bad object; and they, being now habituated to such but this would be pernicious to another man ; what vain meditations and solitary places, can endure no intricate business might so really possess him, I cancompany, can ruminate of nothing but harsh and not easily guess; but this is otiosum otium'-['caredistasteful subjects. Fear, sorrow, suspicion, sub- less tranquillity']; it is far otherwise with these men, rusticus pudor'['clownish bashfulness'], discontent, according to Seneca: omnia nobis mala solitudo percares, and weariness of life, surprise them in a mo- suadet'[' this solitude undoeth us']; pugnat cum ment; and they can think of nothing else: conti-vità sociali'[' 'tis a destructive solitariness']. These nually suspecting, no sooner are their eyes open, but men are devils alone, as the saying is, 'homo solus this infernal plague of melancholy seizeth on them, aut deus aut demon'-[ a man alone, is either a and terrifies their souls, representing some dismal saint or a devil']; mens ejus aut languescit, aut tuobject to their minds, which now, by no means, no mescit'-' his mind either languishes or bursts']; labour, no persuasions, they can avoid; hæret lateri and væ soli!'-in this sense, wo be to him that is lethalis arundo'-['the deadly arrow sticks fast in so alone! These wretches do frequently degenerate their side']; they may not be rid of it; they can- from men, and, of sociable creatures, become beasts, not resist. I may not deny but that there is some monsters, inhumane, ugly to behold-misanthropi; profitable meditation, contemplation, and kind of they do even loathe themselves, and hate the company solitariness to be embraced, which the fathers so of men, as so many Timons, Nebuchadnezzars, by highly commended (Hierom, Chrysostome, Cyprian, too much indulging to these pleasing humours, and Austin, in whole tracts, which Petrarch, Erasmus, through their own default. So that which MercuStella, and others, so much magnify in their books); rialis (consil. 11.) sometimes expostulated with his a paradise, a heaven on earth, if it be used aright, melancholy patient, may be justly applied to every good for the body, and better for the soul; as many solitary and idle person in particular: Natura de of these old monks used it, to divine contemplation; te videtur conqueri posse,' &c.-['Nature may justly as Simulus, a courtier in Adrian's time, Dioclesian complain of thee, that, whereas she gave thee a the emperor, retired themselves, &c. In that sense, good wholesome temperature, a sound body, and God "Vatia solus scit vivere'-[ Vatia alone knows how hath given thee so divine and excellent a soul, so to live']; which the Romans were wont to say, many good parts and profitable gifts; thou hast not when they commended a country life; or to the bet- only contemned and rejected, but hast corrupted tering of their knowledge, as Democritus, Cleanthes, them, polluted them, overthrown their temperature, and those excellent philosophers have ever done, to and perverted those gifts with riot, idleness, solitarisequester themselves from the tumultuous world; ness, and many other ways; thou art a traitor to God or as in Pliny's Villa Laurentana, Tully's Tuscula, and nature, an enemy to thyself and to the world']. Jovius's study, that they might better vacare studiis Perditiæ tuæ ex te' &c.-['thou hast lost thyself wilet Deo' ['give themselves up to God and their studies']. fully, cast away thyself; thou thyself art the efficient Methinks, therefore, our too zealous innovators were cause of thine own misery, by not resisting such vain not so well advised in that general subversion of ab- cogitations, but giving way unto them']. beys and religious houses, promiscuously to fling down all. They might have taken away those gross abuses crept in amongst them, rectified such inconveniences, and not so far to have raved and raged against those fair buildings and everlasting monuments



Burton, who believed in judicial astrology, is said to have foretold, from a calculation of his nativity, the time of his own death; which occurred at the period he predicted, but not without some


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