Point. 1.
Plea. 1. The first founders of Duells were base Creatures.

DVells and Devils begun together. Lucifer conceited himselfe the better creature, and would not give wall to man made of a mould-hill: hee worded the matter, with the master, stept to his face, Ascendam, and told him to his teeth, Esay. 14. he was as good as God: Similis ero altissimo: upon this quarrell, Lucifer and Michael met, with their seconds: the valiant Archangell (with leave) came to close Apoc. 12. fight: and the lawlesse challenger Lucifer, with his seconds fell. Here lye the first Duellers, and their fortune. After these quarrelling spirits were sent to hell: I heare no more of combats, till the fashion of Cowards came in.

Cowards and chalengers, came hand in hand into the world together. Scarce had God made ground, for men to worke upon: when Cain, an idle fellow, that had many obligations at home, yet spent his time all abrode in hunting: whilest Abell, his youn­ger brother did play the good husband: and therefore the Lord loved him, Cain hates him, and makes it a quarrell. Cain will prove himselfe the bet­ter Gen. 4. man by a combat: when good men be all gone, Cain hopeth to come into election. Like a wretched Coward he inveagles Abell to the field, eamus in A­grum, [Page 3] without weapon: and suddenly sets upon him, and kils him. Here I shew you the next dueller.

So Duellisme brings its badge of infamy, even from the beginning; Inquire the worthies, whom maintainers of Duels doe imitate, you will finde but Devills and Cowards. Therefore let noble spirits, yeeld thus farre unto reason, that Duellisme in the cradle, deserves no love, for the fathers sake: and let us goe nearer it, to looke if reason will affoord any better regard for its owne merits.

Duell law is, that differences must be tryed by the weapon: as wrongs will all the yeare bee budding, so men must ever be bleeding. Duellisme, is a game; where you shuffle swords, and the maddest gamester hath ever the leading: so that, one maine thing in this hot sporte, is, that wisemen must follow fooles. If a fellow gaze at noone and sweare it is night, nay will sweare it by the sunne that shines, and say you lye if you deny it, and challenge you, and goe to the field, why, there goes a foole: and you must follow him: else by staying at home, you loose your honour, and where? nay I cannot tell, nor you nei­ther, where you had it.

Point. 2.
Plea. 2. By Duell-law wisemen must follow fooles.

VVIll you see, two wise challenge-makers, stuffed with honour, as a goose with groates? which is but for wise men to Relatum mihi a side digni [...]. feed on: Both were big-lookt souldiers: our happy age did bring them: the lofty low-countryes did breed them: amongst the most warlike troupes of Europe. The one set to dice, and proved unlucky; his mony being out, his mettle got up, & from dicing, he would needs to duelling, but wanted matter: he spies on his owne head a blacke hat, hee casts that downe bravely, and sweares it is white. This champion fights not now, for the beauty of his mistris, but for his old hat: if any dare gaine say him; he doth chal­lenge, and will kill: thus he crakes up and downe, like a gander. The rest of the flocke, were fluttering in their game, and so the challenge stayeth unanswe­red. Till anon, another of the hopefull company, was cast away on the same shoare, the waves or the knaves had swallowed up his mony: and away say­leth he to give a crosse challenge, for now hee that was fooled out of his mony, he was in the right cue of a Dueller: he will challenge; and fight, and kill, and lookes blacke: and all, to maintaine the hat was blacke.

Iust, our Duellers now adayes: much to the like, [Page 5] or lesser purpose, our quarrells: for a false smile of a beauty; a simple conceit, of some hollow friend: a light mistake of a foe, things all of no value, a challenge must passe, must have its answer: else honour goe exiled for ever. That such men are not wise, I say not: but surely, to be a follower of such men, is a very poore service, for honour.

If a Bedlame in knowne attire, armes naked, and cap-feathered, challenge you, to hurle your selfe downe a rocke, and breake your necke: though hee leade to the bottome upon the same termes, shall you be termed a Coward, if you follow him not? In West­minster, if those grave Senates, were challenged by plaintiffes; must all the Iudges, rise ftom the Bench, runne to cutlers and buy swords, thence to S. Iames his fields: and make of their bookes bucklers? what confusion of mankinde? would not this heavily be censured in Starre chamber, that such able men, fol­low such weake ones? And is it not, as punishable; when men by their blood, of great worth: by their nature, of excellent wit: by their experience, of singu­lar wisdome: doe cast all these good merits, into the flame of a Duell, only because some inconsiderate man doth challeng them Valour, should ever thinke it base, to lye open, unto every ones anger: to wait at a mad-caps heeles, to bee at hand whensoever he calls to the field: there ought to be a greater distance, betweene courage and folly, betweene greatnesse and weakenesse.

Lewis the 12 of France, when in a lower fortune, [...]yps [...] Mon [...]. Polit. lib. 2. c. 12. [Page 6] he was but Duke of Orleance, suffered a great abuse from some peeres, and was throughly sensible there­of, he minded to right himselfe by his weapon, and reach his enemy to the heart: the meane time advan­ced him from a Dukedome (of Orleance,) to a king­dome, of France, and now sitting soe high, hee hath quite lost the sight of quarrell: hee fancieth not any feeling of it: his nobles, friendly remember him, to re­venge himselfe: no saith Lewis. Parum de corum est regi Galliarum iniurias illatas Aurelianorum ducibus ulcisci; it becomes not a king to take up so low a quarrell: that were, to wreath the Scepter with disgrace, to hang the crowne upon infamy. The affront did call, but upon a Duke, Iniurias Aurelianorum ducibus illa­tas, why shall a king follow it? when the creature which offends, is but meane, and is too base, for a Lion-courage to prey upon?

Thus you (if you hold your selfe worthy) should discourse with your selfe; when you are called to combat, say you will not stir, not because you are too weake, but because you are too great: what lyeth too far below us, is as far out of our reach, as what is pla­ced too far aboue us; cast a stone at the stars, they will not send you a challenge by night, they cannot fight with such Lownes as you: They know their glo [...]y is too high for you to blemish, or hope to offend: ther­fore, they can have no cause to be angry with you. So you know your selfe, to be a bright star of valour, a sparke of the planet Mars, and scorne to come neere little ones. If a childe revile you; will you cite him, [Page 7] wilde to the field? why, quarrelling duellers, are but children; they know no more where they set their feet when they goe to the field, no more to governe themselves, nor their weapons, then if they were ba­bies; and it were good, the nurse should swadle a­gaine their armes up, they use them so crookedly; they will never keepe their fingers out of their mouths, all the strength of their armes hangs still at their tongues end. O Gentlemen of worth and of ho­nour! when you are by some fiery hot-spur chalen­ged to the field, say with King Lewis, Parum decorum est ulcisci, looke upon the greatnesse of your owne valour, and doe not abuse it, by using it so meanely. It is cowardly: a man, all cloathed in steele, to draw upon a man naked? I hold it worse, a man fortified with valour, to set upon a weakeling quareller? it is e­ver a weakenesse of stomacke to turne soure at every morsell: and quarelling spirits are certainely of the softest kinde of mettall; every little touch doth so bruse them, that they will leake bloud presently. The worthier you are, the lesse warrant you will still find, to follow a quareller to the field: which ponderati­on Holy court. moved Augustus Caesar that most valiant and victorious Prince, Prudently to refuse Marke Antho­ny his rash and indiscreet defiance, commanding the challenge-bearer for to tell Anthony, that when hee was weary of his life, he could find other more noble meanes to be deprived of it, then in hazarding it with Anthony in single combat: so (that is much to bee la­mented) this base combating humour, hath so farre [Page 8] crept into honour, and that it lurkes most in good blood: whilest the infection, cannot spread amongst meaner Persons; it seemes these are grown to a stron­ger constitution of manhood.

This was it: the wiseman teaching to our times, Eccles. 10. 7. so much wondered at: Vidi saith hee, servos in equis, Principes ambulantes in terra, A strange sight! I see a meane man, hot in passion, provoked mightily by his foe, growne so furious, that you would iudge rage runneth away with him beyond all reason: and yet hee handles the raines of his passion so well, hee keeps his saddle sure that hee falls not, vidi servos in equis: he holds still that command over himselfe, that none can draw him a Duelling: he feeles, it must be his owne undoing: in pursute of his right: hee ap­peales still, from his owne arme, unto a court of iustice. And yet, those that weare honour out at the elbowes: and the world cals, its best men: at the very first guird of anger, loose their stirrops, and reele, vidi Principes in terra: they follow they know not whither, any passionate man, that will lead them: and willfully, will carry their wrongs, to triall bysteele, contemning all legall causes, as though, all gentlemens rights, must admit of no other proba­tur, but the rapier.

Point. 3.
Plea. 3. Strength, can bee no triall of truth.

THis giddy Duelling: is no fruit of honour, it is the worme of honour: a fit of falling sicke­nesse, of manhood: when reason, is out of doores, and soules are cast, quite past their senses. But will you come to your selfe; and heare reason! Your enemy, offended you; why, so he did the law too; then let law punish him, for you both, rather leave the weapon, to the stronger hand: let law answer the challenge; so will you bee sure to revenge, your king will be your second.

If you grow out of love, with kings lawes: and to come by your right, you will call no iury, but fury: whosoever makes of you (as you say) an asse, you will make of him an oxe, and knocke him in the head. Let us then, pull Littletons quoyfe over his eyes, and turne the blinde foole out of Westminster: we will make that hall, a goodly shambles: of Inns of Courts, we will devise fencing schooles: and will have, no more assises: all care must be, to finde out a lusty butcher, that can knocke downe readily. Whosoever, hath best skill in armes, shall have best right, to others lands: (wee will have a new con­quest) if you deny, the strongest mans right; hee shall give you the lye, and boare a hole in your bo­some, [Page 10] and that way come into possession. The truest tongue, shall ever grow neerest the lustiest shoulders: and from the stoutest mouth, you must alwayes ga­ther verities: Nay, wee will passe into trades: the valiantest taylor, shall doe your worke, so you may goe out of fashion: the lustiest mason, shall bee your layer, so your house may fall on your head. And such be the consequences of unruly courage.

These like tenets, are too mad; to passe for currant, amongst men. One will fight, will kill, to prove himselfe the valianter man; that is no good conse­quence. It may be your enemy his foote failed him, not his heart, he stumbled; so you killed him: His weapon forsooke him, not hee, the action; so you overtooke him. The wrenching of a sinew, hinde­red the right rule of his sword, whereby you got within him: so, you reached him his deadly wound. And thus, the valianter man; ofttimes dyeth.

Goe on: and let us heare, your further discourse: your enemie gave you the lie, therefore you will fight, you will kill him; to prove that your selfe speakes, more truth then he: That is a worse conse­quence: strength of body, and true dealing, fall of­ten a sunder: if every word, the strong man speakes, must passe for currant truth: that Ancient, was a very foole, which first invented a Polyphemus; a migh­ty strong fellow, and yet with one eye onely: com­pacted, with strong limbs, and weake sight: a face, with a single Eye, and it out of the way, in his fore­head, [Page 11] in this pendent-haire fashion now a dayes, hee would be alwayes hud-winked. Surely Vlysses had done great mischiefe to the world, in putting out that one eye, had hee not presently knocked out his braines: for, we should have had, a fellow as blinde as a betle, most strong, most powerfull, and so turne teacher of every body: for, all truth, must be delive­red from his mouth, his lips only keepes the treasure of wisedome: from him, wee must take new do­ctrines, new councels, new customes, and every bo­dy must beleeve him, after his eyes be out, else every body must be knocked in the head; because, hee is strong enough to do it.

If strength must thus maintaine truth: then let us resolve first, who is the strongest man in a countrey; let that man prate at pleasure; faire mai­dens must owe unto him, their good names: and gentlemen their good bloud. If you once finde the strongest man of a kingdome: hee may freely geere, and discourse. Let him say; there is no honour, in peace: no valour, in warre: Captaines, be but kettles, of base extraction: some, forced, for feare of the pot­hookes, to hang over the fire of warre; as not able, at home, to keepe open kitchings. Others, often, boyle ever; they inrich themselves, so fast. Most, the rather maintaine fire of dissention about them, to have meat within them. Let him say: that men, are but frogs in ho [...]e and dublet: quackers, that women are but bundles of doubts, moved up and downe by the winde fi [...]kers. Let him say: there is, no inclo­sure [Page 12] upon earth: no kings, in the stocke: no great cards, but coted knaues; some bigger, some lesser, some thinner in cloathes, some mufled in larger gar­ments: and knaves all, that shuffle the queances, a­mongst them. And all this, must be so: nay, though, as he denyeth a king on earth, so hee deny unto the heaven, a godhead.

And all this must bee true, because hee is the most strong man, that saith so: and will challenge you, if you deny it: and proves all by the sword, as by a most bright argument. Is not all this, against reason? when strength carrieth away truth, what shall poore women have? they must speake never a true word; and so their amorous swordmen, shall have worke e­nough, to make, for every lye, a quarrell.

O Inconsiderate Duellers, will no reason force you, to put up your weapons? but still, they play, to gaine you honour: then, take this point; they can win you, no honour, but what must be stayned, with Infamy. I know, honour and wealth, are things in great price. But hearke; a tall fellow, that never sowed, will now gather wealth upon the highwayes: and you, like it not: such moneyes, come in basely; who will have them so must be a theefe: why no o­therwise you, the honour which you get by murthe­ring, is as base; when you duellize, you latronize: when you project combats, you doe noe otherwise then as in an honest neighbourhood, to turne theefe: and who protects you, is no better, then a receiver of th [...] e [...]es.

Point. 4.
Plea. 4. To enter a Duell is to turne Theefe.

IN a Duell, what doe you strive for? life: why, that is not yours: when you rob a man of his life, you steale it; then if you goe a combating, you goe a stealing. You kill your enemy, you expose your selfe, to be killed; why, you dispose of things, none of your owne; that is but a tricke of a theefe. Your life, God hath given it, to your king; and unto you, but the loane of it: the king keepes it, for his owne turne; you may take the use of it, in your owne affaires, on­ly during the kings pleasure: when the king cals for it, to the warre, or his other service, you must carry it: is it not then, against all reason, that you should spoyle your life when you will? May one murther himselfe in the field? no heathen dare say it: why, nei­ther can you carry your selfe to field, to be murthered by any other: you are accessary to both crimes, e­qually; a stranger, should have, rather lesse power over your life, then you have your selfe; so, you foule­ly mistake, in concurring with any, to kill you. You will call any priuate man, theefe, that drives but a beast off your ground, and sels it: that takes, against your will, but a crust out of your house, and casts it to the dog: and will not you call him a worser [Page 14] theefe, that snatcheth a soule, out of a living body, and casts it perchance to the divell.

Your life is not your owne; God keepes it for his owne use; there are two Ioint lords of your life; God, and Caesar; God will have you, to liue longer, to pay him services: God, is Lord of the Honour: and he will have you live a longer terme. Gods bay­ly Reason, warneth you, that it is not fit, you should remove out of Gods f [...]alty, disrespectfully: you can­not leave Gods service suddenly, at your pleasure, or displeasure; take heed, it will beare an action, in the leet of heaven.

This reason, was so strong, that in a great uprore, it held the courage, of the valiant Weneslaus king of Bohemia, in very good order. His brother Bodes­laus, set upon him furiously, striking with every blow to kill: king Weneslaus manfully defending himselfe, unweaponed his brother, whom sprea­ding now upon the ground, when the waves of an­ger in Weneslaus, would have swallowed up Bodes­laus, when iust furie did cry, kill and revenge. At that instant, reason strikes in, and Weneslaus reflects, what hee is going about: to take away, a life, unto which indeed he hath right, because he is Caesar; but yet God hath also a right unto it; and therefore, We­neslaus resolveth to meddle no further with it: but sheatheth his steele, and saith those golden wordes: mallem ut fraterdeo sanguinis reddat rationem, quam si ego in fratrem manus iniecero, et fratris necis [...]usam apud [...]. Polit. Deum dicere compellerer. I will not adventure to [Page 15] steale out of the world a life, for the which, in a higher court, one day, I must come to triall: let my brother, keepe his life, and answer in Court himselfe, for it.

Why will not subiects, submit unto reason, that forced so mighty a prince: when they bee called to combats, may they not without blushing, speake af­ter so warlike a king, and refuse, least necis causam apud deum dicere compellerer. I will not runne away with mens lives, and have a punishing God at my heeles. But our Duellers will gather liues, as leaves: and mow mens heads, with asmuch pleasure, as husband­men doe their meadowes. Neither God nor king, shall keepe them from killing men, they will drinke bloud to coole their choler: and rather then want it, they will goe so farre out of all reason, that they will take the lives of those that neuer offended them: they will bereaue innocency, of its possession: it seemes they will fight, for no other cause, but to shew they can kill.

Point. 5.
Plea. 5. The Dueller mistakes alwayes his enemy.

HOw often, hath it happened▪ that in a sudden distaste, you mistook your iniurer; you struck, & did not touch, the man that wronged you. Let reason, here in a corner, talke with you a little, of [Page 16] things out of fight. Wee all know, wee have un­knowne Foes; and a bosome enemie still bites nee­rest the heart: a wound, least in eye, is most in dan­ger. To open the truth to you; the Devill is your greatest enemie, hee brought the man, which you terme your abuser, to the Ale-house; to squabble with you, there: doe not then challenge the Drun­kard, but charge the Devill: else, you mistake your enemie; you use to say, you will fight with the De­vill; why strike him now, when Man doth strike you. More, it is drinke, that hath beene the brocher of all the quarrell, and hath stirred the man, against you: else, all had beene quiet: then turne the drinke, up and downe the floore, and tumble not the Drun­kard: but pitie, to see, how the Devill plies him with fire and water, with furie and small Ale.

If you doe otherwise; you are so farre out of rea­son, that you turne an irrationall creature: you turne Cur: Simile quiddam canibus admittis, saith Basil, spea­king [...]s. hom. de ir [...]. of the quarrelling man, qui saxa mordere solent, non jactantes: Cast a stone at a dog, and how quick he will meet it in the field! what a combat, what a gnawing, what a pawing; O had the dog but a sword by his side, what a brave Dueller hee would make! And all the while of this doggishnesse, there is no looking, where is the man that did hurt the dog, no notice taken of the hand that moved the stone to set at the dog, and did all the mischiefe.

So you Duellers: You use a just dog-trick, when you carrie your selves so [...]ishly towards him tha [...] [Page 17] thumpes you with heavie words: it is true, hee it is, whose breath doth touch you: it is him, you feele: and from whom commeth your smart: yet he is, but the stone, and very like it, blinde and heavy: reflect then, there is another hand, which doth throw him at you, which wheeles him, and violently casts him upon you. Therefore in all reason, in hunc hominum interfectorem, iram transfer: the Divell is the iniurer, and faine would be your murtherer, hominum inter­fectorem: therefore, turne all your hatred upon the Divell: it is crafty Sathan, that sets on a fellow blinde with passion, to anger you; take pitty, to see, how the divell playes upon him, making him a blocke to lie in your way to stumble at, fratris in te peccantis mi­serere, commiserate, when you feele him under you, remembring it was the divell, that laid him there.

Doth your enemie abuse you in a publique mee­ting, doth hee invite you to a bosome full of your bloud? aliquis te infestat saith Chrysostome, is he very peevish with you? yet looke not after him, in ipsum ne respice, it is not worth your labour; you will never come that way within reach of him that did you the wrong in daemonem instigantem iram funde, ingage your rage, your courage, in setting upon the Divell. You may arme your selfe with weapons of proofe; wherewith you may anger him: be but patient and meeke, you will fret him mightily: be humble, you give him a great buffet; use any goodnesse, and you will stabbe his very heart; keepe but one graine of grace, and hee dare never tarry with you. Why will [Page 18] you not then, lay downe your sword, wherwith you mistake your enemie, and take up some better wea­pons, wherewith you might beat the divell your murtherer.

Thus you see, how Duellisme, is every way against reason: the dueller mistakes his masters, they bee di­vels, cowards, or fooles: he mistakes his way; to the triall of truth: hee mistakes himselfe, to make him­selfe a theefe: and lastly, he mistakes his enemy: and having mistaken himselfe so many waies, hee run­neth yet into further mistakings; hee doth mistake his God, for hee goeth about to set up a new Deitie, and [...]o heave the true God out of heaven.

Point 1.
Suffer. 1. It is true valour, to suffer, when you must lose, by striving.

IT is prime valour, oft times, to suffer: for no other reason, but because one that is above you, (by Scepter, or Crozier, by might, or craft) will have you suffer; and you cannot hinder it, but by doing your selfe more hurt, than all your suffering can mount unto: in such a case, I say, true valour doth bid you, not seeke revenge, but force your selfe to suffer: you shew stoutnesse, to dare look an abuse [Page 21] in the face, and not to squeale out at the first touch of it. You call it courage, to submit to the Surgeons knife, when a disease hath made him your Master: so if your weaknesse makes a meane man way to ma­ster you, you shew good metall, when you let him cut you: for you fence still a greater mischiefe off, with a lesser: and prove, it resteth in no enemies power, to lay on you what load he please: you will take up your owne burthen; that is manlike. To live free from all sufferings, were to live beyond the rate of mortall men: a meane Cottenger makes oft times a mightie man suffer. The difference betweene valiant and cowardly spirits I finde is, that valour will be still his owne carver; whilest cowards doe gape, like Cewetts, when you bob them under the chin. The stout man can for his advantage, hold his own snarlish nose to the Grindstone, when it growes too sharp, and dull the edge of honour: hee will suf­fer a lash of disgrace, or discontent, to get free from a more burthensome evill: and to winde himselfe into a better occasion, to get his right, to punish his abuser, and not abuse himselfe too.

Certainely, men ought not to be so pettish with God and man: meanes should be used, to bring suffe­ring a little more into credit and practice: suffer a great man, sometimes, be it but for his greatnesse. If great God, will take from you your honey, your de­light, your apple, your profit; strive not therefore; you and God grow not to be enemies. A greater, a craftier, a peevisher man than your selfe, will have [Page 22] some of your ancient rights from you: why, if hee will needs snatch them, be not presently a struggling; beat him not out of breath, with drie blowes of bags of money: if you waste your treasure in Law, so you joyne with your enemie to undoe you: never fetch a golden fee over the barre at Westminster, because a great man leaps over your hedge a hunting: fence not a little harme off with a mightie one: that is not to be Prudentes sicut Serpentes; upon everie distaste Matth. 10. 16. be not a striving. A great heart may stand a time under a great burthen of wrongs, and the stoutest shoulders rise not upon the legs that are the quickest kickers.

Abraham was a man of good ranke in the world, Gen. 12. 1. and had great wealth, a faire house, certaine and good­ly demeanes in Vr and Haran: his Land-Lord God, upon a small warning turnes him out a doores, sets house and lands over his head to another. Abraham is silent, he never questioneth God in the high Chan­cerie of his mercies. Abraham knew his time to suffer, And he suffereth more yet; Hee hath but one sonne, upon whom hee had bravely builded the hopes of a Gen 22. 2. mirth of posteritie, all the comfort of those ages: God will needs make a Calfe of this Sonne, and knock him on the head, as a Victime unto the Almightie. Abra­ham carrieth his sonne to the slaughter.

Caius Caesar had a subject stout, wealthy, and ho­nourable: he was of the order of Knights, the onely Nobilitie of those ages, when Dukes now deny, Kings claim'd no place at the side of the Scepter. [Page 23] This noble Knight was father to a hopefull Heire, & was Owner of a Spanish mettall, which ever bree­deth the best steele: his name was Pastor, and lear­ned Lipsius observeth some of that name at this day in Spaine. This Pastors eldest sonne was undeserved­ly called to execution by the angrie Emperour Caius: the father hath both love to feele, and valour to re­venge, yet striveth not against the potent Prince, but suffereth his sonne to dye: and beares it out so cheer­fully, that betweene his words and thoughts you could not spie a sorrow: Nec dolorem aliquo signo erumpere passus est. Pastor is mightily sensible, and yet you perceive him not discontented. If you aske him how his sonnes wrongfull death goeth downe with him so gently? why is his stoutnesse so pliable to suffer? Seneca answereth you for him wittily, Pa­stor had another sonne to lose, Habuit alterum. Pa­stor Lib. 2. de I [...], cap. 33. did suffer, to save himselfe from greater suffe­rings: the Knight had more yet to lose, therefore his best course was to be quiet: had he contended with his Prince, had he urged that mightie arme, it would but inlarge his harme: so Pastor might have lost all his children, and himselfe too.

Have you a few acres in a whole Mannor, or one Mannor amongst many, which a neighbour great or covetous gapes after, and sighes for sorely? ease him and your selfe too, and let him take it; some­times merrily, because upon that ground, you will raise no unkindnesses: remember with Pastor, Ha­bes alterum, you have more lands to lose; and if you [Page 24] cannot suffer one to rob you of this, in some by­way he will wait for you, he will set law upon you, to rob you of all the rest. When such a crosse mis­chiefe must come into request, deny it not; there is no cure, but to diet your choler, and walke out of the way of your conceit of honour: if you will goe to law, to answer a great mans gall, all your lands may sinke in it: take therefore Pastors counsell in time, suffer one losse, lest you suffer many. Your childe, your wealth, your comfort, let it goe when mightie God will have it so: remember Habes alterum; if you be impatient, if your heart rise, God will pick the rest away from you. Your enemie hath gauled you, and Dulce est dolorem reddere, It is honey to you to cut his Seneca de Ira, lib. 2. cap. 32. throat: lose that honey, that sweetnesse of revenge, though you can reach it: say with Pastor, Habes al­terum; you have a life to lose, a quietnesse of life to lose, which is all the comfort of life; and if you stir to your enemie his losse, for your selfe, you must make another: therefore set your heart at rest to suffer.

You shall see Abraham suffer yet more: hee had a Gen. 12 14, 15, 16. wife, the Flower of all Asia, that ever hath brought forth the primest Beauties: her face might have en­amoured the Heavens. If the ancient amorous An­gells any more were to come to court the filias homi­num, the Damosells of Damaseene, this beautifull creature would surely draw those merrie Spirits from their Heavens: her prettie countenance was a clu­ster of all the perfections of Nature: from her fame [Page 25] Apelles afterwards stole all his neatest features: when she faded, her crimson she left to the Rose, her can­dor unto the snow, which in her kept heat enough to inflame millions. This woman being Abrahams wife, God bad him trust her to court, thrust her to the Kings bosome, and shee her selfe adventured the bed of a Pharo: yet Abraham made no quarrel against his God, nor against his consort [...] resteth quiet: shee will be faithfull to the homely heardsman, amiddest the embraces of a king. Certainely, honest Abraham both had the Desart to meet, and the happinesse to injoy a most honest wife: hee beleeved God would keepe her.

More: Abraham was a sufferer, not onely of God, Gen 13. v. 8. 9. who he was sure, could master him: but you shall see in him, towards mean men, a great deale of mild­nesse. Abraham had a great stocke; his Cosen Lots shepheards, fenced up pastures (for themselves) and drove off Abrahams cattel: grasse began to be short, & the hungry beasts bellowed aloud for meat: Abra­hams heart did ring with sorrow; yet he held it quiet; he went not about to trie the title with Lot, by Law, nor armes, nor yet offered any blowes to the shep­heards. But after a while goeth to Lots house, with hat in hand, obsecro, I pray faire dealing, without foule words: upon the goodly bankes, by these fer­tile brookes, in the shadie dales, there groweth grasse in plentie; and wee have room enough for us both, therefore let us have no iusling betweene us; Obsecro non fit jurgium inter nos; to what purpose should we [Page 26] two, goe to bore holes in one anothers skins, for our mony to drop thorow into the Surgeons fingers? wee are Cosens, let not mis-beleevers censure the kin­dred of the faithfull for most unkind: its true, a kins­man ought not to suffer too much from a kinsman, sometimes such may quarrel; but let us see first what cause we have to fight, and then we will trie, how we can fight it. I pray thee Lot, let us not kill our selves out of an humour, for a handfull of grasse: wee are but strangers in the countrie, and we are but two to strengthen one another, let us not breake our backes to fill our beasts bellies.

All this pleading the matter was but a staiednesse of Abrahams valour, no slownesse of his metall: Abra­ham reflected upon inconveniences of greater conse­quence, and so withstood his owne combating cou­rage: for though you heare Abraham here a great suf­ferer, you shall see him anon a great souldier; and know you hereby, that when you suffer, you be not presently of the sise of a coward; rather when you suffer to advantage your selfe, you shew a piece of ve­ry good manhood. About this same time, of Abra­hams crouching to his neighbour Lot, Kings in per­son led martiall troopes abroad the countrey: and you shall see Abraham dare looke Kings in the face and beat them: five kings rove abroad and pil­lage, and one Abraham will be able to make a rescue: Gen. 14. v. 1 [...]. [...]. 16. a few servants, a handfull of shepherds, led by an A­braham; do kill kings, rout troopes, returne spoiles, and fill the aire with applauses of victory: see whe­ther [Page 27] Abraham be a man of metall or no, and whether his suffering was his want of feeling, and of valour; no it was his judgement, to lead alwaies his courage un­to his best advantage. O Dueller, you of the number of the faithfull? si filii Abraham estis, opera Abraham fa­cite; whom willingly you follow in faith, bee not a­shamed to follow in good manners: I like well, you be as Abraham was, with your weapon, a mighty do­er; but I would have you also be, as Abraham was, at fit times, a meeke sufferer.

Point. 2.
Suffer. 2. True valour is to be master of your owne courage, and not upon any ones call, to combat.

I Observe, some men take wonderfull pleasure in squabbling; therby they vaunt spirit, (which they cal) the touch-stone of generositie, they care not after what cause they go, so they carry it stoutly: this kind of courage, hangs sometimes upon a good heart, yet it is not the fruit, it is but some little dead leafe that falls from the goodly plant of valour; or reckon it, as a moat amongst the rayes of valour. The shining Sunne, will not be long without moats, it will finde them thorow one hole or other: it is as true, a man Gen. [...] of bright and sharpe mettal cannot belong without [Page 28] meates, hee will fetch them strangely out of corners. Yet that is not, because the light doth like imperfecti­ons, or valour love mis-usage; but because, as moats doe follow the glorious Sunne, so some madnesse doth ever follow manhood: nullum ingenium mag­num Sen. l. de Tran­quil. sine. sine mixtura dementiae, scarce shall you meet a great courage, but it hath a little of unruly car­riage; those that can bridle it, are the most excellent men.

Therefore, if you love credit, keepe your valour at a stand: suffer it not to stirre, untill it sue first for leave; to the Queene of morall vertues, Prudence: so you shall truely be master of mettle, and not, your mettle master of you, that is not to be a man, but to be a slave of manhood, haled up and downe by met­tlesome passions basely. These be harsh masters, when they tyrannize over you. The greatest skil of a sword­man, is not to goe, but to stay to chuse an opportu­nitie, to wrench it from his enemies in spite of them; else you are angry, but as the mouldy worpe, which with blinde furie biteth all it meets withall: if an offence cal on you and your anger rise, bid it lie down againe, and sleepe untill you awake it. Will you have your heart to be the centre of valour? then hold you quiet, when all the world flieth to pieces about you: for of all the earth, onely the centre can never be mo­ved.

Caius Marius was undoubtedly of the best souldi­ers The French Academy of Pierre de Pri­mandie. the Romane Militarie bred: hee was powerful in victories, hee hewed to peeces one hundred thou­sand [Page 29] brave Low-countreymen in one battle: he was dreadfull to his foes, he put the rugged Cambriats to quicke flight, the noise of his name defeated many e­nemies. Yet when Paulus Sylla stept to his teeth and dared him to fight, Marius stands still like a lambe: it was not because Marius had lost his mettle, but be­cause he held the reines of it, and would not suffer it runne after so silly a fellow as Sylla was▪ but plaine­ly refuseth the challenge, and saith, If Sylla holds him­selfe so tall a fellow, that hee can beat Marius, let him try to force Marius to fight in spite of his heart: for Sylla must know Marius maintaineth, hee will not fight, but when it please himselfe. It is a greater strength to hold backe the roaring Bull, than to run as fast as he: nay it is much more might, to hold his striving strength quiet, than to fight with him. You Duellers, when you are called to the field, if you will be master of the field, stay your valour: looke upon Marius, who will draw upon no mans command, no mans challenging, no mans bidding: all challen­gers are but pratlers; to talke of fightings, and fierce­nesse unto Marius, are but tales of Robin-hood.

Men of best valour themselves know best, what time to fight: and the quarreller, with his humorous words, is no clocke for them to count by: they will not be tyed to keepe any mans houre: valour will be his owne chuser, for time, place, and quarrell, and will hold nothing under its enemy; it will owe no ser­vice, and wil fight, but for what it selfe will. Certain­ly, it is a most poore custome, crept now adaies into [Page 30] credit, that men must fight when they bee bidden, (when they be challenged) that is to make of men children. What difference betweene the cradle and gray haires? but that the one is carried (and so is the duell-answerer) the other walkes where hee please: the little one feeleth not where it goes, the great man knoweth hee hath great charge (of honour) about him, and therefore will take his owne time of the day.

Fabius Maximus the Non plus ultra, upon the Pillars The French A­cademy of Pierre de Primandy. of the Romane Fortitude, had the command of a se­lect troope, at the time Hannibal entred Italy; a Fa­bian souldier, thought it unworthy his so great a Commander lying in the way, the Garthaginian standard should approach the walls of Rome; and therfore with angry speeches, attempted to rouse the most mightie Generall Maximus to fight: but hee stirred not; all those windes blustering f [...]om foolish lips, shaked no corn in Fabius his ears: Fabius saith, be wil shew valor, in that he wil not be drawn from his deliberation (which is to stay a convenienter time) not for all their tarring reproches: Fabius his valour runnes not out of sight for a childs chasing; his heart is no henne, that will be driven off the nest (of his hopes) with a hushing: that man is very weake hea­ded, that suffereth his heart, to runne away with him: that is but a convulsion of courage. Fabius reflected, his credit was great, his foot must not stirre, but the whole earth must shiver: his head must not move, but the very heavens must tremble: when hee rou­seth, [Page 31] the whole universe must quake in a dreadful­nesse: therefore Fabius bids his courage be quiet, un­till such time as an opportunitie falls out, hee may doe something becomming a Maximus. Say you so too, when you are challenged by a boysterous quar­reller, that you hold him no fit matter for your cou­rage to worke upon; and so shew that you can take time to deliberate, what a man of your rights to ho­nour is fitting should doe.

Old Souldiers, (that ever be the valiantest men) will sticke long before you can get their heads into a quarrell: they know what obligations follow men that goe to the field, what ties of honour doe gird their great hearts. When a valiant man is bent upon revenge, hee will take it: hee must not play the wea­ther-cocke, if the thunder-bolt strike, it must turne the bardest metall into dust: and stout mens anger must not be the push of a feather, blowne off with a faire word, with a little entreatie. The valiant man reflects what a great opinion of valour, the world holds on him: a verie sweet & pleasing thing to car­rie, but chargeable in its retinue; when wrongs do cal it abroad, it must have a great traine of bloud after it, to amaze an Injurer. The stout man considereth the great report there is of the excellencie of metall within him: and therefore now that it is to come forth, if it doe not carrie away the eyes of all men, he shall be a scorne for ever: his honour hath beene yet amongst his neighbours, but as the blossome on a tree, or corne in the buske; now time is come that [Page 32] all men will expect a harvest, the sickle must goe, and everie body will be gaping at what is reaped; wide gaping wounds must be the barnes, where hee must inne his honour. With these and like reflections, cou­rage doth hang its course almost still in the deepest resentments; and certainly, whil'st quarrellers, like little brookes, keepe a loud prattling, manhood glides so quiet, that you would thinke it is not moved.

Fabius Maximus commanded his courage to for­beare Hannibal, expecting for his valour some better service, to present it to his Countrey; it was not feare of death, that frighted him. So you shall see; let Rome, in whose hands hee willingly leaves the raines of his valour, set him aworke with three hun­dred men onely, hee will set upon all the warlike troopes of Hannibal. The necessitie of the Common­wealth, bids the Romane Eagles flie, a Fabius shall flie before them: and all the beames of Hannibals glistring Armie, shall not dazle the eyes of Fabius: But he shall pull the rayes from Hannibals head, and strike therehence his frontlet: and so like a Phoenix of Honour, dye amid the beames of the African glo­rie: having the frontlet about him.

Certainly, men may stay from fighting, and yet have a great minde to fight; when a good occasion is wanting, it is wisdome, to locke up your valour, fortunate be they that can doe it. When you are too weake, to goe into the blustringaire, you keepe your chamber; that is not to keep your house, but to keep your health: so to stay out of the way, is not alwayes [Page 33] servile feare, sometimes it is strength of courage, that expects hard for a victorie. The Souldier that un­dermineth the wall, you will not say, he hideth him­selfe blindly in a wonty-locke; hee walketh but a while in a hole, to raise up his valour with a brighter glorie. So when men stay from fighting, if a chal­lenge be given, and no answer had, let it not be ter­med cowardlinesse; it may be manhood is labou­ring with its full strength, to reach the furthest pitch of valour, it is not to run away, but to fetch a fee to leape beyond the Worthies. Actions of consequence, as honour is, required good deliberation: we see ve­rie often times, men wish themselves againe at the the beginning of a quarrell, whereunto they have fallen too too suddenly: therefore the best Souldi­ers are slow fighters, and it will be a long time before hot words can heat them: the fuell that makes the strongest fire, you take it tardie a kindling, whiles light straw will soone present your eye with flashes.

Point. 3.
Suffer. 3. True valour reserveth it selfe, for weightier imployments, than to dance in a Duell.

HAve you true courage? the marke will not be, that you rore booted and spurred for a Duell: when valour is in you, you will hang out for your signe, Silence. A man that layes up gold [Page 34] in heapes, lieth; spends not on Ladies smiles, sugar suppers: nor turnes his money to smoake in a Kit­chin: and who owneth the treasure of valour, shuts it up better than to vapour it out, to draw it forth up­on everie Mad-caps frowne to a killing: When af­fronts call men of courage abroad, their valour in­vites them to stay at home: it is gentile, and must not goe into ill company. Great valours have alwayes great fortunes to follow, and no leisure to attend quarrellers: therefore when private wrongs doe flie, the valiant mans eye doth not regard them.

The Romane Orator leading a streame of elo­quence to overflow the merits of Caesar, presenteth us with his pietie in war, his courage in peace, his staid heart in victories, and his rising hopes in mis-for­tunes: One fault Cicero confesseth in him, that hee had no memorie. And was Caesar so forgetfull in­deed? I am sure he forgot himselfe lesse than all the Romane Captaines that went before him; for quick­ly he tooke up the Diadem from under a company of Gulls or Consulls, that so long bred it amongst them, and never spied it. But yet (saith Cicero) Caesar was forgetfull, of what? Extollens dicebat Cicero, saith the learned African, mee thinkes I see Cicero breake out into a smile, and say, Nihil oblivisci solebat nisi in­jurias: Apud Aug. Epist▪ 5. ad Marcall. Valiant Caesar could not frame himselfe to picke strawes, or picke quarrells, (which is all one) he could never bestow so ill his courage; and there­fore you would thinke ever he did forget his injurer: his private abuses, hee laid so far out of minde, that [Page 35] time would say, he could never remember them. It seemes hee kept all the roomes of his thoughts for conquests: for everie corner of his heart, he had a se­verall Kingdome: therefore hee would make no place for shuffling quarrells: no, it was a furtherance to his victories, that Caesar had a speciall gift, in ha­ving no gift at all of memorie, for his wrongs: and so Cicero goeth on neatly, observing Caesar, who was of so excellent a memorie, so rare in that Art, that hee was not knowne ever to have forgotten any thing: Nihil oblivisci solebat: yet, to everie man hee did seeme mainely forgetfull of his injuries, hee did so wonderfully sleepe in them: and it was, he would not stirre in them, hee had so much other worke for his courage.

Had not the singular valour of Caesar done so, saith Augustine, yet Cicero did most well to say so: because great Caesar, should have done so: and not onely all the great masters of the earth, but also everie man of manhood: valour should follow glorie, not hu­mour: so neat a thing as valour is, should be set up­on better worke, than to cobble up Duells: Dicebat adulator, did Cicero but complement with Caesar, yet truly Talem esse debere ostendebat Principem civitatis August. ibid. qualem illum (Caesarem) praedicabat: Cicero wisely ex­pressed what was fitting for great courages to doe; men that will be great, must keepe their stomackes to hard meat; it must not be said of them, they can swallow nothing but milke sops: You must learne to disgest great quarrells, you must have the stomack [Page 36] of an Ostrich, sometimes to swallow iron: though one draw on you, and wound you, yet a more glo­rious imployment, must hold your courage, from laying your heart upon the revenge of it: valiant men must not admit, that everie little crum of dis­content can choake them: no, valour must swallow better than so: else the world, that so swarmeth with displeasing successes, had never made, of valorous men, its victors. Hence it came, that when Marke Antonie quarrelled with Caesar, yet Caesar would not awake, hee was so sleepie, that his legs could not car­rie him to the field, as I said before.

This great Augustus was a Prince, got well by his weapon, therfore he had no reason to refuse to use it; and the edge of his courage was well steeled with skill, therefore there was no great cause for him to feare Marke Antonie his arme, that was but a pillow for Ladies to lye on. This Caesar is the verie same (though others say it was Iulius Caesar) that comfor­ted the timorsome Boat-man, with a Caesarem vehis: Flerus. assuring him, rough mis-fortunes durst not appeare in the presence of Caesar: why then should Caesar feare an effeminate Antonie? surely it could not be feare, it was love, that Caesar bore to his valour. He resolved to reserve the thing he loved so deare, for more glo­rious actions: he would not spend of it, with that Spend-thrift of honour, Marke Antonie: hee played the better husband, and kept good metall for good use.

So, when the perfumed Courtier Antony challen­geth [Page 37] Caesar to fight in single combat, Caesar saith to him in sadnesse hee will not: doth Caesar therefore not love fighting? not so, Caesar rather loved it so well, that he will not bestow it upon t [...]e Aegyptian: Cae­sar prizeth fighting higher, than to cast away, as much as one crash, on a coward: Caesars fights, are to winne kingdomes, not to winne conceits: a Caesar will not spend his blowes to beat off cocks-combs, but to strike downe crownes: weightie must be the occasion, that can make stout men stirre: children may run after shittle cockes.

So you men of worth, you should set more by your lims, then to lay them at the stake to any that will play against them: shall every coward cut the cards upon you? call you at all times of the night of darke passion, and shall he so trample your life, that is the fruitfull bed of honour, wherein so many glori­ous actions grow, in peace and in warre? will you hazard all, of a challenger will draw cuts for it: if hee will cut off your necke, will you carry it to the field as quickely, as for your Prince to the scaffold? see what soveraigntie you give unto base quarrellers. This is to make Apes leaders of Lyons: with lives men of great credit, should not part so easily: our jewels sometimes we loose, yet we find them againe; but our lives once gone, we never meet them more, till the great wake of Iosaphat: therefore, you valiant men, seeing you gaine so much by life, you should have more care to keepe life on foot: all sparkling ho­nour, all glittering valour, life is the cabonet that [Page 38] keepes it: hacke life to peeces, what remaines, can ne­vergain you honour: it is but a lumpe of senslesse flesh, so cowardly, that abuse it then, cast it on the ground, it dares not stirre: affront a body then, see if it dare challenge, it dare do nothing but grinne, and looke pale: wherefore if you love valour so well for honours sake; love life a little better, and keepe it, to get you more honour, cast not life away so sleight­ly.

But doe you in honour burst with a Phanaticke desire, the world should know, that in your heart doth grow the orient pearle of valour; and I pray you, what is it? forsooth, that you can carry thorow your hot heart, a piece of cold yron and smile at it: that death never brings unto you her dreadfulnesse: why if you be so hot, walke alone to the warre, and shew so much there: doe service to your most wel­deserving king therewith, who will regard your ad­vancement by pay; so, your valour, unto honor, you shal adde profit, and by this, you may rise further in­to honour. Creepe not up and downe a countrey, killing rotten sheepe, poore silly fellowes, that when you bore them, you loose more ale than bloud out of their bodies. If you will strike like a mightie one, strike at the mountaines of manhood, set at ar­mies: if you have fire, burne high Cedars, let low shrubs alone for little ones to blaze on: the high region of a thundering aire sends its boults against the highest towres, it sets against what stands migh­tiest; but you must take in hand what lieth nearest: [Page 39] assoone as a neighbour angreth you, then you must needs fight: good Lord, how soone your valour ri­seth at home: if your courage be so earely up, why doe you not send it abroad to the field breath it up a rampier, where it shal finde worke enough? But your worke must bee by the fire side, you must fight at home, that is your goodly valour. I must tell you, such men be alwaies of the chillest courage: and I beleeve though they now glow in London, they will quickly have a cold fit at the newes of a Canon: I wish them to take Physicke, and from Saint George his field, to lead their courage under Saint George his banner: it will turne their stomacke, and cure their choller.

That famous Bachet, lustre of the East, and Holy court. Generall of the Turkish Armies, understanding one of his Captaines had challenged his fellow soul­dier; and both were gone to field, to coole their cho­ler with cold steele: Bachet broke out into a most feeling compassion. O, quoth he! what is our mea­ning? shall we kill no more enemies, have wee done with the Iewish Redeemers children (that deserve not the names of men) shal no more of them scrawle on the tops of our launces? In a world of hatefull adversaries, can wee finde leisure thus to turne our weapons upon the hearts of our fellowes? have wee no more greatnesse to offer unto Mahomets glorie, that thus wee hang up our weapons in the bosomes of the supporters of his temple? O, English Duel­ler, this Turke remembers you of a noble lesson: if [Page 40] your choller boyles so fast about your heart, that it makes your fingers ends tingle: lay them not there­fore upon your neighbours, your kings subiects; but go further from home, to prey upon humane bloud: your king hath enemies in the world, fal you on them abroad, and the kings lawes will in requital fal upon your foes at home. When your King hath no ene­mies, yet you may finde your selfe warre-like worke: bring in new found lands, to in large your kings kingdomes: the greatnesse of his royall merits de­serve roome to spread over far more large territories: the Ocean should burst with shame to presse meares unto his Empire: rather it should open its bosome, and give ground to lay unto his Dominions: and go to overflow with its waves the countries of lesse de­serving Princes: not bite away one crowne from the Brittaine shores; great Charles his glorie hath need of every sand, to reckon his singular merits.

Walke you Dueller with your valour, abroad the world, it hath a large scope, and many skirts; finde you one to lye upon, & lay on in a iust conquest lu­stily: shew greatnesse of valour in that you can make your good king greater; and waste not his subiects at home, so you make him lesser: to shew your fiery mettle consume not your kings power. If you have skill to kill, open your shop where that trade will bee in good liking: if all your labor is to make the world know you care not for death; walke there where you shall see it wait at your heeles; and cryes round about you every minute, bring you tidings, it wil be anone [Page 41] within you. Bachet was a great souldier, of stout courage, and though bloudy enough (hee was a Turke) yet hee misliked mightily challenges and privat combats: hee deemed them but a havocke of manhood. If wee will needs play at kill-game, let us not play like boyes, that must alwaies play neere their owne doores; let us goe where there is want of killers: at home there wants good livers.

Point 4.
Suffer. 4. The valorous man his greatest victorie is to overcome himselfe.

BVt will you live at home, and fight too, and come by a mightie opinion of valour: I will descry unto you neere your owne doores, a ter­raincognita (your selfe nosce teipsum) a whole coun­try to winne, A microcosmos, a little world, ful of great Commanders and fierce enemies, to conquer. I will carry you before two great high towers, of two mightie powers: the one, you will finde so under­standing to master you, that it is all knowledge, the other so wilfull to crosse you, that it is nothing but will: so strange, that all the pow­er of heaven and earth never makes it doe, but its owne will. I will lead you amongst the ambu­shes of sensuall pleasures; and shew you the strong hold of delight: the industrious sleights of profit: the wearilesse toyle of gaine: the wonderfull confidence [Page 42] of ease. Muster up here your couragiousest resoluti­ons, you shal march amongst a number of most cun­ning foes: doe you know where the most potent lord Selfe raigneth? one so ambitious, that the whole face of the earth hath bin ever yet too narrow for him to lay his eye upon; he rowles it into the bottom of the seas, unto the centre of the earth, and crieth out still for more roome. One so mightily troublesome that he pillageth all the fields of Nature with whole armies of unsatiable Passions, that swell against the very heavens; that strike at the very face of him that holds his head higher than the starres. One so vene­mous in his very heart, that after he is utterly defea­ted and laied on the ground, severed in pieces like a Snake, yet the one part of him will stir, and keep such a stirre, that it will raile and revile against its Victor, for a whole eternitie.

Do you desire not to go farre, and yet to go a com­bating? why, take this combat in hand; set at this strong enemie, and trie your valor on him: he dwels neare enough unto you, you may bee quickely with him, he is your owne selfe. I say, if you desire to take a master-peece of worke in hand, master your selfe; and one thing know for your comfort, if you can compasse it, the noyse of your worthinesse shall sur­passe all the nine of the fame. For who overcom­meth himselfe, may challenge the freedome to take the first place amongst the valiant. Call you in va­liant Caesar to a first chaire: him, so universall a con­querour, that the Princes of the earth presented him [Page 43] with Scepters, as meane tenants do their Land-lords with Chickins: you think this old souldier becomes the chaire well: you shall see a young Cato, a conque­ror of himselfe, come in and bid him rise, & will take place of him.

Cato the yonger, at the time the Roman glorie was The French A­cademy of Pier­re de Priman­dy. clouded in the sad siege of Vtica, was moved by his fellow Romans, lying al close blocked up, to submit unto conquering Caesar, else all must die. Valiant Cato at the mention of death, reades the inventorie of all his goods or goodnesses of all his life; hee hath a long rowle of many good morall vertues: under the head of his conquests, he runnes over a number of great price: but under the head of his selfe Con­quests he findes a great store: it seemes it was usuall with him to overcome himselfe. Hee often had cur­bed his anger, rising against some great men of the Citie, which might have driven him into rebellion. Hee had mastered his ambition, which perchance would haveled him upon the same action, as Caesar now is, to command the gates of Rome: but Cato bridled his unruly passions, better. Cato therefore answereth, hee will not submit unto Caesar. I (sayth Cato) have trulier conquered than Caesar; therefore Caesar should rather submit unto me. Caesar hee is now taken and overcome: therefore none can make submission unto him as conquerour. Caesar, his own vitious ambition to master all, hath cast him over us all. His great feare (having offended some of the Senate) hath bound him fast to the Scepter to fence [Page 44] himselfe withall: for, could Caesar have submitted his fierce disposition to the grave Lawes of the Sena­tors, which doubtlesse would have had a worthy fee­ling of him; their owne profit by his conquests, would have sweetned their trouble in the rugged­nesse of his nature: for wise men know a great spi­rit cannot serve them, but it must sometime offend them; and actions from humane flesh, we must bee contented to take them▪ as fish, a good one, and a shrow: could Caesar but have beene a little tractable to the light of higher powers, his heart had never va­poured so much heavy griefe as would presume to cloud the lawes of Rome, and for ever to eclipse the government of so many hundred yeares shining: u­surping over the Senat soveraigne power himselfe, who by right of cradle, deserved not to be their mea­nest fellow. Therefore Cato stil saith, he will account himselfe the invincible, because in mastering of him­selfe, he is mightier than Caesar. Cato scorned to yeeld unto the Victor of Rome: breathing the glory of be­ing Victor over himselfe.

We are now come to the hold and keep, who must be the better man, he that can quarrell, or he that can suffer; who mastereth many others, or who subdu­eth himselfe. Wee dare goe over shooes in bloud to angle for honour, but wee know not whether to goe from home with Caesar amongst strangers, or home againe with Cato unto ourselves. An offence is gi­ven, and you resolve therefore you must overcome your enemy, why doe you not resolve, you must [Page 45] overcome your selfe? you say you must fight, why say you not, you must be quiet: How doe you prove, that it becomes a valiant man better to fight, than to suffer? Or how is it a lesser victorie to conquer ones selfe, than another? You plead you must discover valour, I say so to, but let us finde the best way: it will ever fall out, that we shal still come home againe to your selfe, and within your selfe, wee shall finde the best matter of victories. It is a golden verse of a good Poet, repeated by most Writers; it seemes the witty saying doth take many:

Sentence is given: it is more to beat ones Selfe, than a many thousands: therefore if you run a duel­ling, onely out of a desire to get honour: lay chal­lenges with others aside, and make it your quarrell to master your selfe: chuse it, as the most difficult Duell, to overcome your selfe.

The nearer an enemie layeth siege to a Citie, the more valour it is, to beat him backe; and what can be more neare you, then what is within you. Magis sunt [Page 46] periculosa quae domestica, as Lactantius, very wittily Lib. 1. inst. cap. 9. observeth. A civill warre is the forest blow to a king­dome: because each part is sure to weaken the o­ther, and all parts growing weake, that body must needs die. Yet there, onely one part is against the other; but here all against everie part of you; you rob your hands of their labours, your understanding you bereave o [...] [...]s [...]ght; from your will you steale its good customes: and from your internall senses, their gentle inclinations to right; and thus you whose greatnesse consists of many Powers, doe engage your whole selfe in undoing everie severall part of your owne strength: then here is a civill warre more dangerous: When two Combators have lost the wales of their weapons, and cannot keepe one another out any longer, when fencing can maintaine no distance betweene them, but they are come with­in one anothers armes, then begins the bloudie part of the combat, there is nothing but poaching at life, strikes everie blow as fast as the weapon can come and goe. Can any be more within you, than your owne selfe? none doth lay at you more fiercely. Then this is the most dangerous Duell. You shall not gape to eat, but the enemie creepes in at your mouth, and turnes your full stomack, to desire what is not, to torture you. You shall not goe to bed, but he fol­lowes you betweene sheets, and sets difficult fancies on you, and keepes your eyes open in spite of the rod of Mercurie: if toyle cast you into a little sleepe, the enemie watcheth your first waking, hee falleth [Page 47] to the same game againe, and pestereth you with most heat, when you be most naked. Rise, and hee will make you sow teares in vaine, reape words with no gaine: and betweene wind and water he will hit you so sore, that it is a thousand to one, he will sinke you. Is it not therefore good reason, that the subdu­ing of his enemie, (ones Selfe) should be judged the greatest conquest.

This enemie doth fight upon such advantages, that it must needs be your greatest glorie to conquer him. And hence you shall ever finde those your best victories, whereof some part is, to overcome your selfe. A golden consequence! if to conquer, you must master your selfe, your victories be profitable: the more they have of selfe-mastership, the more they will have of profit: for by our difficulties & dislikes, we know what doth become us: and by our desires, we reckon still our mistakings: I will talke still of things within the compasse of courage.

You are right valiant, as light to fight as a feather. Why there be peevish opposing Spirits abroad in your parish, that men cannot dwell by with quiet: if you durst but touch them with a word, they would like a Betle leave their filthy burthen of malice: and you finde great difficultie to speake, you sweat and groane with the conceit that a word must come out of your mouth, you are in labour. Overcome your selfe here, chuse this combat, and let Challengers alone. More, I will chuse you another combat. Your servants, within your owne doores, dare be disorder­ly: [Page 48] your Officers over-carelesse, or over-covetous, or both: if you have a stomacke that can rise, set against these. O you will not endure the toyle, you cannot suffer the barking noise of your own disorders, you will never abide to heare again of your own foo­lish expences, to offer you notes is to cast motes in your eyes, you finde mightie trouble. Why, over­come your selfe, you shall see it one of your best con­quests: be not a coward, runne not away from your selfe, master your selfe for shame, to be master of your owne: sure, you are so great, so honourable, that you are afraid of your selfe: subdue your selfe in most things, so your spoyles shall be the heapes of many happinesses.

Will you put all conquests into one, conquer your selfe: who cannot doe so, will never be Lord Trea­surer of valour.

Hercules, you thinke, was a tall man, and had good strength: that could teare Lyons, beare on his backe whole miskins, over-run horses, over-flie birds, and roule up and downe the world doing wonders: Surely he had great limbs, yet Lactantius noted, they wanted their best sinewes: Vellem adje­cisset Lact. ut supra. de insolentia: I wish I could heare of some feats of Hercules, how he dealt with his enemies at home: you tell me hee did beat monsters, but durst he touch [Page 49] himselfe: I heare he did cleanse neighbours dung-hills, but was hee not apt to crow upon his owne dung-hill? Vellem adjecisset de insolentia: I feare hee was a little insolent. I should be glad to heare some newes, how he mastered his owne minde: and then saith Lactantius, I will yeeld unto antiquitie, and confesse that Hercules was a valiant man indeed, and a mirror of valour. Otherwise I will say, Hercules deserveth not his name, under the fame as it goeth. For I will no more esteeme him, for conquering beasts, birds, and enemies, than I will esteeme of a childe treading upon so many little Ants. Animum vincere fortissimum est, It is the conquest of himselfe that must make Hercules famous.

If you be ambitious of glorie, here is a way for you to goe beyond Hercules: Non enim fortior est judi­candus, qui leonem, quàm qui iracundiam in se inclu­sam Lact. ibid. superat. When your heart doth fill with filthy revenge, sweeten it with mercie, and you shall bee Hercules, not the other fellow for cleansing the Kings stables: when your angrie thoughts flie unto the Higher Powers for punishment against your enemie; flie you to overtake those thoughts, and tell them there is a God in Heaven, that bids you for­give: so you shall be the true Hercules, and not hee that overtooke a bird with an arrow. If the light of reason might be suffered to prefer a ray in the Star-Chamber; it would most humbly desire reflection upon the riots against reason, wherein by violence of weapons such strange value of valour is main­tained; [Page 50] such unlawfull measures of honour are sea­led with bloud. One that can but force a Beare, or face a Bull, is cried for valiant; and he that doth the wonder of wonders, who mastereth himselfe, is jee­red for a Coward. Let one overcome himselfe, hee must out-run his Countrey; all men will so point at him for a meere Noddie, as fit for nothing but to make a Lubber, to lye in a Monasterie; whiles per­chance, for a worthy effusion of bloud he hath a bet­ter courage, than you that doe but play the Scullion, running up and downe the field to sticke a Goose. I admire not that vice is in good liking, it doth unto most men a pleasure: but when men without blush doe praise vice, I feare their faith hath a tainture. It may be a wonder in future ages that men desired to doe well, and said they durst not, for feare of the im­putation of the vulgar; they acknowledged they did ill, and could do no otherwise, they must be so over­ruled by the coyish fancie of the Commons.

Point. 1.
Antidote. 1. Take not notice of everie wrong, you will otherwise but vex your selfe, without need.

SOme men will feed upon poyson, and certainly some stomacks rellish nothing but wrangling: the world worketh now adayes a strange kinde of medley, of cunning and folly: some forget them­selves mightily, they will sleepe drunke in everie tap-house, and yet they will watch; they will re­member [Page 53] a shrewd turn a neighbour doth them, from the cradle to the grave. They will finde such gaps to creepe into quarrellings; through a hedge they wil follow a pig: through a hole of a cott, they will fol­low a calfe for a straw: they will turne bloud-hound and tract a childe for a sticke; a man for treading a grasse that doth but peep out of a path: and all this industrie onely to finde themselves brabbles. O quam solers est iracundia ad fingendas causas furoris! I admire saith Seneca, the cunning that froward men have to frame combustions of nothing.

If Law will not serve quick, as their peevish mind doth call; if paper bils cannot hurt, they will put in sharper weapons; the steele, the pistoll shall cocke a­broad: and thus in a peaceable kingdom, we live (as it were) on the frontiers of a mercilesse enemie▪ now you see cattell driven, now violent hands laid on men, and they so handled, that it mattereth not whe­ther they be drawne to an averse king, or a dread full dungeon: for slavery is the end of both Iour­neyes.

The subtlenesse that some men use (though other­wise simple) to tricke up a quarrel, and to set it forth, meriteth observation. What a quicke eye to note it? what a curious eare to take it up, amongst a noise of by-matters? Some have the sleight of raking sparkes of discontents together, and keeping them long hot under the ashes of a counterfeit correspondency; so at their pleasure they will steale an opportunity, to set all a Countrey together by the eares.

Certainely, such conditions are of the nature of Witches, that lie alwaies in ambush to do mischiefe: they live the life of a cut-purse, whose necke is neerest the halter, when his hand gets neerest the treasure: so these, when they bee fullest of matter of quarrels, (which they greedily gape after) then they bee fur­thest from their owne quietnesse.

Wherefore, wisemen will rather bestow their wits in taking upon them somtimes, not to see what their owne eies doth shew them. Doe any affronts sti [...]re, by word or deed against you? still the occasion, nei­ther blow nor breath, be neither hot nor cold; carry your selfe so, that the standers by shall not perceive you do heare it. So they may come almost to thinke it was not you that was injured, they will rather draw in some other: that is an excellent skill. Hereby you shall keepe your valours credit, freeing it from ingagements for your honour; and you may have your ful strength to put upon actions more for your profit, to tug in matters that may rather increase strength than draw bloud from you.

Turne therefore a quarrell off with some pretty question, or sudden discourse to a stander by: draw your spirits so hastily another way, that your bloud shall not have leisure to rise into disorder: distract the hearers with an unexpected event: with draw your senses, fasten upon some obiect, cloase choler that would stirre: round mens eares with new reflections, turne them into cares: nip a discourse, giddy it, that it may not turne directly unto you againe: break off [Page 55] companie, upon pretence of a weighty businesse, and then let none bring you thither againe. Let the af­fronter put on never so openly; an undaunted spirit will deceive him of his marke, and put him out of his aime.

Cato, that worthy Romane, in a bathe was bare e­nough: Senec. l. 2. de ira. a sawcy fellow taunted him, and gave him a box on the eare; yet Cato tooke no notice of it; Cato said nothing. What could be a more publick wrong; and in the bathe, wee heare no newes of it, no char­ging the Constables with the villaine that strooke Cato. All is in a hush: sure Cato was not strucken: yes, Catonem (indeed) quidam percussit, saith Seneca, but Cato would take no notice of it, maluit non agnos­cere.

No question but Cato did feele the smart: yet his excellent wit found way to put shame by: doubtlesse his eare did glow, but his heart would not shew it. The man that strook felt Cato so stedfast, that having given the blow, hee thought almost that he was mi­staken, and had not hit Cato at all; rather that Cato was not there, either was gone in an extasie, into some region of Nature, profoundly searching out curiosities: or into the Schoole of the Stoicks pre­paring maxims to bridle humane passions, and whol­ly was not there when the blow was strooken at him; it was but the shadow of Cato, or a bunch of stones, or hard bones that was smitten, as if one had strooke but the house for the owner. See how this striker hath lost his marke, and hath done nothing: [Page 56] hee aimed to affront Cato, but could not, because Ca­to could then not bee with his body, to the others thinking. So Cato saved himselfe from disgrace by his wise deportment, and rightly said, Maluit non ag­noscere, quàm ignoscere. It was to bee expected from Cato that he should so do, he must not say, an affront did pierce him that hee was hurt: abuses must passe by him, as waves by a rocke, that never reckoneth them. It is a better testimonie of ones greatnesse, ne­ver to have had a foe, than to have revenged or for­given him (which is the revenge of a Cato) for if you forgive, you confesse you were wronged, and that is a weaknesse; therefore Maluit non agnoscere, quàm ig­noscere: a Ruffian may strike a Cato; but yet Cato wil say he was not touched; so will you become a great spirit, a Cato: take no notice, feele not weak ones, they may do wrong to you, & harm themselves, but never hurt you.

Point. 2.
Antidote 2. You are not the worse for a dis­courtesie. Then busie not your selfe with nothing.

COnsider with your selfe, what are you the worse, for the neglect full word or act of ano­ther? you use to say, words breake no bones; why then will you breake your heart to be revenged [Page 57] of them? your enemie spake unto you a word, and perchance but a word, and is your choler so quicke, that therefore you will to blowes with him? You say, he touched you in your honour, what then? hee did but touch you, and will a touch hurt you? men that wil be esteemed of valor, saith Gonsalvo, should Verulam de irae num. 57. have telam honoris crassiorem: is your honor so thin skinned, that a push with a rush will teare it? is there no honour of Musket proofe? shall every beardlesse boy with a crosse-bow that can scarce scarre a Spar­row, astonish you? still your selfe rather a little, with a reflection, an acknowledgement of your owne cou­rage: cry not out, one pinch hath undone you: hold a while rather than confesse your honour to bee of such an over-delicat temper: what hurt can the touch of a word doe? can a little disrespect wound, which hits onely by conceit, and is nothing but ens rationis? We have an old countrey man of our owne, which our new ones might imitate with credit.

Constantine the Emperour, his picture was drawne with a singular representation of great Maiestie: sto­red Chrysost. hom. 20. ad pop. Antioch. Garo. to. 3. ad An. Dom. 324 with Crownes, and strewed under feet with scep­ters, as rushes: beames rounded it with glory, and embroydered curtaines on rods of gold did defie the motes that dare set at the raies of the Sunne from de­filing that Picture: all this ambition of reverence as an expression of a more veneration unto the Empe­rours person, freed not this Picture from a disgrace­full affront. A most idle fellow, found an opportu­nitie to cast filth on it.

See now Constantine with his beams and bravery, all to besmeared with durt by a most base creature: the mightie Emperour of the world is laied in the mire, thinke you him not mightily displeased? can you imagine him not thorowly inraged? must not a world flow with bloud-shed to quench the fury of his iust revenge? Surely it would so happen were you Constantine; oh you are but a little Constan­tine.

See what Constantine the Great did, when offici­ous complainers thronged in to plead against the au­dacious delinquent; and the whole earth expected Constantine would revenge the disrespect done him, to an everlasting terrour of al such as cast scoffes and scornes: what doth Constantine that wanted not courage? hee was Great, wanted no power, hee was Emperour of the rising and setting Sunne. Well friends (saith Constantine) you tell mee of a fellow that hath disgraced mee, and contemptuously cast dirt on mee: hee hath cast durt upon my Picture, I heare, but nothing doe I feele upon Constantine: I see Constantine cleane, the glasse sheweth no ordure in my face: your conceit may terme my face fowle and filthily abused; but my conceit telleth mee no­thing of it, how then can I be angrie? I pray tell me, if Constantine feele no blow, no wound, no offence, the Picture be torne; yet if Constantines skinne bee whole, for what shall Constantine be angry?

So should you discourse with your self, when one reviles you: what are you the worse? your enemie [Page 59] hewes your name to pieces, teares your credit to tot­ters, hee frets and roares. So as one would thinke he could overturne mountaines of honour into an a­bysse of disgrace, but yet you are never the worse: he doth but frame your name in his mouth, it is but a vo­call image of you, it is but your picture, & in the aire, that is something lesse than a picture in colours. And that name of yours, your picture, hee rowles up and downe his dirtie mouth, and dasheth it with dis­grace: say then, your selfe are never the worse, never the fowler, and say with Constantine, why should you be angry? O thrice happy Constantine! whom hea­ven favored with that excellent temper, that so neat­ly could breake off occasions of unkinde quarrels; and not spend time in hearkning unto boyes. Play, but better busie himselfe in the conquest of king­domes, which made him so mighty.

A great Wit being asked how the Romanes from August. ad Mar­cellinum. Ep. 5. so poore beginnings had growne to so vast an Em­pire, Quomodo Romani ex inopi Rempublicam magnam fecerunt? Presently answered for them thus; it was because Acceptâ injuriâ ignoscere, quàm persequi male­bant. The Senat of Rome did not spend their time, they wasted not their warlike Legions, they cast not the coine of the Capitoll, they did neither bruise nor busie that lustie bodie in revenging privat grudges against their neere, and perchance (notwithstanding one offence or fault) their true-hearted Subiects: but made the best of their owne strength about them, to compasse victories further from them. Which Les­son, [Page 60] when afterwards their children forgot, busying themselves in quick exceptions, one against another: they shaked to pieces their owne mightinesse, to which otherwise al the kingdoms of the world could haue done no hurt, saving by adding unto it great­nesse. So doubtlesse it would be unto you a great happinesse, if you could reserve your selves for weigh­tier imploiments of profit, and neerer cares: and not go a wrangling for every bable, as children doe for Butter flies.

Point 3.
Antidote 3. Put off wrongs with some pleasant iest.

SOmetimes, it is an excellent piece of wit to cut off quarrels with a iest, and not to professe as it were, to be a common crier of ones own shame, an aggravater to ones owne disadvantage. Have not so coyish a stomacke, as to take every course morsell like the venome of an Aspe: looke not soure upon e­very distaste; speake sometimes merrily when your heart akes, then your sore will be the lesser. Iests now and then passe away evill times, and why not evill tempers? Rodolphus the first Emperour of the Au­strian Da [...]rou [...]us in Flor. Exemp. Familie was sorely wounded by a carelesse ar­cher: therefore his subiects in their most loving re­spects were forward to punish: they had the Archer in hold, and their rigour would faine have beene do­ing, and first they will cut off his hands: stay saith Ro­dolphus, [Page 61] if you had done so before hee had shot mee, you had done wisely, but now that I am wounded already, let him goe, and take both his hands with him.

Thus wise Rodolphus reflecting, perchance the Archer had noble friends, whom the Emperour was loth to lose; with a jest freed himselfe from the trou­ble of a resentment, which edgeth on anger, that doth but load a great spirit with the charge of a revenge. Worthy Aristides, who for his integrity was called the Senec. de Con­sol. ad Holviam. Iust, an insolent fellow did spit in his face, to disgrace him; yet hee, though chiefe Ruler of Athens many yeares, never stirred to implore revenge; but smiling said: I pray you, my friend, gape not so wide, yawne not so undecently: though the fellow did disgorge himselfe in the chiefe Iustice his face, yet Aristides his thoughts at that time did hang upon more serious imployments, and therefore he put off the lack with a jest.

If one grow wilde with you in choler; Laugh, and say he acts a mad man prettily, or rather you pi­tie his frenzie. Will he needs draw your bloud? say to him, he is sicke of the bloudie flux at the wrong end, and wish him rather to use a Physitian, than a weapon.

Tell him, when he comes to himselfe, you will come to trie about with him: if he continue ban­dying words, say to your selfe, hee doth it but to pur­chase honour; and seeing he will buy it of you, hee confesseth your store, and his owne want: will you [Page 62] be angrie with him for honouring you. Hee faine would get honour, and therfore would wound you: and why would you be offended with him, for lo­ving himselfe better than you? Though it be not ac­cording to the tie of charitie, yet I would not make it a breach of worldly amitie. Love that liveth with a little, should not dye so easily.

Doth some pretended friend wish you to revenge an old quarrell of one of your Grandsires: tell him you will finde better matter to make expression of your manhood: you will not busie your selfe with braules past, nor keep so many little bundles of thor­ny remembrances in your bosom, you have cast them out quite, to get quiet by forgetting them: Wisemen have enough to do with things present and to come, and will not trifle away time in past mistakings, which cannot be recalled, you would rather goe to burie them: by remembrance, you doe but bring your owne shame into new acquaintance, and so dis­graces, in stead of dying, doth raise a new encrease; dis­credits, the more you water them with bloud, the longer they wil continue growing. You may bestow your skill better.

If a drunken Quarreller open himselfe to you, and rage; answer him, you know you are now at home in jolly mirth and plentie, and that his frownes are but a coppie of his countenance, that you will not dreame you stand in a Battalion, where mens hearts must lye upon the best advantage of their weapon: you will not fal to pell mell amongst good fellowes: [Page 63] it is pitie the kinde company of Bacchus should de­cay by grievous wounds, let the companies of Mars dye of that diet: let that plague fall upon those harsh fellowes, that doe nothing but strike and kill, not upon the merry-hearted cup-man that doth no harme, but fill a Swines belly with droppings of drinke, he doth so sip it: and now and then bite his fellow Hog by the eare, for standing by; for stood he not there, they had beene good friends ever. Stout men no more regard cup-quarrels, than wise men do little houses, which children build with sticks.

Oftentimes men have no wrongs at all offered them, and yet they will fall into quarrells, and kill one another out of a conceit of wrongs. Such men are much like that tall fellow, who being to be be­headed, laid downe his lustie head on the block, and died with the stroake of a pudding: hee certainly beleeved it was a faulchion, and it was a puddings end. Why so it is with some, that conceive them­selves sore trampled with a heavie disgrace, and bea­ten to dust, sure they thinke it was a thunder-bolt, but there was not as much as a thought: say you then sometimes, that the wrongs offered you are nothing, that they deserve not to have a puddings end for their God-Father.

Thus you may jest jars out of countenance, and your owne wit in the occasion may frame you pret­tier conceits: learne onely this from me, to like this sleight of stepping out of an affronts way. And yet sometimes you may deserve good commendations, [Page 64] by laying your selfe open unto affronts, and lying under them, by hearing them, and wishing they were greater, the more to torture you:

Point. 4.
Antidote. 4. Wrongs happening in base occasions, suffer them to punish your selfe.

MEn ought to regard as well the credit of good manners, as of good manhood: nay one knowing himselfe bound to preserve both, should more readily punish his owne person, for discrediting his behaviour, than punish any other for disgracing his valour. You goe to the Taverne, where wine kindles the veines, and in a jollitie, men are made bone-fires; so flaming grow all their faces: by and by happens a Metamorphosis, all the compa­nie is turned into an herd of Swine, some grunt in the corners, others lye in their mire, and nothing but stench amongst them: Doe not you disgrace your selfe mightily by sitting on this miskin? Why then doe you not thinke of punishing your selfe, for this foule fact of yours in comming thither, before you punish the other fellow for giving you there ill words, or blowes: you will stumble at straw, and leap over a blocke. Seeing you have no heart to cha­stize your selfe; let this man whom you terme your Injurer, be your Beadle to whip you: and after you have used the rod, you may throw it into the fire.

Casimirus King of Poland would needs to dice, and [Page 65] for want of company fell to it with one Conarius a Martin Cromer de rebus Polon. [...]. 6. ann. 1176. meane man: the game was high, and Conarius quick­ly began to below in purse; his money was gone, and by that time his anger was come: Conarius be­came furious, and thinking Losers had leave to speak (so it is, when they play with their fellowes) hee for­got hee played with a King: his money being run out of his reach, his tongue run after it, and played upon the King, and in the end, Conarius taking his leave of his coyne, up with his fist, and saluted the King with a buffet.

How doth now Casimirus? Doth hee fret at his abuser? No, with the buffet the King awakes, as it were, out of a dead sleepe, lookes upon himselfe, and reflects what he is doing. A King, on whom hangs the eyes, the hearts of a Kingdome, sporting in an un­seemely manner: so he abuseth the hearts of his sub­jects, for their love must follow the King, else the heart is out of his place: and who can love disor­der? Love cannot come herselfe to what is nought, she may send her Hand-maid, Pitie. Well, Casimirus feeles now the smart of his owne folly, and thankes Conarius for it: you cannot well tell, whether the Kings eare glow more with the buffet, or his face with a reflection of his over sight: and therefore he never thinketh upon punishing Conarius, but is plea­sed to make Conarius a pun [...]sher of the King: so when his Nobles stirred to revenge his wrong; No saith Casimirus, not so, Conarius is my Master, hee teacheth me a good lesson, let him beat me for being [Page 66] a truant King, and playing at dice with a fellow so far my inferiour.

So if you chance to be carried into an Ale-house, and there fixed in the Firmament of good Fellowes: where the Primum Mobile is browne Ale, that row­leth all eyes after it: if after a while, like a Phaeton or a Fatuus, you fall stumbling upon one another, and hang like Bees upon each others backs in a bundle: then, if you hap to be abused, to be provoked, if one kicke you, and use you verie ill, terme him not your injurer, but your benefactor: say not he doth you wrong, but that hee doth you great good in punish­ing you, in making your heart ake, for going to so vile a place. Doth one belay you with hard blowes? he doth but shake you to awake you, that you may see to what place your idle carriage hath brought you: be not therefore angrie with him that strikes you, turne rather your anger upon your selfe; busie it there, and forgive the other which did you no harme, but good service.

If casually, you stumble upon a crue of merrily disposed lads, and there meet the brave ones, with Tobacco pipes in their mouthes of a yard long, iet­ting so stout, as if they trailed pikes in an army; that burne their lands at the pipes end, excellent husban­dry▪ and not breake up, but burn up house and house­keeping; maintayning that the chimneyes of the forefathers, ought to be turned into the noses of their children: When you see all their noses there so fla­ming, that you cannot discerne at which end the pipe burneth with the more red-hot fire: if one [Page 67] of this sparkling company, will bee fu­rious with you, because you will not drinke: if hee vow, you are no good fellow (as though goodnesse were not got but by good ale) dislike the ill speech, but suffer it: make it a meanes to loath the place, for the language: be glad you feele there, thornes of such words, that they may pricke you thence. If one call you Coward: beare, and say, for beere you want stomacke; you have no courage to carouse: he is the better man at a bottle: wrangle not with him, but chide your selfe.

Doe as the stout Xenophanes did, when casually The French Aca­demy of Pierre de Primandy. being at a feast, one upbrayded him, and called him coward, because hee would not play at dice. Xeno­phanes mightily troubled with the abusive taunt, yet quarrelled not with the fellow, rather answered to his tune. I am indeed a coward, fearefull to doe dis­honest things: he would not wrangle for any thing done there, but grew (doubtlesse) into a great dislike with the place, where such virulent discourses were usually uttered. So you, never marke the speaker of an affront, but put a crosse upon the occasion, never to come into it againe.

But oh, say you, your occasion wherein you suffer wrongs, is not unworthy: it hath no relation to tobacco, not to Bacchus his Alliance; a sparke of warre, a martiall man, another wise well-orde­red Gentleman, my equall, upon a good cause, on a reall ground, with fury provoked me to Duell: and I shall dwell in endlesse disgrace, if he be not answered in the field.

Point. 5.
Antidote 5. Beare with your friends: of your foes you take best revenge, when you are quiet.

BVt stay: goe not on so suddenly to overthrow him: remember now, perchance he hath beene unto you a strong friend, and is but newly bro­ken: See first if you can recover him, before you cast him and your selfe both away: you would bee loth to lose a nag, for once stumbling; and will you leave a friend, if you finde him once tripping? esteeme better of old friends than so; you may lose him when you please, but see how you can yet save him: true friends be scarce found, and in this friend you have had a happy triall of true love: onely this one time, hee hath fayled you, hee hath greatly wronged you, hee hath broken with you fouly; yet let his ancient merits defend this breach: Base were the souldiers, that upon a first breach surren­dred up their citty; thy friends deserts are great and worthy, they shew themselves now stoutly upon the breach, and day, thou shalt not enter as an ene­my to subvert them all, Ile not forget them. Thus they parley, it is of the first fault, and of a deare friend you will say, hee being your friend which abused you, therefore you tooke it the worse; and the ra­ther you will fight to punish one that being your friend, would wrong you; were he a foe, you could [Page 69] better suffer him. It is true; Cos [...]us, the great Duke of Florence, I beleeve was of your minde, when hee made that madde observation upon the Gospell; you shall reade, saith he, that we are commanded to for­give our enemies: you never reade that we are commanded to forgive our friends; but let a wiser master, fescue that raw scholler that wringeth blood out of the letter so quickly: shall we, saith Iob, take good at Gods (good friends) Iob. [...]. 10. hands, and refuse to take a little evill? Say your friends breath is now an ill blast unto you, but hee hath blest you with many good turnes; if hee now frowne and looke backe at you, time was, he shined on you, to the growing of your best fortune; remem­ber the merry houres you past in his company, and now for his sake, suffer a sad cloud that will passe presently; Post nubila Phoebus: suffer but a short e­clipse, Ovid. and you shall clippe and love like good friends againe; after a little close weather, a short storme of hayle, of sputtering words, the day will breake againe into a hot friendship.

Doth your friend thunder, that one would thinke heaven and earth bee going together by the eares? Videmus horribiliter vexatum. Doth the sky C [...]r [...]sost. hom. in Mar. cast it selfe downe in tempest? doth your enemy his eye threaten to fall upon you with weapons? Oh stand you still: supportamus, saith Basill, to be a friendly Atlas, hold him from falling: amidst Basil hom. de ira▪ all the showers in the deluge of anger, be you the dove, hold the branch of Olive in your mouth: [Page 70] dry you up the Seas of wrath, with your silence: So you shall begin a new world of happinesse: for when the passion is past, cùm amaritudinem deposue­rit; when your friend comes againe to himselfe, ubi convaluerit, you shall not onely have him thenceforth your faithfull friend, but for ever your humblest servant; te ut Dominum venerabitur: Here is a pretty plot of a victory: you wound your enemy without bloud, you vanquish him without speare, and by conquest you make him your slave, te ut Dominum venerabitur: nay, were there mea­ner Gods upon earth; by his voyce, you should come into election, for a Godhead, venerabitur. If you tell me, hee which offended you is not your friend, and therefore you owe him no such ser­vice, as to suffer him; nor will you waite the lei­sure of his mad fits, or stay for his favour, untill the feaver of his furie declines.

Say then hee be your ancient and bitter enemy: will you goe about to bee deepely revenged on him? yet, your next way is to be quiet, to keepe your selfe still: say nothing, and you shall catch him lying under your feet, heart-broken. Doth he swell with fury? looke off him: doth hee runne into your face? let your eare goe by him: doth he roare? hearken to something else: doth he mad­ly fret? neglect it: make all, but nothing: that is to breake his very heart-strings, Si despexeris, a­crius eum vindicabis. Despise him, that is the cru­ellest kinde of wrong: for it is all one, as to set [Page 71] one a worke with his fists to beate a stone wall, wherein he doth but hurt his owne fingers: carry your selfe like a wall of brasse, stedfast against his boysterous fury, and you shall breake the storme only with your suffering: sine illum frustra adlatra­re in seipso disrumpi: hee will swell and puffe still more, finding he cannot stirre you: doe you then but suffer him, sine, and he with his owne winde will swell so fast, that it must burst him, in seipso disrumpi.

Doe you know what you doe when you fret? you comfort your foe; it is perturbati animi consola­tio: that is your raging enemy his delight, to see his fury begins to worke upon you, to disturbe you, to shake you, to make you reele, so hee will hope to fall you: the faster you stand, the gid­dier your enemy groweth in rage: whiles you keepe out of his way, hee toyles and runnes the more a madding to seeke you: as soone as you shew your heart disquieted, with a convulsion of discontents, then you sport and feast your enemy: inimicum plectere, that is, iram animumque satiare: Doe you cry out, as if you were sore beaten, as if you were outed of your quietnesse and safety? that is your enemy his satiety: your plectere is his sa­tiare. Againe shew your enemy in his rage, that you are not touched, that hee comes not neere you: and so you encrease his hun­ger after you: you make a meere Tantalus of Valour, having it onely hanging on his lippes, [Page 72] at his tongues end, and is not able to bring it a­ny further; Thus onely with your quietnesse, you punish your enemy, so cruelly, that you shew a punishing power, parallel even to the Poets fiction: you can hurt as much as Poets can faigne.

Wherefore strive to stand stedfast like a rocke, and let your enemy strike, see what hee shall get by it; qui lacessat placidum, magis dolet: the more Nazianz: in o­ratione de ira. he rageth, the more he suffereth: who runneth in­to passion with a man that can bide still, doth all one as wrastle with a tower, which is but to wea­ry ones armes: or with a phantasme, whereon you can never catch hold, to ease you. Who is wheeled up and downe, desires to fasten upon something, to hold by: when an arrow com­ming from a carelesse Archer, threatned the safe­guard of ones person; to lay hold, but on the ar­row, to breake it, hath beene an ease unto the heart that began to be angred. And so you see, how by being quiet, you may exceedingly vex such as stirre most against you.

If you pleade, God hath not made you of such a temper; for such peeces of worke, of won­der: you are no Salamandra in human societie: you cannot live amongst flames of fury, and your selfe not burne: if you come neere furi­ous dispositions, you must grow warme: yet doe thus much; scortch not your selfe with hasty flames: leisurely, fire gives unto things best season.

Point. 6.
Antidote. 6. Revenge not your wrongs suddenly, least you repent.

DIscreet Antenodorus taught Augustus Caesar, Plutarch. in A­pophtheg. Rom that if in anger he were to act any thing, hee should first, for his prologue recite an Al­phabet, and stay so much time before he did begin the Tragedie.

If you be so furious, as that your blinde weapon must needs bee doing something: yet let a little time first passe, for Reason to rise and peepe in upon you; nil facias iratus priusquam 24 literas graecas percurreris, said Antenodorus, stay a while. And certainely, a little time will strongly change the liking of actions. This is so true, that who best governe on earth, oft-times reprieve their owne private resolutions, till a second meeting; reason returnes againe her tale, and then they lead her forth into action with a safer liking. There­fore let not Passion deny the appeale unto time. When feare tels you, anger sits on the bench; you are discreetly advised, from Caesar, to appeale unto Caesar, and give him time for his associate: and will you goe to duell, will you carry a man to execution in a sudden fury? who giveth quickely, you say giveth twice; and so I take it, who is hurt quicklie, hath ever double measure. In our sonnes, [Page 74] the first the eldest, by instinct of nature wee love best; but in our thoughts (that be likewise ours by a kinde of generation) it is not so, there the youngest; the last fruit, the latest, that longest hath beene a ripening, is of best relish, and wholsomest, Posteriora consilia saniora.

Theodosius made a Law, inviolably to be kept tho­rowout Theodoret. in Hist. sua. lib. 5. c. 17. his Empire, that sentence of death delivered in anger, should beare no force, till after thirtie dayes expired: then if after a review by reason, when pas­sion were out of Court, it went currant, it might stand: for so long time the Emperour would a stay, of whatsoever had beene done in anger: if this Law was laudable in actions civill, where reason hath roome to look about her: much more it ought to be in actions martiall, where reasons eyes are quite out: who walketh in the darke, must goe by leisure.

Therefore doe not suddenly yeeld to enter into a quarrell, lest you repent it; take first Theodosius his thirtie dayes leisure, and forgive for so long time: of that that will never repent you: Neminem pepercisse, Tetrarcha. multos vindicasse poenituit, saith Tetrarcha: resolve well first what to doe, else you may have more adoe, to undoe it againe, than you are aware of: you may at any time punish: It is an easie matter to finde a staffe to beat a dog: but if a mischiefe be once hatcht, it will creepe out of the nest, and doe you a shrewd turne, when you cannot fence it: you may hurt your enemie so over-much, that afterwards you must un­doe your selfe to make him amends. That is to doe and undoe.

Be sure, not to hearken to your choler, when it first breakes forth; whatsoever satisfaction it bid you then require, beleeve it not: the first anger, Prima Senec. lib. 3. de ira. ira, saith Seneca, doth never guide well, nor will ne­ver be well guided, it will not heare reason, Surda est & amens, It is wild and virulent: therefore let it run a while, Dabimus illi spatium: Let the Whale wallow in the waves, in the deepe of discontent, give it lin [...] and cord: and take you space before you speak, before you challenge, before you fight, before you doe any hurt; else in stead of taking satisfaction, you doe vengeance.

In the eighth of S. Iohn, the Scribes tell that a Ioan 8. married woman was taken napping in another mans bosome: a shrewd fault. The husband and his friends must needs be revenged: the Chancellours Court suddenly censured, that with stones shee should bee scratcht to death, for having defiled her marriage bed. Thus in hurly burly they came all un­to Iesus, who saw them then newly acting mad an­ger: for it was but modò apprehendimus, they were even then newly entred into the action. And Iesus will act unto them the cure: first hee goes about to looke a little time; Iesus must needs stay them, whi­lest digito scribebat in terra, whilest he doth write; and what doth Iesus write? no man hath yet told: let me ghesse, Iesus did write the foure and twentie let­ters of Antenodorus: I say Iesus only aimed to get a little time, for them to think first what they were go­ing about, that they should not goe kill a bodie so suddenly.

Thus, whilest Iesus was writing his 24. Letters in that little time, the accusers perchance reflected, they might have done wiser not to have made the mat­ter so publique; before it was onely the wives hurt, now it became the husbands disgrace, the childrens infamie. The witnesses also reflected, such as bee so busie to have others [...]ives punished, should think up­on their owne faults, for thereby lawes may bee brought to call upon them with a smart reckoning: And so with a little pause on the matter, but whilest Iesus writ 24. Letters, the quarrell was quite ended, those that challenged the woman, put up their wea­pons and turned their backes; that when Iesus ha­ving ended his scribebat, lifted up his hand to give order for entring the lists of Iustice, there was no bo­dy to go with the woman to the field.

Are you so angry and offended? give me then but a little time, you cannot loose much by it, you shall get to know whether it be fitting what you go about; yeeld me a little stay; your delay at least shall leave your mischiefes the fewer: it shall shew you how to hurt another, with least harme to your selfe. And peradventure you may find more: for it is ever true, that Remedia in remissionibus morborum prosunt; at the Sen. de ira. declining of the burning ague of anger, Doctor Rea­son doth use to prescribe her Physicke. And so some­time you may chance to forget to quarrell by a little delay of quarrelling; so it hath happened unto ma­ny: when anger is going out, is the best time to cure it.

If no way can helpe you, if nothing can stay you, but you will to the field suddenly to a Duell; then fare you well, and call upon the gallowes, as you come home: if you be so happy, as to live, as to come to it.

Point. 7
Antidote. 7. If nothing can serve, there is a tree will serve you.

DElictorum impunitas saith the Stoicke, homines facit audaciores ad malum. Certainely had Law beene rightly executed against Duellers, they had never growne to that head and number as they are now adaies. I aime not to draw Princes to the edge of severity, which ever have in them discreet mercy for companion. But thus I presume to speak; if ever severitie were to walke alone, it should bee to the house of the Dueller: for the tender love to hu­mane bloud doth bid you spill it, for to spare the fur­ther spilling of it. Heavens stop nothing: let then, when the love of Powers on earth, look about them

Democritus maintained, there were two Gods; no more, and cared little for either; Paena and Praemium, one a Punisher, and another a Rewarder. And Duel­lers, I beleeve, do a little Democratize from the rewar­der God, which inhabites the heavens; the Dueller expecteth no great Preferment, and so that God hee little regardeth. As for the other God, the Punisher, [Page 78] who raigneth upon earth, and men commonly call the King, as soone as hee is a little out of the way; the Dueller thinkes he can shift, and so he cares not what mischiefes he doth unto mankinde: therefore the Pu­nisher, God or his rod, should stirre abroad somthing the oftner.

If youth were once perswaded, that whensoever they make a challenge, their life is ended, their thread is spunne, and must needs either be cut by the sword, or crackt on the gallows: their heads must off; either by their enemy, or by the hang-man: certainly youth would never enter into Duels. For life is sweet, and none will cast away all hopes of keeping it; if one way they hazzard it, yet some way they still hope to save it. Men say, they fight for honour, but who cares for honor after death? not the Dueller. Let him vaunt his fancy, I will but smile at it: and thinke even those that you brag have cast themselves away for honor, either did it to be rid of loathsom life, or yet hoped to escape and live to inioy the glory of their proffer.

It was wittily discoursed by the wisest of the Phi­losophers; the Bull roareth and rageth against the Mastives: some hee worieth, others he killeth, and most he woundeth: you stand by and laugh, because whiles the Bull thus layeth about him, the butcher expecteth, and the combat ended, the Victor Bull is carried away to the slaughter. Even so, Duellers, they fight, they kill, they keep a roaring like bulls; the offi­cers laugh, and looke about them, and soone after the fight ended, the Dueller Victor is to be led by a cow­ard [Page 79] to the gallowes▪ If our times do tell you it is not so, then give humble love leave, to drop a teare, and whisper: young spirits may sport at bull baiting, but greedy gaine should not doe so at duelling: let hu­mane bloud rise to a dearer esteeme: let that bloud fall like another Nilus, with such noise, such cries for vengeance, that those which si [...] at the bankes of Iu­stice (before whom these bloudy streams must come) be ever deafened unto prices and praiers; else time may warrant vices, to set fury a worke, a taske for the extirpation of mankind, to rid the earth of men, for a piece of money.

To talke to you here of things beyond the Moon: of a most great God, of a most strict Iudge; to come neere you, and speake of a most severe punishment, an eternall smart laied on by a hand so heavie, that at one blow, it could strike all the Divels, from the highest of the Heavens, to the lowest Centre of the earth; were to talke to you Non-sence: (therefore here in a corner, I ioyne gallows and goodnesse together as equally pleasing you) they may be pretty stories to tell women and children; but you will fight with the Divell himselfe; nay, God doth wisely to stand out of your way, within doores in his heaven, there you meane not trouble him; nor I my self with you any longer, rill you learne more wit.