Whether there be nothing new.

THe desire to learne is naturall, and no lesse pleasing to the minde of man, than his desire of getting: and indeed, it is one kinde of getting: and as men receive more contentment in one new purchase, than in often thinking on all those which they had made before; so our understan­ding takes a great deale more pleasure in feeding upon new nourishment, than in chewing the cud upon that which it had already: yea, and among those new repasts, if it light upon any which it never tasted before, it receives it, as our palate is wont to doe, with so much the more plea­sure: for nature is more pleased with the change, than with the continuation of the use of any thing: the reason is, because seeking the supreme good, and not finding it in a­ny of those things which she hath yet made triall of, she al­wayes hopes to finde it elsewhere. This sweetnesse, is that which allayes the bitternesse of learning to children, who are ravished with the pleasure of learning all those Histo­ries and Pedanticall conceits, which we can so hardly en­dure when we are growne to more age. It may be, it makes old men so melancholick, because you can hardly tell them any thing that they know not, and therefore mens talke is tedious to them: whereas ignorant youth admires and takes pleasure in every thing. And wee are so delighted [Page 2]with novelty, that there is no beast so ill-favoured, which seemes not pretty when it is young, witnesse the Asses foale; nor no plant of so little delight, as that novelty cannot commend it, as we see in the Hop and the Prim­rose. But I distinguish Novelty into Physicall or Naturall, Morall and Artificiall. The first of these is in new pro­ductions, whether of substances, or accidents, as of dis­eases unknowne to the Ancients. The second of new and unusuall actions. The third of Inventions. According to which distinction, we may state this question, and that in my opinion, must be done thus: There are no new sub­stantiall productions, Nature having displayed all her forces almost these six thousand yeares (according to true account, and much more, if wee beleeve the Egypti­ans and Chinois) and having runne through all imagina­ble varieties of species, by the divers combinations of all her matters; and also through all mixtures of quali­ties and other accidents: which makes it impossible to shew any disease that is new and unknowne to the forego­ing ages. But for actions it is another case; their num­ber cannot be determined, because they depend upon the liberty of man, which could be no longer liberty, if our Will were not free to passe some set number. Much lesse can Inventions be said to be determinate and reducible to a certaine number, because they depend in their producti­ons, upon the wit of man, which is infinite in its duration, and in its conceptions, which cannot be bounded, no not by that Vacuum which some have imagined on the fur­ther side of the Heavens. Of which all our inventions are proofes sufficient.

The second said, that this exception is unnecessary, there being nothing at all new in any of those fore-named classes, according to the testimony of him that was best able to judge, as being the wisest, and who had made the [Page 3]most experiments; I meane Solomon, who boldly pro­nounces of his owne times, that there was not then, nor should ever be any new thing. How much more then is it true in our time, being so many yeeres after him? For, to begin with the formae substantiales, as they call them, there is not one of that sort new, not onely in its species, but even in its individuall qualities, which, indeed, appeare new to our senses, but yet are not so for all that: as the shape of a Marble Statue was in the stone not onely in possibility, but also in act, before the Graver made it ap­peare to our eyes, by taking away that which was super [...]u­ous, and hindered us from seeing it. And if wee beleeve, that we have so good a horse that his like was never sound, it is not because it is so, but because it seemes so; other horses, as good or better than that, never comming to our hands. Much lesse likely is it that new diseases should be produced, as some have beleeved, imagining that the An­cients were not curious enough to describe all those of their times, or their Successors diligent enough to examine their writings to finde them there. As for humane actions, doe we see any now-adaies, that have not beene practised in times past, whether good or bad, valiant or cowardly, in counsell or in execution? And that which they call Inven­tioni, s for the most part, nothing but a simple imitation in deeds or words. Thus, Printing, and Guns, which wee be­leeve were invented within these two or three hundred yeares, are found to have beene in use among the Chine­ses above twelve hundred years. So saith Terence of speech, Nihil est jam dictum quod non dictum sit prius. Our very thoughts, though they be innumerable, yet, if they were re­gistred, would be all found ancient.

The third said, That Nature is so much pleased with di­versity, which is nothing else but a kind of novelty, that [Page 4]she hath imprinted a desire of it in all things here below, and, it may be, in things above also: for they are pleased in their work, and the supreme and universall Causes pro­duce us these novelties. Thus the different periods of the heavens make new aspects, and new influences, not only eve­ry yeare, but also every moneth, every day, yea, every mo­ment. The Moone, every quarter, shewes a severall sort of face; and particularly, when she sends all her light toward the Sun, she is called New. The Sun at his rising is new, and so he appeares uncessantly to some Countrey or other in the world; in each of which he makes new seasons; and amongst the rest, Spring, because it is the most pleasant time, is commonly called in France le Renouveau, because it renewes all things: the aire decking it selfe with a more cheerfull light, the trees cloathing themselves with leafes, the earth with greennesse, the medowes being enamelled and imbroidered with new flowers. The young man that feeles the downe upon his chin, acknowledgeth his mossy beard to be new: upon his wedding day he is a new-marri­ed man: it is a pretty new case to his Bride to finde her self made a woman: her great belly and lying in, are also novel­ties to her: the little infant then borne, is a new fruit: his first sucking is new, his teeth at first comming, are new. And so are all other conditions of Clarkship and Priest­hood, and Widowhood, and almost infinite others, Yea, many things that seeme not at all to be new, yet are so; as a River seemes very ancient, and yet it renewes it selfe eve­ry moment: so that the water that now runs under the Bridge, is not that which was there yesterday, but still keeps the same name, though it be altogether other in­deed. We our selves are renewed from time to time by our nourishments continuall restauration of our wasted triple substance. Nor can any man doubt but that there [Page 5]are new Diseases, seeing nothing is written of them in the bookes of the Ancients, nor of the remedies to cure them, and that the various mixtures of the qualities which produce them, may be in a manner innumerable; and that both sorts of Pox were unknowne to the Ancients. But this novelty appeares yet better in mens actions, and divers events in them, which are therefore particularly called Newes. Such are the relations of Battailes, Sieges, ta­kings of Townes, and other accidents of life, so much the more considerable, by how much they are ordinarily lesse regarded. It were also too much injustice to goe a­bout to deprive all Inventors of the honour due to them, maintaining that they have taught us no new thing. Doe not the Sectaries of Heresiarchs make new Religions? Moreover, who will make any question, whether we have not reason to aske what new things Affrick affords now­adayes, it having beene so fertile in Monsters, which are bodies entirely new, as being produced against the lawes of Nature. And when the King calls downe mo­ney, changeth the price of it, determines its weight, is not this a new ordinance? In short, this is to goe a­bout to pervert not onely the signification of words, but also common sense, in maintaining that there is nothing new: and it had not beene amisse if the Regent which printed such Paradoxes in a youthfull humour, had ne­ver beene served with new-laid eggs, nor changed his old cloathes, and if he had complained, answer might have beene made, That there is nothing new.

The fourth said, that there are no new substances, and, by consequence, no new substantiall formes, but one­ly accidentall ones; seeing Nothing is made of Nothing, or returnes to Nothing; and in all the other Classes of things, there are no new species, but onely new indivi­duals, [Page 6]to which Monsters are to be referred. Yea, the mysteries of our Salvation were alwayes in intellectu Divi­no. Which made our Saviour say, that Abraham had seene him. And as for Arts and Inventions, they flou­rished in one Estate, whilst they were unknowne in another, where they should appeare af­terward in their time. And this is the sense wherein it is true, that, There is no­thing new.

VVhich is most to be esteemed, an Inven­tive VVit, Judgement, or Courage.

THe life of man is intermingled with so many accidents, that it is not easie to foresee them; and though our pru­dence could doe that, yet it belongs to the Inventive faculty to provide for them; without which, the Judgement remaines idle. Even as a Judge cannot give sentence till the Advocates or Proctors have let him under­stand the arguments and conclusions of both par­ties, that he may know to whether side he ought to incline; which, in us, is the office of the Wit or In­vention to doe: Without which also Courage is but a brutish fury, which inconsiderately throwes us head­long into danger, and so loses its name, and is called foole-hardinesse. It is the good wit that enables us to doe and say things in the instant, when there is need of them, without which they are unseasonable; like the Trojans Embassage sent to the Roman Emperour to comfort him for the losse of his sonne, who died a yeare before they came; and therefore he requited their kindnesse with comforting them for the losse of Hector, their fellow Citizen, slaine by Achilles, in the time of the war between the Trojans and the Greeks (above 1200 yeares before.) It is the Wit that sea­sons all the discourses and actions of men, who make [Page 2]no other distinctions of good and evill, of wisdome and folly; but by our speaking, or doing things fit for every occasion: which is the act of the Wit, and not of the Judgement or Courage, although in great and heroicall actions: all the vertues are to be found inse­parably chained together; witnesse all those neat flashes of wit, witty speeches, and replies made upon the sudden, which have alwayes gotten their authours more honour & favour, than their premeditated words and actions, to which the Judgement contributes more largely than the other two. It is the Wit, that by its inventions, drew men from their caves, and the life of beasts, to give them palaces, food, raiment, conver­sation, and in a word, all the commodities of life which we enjoy at this present. For the better deci­ding of this question, suppose in one company, three men differently endued, the one having a good Wit, the second a ripe Judgement, and the third a great Cou­rage: This last man can beare with nothing; the judici­ous man will say nothing which he hath not first well pondered, he will rather hold his peace; and both of them may find much diversion in the inventions of the ingenious man; who also, if they fall out, will finde a meanes to make them friends againe; whereas the ju­dicious man would use so many circumspections, that their quarrell would grow old, and be past the estate of accommodation wherein it was, when he began to seeke the meanes of agreement, whilest the other be­ing meetly couragious, would heare nothing to that purpose: But their ingenious companion will finde a remedy for all these difficulties, and will shew them the way by his owne example; none being harder to be reconciled, than those which are not at all ingenious. In warre, the couragious, I grant, will run headlong in­to [Page 3]to danger more readily: The judici ous will delay an en­terprise, oftentimes employing that time in consultati­on, which should have beene spent in execution: but the Engineir, like Archimedes, will defend a Towne all alone, or will set upon a Fort, and subdue it by the force of his in­ventions, better than a thousand men could have done with handy strokes. As we may see in stratagems, which have more successe than open force, so that it is become a Pro­verbe, Cunning is better than Force. Antigonus having scat­tered many Bils of Proscription, wherein he promised a great summe to him that should kill Eumenes; many of the souldiers of Eumenes began to plot his death, till Eumenes, as soone as he heard of it, called his men together to thank them for their fidelity, telling them, that he having beene informed that some of his owne souldiers had a designe upon his person, thought good to scatter those Bils under the name of Antigonus, that so he might discover those which had the traiterous intent; but he thanked them, he found no such villaines amongst them. This straine of Wit stopped the designes of his enemy, and made them unpro­fitable. In private businesse, one puffe of wind upon the Sea, one warre hapning between two neighbouring estates, one change of some customes by land, have need of more Witt than of Judgement, or Courage, to save you harmlesse from shipwrack and losse. In the Courts of Law, their Replies are pieces of Wit: Yea, Wit is of so great esteem with every one, that all the perfections of the Soule are comprised in this word. The French when they would ex­presse all that may be said of man (beside the comelinesse and graces of his body) say onely he is homme d'esprit. I therefore think, that the Inventive Wit ought to be pre­ferred before Judgement, which is of no use, but onely in such affaires as afford and require choice, as Courage is only for dangers.

The second said, In vaine have men Wit, if they want [Page 4]Judgement to guide it, as for the most part it comes to passe. So that ordinarily they are accounted opposites. Also fooles want not that sharpnesse of Wit, which serves for Invention; nay, rather both it and Courage are sharp­ned and made more active by the heat of frenzie. But it is Judgement that they want, the losse of which makes them be called fooles. Which is observeable in the same com­pany which was but now mentioned: Where the Engineire or sharp-witted man, will talke of very fine things, but he poures them out like a torrent, and without discretion: whereas the Judicious man shall give better content than either of them, though he speake fewer things of the busi­nesse in hand than they doe: But the Couragious man is apt to give distaste, it being usuall with such to run beyond the bounds of that respect which other tempers are ashamed not to use; for Judgement proceeds from a coldnesse of temper, opposite to that heat which causeth promptnesse of Wit, and Courage. In war, the Inventions and Courage aforesaid are also ordinarily not only unprofitable, but also hurtfull without Judgement: Which also in traffick, is the thing that directs the Merchant in his choice of the severall designes which he proposeth to himselfe, and of the meanes to attaine his ends: without which deliberati­on nothing comes to a good end, neither in warre nor merchandize.

The third said, that the most couragious doe alwayes give lawes to the rest, and so cause themselves to be estee­med above them. For in the first place, if the company aforesaid be of knowing men, before whom you are to speak; Your invention and disposition (the effects of wit and judgement) will stand you in no stead, if you have not the Courage to pronounce your Oration, as we see in the O­ration which Cicero had penned for Milo. Nay, it is im­possible to invent well, if you want Spirit, which gives life to all actions, which have the approbation of all men, [Page 5]whether at the Barre, or else-where, so that they call them Brave actions, and full of Spirit. And if Courage be of e­steeme in all actions, then in Warre it is esteemed above all; and the Laws punishing cowardlinesse, & not the defects of Wit or Judgement, do plainly shew, that they esteem Cou­rage more than either of the other.

The fourth said, That those which speak in favour of Wit and Courage, employing their judgement in the choyce of the reasons which they produce, do sufficiently shew that judgement is above them, as being the cause that they are esteemed. For, you know the Philosophers maxime, the cause hath a greater portion of whatsoever it communicates to the effect, than the effect it selfe hath. Also the Judge is greater than the Advocates; to whom we may compare the Wit, because it proposes the means, and the Judgement makes choice of them; and as for Cou­rage, if it be without Judgement, it deserves not the name. Without Judgement, the inventions of the Wit are no­thing but Castles in the aire, and empty phantasies, like a ruined house without chambers, or any other requisites. Such Wits for want of Judgement, dwell upon nothing, but alwayes skip from bough to bough, and from conceit to conceit; which for that cause are not ordinarily so pro­fitable to their inventors, as to the judicious, who better know how to make use of them. In truth, you shall find most of the inventions in those which have least practice, their inexperience making many things easie, which pra­ctice shews to be impossible, and therefore they never found entrance in the Phantasie of a Practicioner. Also, there is more courage found in beasts than in men; and in men we often see that the most couragious are not the most judi­cious, but according as the quick-silver fixes in them by age, so they grow lesse and lesse inventive and lesse reso­lute to expose themselves to such perils, as their foolish youth, and want of experience caused them to undervalue.

And to say the truth, the Judicious man hath all the Wit and Courage that he should have: for he that invents, or proposes things contrary to a sound Judgement, goes for a foole: but he that hath Judgement, cannot want Cou­rage; for these two cannot stand together, to be judicious and yet not to forsee that Courage is necessary in dangers, for the avoyding and overcomming of them: So that he that saith a man is Judicious, presupposeth Wit and Courage in him: but not on the contrary; there being many couragious, but neither judicious nor inventive; and more that have Wit without Judgement.

The fifth said, that all our actions being composed, all the faculties contribute to them: and they must needs be faulty if they be not seasoned with Wit, Judgement, and Courage: but if wee compare them together, the Wit is the most delectable, the Judge­ment most profitable, and the Courage is most esteemed.

VVhether Truth beget Hatred, and why?

TRUTH is an affection or quality of speech, agreeing with our thought or apprehension: Whence it followes, that to speak the truth, it is sufficient to speak of things as wee think of them, whether wee have conceived of them aright or no. For which reason, they say in Latin, mentiri, est, contra mentem ire. Yet there are two sorts of Truths; the one single, which is the truth of the termes, as also there is an untruth of the termes, for there neither is, nor ever was any such thing as a Chimaera: the other is composed truth, which is an indicative speech, wherin wee affirme or deny something of some other thing; which manner of speech is only capable of truth or falshood. For, truth properly taken, is when not only our discourse agrees with the species which is in our understanding, but also when this species agrees with the thing spoken of. So that truth may bee called, the measure or agreement of any thing with the understanding, and of the understanding with the speech concerning that thing. This truth may be againe divided according to the difference of its objects into naturall, which treateth of the nature of every thing; and civill, which [Page 2]speaketh only of the actions and customes of men. These things being granted, I think that truth of it selfe begets no hatred; and therfore we need not seek the cause why it doth: but on the contrary, I say with Aristotle, that wee love truth, and that in such a measure, that we like no falshood but that which hath an appearance of truth; which wee call likely or probable: which makes the romants to be disliked as soon as wee discover any impossibilities in them. And they that would amuse little children with monstrous tales, must yet so fit them to their little wit, as that they may beleeve them, and so think them true; which is easily done, because of their want of experience. But, forasmuch as the greater part of men is imperfect, so farre as they love to be praysed, so farre do they hate those that tell them the truth of their defects, which ordinarily carry blame with them. And because the same reason that makes every one love his own praise, makes a man also take pleasure in blaming of others, that he him­selfe may seem more perfect: Hence it comes, that dispraise being very well liked by all save only him whom it concerns, who is very sensible of it; it was upon this ground that [...]e­rence said that Truth begets hatred, especially when it is op­posed to flattery, and to complying with the humours of eve­ry man; which makes truth appeare so much the more au­stere: as a Countrey-man comming next after a Courtier, seems so much the arranter clowne; and all other contraries set neer together, make one another the more discernable.

The second said, that this proverb [Truth begets hatred] is not grounded upon truth; for, every man not only pro­fesses it, but also gives testimony, that he is pleased with it. It is also the object of our understanding, which never rests till it hath found it, seeking it with no lesse earnestnesse than that wherewith the will seeks after goodnesse. So that set­ting truth on the one side, known to be such, and on the other side untruth, likewise known to be such; it is as impossible [Page 3]for the understanding not to love the truth, as for the will not to incline to a known good. This love of truth is so re­markable in all persons, that not only the Iudges, according to their duties and places, do use all possible diligence to finde out the truth of a fact; but also all those which are not at all interessed in the businesse, are notwithstanding so much taken with it, that though their eares be extreamly tired with listening to the one party, yet they have not the power to refuse audience to the other side that undertakes to disco­ver falshood in his adversaries tale: and if the understanding do not conceive the truth, it never remaines any more sa­tisfied than a hungry stomack would bee with painted meat. Wherefore, it belongs only to diseased mindes to hate truth, as only to sore eyes to turne from the light. Wherfore, as men do not determine of colours, tastes, and other ob­jects of the sense by the judgement of indisposed organs, nor say sugar is bitter, because the tongue in a fever, being filled with choler, judges so; even so ought we not to say, after the perverse judgement of the vicious, that truth begets hatred; and by consequence we are not to seek the cause of a thing which is not so.

The third said, that whatsoever agrees to our nature, and is found in us all, cannot be called a disease, but rather the contrary. Now, not only the understanding and the inner senses, but also all the outer senses of man, taken in generall and in particular, are pleased with falshood, and love to bee deceived: VVhence it comes to passe, that of all the sects of Philosophers, there was never any sect more esteemed than those which distrusted the abilities of our minde, and held themselves in a continuall suspence or uncertainty: nor was there ever any more ridiculous than those that were most confident of their opinions. And because the acknow­ledging that we cannot know truth, is a kinde of truth of which our understanding is uncapable; therefore did De­mocritus [Page 4]lodge truth in a pit; and others sayd she was flown to heaven: both expressions signifying, that shee is out of mens reach. Besides, our understanding loves its liberty, no lesse than our will loves it; and as the will should no longer bee free, if it were necessarily carried to some object; whence proceeded so many differing opinions concerning the chiefest good? even so our understanding foreseeing that if at once it should know the truth, it must cease to be free to turne from it; it therefore preferres likelihoods and probabilities: from whence ariseth that pleasure which wee take in disputes and problematicall altercations. For which cause also the sect of Pyrrhon is by most men esteemed above all others. And the greatest part of the Sciences and Arts have no foundation but upon the errours of our facul­ties: Logick, upon the weaknesse of our understanding in discerning of truth; for the better disguising of which, and so our greater pleasure, Rhetorick or the Orators Art was invented, the end of which is not at all to speak the truth, but to perswade you to what it pleaseth. Poesy is the art of lying artificially, in feigning that which neither is, nor was, nor ever shall be; as picture, and especially perspective, en­deavours only to deceive us. Even the most pleasing Arts, as [...]ookery, the better they abuse our taste, and our other senses, by their disguises, the more are they esteemed. Look into civill conversation, it is nothing but disguise­ment; and (not to speak of the maxime of King Lewis the eleventh to which he restrained all the Latin of his Suc­cessor) the greatest part of the civilities of our Courtiers, and Citizens too, reaches no further. And therefore wee need not wonder much, if the clownes that run contrary to the ordinary course of all other men, render themselves odi­ous to every one.

The fourth said, that the understanding is pleased with doubts, as the wooers of Penelope loved to court her mayds, [Page 5]that is to say, because they could not enjoy the mistresse: Nor is there any that being hungry, and having put his hand to the platter, would like well to look on it, through a paire of spectacles of many faces, through which there would appeare so many dishes, and in severall places, that hee could not tell which was the right. Wherefore, it is certaine that we love truth so well, that no untruth can be welcome to us, unlesse it be covered with the ornaments of truth; and all those arts of disguising shew what esteeme we have of untruth, seeing it must be like truth that wee may like it. 'Tis true, that none but God being able to discerne this sort of truth, which consists in the agreeing of our thoughts with our words; and deceit being very frequent in this matter, civility and curtesie teacheth us rather to use words of complement than rude and ill pollisht language; the rusticalnesse of which is ordinarily excused by clownes with the name of truth, though truth be no more incompa­tible with good grace than pills are with lease-gold, by which the one is taken in better part, and the other with lesse paine to the sick.

The fifth said, that truth being the expression of the spe­cies of something, and we taking pleasure to see a coppy well representing its originall, it cannot beget hatred. Things of themselves do not displease us, at least there are more that please than that displease, and of these a good part is sweetned by the manner of speaking of them, as we see in jesting; no man hindring us to speak truth laugh­ing, so that the denomination being not to be taken from the lesser and the lesse sound part, truth cannot be said to beget hatred. Also truth not being able to produce any thing but its like in an univocall generation, it must be an equivocall one when it begets hatred: the ignorant vulgar in this (as they do often in other cases) taking that for a cause which is none. Otherwise the difficulty that we meet [Page 6]withall in seeking of truth, increases the love of it, and be­gets not hate of it. Which love is no lesse universall than the hate of untruth, as may appeare by that story of two Ro­man Citizens, one of which was banished by a generall con­sent, after it was known that he was so given to lying, that he had never been heard speak truth; the other recei­ved great and publick honours, because he had never been heard speak any untruth, no not in jest. And we have nowadayes store of ex­amples of the bad entertainment which all lyars finde; which our ancient Gaules well knowing, did account it the utmost degree of of­fence, to give one the lie.

Of the Cock, and whether his crowing doe affright the Lion.

THe first man said thus; The Germans go­ing to the warrs, had reason to take a Cock with them to serve them for a spurre and an example of watchfulnesse; whence came a custome to this day used by the Mule-drivers; some of which tie a Cock upon their foremost carriage; and others that will not trouble themselves with him, provide only a plume of his feathers. Upon the same ground Phidias made a sta­tue of Minerva bearing a Cock upon her helmet: unlesse you will rather think his reason to be because this God­desse is as well president of warre as of study; both which have need of much vigilancy. Though this bird for other causes may be well enough said to pertaine to her; as for his being so warlike and couragious, as that he will not part with his desire of vanquishing, though it cost him his life: And this desire he prosecutes with such sury, that Caelias Aurelian reports, that a man fell mad, having only been pecked by a Cock in the heat of his sighting. For the passion of choler being a short madnesse, is able exceedingly to raise the degree of heat in a temper alrea­dy so extremely cholerick; that in time the body of a Cock becomes nitrous; and in this consideration it is pre­scribed to sick persons to make them laxative, and it is [Page 2]the better if hee were first well beaten, and plucked alive, and then boiled.

And this courage of the Cock moved Artaxerxes King of Persia, when a souldier of Caria had slaine Prince Cy­rus, to grant him leave to beare a little Cock of gold upon his Javelin, as a singular badge of his great valour. In imitation whereof, all the souldiers of the same Province fell to weare the like upon the crests of their helmets; and were thence called Alectryons, that is in Latine, Galli, a name asterward given to our Nation, and it may be for the like reason.

The Cock is also the Hieroglyphick of victory, because he crows when he hath beaten his adversary; which gave occasion to the Lacedaemonians to sacrisice a Cock, when they had overcome their enimies. He was also dedica­ted to Mars: and the Poets feigne that he was a young souldier, and placed for a sentinell by this God of warre when he went to lie with Venus, but seared the returne of her husband: but this watchman sleeping till after Sun­rising, Mars and she were taken napping by Vulcan. Mars being very angry, transformed this sleeper into a Cock, for his negligence: whence, say they, it comes to passe, that well remembring the cause of his transformation, he now gives warning when the Sun draws neere to our horizon. Which fable is as toletable as that of the Alcoran, which attributes the crowing of our Cocks to one that, as hee saith, stands upon the first Heaven, and is of so immense a hugenesse, that his head toucheth the second: which Cock crows so loud, that he awakens all the Cocks upon the earth, that immediately they fall a provoking one a­nother to do the like; as if there were one and the same instant of Cock-crowing all over the face of the whole earth. The Cock was also dedicated to the Sun, to the Moon, and to the Goddesses Latona, Ceres. and Proserpi­na; [Page 3]which was the cause that the novices or those that were initiated in their mysteries, must not eat of a Cock. He was also dedicated to Mercury, because vigilancy and earely rising is necessary for merchants; and therefore they painted him in the forme of a man sitting, having a crest upon his head, with Eagles feet, and holding a Cock upon his fist. But particularly he was consecrated to Es­culapius, which made Socrates at the point of death to will his friends to sacrifice a Cock to him, because his hem­lock had wrought well. And Pyrrhus curing men of the Spleen, caused them to offer a white Cock; whereas Py­thagoras forbade his followers to meddle with the life or nourishing of any of that calour.

The Inhabitants of Calecuth sacrifice a Cock to their deity, whom they conceive in the shape of a he-goat; and Acosla, out of Lucian, assures us, that anciently they wor­shipped a Cock for a God: Which Christianity not suffering, hath put them upon Churches, the spires of stee­ples, and high buildings, calling them weather-cocks, be­cause, as fanns, they shew the coast whence the winde comes; unlesse you rather think they are set up in remem­brance of St. Peters repentance at the second crowing of a Cock.

The cause of his crowing is commonly attributed to his heat, which makes him rejoyce at the approach of the Sun, as being of his own temper; of which approach he is sooner sensible than others; because hee more easily than any other creature receives the impressions of the aire, as appears by that harsh voyce which he sometimes useth in crowing when he hath been newly moistened by the vapours; and therefore the Countrey-men count it an ordinary signe of raine. And forasmuch as the whole species of birds is more hot, dry, and light than the spe­cies of foure-footed beasts; therefore the Lion, though [Page 4]he be a solar creature as well as the Cock; yet is so in a lesser degree than he. Whence it comes to passe, that the Cock hath a pre-eminence over the Lion, which he understands not, till the crowing raise in his imagination some species which in him produce terror. Unlesse you will say, that the spirits of the Cock are communicated to the Lion by meanes of this voyce; for that is a thing more materiate, and so more capable to act than the spi­rits which come out of sore eyes, which neverthelesse do infect those that are sound if they look on them; nay, to speak with the Poet, they do bewitch the very lambs.

The second said, we must reckon this error [of a Cock searing a Lion by crowing] among divers other vulgar ones, of which oftentimes the chaires and pulpits ring, as if they were certaine truths, when in the triall they prove stark false. It may be some tame Lion growen cowardly by the manner of his breeding, hath been seen affrighted by the shrill sound of some Cock crowing suddenly and neere to his eares; which will seem not unlikely to them that in the beginning of March last past were present at the intended combat in the Tennis court at Rechel, be­tween such a Lion and a Bull; at the sight of whom the Lion was so asraid, that he bolted thorow the nets, throw­ing down the spectators which were there placed in great number, as thinking it a place of greater security; and running thence, he hid himselfe, and could by no meanes be made re-enter the lists. Or it may be the novelty of this crowing surprised some Lion that never heard it before, as having alwayes lived far from any village or countrey house where poultry are bred; and thereupon, the Lion at this first motion, startled.

It is also possible, and most likely too, that the startle of choller (where into the Lion fals as soone as any thing displeases him) was mistaken by some body for a signe of [Page 5]feare, whereas it was a token of his indignation. For I see no shew of reason to imagine in this generous beast a true and universall feare of so small a matter as the voyce of a Cock, feeing that this likenesse of nature which is attribu­ted to them, should rather produce some sympathy than any aversion; and yet this enmity (if any were, and that as great as between wolves and sheep) ought no more to scare the Lion than the bleating of a sheep affrights a wolfe. But the wolse devoures the sheep, and assimilates it to his own sub­stance, rather for the good-will that he beares himselfe than for any ill-will or hatred that he beares toward the sheep. Be­sides, we ordinarily see Cocks and Hens in the court-yards of the houses where Lions are kept, which never make any shew of astonishment at their crowing. Nay, I remember I have seen a young Lion eat a Cock; 'tis true, he did not crow, any more than those of Nibas a village neere to Thessa­lonica in Macedon, where the Cocks never crow. But the Li­on would have been content with tearing the cock in pieces, and not have eaten him if there had been such an antipathy between them as some imagine. But this error finds enter­tainment for the moralls sake which they inserre upon it, to shew us that the most hardy are not exempt from fear, which oftentimes arises whence it is least looked for. So that to ask why the crowing of a Cock seares Lions, is to seek the cause of a thing that is not.

The third said, we must not make so little account of the authority of our predecessors, as absolutely to deny what they have averred, the proose of which seems sufficiently tried by the continued experience of so many ages: for to deny a truth, because we know not the reason of it, is to imitate Alexander, which out the Gordian knot, because he could not unty it. It is better, in the nature of the Cock and his voyce, to seek a cause of the fright of the Lion, who being a creature always in a fever by his excessive cholerick distem­per, [Page 6]of which his haire and his violence are tokens; great noise is to him as intollerable as to those that are sick and feverish, especially those in whom a cholerick humour en­stamed stirrs up headach. Besides, there are some kinds of found which some persons cannot endure; and yet can give you no reason for it, but are constrained to flie to specificall properties and antipathies, and such we may conceive to be between the Cocks-crowing and a Lions eare, shith much more likelihood than that the Remora staies vessels under full saile; and a thousand other effects impenetrable by our reason, but assured by our experience. Lastly, this astonish­ment that the Cock puts the Lion into with his crowing, is not very unreasonable. This king of beasts having occasion to wonder, how out of so small a body should issue a voyce so strong, and which is heard so farre off, whereas himselfe can make such great slaughters with so little noise. Which amazement of the Lion is so much the greater, if the Cock bee white, because this colour helps yet more to dissipate his spirits, which were al­ready scattered by the first motion of his apprehension.

VVhy dead Bodies bleed in the presence of their murtherers.

GOod Antiquity was sodesirous to know the truth, that as often as naturall and ordinary proofes failed them, they had recourse to supernaturall and extraordinary wayes. Such among the Jewes was the water of jealousie, of which an Adulte­resse could not drink without discovering her guiltinesse, it making her burst. Such was the triall of the Sie [...]e, in which the Vestall Nun, not guilty of unchaslity, as she was accused to be, did carry water of Tiber withour spilling any. Such were the oathes upon Saint Anthonies arme, of so great reve­rence, that it was beleeved that whosoever was there perjured would within a yeare after bee burned with the fire of that Saint: and even in our times it is commonly reckoned, that none lives above a yeare after they have incurred the excom­munication of Saint Geneviesve. And because nothing is so hidden from justice as murder, they use not only torments of the body, but also the torture of the soule, to which its passions doe deliver it over: of which Feare discovering it selfe more than the rest, the [...]udges have forgotten nothing that may serve to make the suspected person fearefull; for besides their interrogatories, confronting him with witnesses, sterne looks, and bringing before him the instruments of torture, as if they were ready to make him feele them; they have invented all other meanes to surprise his resolution, and break his silence, especially when they have sound already some signes and con­jectures. Wherefore they perswade him that a carkasse bleeds in the presence of the murtherers, because dead bodies being removed doe often bleed, and then he whose conscience is [Page 2]tainted with the Synteresis of the fact, is troubled in such sort, that by his mouth or gesture he often bewrayes his owne guiltinesse, as not having his first motions in his owne power. Now the cause of this flowing of the blood in the presence of the guilty is this: After death the blood growes cold and thick, but after a few dayes it becomes thin again; as when we open a veine and receive our blood into Porrangers, if we let it stand in them, we may there see the like; the heat of the corruption supplying the roome of the naturall heat, which kept the blood liquid in the living body. So that if the carkasse be removed by the murderer, it is no wonder if it bleed. And because the murther is hardly discovered by suspitions, till after some dayes, about which time also this li­quefaction of the blood happens, so that this accident is of­ten sound in the presence of the murtherer: hence it comes to passe, that the one is counted the cause of the other. Al­though this cause and this effect be of the nature of those things, which with small reason are thought to depend one on the other, meerely because they fall out at the same time; and because this perswasion, though it be false, hath a reall ef­fect in discovery of truth, therefore the Law-givers have authorized it, using the same care for the discovery of truth, that the guilty do to cover and hide it by their denials and divers sleights. But we must take heed that we render no such cause of this issuing of the blood, as may make it depend on the presence of the murderer, as if it would not have hap­pened without it.

The second said, that it is not credible that the Soveraign Courts which have practised this triall, and made good use of it, were so defective in the knowledge of naturall causes, as not to be able to discern the effusion of blood, which comes by the putrefaction of it in the veines, (for they have a pro­perty to keep it from congelation) from the gushing out of the same blood observed at the first approach of the guilty, and when he is brought to look on the body. It is therefore [Page 3]much better to seek the cause than to call in question the effect, unlesse we had better reason so to doe, than because it seems too m arvellous. Some have referred it to a magnetick or electricall vertue of the blood, saying, that quarrels seldome happen between persons unknowne, but that the murtherer and the slaine having had acquaintance together, their bloods have gotten such society as to draw one another; and so the living mans blood being the more active, draws the blood out of the other. But as this attraction hath an imperceptible subtilty, so it is not easie to conceive it possible, if it be not helped by some meanes that may connect this effect to its cause. I like better the opinion of Levinus Lemnius, who presupposeth that two enemies, intending one anothers death, do dart their spirits one at another; for they are the messen­gers of the soule, by which she execiseth the sight and all her other outward senses. Now these spirits seeking the destru­ction of one another, and being made active by the sting of choler, doe insinuate and work themselves into the opposite bodies, and finding an open entrance through some wound, they tend thither more notably than to any other passage, and there they mingle with the blood of the wounded, and hee shortly after dying, they there settle themselves and abide with his spirits, till the murderer afterwards again approaching to the dead body, the spirits, which were all this while separated from their totall, do take this occasion to rerurn and rejoyne themselves (as all things are desirous to returne to their own beginnings:) But this they cannot do without clearing and se­parating themselves from that masse of blood wherein they lay confused; and therefore they trouble this masse, and so cause an effusion of that blood, which till then was retained in the veines. Which is helped not a little by that confusion where­into we bring the murderer, by laying before him the body by him murthered: for hereupon his spirits, forsaking their Center and wandring, do meet with their fellowes, as the Lode-stone and Iron meeting one another halfe way.

The third man was of the opinion of Campanella, who attri­butes the cause of this bleeding to the sense which is in all things, and which continues in dead bodies; so that having a perception of their murderers, and perceiving them neere them, they suffer two very different motions of trembling and anger, which shake the body and remove the blood in the veines violently enough to make it issue at the gaps of their wounds. For the spirits, which during life had knowledge enough to make them perceive and obey the commands of the soule, retaine it even after death so farre, as to be able to dis­cerne their friends and their enemies. And as at the time of our birth all the objects which are present, do imprint in us their qualities in that universall change which is made at that moment, as Astrologers speak; [whence comes that impor­tant choyce which they prescribe us to make of mid-wives and gossips, that is (if we consider the matter more neerly) of the persons which are to be about the child-wi [...]e] so when we die and quit our naturall qualities to borrow new ones from the bodies about us, we get a conformity with all those which are neere us, and with the murtherer more than with any other.

The fou th said, this opinion could not be true; for then it would follow, that hee which had killed some man by the shot of an Arquebuz, could not be knowne by the signe; and that if a man were killed in the armes of his wife, and amidst his friends which had defended him, such a one would rather bleed in the presence of his friends than of the murtherer, whose spirits are ordinarily kept in by the guilt of his con­science and the apprehension of punishment; whereas his friends being animated with anger, do call forth all their spi­rits to a necessary defence. Besid s, if the murtherer, now brought neere the carkasse, have also beene wounded in this encounter, he should rather bleed than the dead man, because his blood is more boyling and must have received many of the spirits which did all leave the slaine man at his death, be­ing evaporated thence upon the bodies which were round a­bout [Page 5]him: For they issue out of the wounds of a dying man together with his blood, and that so violently, that they will not permit at the same time a motion contrary to theirs, and to cannot admit any entrance for the spirits of the murtherer; which if they should enter, would there acquire a Sympathy with the dead body, in whose blood they would congeale, and lose the Sympathy that they had with the body out of which they came. Even as no man retaines the spirits of that crea­ture whose blood or heart be eares, but he thereof formes his owne spirits. Nay, if they did retaine this Sympathy, yet could they not know the murderer, for want of senses, which they never had; because the spirits which are in the blood, hardly merit that name, being purely naturall and destitute of all perception, and that in our life time, as being common to us with plants, and specifically differing from animall spirits, as might bee shown by the different actions wherein nature employes them. In the next degree above these naturall ones are the vitall spirits, which vanish with the life which they conserved, so that then the arteries which contained them be­come empty. And lastly, those that were sensitive cannot re­main in a dead man, because they are easily dissipated and have need of continual reparation, as we see in swoonings, the senses faile as soone as the heart ceaseth to furnish them with matter to uphold the continuity of their generation: Or if they did remaine in the body after death, they could performe no acti­on for want of necessary disposures in their organs, as we see in those that are blinde, deafe, paralytick and others. But because the refutation of the reasons given of this effect is a thing very easie, and may be done in many other subjects: It is better to shew that this bleeding cannot come from any na­turall cause, no not of such as are unknown to us; which is easi­ly done, if we presuppose that all naturall causes are necessary and do act without liberty at all times when their objects are presented to them: Which falls not our so heere, for it hath oftentimes beene seene, that murtherers, for feare of being [Page 6]accused of murder, have made more and neerer approaches round about the dead body than any other, which hath beene used as a presumption against them, though the body did not bleed in their presence; and oftentimes nurses overlie their. children, which notwithstanding bleed not after death, though they hold them in their armes, as a signe of their great affe­ction and innocence. And had this signe been naturall, Salo­mon, that was very skilfull in nature, would have used this rather than a morall triall, wherein was much lesse certainty; nor would Moses have forgotten it. Besides, we see every day the executioners come to take from the gallows or the wheel, those persons whom the day before they executed with their owne hands, out of whose wounds comes not a drop of blood, although all the causes of such bleeding doe concurre in this example, and ought to produce their effect, unlesse you think they were hindered by some morall reason, as the con­sideration that this execution was by the order of justice. But then beasts, being uncapable of this consideration, and having none of this wisedome, should bleed in the presence of those butchers which are not very exact in their trade, with which the Jewes doe everyday upbraid them. And such as have killed Hares and Partridges, should cause their bodies to bleed when they come neere them. Moreover, they which have beene set upon by some assasin, finde it not alwayes easie to know him againe when they see him, though they be in perfect health, and awake: much lesse can a man that is asleep, or very neere death, by any signe discover the approching as­sasin that mortally wounded him: and yet it is hard to ima­gine that we have lesse perception and knowledge during the remainders of our life, than after our death; and that a woun­ded man must die that he may become more sensible. Lastly, it is easie to make it appeare, that it is not in this effect as in other marvels, which have a naturall cause, because though many effects are so hidden from us, that wee are not able to assigne their particular causes, yet they may be all proved by [Page 7]some reasons, if not demonstrative, yet at least probable: e­ven the magneticall cure, by sympathy and antipathy, which are the onely principles of all naturall motions: Which mo­tions are but of two sorts, that is to say, Approach and Re­motion; it being naturall to all bodies to joine themselves to their like, and to fly from the objects from which they have some naturall aversenesse. And indeed, if the blood issued naturally, it would be to joyne it selfe with blood of the same nature, as the blood of the dead mans kindred: for sympathy is onely betweene bodies joined in amity. Nor can antipathy produce this effect, for it is not its property to joine and bring-neerer-together two bodies which are enemies; but on the contrary, in the presence of the murtherer it should con­centrate all the blood, and cause it to retire to the inner parts. And these are the grounds which perswade me not only that the causes of this miracle are not yet found, but also that it is impossible that it should have any that is naturall.

The fifth said, that this bleeding may be caused by the imagination, if, according to the opinion of Avicenna, it doth act even out of its owne subject; the phantasie of the guilty, with the remembrance of the blood spilt by him in the killing of the dead there lying before his eyes, which stirres all his powers, may be able to cause this haemorrhagie or issuing of blood. Some nitrous vapours also of the earth may help this ebullition of the blood in the carkasse, when it is taken up out of the earth; or the water, having insinua­ted it selfe into the veines of a drowned carkasse, may make the blood more fluid. Hereunto also the aire may contribute by its heat, which is greater than that of the earth or water, and is increased by the concourse of the multitudes which use to run to such spectacles. Also the fermentation which after death happens to the blood, serves very much to this heat, which makes it boile in the veines, as syrups in the time of their fermentation boile and fill up the vessels, which be­fore were not full, till at length they make them run over at [Page 8]the top: in the same manner, the blood which before did not fill the veines, yet after it is fermented, doth so puffe them up, that they can no longer hold it all; and having withall gotten a tarmesse which corrodes the orifices of the vessels, it makes its way out some dayes after death, as we see in the bodies reserved for anatomies, where the rope having caused the blood to rise to the braine, where it could not be contai­ned, it runs out at the nose. Also the sympathy of the spirits once friendly, and afterward become enemies, may help to­ward this effect; which should not be thought more strange than many other like motions; as the paine felt by the Nurse in her breasts, when her nurse-child cries; the sury which the red colour stirres up in the Lion and the Turky-cock; the falling-sicknesse, whose fits are augmented or advanced in those that hold in their hand the plant called Virga sanguinea, or a twig of the Cornill tree; a kind of Jasper stayes blee­ding by a contrary reason; Lapis Nephriticus makes the gra­vell come out of the kidneyes; the Weapon-salve cures a wound, being applied to the sword which made it, 100. leagues off: and many other Talismanick effects, of which we do no more see their connection with their causes, than of this of the spirits of the murtherer and the murthered; which notwithstanding are no lesse effectuall in this occurrence, than the spirits which come out of a bleare eye, are able to hurt the eye that lookes on it; or the eyes of a Witch to bewitch lambs, and to produce all other marvellous effects, whereof their histories are full.

The sixth said, It would be hard to perswade most men that there is sense in all lifelesse bodies, much more, that there re­maines any after death; because sense is given to all bodies for no other cause, but to enable them to discerne their ob­jects, to carry them toward their likes, and to make them fly from subjects worthy of their eschewing. Which cannot be said of dead bodies, for whom nature hath no longer any care or providence. So that she which doth nothing in vaine, and [Page 9]gives not to bodies, qualities of which they have no use, hath not taken care to put into, or preserve in carkasses, a passion which might serve to uphold them in that estate. For that were against the intention of Nature her selfe, who strives to ruine such bodies, and to resolve them into their elements, to the end that thereof she may make new mixts, and so aug­ment some of her species. But if we grant Campanella, that dead bodies have some remainder of sense, yet will it not thereupon follow, that they have enough of it to cause the motions of trembling and anger, to which he attributes this bleeding; for anger requires too many sorts of reciprocall motions, and too much mixt to be compatible with the cold which freezeth the spirits of dead bodies, whatsoever the Hi­storians say to the contrary; for they write, that anger might be seene in the sterne visages of divers men slaine in battaile, which hath no likelihood of truth. And forasmuch as plants (which, according to the opinion of this author) have a greater measure of sense than carkasses have, witnesse the at­tractions and expulsions which they make; yet are not at all capaple of anger: and having seene some men so stupid, as to be displeased with nothing in their life time, I cannot be­leeve that they become more sensible after their death. Such bodies are then past trembling either for apprehension or me­mory, both which are fled away with their life, and they are in an estate of having no further apprehension of their mur­derers: And if they would tremble for feare, it were time for them so to do at the approach of the Anatomists, who with­out all pity pull them in as many pieces as they can imagine any way to differ from one another; and besides, feare would not make the blood to issue, forasmuch as this passion is not caused but by the concentration of the spirits, and their aban­doning of the outer-parts that they may retire inward.

Another unlikely consequent is, that these spirits separated from the soule should be more able to discern the murderer than when they were joyned to it, for a living man is not able [Page 10]to know him that hurt him in the night, or as a high-way-rob­ber with a vizor and silence preventing all discovery of him by his face or voyce. Furthermore, the spirits are of the na­ture of the Sun-beams, which give heat and light so long as they are continued from the body of the Sun to the object on which they fall; but the Sun is no sooner hidden but that the beames cease to be. Even so, as long as the rele admirabile of the brain (which is the spring and forge of the animall spi­rits, which are only capable of knowledge) does continue an influence of spirits into the nerves, and through them into the other organs of the sense; so long are they able to discern and no longer, though they could subsist longer. So that this opinion cannot stand, no, not with the opinion of the Pagan Philosophers, who teach that the soule after death quits not the body, but only the operations of the inward and outward senses: the ceasing of the actions whereof the spirits are in­struments, being sufficient to sh [...]w that the spirits them­selves are ceased.

The seventh said, that this extraordinary motion cannot be referred but to a light supernaturally sent from God to the Judges, for the discovery of the blackest crimes, which other­wise would escape unpunished: which is also the cause why this miracle, though it sometimes happen, yet is not alwayes observable as the effects of naturall causes, which are necessary and thereby are distinguished from contingents: it being no lesse impiety to deny that the divine justice doth sometimes send succour to the justice of men, than it is ignorant rustici­ty, in all things to content our selves with universall causes, without seeking the particular ones, which indeed God com­monly employes for the producing of effects; but yet hath not so enchained his power to the necessity of their order, as that he cannot break it when he pleaseth, even to the giving unto moystened clay a vertue to restore sight to the eyes of one borne blinde.