THE GHOSTS OF VILLEMOR and FONTAINES.

WOnder of the World, Mars of Christen­dome, Great Mo­narch, whose invin­cible Heart neuer found Equall, whose Arme is a Thunder-bolt, his Diligence Lightnings, his High Deedes Thunder-cracks; that thunder, which astonish For­tune; You will haue no apprehension of our Shadowes, seeing you neuer had any of Death it selfe, amidst the horrour, the [Page] [...] [Page 1] [...] [Page 2] terrour of Armes; amongst the sulphure, the most thicke smoakes of Canons and Harquebuzes: These obscure apparances, and these dimensions confusedly dilated, will bring you no feare. This is the second time that we doe appeare; hauing quitted our repose to come to procure yours, and by the meanes of our particular harmes, to represent those of France in generall for this Subiect.

You are a King, the light of Kings; an excellent Title, a holy Title. Seeing that Kings be the liuely Images of the greatnes of God, and that Truth (an incorruptible Virgin) ought to be their eldest daughter; we doe promise our selues that your Maie­stie (who haue alwaies entirely cherished it, and who in that condition, and a thou­sand others, haue made your selfe admira­ble) will not reiect it. Giue then (if it please you) some time from your employments to our holy remonstrances, to our aduise, to our plaints, for the common safetie. Per­mit vs to speake truely, you are obliged thereunto, by this faire qualitie of King, and by Magnanimity, the capitall enemie of vn­truth. The Subiect is of the most impor­tant and most notable of the Realme, but [Page 3] yet which regards that, more properly then all the rest.

Your Maiestie giues euery day pardons for murthers committed in Duell. If wee did respire againe in mortall bodies, wee would craue one of you, which without doubt you would iudge equitable, that is, to pardon vs, speaking freely thereupon. It is a libertie not insolent, animated onely with zeale to the good of the State, and whose motions, doe carry nothing but O­bedience and Iustice.

In the time of Tiberius, they held their finger on their mouthes: but Augustus per­mitted them to tell him his faults. Hee thanked the Censors, did them good, and which is more, he corrected himselfe. This Crowne hath had no Tiberiusses, but many Augustusses. Hee which hath begunne to make the most magnanimious Branch of Bourbon to waxe greene, and flourish, will succeed as well in goodnesse, and iustice, as in the Scepter. A man cannot speake more mildely of so great a mischiefe. Some haue said of old, that Kings must haue words of silke: But in this matter there must bee words of gall, of wormewood, tart, prick­ing. And what can be said too sharpely, too [Page 2] [...] [Page 3] [...] [Page 4] boldly thereupon. Euery one knowes, that your Maiestie hath found this miserable disorder of Duells, and haue gone about to remedie it by holy Ordinances, as your Ma­iesties Predecessors Henry 2. Charles the 9. Henry 3. haue done. Euery one knowes how your Maiestie is displeased at it: Euery one knowes that this violence is produced by the libertie which so long, and so wofull ciuill wars (as haue been these forty yeares in this Kingdome) hath brought, which haue been spunges sucking all sorts of con­fusions, especially in these last times, the very sinke of times past, and of all humane malice. So wee doe assure our selues, that your Maiestie will take in good part what wee shall present vnto you in this behalfe, seeing that your Maiestie doth desire with­all your affection and power to redresse it.

Sir, when any man offends you, he is ac­cused of high Treason, and presently puni­shed, and there is nothing more reasonable. If any Prince of your Realme, or Stranger, would be so presumptuous to giue pardons, he had need bee stronger to vsurpe that Iu­risdiction vpon your Maiestie, and so hee should be a Tyrant. If he were weaker hee would be mocked. Yet that is not all, hee [Page 5] should be rigorously punished for it. You would bee loath, neither were it iust, that any should encroach vpon your Authoritie: why? because you are the Image of God, that doth represent his greatnes and iustice. The symmetries of his Image, and of his principall Type, ought to be obserued. In the meane time, you giue pardons against the Law of GOD, and Man: against the Diuine Law, for the Commandements doe expressely forbid them; against the humane Law, for as much as it cuts the knot of pub­like societie, and is quite contrary to the order of all the Estates of Christendome.

Wee speake that, which your Magi­strates, your Confessors, and all the pillers of the Catholique—romish—Church, are bound especially to admonish you of. It is for your seruice, it is for the common good, it is for the safetie of your soule. Pardon, great King, giue vs leaue (if it be your plea­sure) to tell you, Your Pardons are groun­ded neither vpon Reason, Example, nor Au­thoritie.

Vpon Reason not at all; nay on the con­trary, they doe destroy, and demolish the magnificent edifice, built by diuine Iustice, in all her proportions and dimensions.

[Page 6] Vpon example? In no wise: for no King­domes, no Common-wealths, doe suffer these bloody and horrible acts, fitter for the most barbarous heathen, then for them that vaunt themselues to be the most Chri­stian Christians.

Vpon Authoritie? No: all the Ciuill and Canonicall Lawes are directly repugnant thereunto; and these were established for the common good.

Let vs looke into the profit of this spiri­tuall madnesse. Let vs enquire of experi­ence what commoditie comes of it to the Common-weale. So many houses desola­ted, wholly ruinated; so many widowes, so many orphanes, so many sutes, so many quarrels, or rather an eternitie of Quarrels. These are the fruites of this mortall tree, most bitter fruits, and a lamentable tree, which groweth continually by his losse, flourisheth in his winter, and whose green­nesse will drie vp his rootes.

There is not almost any house in France, where this marke of the wrath of God is not read in great Characters, in Characters of blood. Nothing but teares, mournefull lights, sighes and tombes. In what time? euen when all the Kingdome els are at qui­et. [Page 7] In what age? euen in the most flourish­ing age of life. For what subiect? For false imaginations, for fantasies. Euery thing is sufficient to make these quarrellers goe in­to the field, be the occasion great or small. They be like the Naphta of Babylon, which takes fire as farre off as it is presented. They haue their hearts and spirits full of blood. For a glasse of water, for gloues, for silke stockins, for a feather, for a crabbed looke, for a thing of nothing, they are rea­dy to cut throats. They which haue recei­ued great hurts, are mooued vpon the least change of the time: and these wretches bee prouoked by the least occasion, to go loose their bodies and soules, not knowing how, nor why. Doe they not goe about to kill one another, for that which is not yet in na­ture, and which they as little know as the day of iudgement? It is an exorbitant fren­sie. Whosoeuer would consider all, should enter into a profound depth; one folly hath so begotten others, what vanitie, what presumption, what brabling language, what brauadoes of ostentation? wherefore is all this good? The words are foolish, and the effects prodigious, we are ashamed to speake it. There haue been some, who ha­uing [Page 8] their enemie vnder them, haue held their weapon at their throat, and with exe­crable blasphemies, bidding them pray to God, haue therewithall killed them: what Christian vertue is this? call you this Gen­tilitie? count you this to be aboue the com­mon sort?

The most eager are lost by these light occasions, many times the most valiant, and almost at all times, the most happy, and most at hearts ease. What pitty? what de­solation is this? After so much care had to bring them vp, euen when they beginne to know the light, and then become more worthy, beeing made fit to serue their Prince and Countrey, they root themselues out from the breast thereof, rashly, cruelly, detestably. Men dare marry no more, and they which haue children, will not vouch­safe to bring them vp carefully as they were wont, to make them capable to serue you. They dare send them no more to your Court, that is the Scylla and Charybdis, where they perish miserably; the Altar where they be sacrificed continually; the mournefull Schoole, where they find death, instead of learning ability to defend the life of the Prince, for the maintenance of the [Page 9] Estate. France soyled with the blood of her owne children a furious parricide, all horrible with wounds crieth out, casteth her selfe at your feet, tearing her haire, and craues mercy of you: will you deny it to your Subiects, to your seruants, hauing been so franke of it to your enemies?

Then are you well grounded, Sir: The Pardons which your Maiestie doth so often giue, or to speake more properly, which are snatched from you by such importuni­tie, bee against the Lawes of GOD and Men; against the vniuersall order of King­domes and Common-weales. Wee say so often, and not without cause, that is too well knowne. Wee will adde in so great a quantitie: For in one day onely in the voy­age of Savoy, your Maiestie dispatched six­score, which is monstrous. It is not simply to tollerate the euill, but to approoue, nou­rish, and command it.

All Diuines with a generall accord, and consent, doe say, that they which die in these miserable combates are damned: a fearefull sentence, and yet true. Your selfe doe say, Sir, and promise that you will make lawes; you doe make them, and renew the old ones; but to what end serue they, if they [Page 10] be not obserued? There be many springs which play vpon this worke, many that haue the honour to approach your Maiesty, doe detest quarrells in word, and after­wards oftentimes are the cause of them, taxing them that they doe thinke are not valiant (we say are valiant) for these follies, for these friensies, extreame friensies. Is there any thing so ridiculous as the subiect of quarrells? But alas! there is nothing so deplorable as their euents.

Here is a strange mistery. This iniustice is acknowledged, and condemned of the most part, and yet if a Gentleman doe not go to Duel, he is despised, he is reproached. If he goes, and escapes the iron, he falls vp­on the penne, he must passe through iustice. What a perplexitie is this? What shall be­come of this miserable man? He hath cut off one head, and out of that arised seauen others. Such a man is much troubled. There is yet more, and that is, that although they know your Maiestie will take order for it, and doe make edicts, yet the report runnes, that your Maiestie doe blame them which doe not fight. This is it, that prickes most. The Iudgements of Kings be Oracles, they excite the furics of Orestes; no patience but [Page 11] it is lost, no consideration retained. What is all this? light and darkenesse, hot and cold. The mischeife is, that vpon the rocks of these contrarieties, many doe rush, and are miserably lost.

There is not any in the world, that knowes what Honour, and Valour is, like you, Sir; none, that makes them better vn­derstood, better tasted by discourse, not any that for his owne particular, hath so well practised them, nor so exactly obserued, and so diligently and gloriously acquired the first ranke; and none that makes them lesse obserued, and practised by others in these times. You must of necessitie know the effi­cient cause of so many disasters. And this it is; the two rare peices, so exquisite and so precious whereof we come to speake, Ho­nour, and Valour. By the one your Nobility will get the other, which beeing euill vn­derstood, doth bring so much desolation, by the meanes of Ʋalour so ill knowne, and so brutishly practised. All the world knowes, that the number of your trophies, doe exceed the number of your years. They are excellent tokens of the greatnes of your courage, which hath made you put downe the statues of Caesar by so many great ex­ploites. [Page 12] There is nothing that your Maiesty can better vnderstand, then these two points, whereof it hath rendred so famous testimonies, & such extraordinary proofes. It belongs then to your Maiesty to reforme the disorder caused by them, since it knowes them so perfectly. You haue both will and power, the one from your clemen­cie and iustice, the other from your Autho­ritie. Your Maiestie is mooued thereunto by the knowledge of these iniust acts, inui­ted, pressed, and as it were reproached by these fit subiects. Your inimitable clemen­cie, hath produced inimitable effects: but who doubts of that, which hath made you the most famous Prince of the world, and of that which hath saued this Estate, hauing made you expose your life, so often, and so freely, for the conseruation thereof. In the meane time here is a bloody disorder, which continueth and encreaseth daily. By dispersing these clouds which will obscure the brightnesse of your glory, bought with so many hazardes, you shall conserue and augment that which you haue worthily gained. The continuance, and perseuerance, in doing well, be the sinewes, and reflexions of reputation. It is that which mooues it, it [Page 13] is that which encreaseth it. And the Tombe onely ought to bee the last line of vertu­ous actions: what can be imagined more exquisite, more triumphant?

Let vs see the errour of men of this time: rashnes put on by all the most brutish passi­ons, concupiscence, vanity, pride, reuenge, enuic, and other furies, naturall to men, they call courage; these are the lime, and sand, but the workeman, and subtill Archi­tect is the euill spirit. That this is true, doe but consider that euen they, who hardly doe beleeue a Paradise, who are so well pleased in the world, not knowing any o­ther, and haue such occasion to abide in it, doe cast away themselues without cause, a­gainst their owne knowledge, against their iudgement, depriuing themselues of the world, with the blindnesses whereof, they are strooke as with the falling sicknes. And how? by a loose vanity, by friuolous consi­derations, without reason, without founda­tion. It is a high secret: we must returne to that which we haue said, that it is the e­uill spirit which forgeth all these mise­ries. Doe we not also see, these killers ear­ly, or late, end their dayes with a violent death? Blood is in the ende expiated by [Page 14] blood, sinne punished by the same sinne.

It is strange, that making the delights of the earth their heauen, respiring nothing but all sorts of pleasures, not testifying in their fashions, in their speach, in their ef­fects, any apprehension of the estate of soules after this fraile life (we say the most part) are notwithstanding so forward, so resolute, to hazard that which they hold so deare. But if they doe beleeue a more hap­py life, after this mortall, iudge what their end is, what their iudgement, to quit their part thereof, so without purpose. Some say, there is great cunning among these people, that they make subtill shewes, but it falls out commonly that they are countermined by a iust iudgement of God.

Let a man well and wisely weigh the quarrells of these times, he shall see that pride and vanity, are the two great suppor­ters thereof. Are not these excellent markes of a magnanimious courage? The most part doe avowe, that that which they doe, is to aduantage themselues at an other mans cost: a weaknes of iudgement; for if they whom they offend be not in reputation, there is no glory. If they be naughty fel­lowes (as they say) a man incurres a dan­ger [Page 15] to continue in it. After death there is no more speach of that action; if a man liues, the aduantage is not very great, as we will shew hereafter.

They are of opinion, that if they escape they shall be in better estimation with the Prince, and with all others. This false ima­gination, is one of the mortall poysons which venometh, which bewitcheth their soules, and rauisheth them to this de­spaire. Here is a wonderfull considerati­on: Vanitie blindeth them, and carri­eth them to Iniustice, feeding them most daintily with a hot throat: this is vanity in­deed. If the Prince in the most noble assem­blies would blame and despise them, they would stay the torrent of their follies: but it happens, that in the presence of him, and others of the greatest, they praise such a­ctions, tell stories of them, they extoll them, with applause, with admiration. See, say they, how handsomely he hath challen­ged him, how freely the other iumped with him, and being hindred, after they had gi­uen their faith not to fight (an heroicall prowesse) see how gallantly they broke it, to goe peirce their carkasses with ioy of heart, without any occasion of quarrell; so [Page 16] they do magnifie a thousand wayes a beast­ly barbarisme, baptizing it with the most specious names of vertue. It is a winde that soundeth within these empty heads, and fils them with false imaginations, which takes away their wits. To be esteemed of the So­ueraigne Prince, and of the great ones, is a charming flash of lightening which doth penetrate their soules. It is a magicke which surpasseth all the characters of the Cabalists, which dazeleth and decayeth their eyes, and iudgements, and teareth a man violently from himselfe.

We haue called these effects Despaire, and not greatnes of Courage. What will you say of them which do hang themselues, precipitate themselues, poyson themselues, runne themselues through with a rapier, starue themselues? Doe they it not in de­spight of death? It cannot be denied, some will answer, that all this, is imbecillity, blindnesse, rage, because the punishment doth not make the Martyr, but the cause of the punishment. It is well said, what difference put you betweene those despe­rate men, and the others which kill one ano­ther without iust cause? you cannot find any in the least appearance.

[Page 17] That it is a rage, proceeding from fee­blenes of iudgement; it may be prooued by a thousand arguments, and especially by the combate of two new Pateuine Ama­zones, who sixe or seauen yeares since, did fight in a list or place railed in for a com­bate: Oh what an vnnaturall accident? It should bee the Crysis of quarrels of this time; Crysis sent from Heauen, if France would make it selfe worthy of such a bles­sing. This History is a shame for both Se­xes; but it is a discourse by it selfe. If it be Courage, it is very common, beeing pra­ctised by imbecilitie it selfe: if Desperati­on, it is come by example, and that exam­ple is reprooueable and punishable.

Yet there are found amongst the Iewes, the Egyptians, the Persians, the Greekes, the Romanes, and the French, women of quali­tie generous, bred aboue the infirmitie of the sex, equall to men, by the fauour of nature, and of nourture. But to shew how vile and abiect this desperate action is, it is knowne that base Porters haue been in the field, with the same ceremonies, vsing like curtesie as they do, that thinke themselues Samsons. This doth much extenuate the glory of these actions, which the ignorant [Page 18] doe so vnworthily exalt.

The Lord de la Noue, in one of his dis­courses, blames Amadis for decyphering with a loftie, and as it were a magicke style, a false Valour, and Chymera's of Ʋalour. And some which bee neere your Maiestie, and elsewhere, doe put forward (vpon this matter) things more extravagant and fan­tasticall, then the tales of Melusina, and of the Roman of the Rose. In the meane time, all the dispersion falls vpon the Nobilitie, which is the basis of the Estate.

Your Maiestie, by your excellent Vertue haue saued your Kingdome, raised it again, and remitted it by the very same: and now that it is in the harbour, your Maiestie lets them suffer shipwracke, who haue helped your invincible courage to take land. All the rest of the Kingdome doe enioy the benefit of peace euen to the beasts: It is one of the praises that Strangers doe giue, with admiration to your Maiesties vertue and fortune: And the Nobilitie, who haue so great a share in so faire a Conquest, (at least the greatest number) are onely depriued of this good, couered with blood, enwrapped in a warre more then ciuill, or rather in ma­ny intestine warres.

[Page 19] There is more mischiefe and iniustice in these Combates, then in ciuill warres. Be­cause that in ciuill warres, they flie, they saue themselues, they retire into the forts: in the other, to shunne occasions is cowar­dize, to seeke out the least is extraordina­ry Honour. All is open, all is sure, to them that say, They beare not a word but like a Caualier. That which is done most com­monly in ciuill warres by chance, is done in these combates of set purpose: likewise the ruine thereby is almost alwayes ineuitable. Ciuill warres be against enemies, the other against friends, neighbours, neere kins­folkes, brothers. In briefe, in ciuill warres there is alwaies some honour for the parti­cular; some profit for the generall: In the other, there is neither honour nor profit, for one or other.

When there bee any quarrells, all the world runnes to hinder the mischiefe, the King is disquieted with it, his Guard are much troubled. What is all this? It is a very stage-play: for to hinder all these fu­ries, there needes no more but an Edict well obserued. To say that they doe but coun­terfeit to hinder them, is against experience. To say likewise that the King doth not de­sire [Page 20] it, is repugnant to his good nature. What is it then? a sencelesnesse, a madnes, which hath seized, and transported the Frenchmen. A sencelesnesse, not to be moo­ued by the consequence of these follies: a madnes, to follow with so much furie that lamentable way of miserie. From whence comes so great a disaster?

From Pardons, without which all the World iudgeth that this wild-fire would soone be extinguished.

The birth of these Monsters, and their in­crease, bee from the exquisite workes of flatterers, which hauing finely slid, and as it were melted themselues into the soules of Kings, since Henry the 2. haue perswa­ded them, that it is a marke of Soueraign­tie to giue Pardons. It is so without doubt, but they must be conformable to the Iustice of God, who hath established Lawes there­in, as is seene by the Townes of Refuge, which were aunciently amongst the Israe­lites; which were for accidents proceeding of ignorance, chance-medley, and other notable circumstances; following which, all Soueraigne Princes may iustly, and with good conscience giue life. But for the Par­dons which are forged now a dayes, there [Page 21] can bee found no example, either in holy Bookes, or in prophane.

But if they take that for a marke of So­ueraigntie, the Assyrian Monarchs, Persi­ans, Greekes, and Romanes, were by that reckoning no Soueraignes. The Kings of England, of Spaine, Swede, Denmarke, &c. be then no Soueraignes; they haue for all that the markes of Soueraigntie common with our Kings. To giue letters of Nobili­tie, of Naturalitie, to mint money, to create new Estates, to confirme them, to leuie im­positions, &c. Bee not these faire markes, and well raised? There is no speach of gi­uing Pardons of this qualitie. It followeth, that Soueraigntie is not founded vpon that. What is then her foundation? that the So­ueraigne doe depend vpon God onely, and not to acknowledge any man liuing for his Superiour. So he is inferiour to God onely. But how say you to this, Sir? He doth ab­solutely forbid that, which you permit. God will be angry: we speake it for the health of your soule. And (if wee did con­uerse still among men, wee would beseech you, with knees to the ground, to waigh these words) if you take not a better order, God will be angry.

[Page 22] Wee will not speake of Strangers from Spaine, Italie, Almanie, England, Poland, Denmarke, who hold the French for mad­men, and possessed with deuills; and doe speake of the Kings of France, (for this oc­casion very strangely) and which is worse, with too great truth. We alleadge onely your Auncestours Clouis, Charlemagne, S ^r. Louis, and so many other excellent Princes. A man shall not finde, that they haue per­mitted these combates of the Nobilitie so ill grounded. And if they haue permitted them, it hath been twice, or thrice, in a thousand yeares, and for very important considerations, onely capable of offence, and to make a distinction of great and small things. The Subiect touched,

• 1. The honour of God.
• 2. The honour and seruice of the Prince, and consequently of the Commonwealth.
• 3. The honour, the conscience, and the life of euery particular man.

It was also a Gordion knot, a quarrell without any meanes of attonement, and a mischiefe without any remedie but extre­mitie, which ariueth very sieldome: for there is not almost any offence, but may be reconciled. These principall points are so [Page 23] pertinently deduced, by a Discourse intitu­led, of Quarrels, and of Honour, that the Author deserueth much glory thereby, as a man that hath set downe the true, and so­lide foundations of Honour.

If they say, that it is an inueterate furie, because that quarrells haue Honour for their foundation: we answer first of all, that vntill King Francis the 1. they knew not what quarrells were, in the manner vsed now adaies; and that France before that time, was all heaped with honour, bowed vnder the burthen of glorious victories gotten vpon strangers; when as there was no speach at all, of this mortall contagi­on, nor any imagination thereof. It had as many magnificent Trophies, as Captaines; as many triumphant Palmes as Gentlemen; and as many crownes of Oake, as simple souldiers; we will marke onely one of those times. When Charles the 8. as a winde, a torrent, a thunder, tempestious, furious, pierceing; ouerthrew, spoiled, vanquished Italy, with so great and fearefull a swift­nes; was there in all the earth a Nobility like to the French? was there any thing so generous? so vertuous? and then there was no speach of Duell. We forbeare to speake [Page 24] of all the other ages past, which haue had valiant men, Demy-Gods, so renowned, so redoubted, through all the world, who ne­uer knew this folly. Secondly, we say, let there be meanes found to tie vp fooles, and desperate men. There hath beene no fault but in your moderne Predecessors; there will be no fault but in your Maiestie: you haue the cables, and the chaines to stay these frantickes: and how? We haue alrea­dy told you,

Not to giue any more Pardons.

Yet that is not all. You must make known, and publish throughout the Realme your Maiesties intention: make a solemne Oath before God, neuer to giue any, vnlesse they be conformable to the Lawes of God, as we haue remarked; and let it be a perpe­tuall Edict irreuocable, and another Law Salicke for your Successors. There is yet more, and that is the knot of the matter. It must be made knowne wherein true Ho­nour doth consist, and Lawes established therein, and that they which shall violate them be punished, without remission, with­out exception. Beleeue, it will be very easie to stay the most ticklish; or to speake bet­ter, the most hairebraind. Others will be [Page 25] bridled by apprehension of the confiscati­ons, and mulcts, which waighes them so downe, that they be constrained to say, That they which die in Duell, are in better case then the vanquishers. It is a Cadmean victory, a lamentable victory, lamentable for all Christendome; a fearefull marke of the anger of God, and an infallible presage of his vengeances neare at hand.

There are not any, how euill soeuer they be, but would be very well content, that there were Lawes for the point of Honour; and that there might be no cutting of throates continually for a flies foote. They dare not speake for feare to be reputed cowards, or that they are prouident for themselues; they incline to the corruption of the time: notwithstanding not any of good iudgement, and truely generous doe esteeme, or feare them the more. It is iust­ly a worthy recompence for Hypocrites, and euill Christians.

Surely, we must particularly cull out, what Honour is, seeing it is the spring of so many mischeifes. Amongst a hundred that fight for this faire quality, there will not be found two that know what it is. An argument of their ignorance, and beastli­nes, [Page 26] a worthy basis of such a pillar. They are killed they know not why. We say then that Honour is a quality raised vp, attribu­ted to persons according to the knowledge that is had of their merit. Place is giuen to Authority, and to few, merit to all sorts of persons that haue it. Honour is enclosed (as we haue said) with these sowre tearms; God, the Soueraigne Prince, the Countrey, and Vertue: all the rest is but smoake. Let vs see, if in the Duells which be so ordinary in France, we can finde these fowre lights, which should conduct the actions of men. There is not one of them. For the three first it is most euident, that such actions are wholly repugnant thereunto: God is there­by grieuously offended; the Prince looseth his Subiects; the Countrey her children. Let vs examine Vertue by her kindes, it may be we shall finde it there. Is Prudence there? not at all: Hath it beene her custome to cast men into infinite mischeifes? Is Tem­perance there? in no sort: cannot she suffer the least prickings, nor command passion? Iustice will not be found there; is it not in­iustice to take away another mans goods? To take away his life, is it not infinitely more? Magnanimity, and greatnes of cou­rage [Page 27] is in no sort there. Is not that volun­tary, with knowledge, for a good cause for a iust ende? Neuerthelesse there is not any, how grosse, and brutish soeuer, but would haue vs beleeue, that in these actions there is vertue, at the least the vertue of magna­nimity. We haue shewed the contrary, and will prooue it by and by, more amply. In generall tearmes we maintaine, that in these vnworthy actions there is not any vertue; and doe prooue it by an infallible argu­ment.

And that is, That vertuous actions be worthy of praise and recompence, and haue no need of Pardons.

Oh! Ambitious, that slay your selues not knowing why: let vs make a dissection of Honour: you dare not deny but it is ac­quired by Vertue: and that it is her flow­ers, fruits, and creature. In these Duells there is not so much as one sparkle of Ver­tue, consequently no Honour: notwith­standing let vs graunt to the greife of these sicke minded, that there is Honour. You say, that you gaine it by perill, that hauing nothing ordinary, you carry away this ad­uantage aboue the common sort. You are very hot. There be a hundred thousand [Page 28] souldiers in France that be not knowne, and of whom there is no talke, who haue been at it, and are still in a readinesse to goe to it: So this Honour is very common. If you say it is their miserable condition, or rashnes, that makes them scorne the perill: they will answer you, that it is ambition, pride, en­uie, reuenge, and other blind passions that transports you. By consequence, it is not a vertuous action, which is alwayes volun­tary, and is her selfe, her owne center, and circumference. We will enforce this mat­ter no further, least we recite that which hath beene treated of, by a discourse of Va­lour, made by the Author of the Ghosts, it is worthy to be scene: we onely represent vnto you, that you doe altogether abuse your selues, to place courage in so high a degree, (we say, that brutish impatient courage, which distinguisheth not, which suffereth nothing) seeing it is common with beasts. But Prudence, Iustice, and the other diuine vertues which be absolutely necessary, be proper to none but to men, which doc surpasse the common sort. True it is, that this courage, ruled, and limited by the knowledge, and reason, which makes perill despised, is infinitely more [Page 29] rare, then the quarrells be ordinary.

For one more familiar and sensible proofe that these Combates be no effects of Ver­tue, we must consider, that a man neuer comes by these meanes to great charges. Though a man hath fought an hundred times in single Combate, he shall be neuer the sooner Marshall of France, or great Ma­ster of the Artillerie. The degrees to mount to the holy Temple of Honour, be these. To be faithfull to the Prince, zealous to the Common weale, and for that to hazard ones selfe, vpon all iust occasions to present his life to a breach, to a battell, to an enter­prise; to shew his good iudgement, his pru­dence, his diligence, his vigilance, and to haue no other end, but this magnificent am­bition, to doe well. It is this that makes a man worthy of fare and great charges. This is a Maiesticall-golden-building, raysed with all his symmetries, which doth dazle, ouercome, deiect, the eies, the forces, the darts of Enuie, Time, and Death. What­soeuer be more then these, doe proceed of euill humours, that remaine of the disor­der of Ciuill warres, as from a mischieuous quartane ague, which hath so long shaken his Estate. This short breath yet remaines [Page 30] of it, this dulnesse is a remainder of the sha­king. The conclusion of all this Discourse is, that there is neither pleasure, nor honour, nor profit, in these so euill founded Com­bates. Alas! what is the cause that the sa­uage plants be not rooted vp.

When a man seeth one toyle much, hee iudgeth presently, that it is for some profit, and for a good end. The Nobilitie of France casts it selfe out of the windowes, pierceth the walls, swimmeth ouer riuers, violateth her faith giuen, and breakes her guards, without respect of the Royall Authoritie. If a man aske why: it will be said, It is to loose her goods, her life, her honour; to make her selfe miserable, to damne her selfe. None would foretell this madnes but a Frenchman.

Thereupon it is said, That the humour of the Frenchman is so composed. Behold a cholericke, and an extrauagant humour. We aske how long since? It hath been so but 45. yeares, or there abouts. It must be re­duced to good sence, and a little Helebore giuen to these offended brains: what means is there to correct these Moones? Thou that art so boyling hot, cause three saucers of thy blood to be drawne; (amongst the aun­cient [Page 31] Romanes it was the punishment of the rash souldier:) if that be not enough, draw sixe. If thou findest thy selfe still in a heate, fast, or else goe into Canada to temper this heate of liuer; goe into Hungarie to satisfie this fantasticall appetite of a woman with childe, and trouble not the feast amongst thy friends.

What shall we doe? Answer they, there is no more speach of Canada, Peace is throughout all Christendome. How doe our neighbours? Some take their rest; o­thers doe repaire the ruines of their hou­ses; others spend their time to make them­selues fit to serue in the time of necessity; o­thers doe trauell: What shall we doe? That your Auncestors did when they were in quiet: There is wherewith to imploy the time, both for poore and rich.

You are so absolute, Great King, so ad­mired, so redoubted: It will be very easie for you, to make your iust ordinances to be obserued, and maintained exactly (for this regard) so important for the Common­wealth, so Christian, so necessary: seeing they dare not kill Partridge nor Hare with­out your permission. If this obedience doe proceed for feare of your displeasure, you [Page 32] loue your subiects so much, as they should expect it much more towards them, then towards sensible creatures. If to be in such a matter carefully, and faithfully serued of your Officers; may not a man yet hope for the more care in that which is of so great waight, and of such consequence.

The Nobility is the inuincible Rampier of the Kingdome: you are the Head, the other cheife members, which cannot be cut or maimed without your notable losse. If you do not speedily feele it, it is to be feared that your Successours will feele it. Stormes, and strange flouds, will arise, ouerslow: and this great body of France will finde it selfe so feeble by these cruell bleedings, that it will haue no meanes to defend it selfe, no, not to stretch out the arme; yet for all that, it is the Nobility that is the right arme.

You tell no newes, will euery one say. No man doubts of that, they know well but for the Nobility that France would be gri­ped in the clawes of the Spaniards, and of other nations, wiser then we. Then is it a great impiety not to remedy it. It is as if a man drownes himselfe; he is plunged in the water, defends himselfe, with feet and [Page 33] hands, hath already drunke much, but no man runnes after. Though they would re­medy it, if they doe not hast speedily, it will be too late. Whilst they consult at Rome, Sagunta perisheth.

It hath been remarked, that in the onely March of Limosin, and thereabouts, fiue yeares since, there were dead in Duell, sixe­score Gentlemen, in sixe or seauen monthes onely. How many are there dead since, e­uen in the same place, which is but a flower of this garden? How many through all the Prouinces? How many to this fatall mea­dow, to this shamefull and lamentable scaffold for France? The list is not seene, without teares. There haue passed more then sixe thousand pardons within tenne yeares. The number is vncredible: A suffi­cient number to gaine many battailes vpon the Infidells. An irrepaireable losse, for a whole age; a brutish blindnes, a deuillish madnesse, that all ages past haue not seene; a transport of vanity, which is not knowne, which is not practised, which is not tolle­rated, but in this Realme: which hath been so long the light of Christians, now the ob­scurity, the euill example, the scandall.

Likewise strange Nations doe giue to [Page 34] the Frenchmen, more vnworthy titles, then they doe attribute to all people in particu­lar; whereas the Auncients did taxe them onely of lightnes.

This blame is very due vnto them: yet for all that, blinded with their presumpti­on and vanity, they perswade themselues that perfection hath abandoned all Chri­stendome besides, to dwell with them; wherein there is no likelihood; or else other Nations are altogether depriued of wise­dome, which is repugnant to the faire or­der that maintaineth the greatnes of their estates: or else they haue no Honour, which is absurd: or else they doe not know what Valour, and greatnes of courage is, like the French: which may be seen by the discourse following. Let vs rest vpon this branch, which is for our subiect.

The English doe declare, that they haue held all Spaine in awe; that by sea and land, they haue left glorious markes of their Prudence, Valour, and Ambition; that ha­uing but a foote of land, in comparison of the Castillian Monarch, they haue constrai­ned them to beg peace: and they doe not fight in single combate.

The Spaniards in Africa against the Hea­then, [Page 35] and many others, doe testifie their high enterprises, and their lofty courages, which carries them to the end of the world; and they kill not one another in single combate.

The Almanes are continually at handy­blowes against the Turkes, at whose hands they doe sustaine horrible mischeifes, with an inuincible resolution, as the firme bull-workes of Christendome; and they doe not kill one another in single combate.

The Polonians, and the Transiluanians be all red with the blood of the same Infi­dells, whom they doe duely combate, and ouercome worthy Champions of the Chri­stian faith: and they doe not kill one ano­ther in single combate.

For what (say they with a common con­sent) are the French men good, but to ruine themselues by ciuill warres? But to loose themselues by lamentable and fearefull conspiracies? But to kill one another cru­elly against all diuine, and humane right? But to cast themselues into infinite paines, and calamities, by lewd, vnworthy, and shamefull quarrells? Now all that is con­trary to wisedome, to true Honour, and to Magnanimity. So that the French be con­strained [Page 36] to yeild vnto them this triumphant palme, which they may by good right claime, as hauing better deserued it, then they. But how? Frenchmen, you haue your selues rooted it out of your owne hands, by the furies of the deuill that transports you. You haue wrought your shame, and for­ged the armes, which haue taken from you so many rare aduantages. You should haue a sensible apprehension of these prickings, and despise the rest.

It is towards you, Sir, that all France turnes the eyes. It is to you, that it stretch­eth out the hands. It is vpon you, that all the hope is grounded. Take order, that a sage prudence, a firme resolution, a iust ex­ecution, doe grant vnto it, that which is seene amongst all other Christians, good order, and the obseruation of it. Be pleased to establish Lawes,

That they that shall offend exorbitantly, be punished with banishment; or make suffi­cient reparation, according to the case.

For these actions are directly repugnant to Christian charity, to humane society, and particularly to the most gentile and agree­able vertue that is seen among men; which is courtesie, whereof the noble mindes doe [Page 37] make a Trophe. To offend another, with­out cause, of set purpose, is a testimony of brutishnes, or of weaknes of spirit: as the one is worthy of punishment, the other should haue need of a seuere correction: without doubt, if insolency were rigo­rously punished, it would bury quarrells, for as much as they doe proceed from iniu­ries, which be most commonly flowers and fruites of insolency and presumption. This is dayly seene. There be some that haue courage, and haue beene in good bu­sinesses, for the seruice of your Maiesty, or elsewhere. But, they bee so proud, that they despise young men, that haue neuer beene in occasions, or that doe not beare the markes thereof. It is the time that hath de­nied them this glory, and it doth not fol­low, but that they may haue as much cou­rage, as euery honest man may haue, that is faithfull to his King, and a friend of vertue. For this cause is this contempt to be blam­ed, yea, worthy to be punished,

That no man may be dishonoured, though he doe not fight by way of challenge, hauing beene offended; or beleeuing it, vntill the gouernours of Prouinces, Seneschalls, or others, haue beene aduertised there­of, [Page 38] and haue sought all the wayes to make them accord.

Some will say thereupon, How? will you haue the Challenger goe and complaine, hauing beene offended, and demaund repa­ration of the iniury, after the fashion of the vulgar? To what doe you bring him? If you thinke that new, represent to your selfe, that when Duells beganne to be practised, they were new too, and brought to a cu­stome by the tolleration of Princes. So we must accustome our selues to this law, see­ing it is most iust, most necessary, and that it is the Soueraigne that commands it, who is the Head of Iustice and Pollicie: without doubt, if the first point be well obserued, they will be wiser, and few will goe to the second. But if we meete with insolent peo­ple, such as are altogether insupportable, against such, we should be permitted to helpe our selues with all: for they are not worthy to conuerse with men, there is nei­ther Sea-card, nor North, can conduct them. Some will say, there be wranglers, who taking aduantages, will aske in what ranke we doe put them. We answer, that if the contention doe touch the good manners, the conscience, or the Honour of a Body, it [Page 39] ought to be put in the first point. If it bee honest, and that it doth not regard these three heads, we must laugh as others doe, learne to talke, or to be patient: and he that is too weake, shall take some refrigeratiue drugs, or else he must depriue himselfe of the societie of men.

Let them that shall challenge be condemned to die, and let their goods be confiscate.

They are a thousand times more punish­able, then those that are troubled, beeing invenomed by the imagination of the of­fence. For these there is some feeble sha­dow of excuse, but none for the other: whe­ther they fight or no, they be alwaies the principall instruments of the disaster. The first motiues be not in the power of man, whose fraile choller and blood, doe soue­raignly command him. Being out of him­selfe full of blindnesse, he sweares his owne ruine, and vses himselfe like a stranger, as an enemie, as being no more his owne; but his furious passions, and almost alwayes depending more of an others opinion, then of his owne knowledge, and least of all of reason. He is for that time, in some sort excusable. Let men that are wronged, or doe beleeue they are wronged, vpon heate [Page 40] runne to their sword, be possessed, be tran­sported with fury, and goe about to hurt themselues; that is humane, and practised euery where. But if they go to their death, after they haue had time to digest their choller, vpon cold blood, against their own conscience, knowing that they doe cuill, that is deuillish, and not practised in any place of the World but in this Realme. From this let vs draw a consequence. The parties offended, are not without blame, and without crime, when they come to such effects lesse then ought they to be so, who doe execute them not being wronged. This consideration hath made, that since the last Edict of Fountaine-blean, no man hath fought with a second; at least, very few: for they haue been ashamed to put in hazard the life of their friend, without any occasi­on. In fight it is necessary that the blood be troubled. Now this is a beginning to take the Duell quite away: the reason, because that heretofore it would haue been suspe­cted, yea a shame, to sight without a se­cond. So your Edict, and the knowledge of this folly haue corrected this abuse. The seconds then are taken away as a barbarous thing. The conclusion of this speach is no­table. [Page 41] Euen as it hath been a custome not to employ a mans friend in a matter of iniu­stice and impietie; so may a man accustome himselfe to demaund reason of wrongs, as we haue said. Time brings all, order cor­rects all, and mischiefes goe vp and downe by degrees.

Let euery seruant that shall carry a Bill or Challenge of defiance be hanged.

When they haue been ashamed to lead their friends into the Churchyard, and to employ them, they haue recourse to the bill of defiance. If the remedie that wee pro­pound be not sufficient, there is no need to seeke any other.

Let them that shall fight in Duell be degra­ded from Nobility, and them and their posteritie declared infamous: let their houses bee rased, and their goods confis­cate. They that shall die, let them not be buried, but drawne through the streetes, and then cast vpon the lay-stall, the com­mon dunghill of a Towne.

There must be these strong sluces to stay the ouerflowing of these violent torrents. For extreame mischiefes, extreame reme­dies. The example will bring feare to gene­rous soules; and apprehension of the igno­minie [Page 42] for their name, and for their houses, will preuaile more with them then death. So in a certaine towne of Greece, the women transported with a deuillish madnesse, did hang themselues so strangely, that they knew not how to remedie it. They deuised to make them be drawne after their death starke naked through the Towne. This vil­lanous and infamous spectacle, stayed the despaire of others.

It were very fitting that Fencing were for­bidden.

It is the mother of pride, of rashnesse, of vanity, for them that haue more force, or disposition then others, or both; and makes them (with hope of grace) more outragi­ous, and more insolent. For ought else it is vnprofitable; for a man is neuer helped ther­by in Combates, in troupe either against strangers or his owne. Yet it may bee vsed for an exercise as Tennis, and such like, and would doe no great hurt, if the order which we propound were obserued.

It is well enough known, what mischiefe this exercise hath brought. The Fencers at Rome, desperate men, condemned men, made the people sport with the losse of their liues. These new Fencers make the [Page 43] enemies of the Estate merry, and make the people of France to weepe. They are full of winde and smoake with these great words, to ward, to shift away, to enter, to plunge, or thrust farre into, to incartade vpon the left foot, to digge into, to freeboote. They thinke all the world are indebted to them. Can there be any thing more weake, more impertinent?

These, Sir, are directions that we thinke fit, to smother quite this wicked monster, if they be well obserued, with denying of pardon, and other lawes necessary, which your Maiestie can much better establish, as­sisted with the Officers of her Crowne, and other Lords of her Counsell.

They that dwell neere the violent fall of waters from the riuer Nile, doe not heare the noyse; and the wife of the Tyrant of Sy­racusa, perceiued not the default of her husband: the one is an effect of custome, the other of ignorance. And a pernitious ha­bite, for want of iudgement, hath made the French deafe, and obstructed, without reason, without sence, like frantickes, like them that haue the Lethargie; not willing to vnderstand, not able to comprehend the deplorable estate that vanity hath brought them vnto.

[Page 44] The Frenchmen be worse then the Hea­then in time past. They sacrificed euery yeare to their gods some humane creature: these doe sacrifice many euery day, to their blindnes, and to their furies, which they hold for their god. They did it to appease their anger: these doe it to kindle it more. They did it for the conseruation of the pub­lique: these for the ruine of it.

They are more sauage then the sauages of America. They eate men, but they are either strangers, or their enemies: these kill themselues among themselues, kinred, neighbours, friends, conuersing together; and then are eaten by confiscations and mulcts. They doe it, not knowing the mis­chiefe; these doe it, knowing and reproo­uing it. They doe it vpon some cause; these doe it for the winde, for a shadow, for ima­gination.

They that doe wickednesse, hide them­selues, seeke darkenes: and the French com­mitting execrable murthers, for which there is neither Diuine nor Humane ground, doe runne vpon the Theatre, in the sight of the Sunne, before the house of the Flower de Luce to sacrifice themselues, to the end that the wicked fact being more manifest, more [Page 45] exemplary, may be more scandalous, and consequently, lesse pardonable before God and Men. This is to cut a purse before the Prouost, to coyne money in open market, and to serue as a false witnesse before the Magistrate. In a word, it is properly to mocke God and their King.

Who be they that precipitate them­selues by these mischieuous occasions? The creame, the quintessence, the floure, the suttle of the suttle; they that tearme them­selues of the race of Iupiter, who despise all the rest as the lees and the mire; and dis­course so hotly of Honour, of Vertue, of Reputation. But yet such as are the most firme, and most necessarie pillers of the E­state. This is extrauagant. Yet they are of­tentimes those, who haue reason to content themselues with the reputation which they haue bought by a thousand hazards, in iust and lawfull occasions. Yet for all that, they cast themselues with bowed heads, vpon these which they embrace with passion, as if they were famished for Honour; whereas they should enioy that which they haue acquired with so good assurance. They do like Aesop his dog, they leaue the body for the shadow, the solid glory for that which [Page 46] is fantasticall. They likewise runne the fortune of Ixion, who in stead of Iuno, had to doe with a cloud. In the end, all these proud vanities bee reduced into clouds of vanity, and most commonly the miserable wheele of shame and losse remaines with them for a full recompence.

We are simple shadowes, and cloudes, that haue no disguise. Your Maiesty will not be displeased, Sir, that we speake with­out flattery; you neuer loued it. They doe not often tell Kings the truth. It is with that, as it was ere while with your treasure, when as fifty came to fiue. They disguise it. They plaister it, before it hath passed so many hands, so many conuerts, with a lie, with passion, with cunning; you haue no­thing but the shadow. Flattery is a mor­tall plague, cheifely in a man of state, that is in credit with his Master; such a one neuer speakes true. A coozening of greatest con­sequence, and worthy of punishment. These parasites, are very pernicious. We then that haue nothing but simplicity will speake truely.

They call the Kings of France most Chri­stian; ô excellent, ô venerable title! It sur­passeth the magnificence of all the Dia­dems, [Page 47] and Thyaras of the world. This Di­uine title hath beene attributed, for some great causes, to your auncient predecessors. They had well deserued it. But the disor­ders, the Eclipses of ciuill warres, haue much shaken, and much obscured the foun­dations and light thereof. Among such a prodigious multitude of arguments, as strangers aleadge, this holds the first ranke, that the Nobility is abandoned to butchery by the Prince. It is true (as we haue said) that your Maiesty haue found this disor­der, and many others, which it desireth to take away: It is your Maiesties greatest ambition. What marke is it (say they) of most Christian, to suffer such impieties? This is the shamefull reproach, they giue to all France.

They be miserable sacrifices, that you offer daily so freely to death. Is it not be­cause you are more ashamed of the censure of mad men, who haue put dreames and giddy conceits, for principles of Honour, then for feare to be rebells to God? You would not doe that for his glory, which you doe for the opinion of braine-sicke­men. You would not for that suffer a scratch. And you are paid according to your [Page 48] deserts: For after your death, the most part of your inward friends, and euen those, who in appearance doe fauour so wicked a custome, doe make a conscience to assist at your funeralls, to lament you, to speake of you: yea those, who the next day after, would hazard themselues for as feeble an occasion. They lift vp the shoulders, turne the eyes, knock with hands, and feet, grie­uing and deploring this end. You are to feele eternall punishment, and you make your memorie also infamous to posteritie. Had it not been better neuer to haue seene light? You are farre from your accompt, if you beleeue that your name is thereby more famous, or more illustrious. If you knewe the iudgement that they make of your end, you would die yet an other time. Some doe attribute these effects to enuie, others to reuenge, others to a foule and fu­rious passion of loue: the most part, to the hope to remaine victorious, by the aduan­tages of naturall force, or dexteritie: some to the hope to be hindred. There is no men­tion of vertue in these actions. How abiect, how shamefull a thing it is? And all men generally speakes of them, as it were of dogs and beares that should strangle one an [Page 49] other. Is it not a triumphant Epitaph to celebrate the last effects of men? what men? Such as thinke themselues aboue o­ther men, by brutish comparisons? Proude soules, mad soules. If you could againe re­uest your bodies, how you would despise these actions, how you would be offended with your selues, how you would hate your false iudgements, and your abhominable resolutions. No man praiseth you after your death, no man esteemes you, few be­wailes you, if it be not in consideration of the losse of your saluation; and then you are alwayes blamed, for beeing so irreligious. If such an action were vertuous, the Histo­riographers would make volumes thereof, would praise you, would exalt you; you should finde Homers, and Virgils. But alas! your history is, as of people lost. If any be­waile you, it is as of damned soules. (These words should be an earth-quake, for these miserable quarrellers.) If any write your accident, it is for an example of terrour in time to come; a mirrour of temerity, and of the corruption of the age; a testimony of the wrath of God, and not to approoue, much lesse to exalt so execrable a folly.

You that be vpon the bloody Theatre of [Page 50] France: in danger euery moment, to repre­sent pittifull tragedies of your selues, con­sider this: Euery thing is done to some end; euery ende is profitable, delectable, or ho­nourable. Let vs see for your contentment, what ende they propound to themselues, that hazard themselues, without iust cause in Duell. If both remaine there, men pre­sently play vpon this great string. It is for their sinnes; it is a iust iudgement of God. If the one die, and the other remaine con­querour, let vs exactly calculate, the ho­nour and profit that they reape thereby. For him that is dead, there is none of these three ends: Let vs enquire of the conque­rour, if he doe better his condition there­by? He answers, that he is forthwith in danger of his life, executed if they take him; in the meane time condemned, pro­claimed, hang'd in picture. What a hard thing is this to digest? he must haue re­course to his Soueraigne; the onely remedy is a Pardon. He must haue it whatsoeuer it cost, with so much toyle, with so many submissions begging the fauour of great ones. He must passe it with so much feare, with so much disquiet, with so many diffi­culties; it is the true image of hell. They [Page 51] that haue passed through the examination of Father-Confessors of the redoubtable Selletta, would sound you out a lofty word thereupon. This is not all; he must haue wherewithall to passe it. There bee the greifes: For this effect, the costs, and the mulcts, be another kinde of Duell, ano­ther cut-throate. From thence proceedes the totall ruine of houses. With all these punishments, there were yet some forme of respite, if the roote of the mischeife were pulled vp. But for a heape of glory, and felicitie, there he is all his life time, with a quarrell vpon his armes, against the kinred of him that died, a mortall and irreconciliable quarrell. For all this, by tract of time, there is some remedy. For that which is the most important, there is none at all. The cruell torture that bursteth his soule, by the continuall representation of his offence, receiueth no condition. What Goblins? what tortures? what goate? what Minotaure?

But if such a one be puft vp with vaine­glory, for that he beleeues that men doe hold him for a man of courage, they shall tell him, that that aduantage is very com­mon (as we haue shewed.) But how feeble [Page 52] is it, how shamefull, hauing regard to the foundation, which is nothing Christian? Notwithstanding he that would yeild some thing to his opinion, a man might tell him that it is a glory dearely bought, and as it were to take vp at interest, a hundred for a hundred. There is then the pleasure, there is the profit, there is the honour that he reapeth of his hazardes, and vnbridled ambitions.

For him that is dead (as hath beene said) there remaineth to him no shadow of good; his reputation is extinguished with his life. It continueth but to be odious, stinking, and execrable. Ah! how this is to be considered: For he that dies for a faire subiect, hath comfort for himselfe, and leaues comfort to his posterity: why? be­cause his memory hath a sweete sauour. They bee more excellent and durable images, then those of Phydias. Oh! how precious be these old sayings; oh! how rare they be! They say he was an honest man, a vertuous man, fearing God, louing his Prince, and the Common-wealth; that he died in the bed of Honour. Such a one liues in the tombe in despight of death; his Ver­tue speakes within the dumbe silence, ex­alts [Page 53] him, glorifies him in the midst of for­getfulnesse, euen in the cold dust. They hold another manner of language, of them that are lost in Duell. What blindnes! (saith euery one) what rage! how impious a thing it is? how detestable? A notable conse­quence ariseth from this Discourse; that is, That there is some honourable death, that a man ought not to shun although he could.

To vnderstand this, we must consider the speach following, in presupposing this ma­xime: If they which fight in Duell, did be­leeue they should die there, a man might well say, they would not goe thither. Ima­gine then, that two men of great courage be in presence, their weapons in their hands kindled with fury, respiring nothing but blood; that a man whom they both know to be an excellent Soothsayer comes in the way, and saith vnto them, You shall die both at this conflict, and the profit that shal redound thereby, is, that the Common­wealth shall loose much, your houses shall be desolate, your memory detestable. There is likelihood that they beleeuing these words, would bee appeased, and shake hands. But if these magnanimious men, were in an army neere Henry the 4. the glo­ry [Page 54] of Kings, and great Thunder of Warre; and that he himselfe should come say vnto them; My friends, thinke with your selues this day must be the end of your dayes. But in truth, it shall bee the sauing of your Prince; on whose life dependeth the con­seruation of this great Estate. No man doubts, but that generous men would bee the more enflamed; but they would bee all possessed with a laudable impatience to bee grapling, to produce such an action, so ver­tuous, so glorious. Moments would be a­ges vnto them. They would be like Anthe­us, touching the earth; they would take new forces: they would be all trasformed, body and soule, into heart and ambition; and the feare of death would haue much lesse pow­er ouer them, then the desire to make them­selues famous to future ages, inuited, for­ced, by the consideration of this act, plea­sing to God and men. They would thinke themselues very happy: it would be Scep­ters, and Crownes vnto them; for as much as the end is holy, and profitable, and con­sequently honourable, as beeing a perfect worke of Vertue. They will say, that there will be found no plenty of these faire soules. It is true. But there would bee found a­mongst [Page 55] the Nobilitie of France, some that haue Horaces, Scevolaes, and Curtiusses, as well as the auncient Rome. So we conclude, that there is some death very honourable; that is to say, That which serueth to the glory of God, to the honour and profit of the Prince, and of the Common-wealth. Now the end of them which goe to Duell, without lawfull cause, is simply to satisfie their passion, to reuenge their particular in­iuries, to content themselues. It followeth, that that is not onely blameable, but also worthy of rigorous punishment.

In this the Prince should know, that such combates doe absolutely derogate from his Authoritie, for as much as it belongs to Him, or to his Magistrates, to doe reason for offences; for which, the violent satisfa­ction is not permitted to particular persons in any Common-wealth well polliced.

They follow these steps, & the mischiefe groweth insensibly, and of such a fashion, that in the ende, all Diuine and Humane Lawes shall bee banished out of France. They fight in Duell for the seeking of mar­riage, for homages, for sutes, for prece­dence in Churches, in politique Assemblies; in the end, for all sorts of differences. This [Page 56] is daily seene. So did in old time the Scytes, so did the Tartarians, people without faith, without God, without humanity. If this continue, we must speake no more of Iustice nor of Pietie. All France shall be a Chaos, a denne of theeues. So we see a generall sub­uersion of all Orders. No man containes himselfe in his own iurisdiction, the stormes whereof hath ouerthrowne all. They be so execrable before God, that since they haue been tolerated, there haue bin seen nothing but prodigies in France. Before the Duells, was there euer seen blood so horribly shed as hath been since? The Sunne hid it selfe thereat, the Earth mooued at it, and the Sea stayed the course thereupon. Was it e­uer heard that a great King, most great, most magnificent had been driuen out of his house, and afterward murthered by one of them that daily preachet peace? Waigh this well, From the Duell they come to the contempt of Lawes, and Orders; from this, to contemne the Soueraigne; then to con­spire against the Estate; and after that, to attempt the sacred person of the Prince. The reason is, because ambition, accustomed to blood, becomes a sauage beast, which hath neither bounds nor limits, hauing no [Page 57] other moouing but it owne extrauagant de­sire; and then soone or late, God doth cha­sten the Princes which doe suffer such mis­chiefe among their people. This considera­tion ought to be graued in letters of gold, in the hearts of Kings.

That it is true, that Duells doe thrust the French to conspire against the State, we wil alleadge (among so many lamentable exam­ples) but onely the last complot, which con­strained your Maiestie to goe take order therein. Is it not better (say they) to die in a Ciuill warre, going about to aduance and dignifie a mans selfe, then to kill one an other foolishly euery day, without any hope of a better condition? So likewise, all the rest doe enioy the benefit of peace, but we. Ah, wretched men! you spit a­gainst heauen, you enterprise against yout naturall Prince, to whom you doe owe all. Ye perturbers of the publike rest, where is your iudgement? To contend with this ex­cellent Monarch, so long a time in possessi­on to destroy his enemies, there wants no­thing but his presence, to put all at his feet. It is the fable of the Pigmies and Hercules. Who be the chiefe of your side? what bee your meanes? The Duke of Sauoy saith, [Page 58] Luke-warme water to a scalded cat. The Arch-Duke hath a sute in hearing, which is not ready to be decided. The King of Spaine with his faithfull Counsell, takes the height of the Astrolabe, and attends an other sea­son. The wise and magnanimious King of England, holds his finger on his mouth: who should be then your Captaines? And put the case, that they that call themselues friends of France, would put themselues in collar, what should be your meanes? what Townes, what Comminalties would assist you? They will tell you with a cōmon con­sent, that they will not eate of it. They sweat, and pant yet with trauels past. Like­wise your designes haue had as much vani­ty, as iniustice, and presumption. Now all these pestilent feauers be growne, by the iniquitie of Duells, which makes their cou­rage barbarous, and accustoming them to blood, makes them enemies of humane so­cietie, and consequently of all pietie.

Doubtles your Maiesty, may very easily take away these pernicious and deplorable confusions. Would your Maiesty make it selfe culpable of so much blood shedde, for want of making obedience? They meddle with an imaginary Honour: Is it not in the [Page 59] Soueraigne Prince to make this errour knowne, and to take the Honour of his vp­on himselfe? Belongs it not to the head to guide the body, when as from the conduct of the other members, a man can expect nothing but miserable falls. When as the resolution of your Maiesty, to giue no more Pardons shall be knowne, and published, (we say a zealous resolution, with a so­lemne Oath before God) there is no man will dare to importune it: when you are displeased, they dare not looke vpon your cabinet doore, they dare not breath within your Chamber, they dare not so much as imagine that there is any thing to say to you although it concernes you. From whence comes this humble respect? From the Honour that they beare to your Ver­tue, which they reuerence, acknowledging it, for that it hath conquered, saued, and relieued this Estate. Behold the sweete fruits that Vertue brings, that faire tree of life: But after that your Maiesty hath made Lawes, they goe and humble themselues, they cast themselues at your Maiesties feet, they presse your Maiesty, and your Maie­sties nature which is gentle, (not regarding the consequence) is very often carried a­way, [Page 60] at the prayers of such a one as is shel­tered from blowes, and hazard. So your Maiesty doe breake the precious tables of your iust decrees, or rather of the decrees of heauen. To let ones selfe be vanquished, at the particular importunity of iniust sup­plications, which absolutely doe import the Commonwealth, and to haue the mag­nanimity, and clemency of Henry the 4. who hath subdued, and restored this Estate, is incompatible. That cannot agree. To de­rogate from ones owne ordinances, is like Penelopes webbe, and the Castles of sand, which they faine to be done, and vndone, vpon the sea shoare by little children. It is to be alwaies beginning. So the authority of the Prince is despised, and all good go­uernement troden vnder feet; likewise they say aloude when they publish them, that it is for foure dayes. The importance is, that the King must answer for all: and that should awaken them that are most drow­sie.

What must hee doe then? let him be firme and inflexible in these ordinances. There must be none, if they be not iust and equitable. If they be so, they must obserue them exactly. Two or three examples after [Page 61] the publication of them, will stay, will ex­tinguish these spoiles, these fires which haue ouerthrowne, which haue consumed the faire polices, and the good customes of this Realme. A worke worthy to blot out a multitude of sinnes; a ladder to climbe heauen, a triumph which will make all your fore-passed Victories to shine, will re­aduance them, and be as it were a second birth vnto them.

Two moneths after a rigorous obser­uation of your Edicts, there will be no more speach of quarrells. It was seene by experience, after the publication of that which was made at Fontaine-bleau, that they stayed foure moneths throughout the whole Realme, and not a man budged. Not one durst sound the forde, for feare hee should be lost, and serue for an example. They kept sentinell, to see what would be the crackes of this threatning thunder. Folly slept: what a notable thing is this. The first desperate man that hazarded the packet, hauing obtained his pardon, o­pened the doore of the Temple of Ianus, which had been shut foure moneths; wher­by entred greater disorder, and more feare­full then before: on the contrary this exam­ple [Page 62] alone, this only bleeding, so seasonably, would haue kept all this great body from a pluresie.

Quarrells beeing taken away, your Ma­iesty should be at rest, and not in disquiet, as it is so often for furious folkes. Strange Princes haue a great aduantage ouer your Maiesty: They be dayly busied to know what victories their subiects haue had vp­on the common enemy of the faith, or a­gainst the particular enemies out of their Dominions: And your Maiesty is in a con­tinuall alarum with your owne subiects, who are alwayes ready to fight, at feasts, at dauncings, at play, at hunting, yea euen in the holy places, presently after they haue receiued their Sacraments. O malediction! and wherefore? for spiders webs.

Your Maiesty is brought to a meruailous seruitude: it may redeeme it selfe, by ma­king her ordinances to be punctually execu­ted. The apprehension of punishments will stay them, and there will be none so despe­rate, to put themselues into an infinite La­byrinth of miseries for a fantasie of honour. If there be any (as hath been said) he shall serue for an example. Is it not better to cut off an arme, then to let all the Bodie perish? [Page 63] That shall not be rigour, it shall be clemen­cie; it shall be the most high, and most pro­fitable Iustice that can be imagined. The great ones (whose counsell you shall haue taken to make good lawes) seeing this ho­ly resolution, will be ashamed to sue vnto you, to destroy that which you shall haue built by their owne iudgement. If they do importune you, they shall be worthy to be denied, and that deniall shall deserue the glory due to your vertue. But how? would they dare to presse you to doe that within your Realme, which they would not suffer in their owne houses?

Knowing and detesting the malediction of this custome, if we could returne, how happy should we be, to offer our selues in sacrifice for all France; and that your Maie­stie would put vs to death vpon condition, that that which we propound might be ex­actly obserued! How glorious would this curse be? to giue two liues, to saue so great a body. It would surpasse all renowned deeds, both auncient and moderne.

But if the death of some few seem cruell, we say it is reasonable, that a small number should bee sacrificed for an infinite: some must necessarily suffer for the publique. It [Page 64] is to preuent a thousand inconueniences. Your Nobilitie is wholly diuided by means of quarrells. If your Maiestie had occasion to raise armies (as it may ariue) let men iudge what mischiefes would come there­by. At the meeting of the friends, kins­folkes, and allies of them which be daily killed with the homicides. What coyles? what outrages? what furies would there be? By this counterpoise, a man might know, that it would bee a very Christian pitty, to cause so great a gaine by a little losse. If your Maiesty do not redresse these disorders, we must neuer hope for it. This worke with many others, is reserued for your goodnesse and good fortune. Alas! for so many Gentlemen as die in France, there are made so many bone-fires in Spain, and amongst the other enemies of the French name. They set vp their Trophies with your blood, they build with your ru­ines, and make themselues great with your losses.

We know with all the world, that you are not a Nero; you haue pardoned euen those, that haue attempted your owne per­son. It is certaine that you neuer loose any one of yours, but you haue great sence of [Page 65] it, aboue all you are sensible of the losse of them that haue hazarded their liues to defend yours, and to maintain your Lawes. That is not enough, you must not stay in so faire a way. What is to be done more? to make it appeare by the effects, which doe speake of themselues.

There be certaine laughers that fight not, who lets escape this saying, that there is no hurt to draw blood from a body full of euill humours. It is the most caniball and bleeding maxime of the world. Which sauours with a full throate the Democrasie of the Switzers, an impious maxime, and full of ignorance. Impious, for it is against all Lawes, diuine, and humane. Full of ig­norance, for as much as it is not onely the choler, and sleame that goes out, it is the good blood, let vs say the best oftentimes. They answer, that quarrells arise common­ly from the rash, and insolent; and that modest men who vsually are most valiant, doe not begin them. It is a worthy obie­ction. Is not the world fuller of fooles then of wise men? The French Nobility who accompts Ʋalour her summum bonum, is she not as ready as a flash of lightning? It comes to passe then that the peaceable, by [Page 66] beeing in company, either for that they are friends, kinsfolkes, allies, or neighbours, be wrapped in these disorders: not of their owne motion, but by the instigation of o­thers. So the [...]ood blood, is mingled with the euill. It were a high secret to know how to separate them. No Alchimist is capable of it. See, how France is wounded, and torne with her owne hands; behold how she fills her selfe with desolations; in such sort, that there is not a house in this king­dome, exempt from one of these two mi­serable scourges, or from both together; from suite, or bloodshed. A lamentable thing worthy of commiseration. But who craues the remedy, which is denied him by an euill destiny; what meanes is there to a­bate these fumes, to temper these dog daies? We haue said it so often: good Lawes, and well obserued, to busie and content great mindes, and to imploy them. There be ma­ny iust occasions, and faire meanes enough.

Let vs now consider the euent of our mi­sery, and let vs waigh the good that comes of it. Ah! how remarkeable it is: the faire schoole, the fearefull example, God hath shewed in this prodigious effect, two things worthy to be noted. The one, that [Page 67] he is iust, and true, in that which he hath said: Who killeth, shall be killed. Alas! we had rooted out the soules of others, from their bodies, with an vnmercifull iron, a­gainst the Law of God; and we haue beene punished by our selues, by the same wayes. Iudges, and parties, executioners, and cri­minalls, infringers of mens repose, and in danger to be depriued of the heauenly rest. The other point remarkeable is, that it must be a vowed by force, that nothing is so detestable before the Maiesty of God, as the Duell, as it is practised in this Realm. Oh iust, oh admirable, oh redoubtable iudgements!

Doe not you enter into this considerati­on? Yes, you doe Sir: it penetrates all your soule. Though you did not, yet should you cast your eyes, vpon this lamentable vessell your Nobility, peirced from ribbe to rib, which takes water at all sides, which peri­sheth by little and little, in all mens sight, ready to make a pitifull strip wracke. The heart cannot faile, but the other members must be without force, and all the world knowes, the inuincible heart of this great Body cannot be subdued, but by it selfe. You are the Head, you are the eies, succour [Page 68] this noble part, which beeing weakned by so many conclusions, by so much losse of blood, you can haue neither moouing, nor light, nor conduct, nor vigor against the mischeifes, which grow so often within the entralls of this Realme, nor against them, which may ariue from without.

Whosoeuer will narrowly marke to what a brutishnes the furies of the French are mounted, he will tremble in the soule, he will finde himselfe turned topsie turuy, quite out of himselfe. When they speake of causes, which doe engage to Duell, they confesse that according to God it is damna­ble wickednes, and yet for all that they goe to it. So as to practise Honour, as they doe in these dayes, it is iust not to be a Christi­an: to make a glory of homicide is to loue Vertue, to heape vp whole families with misery, with desolation, it is to be a light of men: to conclude, it is to be the image of all gentlenes, to know well, how to efface, without cause, from the world the image of God.

They that haue the dropsie of pride, that are puffed vp with vanity, and ignorance, will say this is spoken like Diuines. In the estimation of this age, it is an ill argu­ment, [Page 69] to alleadge God, or to be a Christian. That is too stale. Supporting our selues then with the reasons of the world, we say (to them which had rather be beasts then men) that such combates are not only against the Lawes of God, but against all Humane lawes; not onely of Christians, but of Infi­dells, which are now, or euer haue been. Assyrians, Egyptians, Persians, Medes, Greeks, Romanes, and French. We goe further, and maintaine, that this confession (that that which they doe is euill according to God) is not only impious and execrable for Chri­stianitie; but is also agreeable to the aunci­ent Romane heathen, who had mystically made two Temples; the one of Honour, the other of Ʋertue; with such industry, that they could not enter into the Temple of Honour, but by this last. Now among them, the principall, the highest, and most trium­phant Vertue, was, the reuerence of their gods. Is not this then a blasphemy, wor­thy of all sorts of punishments. For the con­sideration of God beeing taken away may there be had any Vertue among men? It is as if a man should boast of his soundnesse, and confesse himselfe a leper. From all this doth arise a necessary consequent:

[Page 70]That true Honour cannot subsist without Vertue, which is his sprout, his root, his body; as the other his branches, his flow­ers, and his fruit.

Our pitifull accident deserues to be cul­led out by particularities. Enuy, reuenge, and other loose passions, whereof we haue spoken in the beginning, naturall to man, and borne in his owne Territorie, were not the principall organes of our mischiefe. There was no enuy; we were neither com­panions, nor neighbours, neither were wee acquainted: desire of reuenge there could not be, choler must be first exhaled, there were blowes giuen on both sides. What is it then? I his effect is worthy to bee dige­sted. We were both of vs peaceable, shun­ning quarrels, detesting them, bearing both of vs a perpetuall remorse, a worme of con­science, for those we had formerly had, knowing the euill we had done, and repen­ting of it. Yet for all that, a choller, not of set purpose, but by chance-medley, hath caused our death. How?

By the consideration of Lawes, of a false Honour, against our knowledge, against our conscience.

It is then this weake imagination that [Page 71] hath depriued vs of the light. Here is the great secret which vpholdeth so many ca­lamities.

The circumstance following, is to bee considered: The play at Tennis makes a man impatient, and rash; an ordinary chol­ler should be excused almost in all persons, in such exercises. We should also pardon a choller, which is vsuall with all them that be wronged; or that doe perswade them­selues they are so. The one thought he had iudged well, the other beleeued the contra­ry: the one in passion with the play; the o­ther (though without passion) yet deceiued it may be, by his eare. This was accordable: The foundation thereof was so feeble: It was for a thing of nothing. Let vs examine this. A third, which should haue brought a plaister, brought a sword. This is the se­cond piece of our misfortune.

Which concludes; That the office of Chal­lengers, is a most wicked and damnable introduction.

Our choller met with this fatall commo­ditie; without which, we had presently bin at peace. For this first motiō it is most com­mon: they doe vse it euery where. They be miserable characters, and imperfect seales [Page 72] of humane weaknes. But this being appea­sed, and the first brunt qualified; to haue a third, which should haue brought water, to cast brimstone into the fire; to haue a third, which should haue serued as a barre, to be a furtherer of the mischiefe; to haue a third, which should haue bin the rampier, to be the key to open the gates of death? being not wronged, neither hauing any part in the accident: it surpasseth all the impie­ties of the heathen. This blindnes is follo­wed with an other. A man dares not hinder his friend, for feare to doe him wrong; to what end will a man reserue the testimonies of a good will? to what faire occasion? But all these edifices built vpon foundations of error and vanity, what can they be but pure folly?

They say, We must not iudge of right or wrong by the euents. They are most com­monly as letters sealed vp for the spirit of man; notwithstanding in this, the iudge­ment of God is very manifest. There is a man, charitable, discreete, sincere in all his actions; in a word, the very modell of all Christian vertues: The generall blindnesse, as a throng in a faire of insolent people, thrusts him forward, and carries him to the [Page 73] combate, against his intent and desire; he himselfe blames and condemnes his owne action: Heauen sees his heart; a man would thinke that such an one would carry away the victory. There is he destroyed, there rooted out from amongst men, as the most depraued. Ye curious folkes, that goe di­uing into the Centre of most profound se­crets; seeke not the cause any where els but in the Iustice of God, who hateth and de­testeth these wicked ambitions. Our exam­ple should make the haires of all them that are possessed with diuells, to stand vpright, who cast themselues vpon death so despe­rately. This lightning should dazle, asto­nish, and ouerthrow, the eies, the hearts, and the designes of the most enraged. For seeing that the best doe die there, what should they expect, whole life is wholly in­fected with malice and impurity?

God said to Dauid, Thou shalt not build my Temple, thou art a man of blood. Stran­gers (oh great King) some yeares since, do accuse the Kings of France to be such, be­cause they doe suffer these accursed com­bates. They speake it aloud in publique, they aggrauate this tolleration some pitty­ing it, some laughing at it. These iudge­ments, [Page 74] these motiues cannot be preuented, but by taking the cause from the effect. Be pleased then to efface and root out this op­probry, this scandall: disperse these feare­full Comets, hanging and flaming with hor­rour ouer the heads of your subiects, and threatning your Estate with totall ruine. There is not any that hath so much hurt by these mortall exhalations, as your Maiesty. So shall she surpasse her Predecessors, in good and holy policy, as she hath done in greatnes of courage, and in happy successe. There had need be a speedy remedy, and or­der giuen, to haue the Gouernours of Pro­uinces, the Kings Lieftenants, the Sene­shalls, and others, to strangle these infernall Hydra's.

This pestilentiall feauer, doth runne through all the Prouinces of the Realme. It is a contagious malady, but it is ordinari­ly most violent in Guyenne. They fight there, tenne against tenne, twenty against twenty, as if they were in the strength of the warre. They force them which be at peace in their houses, to be of the match, as if they were iniured, and wronged in their Honour. The Arabians are more like Christians, then these people. Who did euer see, in the life [Page 75] of a conquering Monarch, victorious, abso­lute, in an age full of vigour, and in a time of peace, men to make such combates? The consequence is great for this prouince. This Bulwarke, so neare a neighbour to the re­trograde aspect of the Saturne of Castile, must not be suffered to be vndermined. In the space of foure moneths, there were kil­led fifty Gentlemen in single combate, and abundance were hurt. The Nobility of this Country, beeing so Martiall, deserues well to be husbanded with care.

Sir, you are the common Father of all your Subiects; principally, of your Nobili­ty: what can you doe more Maiesticall or more magnificent, then to preuent the losse of so many soules, who would serue you in honourable occasions, and doe destroy themselues in vnworthy, and ridiculous a­ctions?

For our parts, we doe not bewaile the losse of our life; a life, full of trouble, of fraud, of misery in an age so corrupt. There is no way, but hath an issue, soone or late; we must haue been let downe to the hauen. We lament onely for the offence we haue committed against God, our King, and Country. If it had beene for the glory of [Page 76] God, against the Mahomets, that we had brought thither our ardors, stretched out our armes, planted our feet: that our hands, and our courages, had imployed their for­ces, and their ambitions to defend the Christian faith, and that we had remained in the throng, peirced with blowes, coue­red with blood and with dust, we should haue thought our selues very happy. So ma­ny blowes, so many drops of blood, would haue beene so many Palmes, so many Lau­rells in heauen. There it is, where magna­nimity should thunder, and fulminate; it is there, that a man should surmount all the infirmities of man. If it had beene for the seruice of your Maiesty, and of the Coun­try, against the sworne enemies of the E­state, we should haue ended our course with contentment. We knew we were not borne onely for our selues. The end of eue­ry thing is the good of it: we were desti­nated for these causes: If any of these had ended the last act of the tragedy, we should haue had wherewithall to comfort and glo­rifie our selues. But alas, it was for a light and weake occasion, from which patience, and good iudgement should haue defended vs. After we had escaped from so many [Page 77] great combates, from so many hazards, in a peaceable time for all the rest: know­ing the fault was hainous which we did, and against our owne conscience: obscuring (oh miserable blindnes) the former good actions, by the last, which should haue crowned the worke: we accused, we con­demned our selues, as witnesses, and iudges of our crime, beeing bewitched, and en­chaunted, by the foolish opinion of mad men, and fearing more their reproaches, then the diuine iustice: ô profound, ô re­doubtable iudgement of God!

Be pleased then to thinke vpon an order: doe this cheife worke (magnanimious King) as you haue brought many others to an end, though neuer any more notable, more necessary, more glorious. For the rest it did particularly concerne your Maie­sty: Fortune, necessity and shame, were mingled therewith, they were vapours, and clouds before the sunne, in this it shall be all radiant, there shall be nothing but the shining of your Vertue: all the worke shall be your Maiesties, all the glory hers. What glory? to be triumphant ouer fortune, time, and death. But what can be imagined more [Page 78] exquisite, then to take away this pernici­ous custome brought forth by hell? to re­mit the Nobility, as it was before, to re­serue these lofty and heroyicke spirits for the seruice of your Maiesty, and the Com­mon-wealth? They be not borne for them­selues onely. If that were so, they should haue no more priuiledge then the common sort: but the end of their advantages, and of their greatnes, is the good of their Coun­trey: and these advantages haue neuer been acquired by Duell. Who knowes it better, or so well as your Maiestie? Who knowes it like your Maiestie? who haue a thousand times hazarded your life to saue this King­dome; who haue runne so many miserable Fortunes to make happy this Estate? who haue forgotten her selfe, onely to be mind­full of the good of France? a generous ob­liuion, and truely Royall. Why? because she hath fetched backe her name from the gulphes of forgetfulnesse. This considera­tion enclines too much to the vaine man: it was common with the auncient Greekes and Romanes. There is another more Christi­an consideration that is, That she hath re­deemed so many thousand persons from all [Page 79] sorts of calamities, and from despaire. The end of the gouernment of Kings, and the marke of their waighty charges, is, to con­serue the people, and to make them happy; that is likewise the end of them, who are ordained to execute their iust commande­ments for the maintenance of the Estate; and which is more, it is the obligation of them both.

It now concernes your Maiestie by her Prudence, and Wisedome, to establish good and holy Lawes vpon this subiect. How? Are they not published thoroughout all France? It belongs then to her Authoritie, to make them to be obserued from point to point, as we haue said. All depend of her: they expect and hope for it from her good­nesse and iustice.

A faire Order, and the execution of it.

From these two, will proceed a remedy, a profit, and a glory. The first, for all the Estate; the last, for your Maiestie; but the profit will bee the Common. This can no way be compared but to it selfe, considered in the conseruation of the most excellent Kingdome of Christendome; and the glo­ry that You shall get thereby, shall bee [Page 80] measured by the space of all the ages to come.

So (inuincible King) if you doe conserue your Nobility for your seruice, and for the common good, you shall banish the scandall of the Realme, you shall take away this euil example, of a stinking smell to all Christen­dome, yea euen to the Mahomet Infidells. You shall cleanse it from abundance of blood, so barbarously shed continually, you shall efface in part her ill reputation, you shall turne backe the fury of heauen, and keepe your selfe from blame before God, which is of greatest importance for the sal­uation of your Maiesty. What trophies, what triumphes for one onely effect! What effect? an effect as easie to execute, as to speake of. For it, the World will giue you Crownes of Palme, but Heauen wil reserue for you Crownes of Cedar, which are in­corruptible.

Marke what the Ghosts doe say to the greatest and most Magnanimious of Kings. If they haue spoken with any defect, as ob­scure, they are excusable. If they haue gi­uen any holy aduise, it ought to be receiued and embraced, but chiefly to be executed. [Page 81] And be it knowne, that the highest know­ledge of mortall men, (aboue all of great ones) is, (hinking of the end) to exercise Pietie and Iustice: for they be heauenly buildings, by proofe of time and death, which doe abide firme and stable. The rest, euen to the Septers and Crownes, is a Shadow.

A DISCOVRSE of VALOVR.

THe Ignorance of the Time, is the first cause of all Mis­chiefes: It is ad­mired, because it pleaseth, followed as a Law; a testi­monie of the bru­tishnesse of the Age: entertained by obsti­nacie, an infallible argument of her conti­nuance, as also of the blindnes of soules. To driue away the false appearance of Vertue, and to bring in the true knowledge of it: to please ones selfe with that which is on­ly worthy of admiration: to resolue to a firmenesse of the knowledge, which whol­ly lighteneth the vnderstanding; were very hard, in a time wherein violence onely raig­neth with hypocrisie; wherein that aboue [Page 88] all is perfect which contents the weake, and wherein error is defended by passion onely, and reuerenced as an Oracle. Yet we must not forbeare to take away the vayle, to shew the way, and to giue light to these darkenesses. For him that doth enterprise it, there can nothing happen worse: For the others, they that wil not vnblindfold them­selues, nor enter into a good course, nor fol­low the true ship-lanterne, though they re­maine confused, though they goe astray, though they fall through this darkenesse; yet will it be a pleasure to them, whose so­ueraigne good is blindnes and error.

Among all the false opinions that haue slid into vs, and that this beast without eies Ignorance, hath brought in with so much authoritie; there is not any one, either more remarkeable, or more important, then this that they haue now of Valour, of this Ver­tue the Queene of Vertues; of this stable basis of soules, of this rampier from mis­chiefes, of this scourge of fortune, of this contempt of death. There is nothing more common amongst vs, then these words, of Ʋaliant and Valour; so many people are ho­noured with this venerable title, and so few deserue it. This is the Philosophers stone [Page 89] which men seeke no more: But which hath been found by many thousands. If this conquest be so easie, let faire soules, firme, and full of iudgement, speake their opinion thereof, when I shall haue traced out the ground-plot of it.

There be three necessary pillars to this Vertue, and builded with such symmetrie and proportion, that if you take but one of them away, you shall haue ruine in stead of building. For her accomplishment, and en­tire perfection, the pieces required be com­prised in this diuine number, wherewith heauen is so well pleased, they be matter, forme, compasse, and the rule of this excel­lent Pallace of Wonders. There be three principles necessary to the action of all Vertues, and more particularly to this, then to all the rest; that is to say knowledge, will, and habitude. Magnanimity, greatnes of courage, or Ʋalour, as men doe commonly call it, hath for her subiect, things which bring feare: that is, her iurisdiction: there is the extent of her dominion. He then that goeth in danger must first know it, or else the effect that followeth shall be a worke of Fortune, or of rashnes. Will comes af­ter, which is the first issue of our affections, [Page 90] and of our designes. The third part, is Ha­bitude (that is to say) an action done many times. These circumstances must be waigh­ed, to see, in what principally consisteth, a Vertue so diuine. Knowledge, which is the eye of the vnderstanding, as this is of the soule; this radiant light is first required, as the guide which sheweth the way, and the iust Sunne-dyall, which conducteth by the true way with certaine knowledge. Igno­rance of the perill, makes an infinite num­ber hazard, by want of Iudgement, and ex­perience; that happneth to young men, that are transported with passion, who giue themselues no time to consider of that they enterprise. It commeth also to others, for that they doe not comprehend how hot a businesse it is. Let vs leaue the first branch, to represent the second in all the parts.

It is requisite that he that goeth to a danger, which he knoweth, which he hath well waighed; that he doe it willingly, and not be forced thereunto, by any strange, and forraine cause, that no other consideration, but onely the vertuous action doe put him forward. Then Will (the beginner of our actions) comes after Knowledge. This in­flaming [Page 91] of our soule, this violent loue to laudable things; this first wheele which turneth all the parts of the soule; it must be simple and pure, not mooued but of it selfe. It must not enterprise vpō that which is out of her gouernement, that is, it must follow that which is most perfect: It must con­taine it selfe within her owne bounds, and iurisdiction: Vertue onely, must be her sa­cred and inuiolable Law, she knowes no o­ther way but that. If the intention to make a mans selfe immortall by renowne; if de­sperate necessity, if the defence of his life, and of his liberty; if the hope of gaine, if loue, if iealousie, if ambition, if despaire, if obstinacy, if enuie, if the presence of the Prince, and other forraigne causes, doe make a man goe into a perillous action: this is no action purely vertuous, and wor­thy of praise. Now Vertue is content with her selfe, she hath all at her owne home, she borroweth not; is infinitely rich with that which groweth in her owne territory, her rents doe suffice her to operate accor­ding to her flight, although in certaine things she may haue need of Fortune. Yet I doe not say, that she is in perfection, or that she may be; for then a man should put [Page 92] off his humanity, and that were to seeke a Ʋalour in the aire, as the Commonwealth of Plato, or the perfect Oratour of Cicero. But I say, that the first and principall end of him that doth vertuously, ought to be an action simple and purely vertuous. That should be the end of it. Let not the first in­tention of him that goeth to an exploit of danger (knowing it well) be the hope of immortality; but let him goe thereto, al­though he should know, that that effect would remaine in the graue; that his birth, and death, should be both at a time: that he should haue his reward with the wormes, and sad silence; let him not forbeare to doe well, because it is his duty.

Among the heathen, they were perswa­ded, that they ought to die for the Com­monwealth, and that that voluntary sacri­fice of their liues for the publique (which they did in a moment) brought vnto them a perpetuall sacrifice among men, who put such men in the ranke of the gods. It was not onely a prouocation; it was a furious transportation, a desperate madnes, which rapt them to all sorts of dangers, by the hope of immortality. It was a sweete vsu­ry. So Curtius cast himselfe into the feare­full [Page 93] gulph of Rome, to make the inundation cease, which (following the answer of the Oracle) could not be stayed but by that meanes. So Sceuola went into the Campe of Porsena to kill him, thinking by the death of this King to make the Romanes vi­ctorious: So Horace, who was called one eyed, since that remarkeable effect, stayed alone vpon the bridge of the town of Rome, and sustained the violent assault of enemies, with astonishment of all: So the three twin­brothers, did fight against three puissant Frenchmen, to decide the difference be­tweene them, and the people of Rome, by the mutuall consent of both armies. It was the hope to make themselues immortall, by a famous renowne. It was the statues, and temples of Honour, which were promi­sed them, that caused in them the contempt of death. If a man should haue come and said, to the first poore Romane Knight; When thou shalt be cast into this horrible gulph, which threateneth all thy towne with shipwracke; there shall be no more remembrance of thee; thou shalt haue no o­ther oblation, but those of thy selfe and thy horse: And thou Sceuola, thou deceiuest thy selfe, to thinke that the Romanes doe e­rect [Page 94] statues and altars to thy Vertue. Ho­race, if thou diest to defend thy Country, the earth, the common Sepulture, or Tiber, shall be thy proud monuments, and the on­ly trumpets of thy glory. You twin-bro­thers, who runne to death, for the Com­monwealth of Rome, all the Laurells that shall remaine vnto you, shall be the com­plaints of your kinred, and the teares of your wiues. It is to be presumed that Cur­tius vpon the brimme of that fearefull gulph would haue giuen a musroll to his horse. The second beeing ready to roote out this barbarous Kings soule from his body, would haue told him the secret in his care; so farre would he haue been from put­ing his hand in the fire with so incredible a constancy. The third would not haue lost his eye as he did, he would haue bin troub­led with a phillip as a man would say, not caring otherwise for the iournall of Land, which he should haue had in recompence of so admirable a prowesse. He would haue cast himselfe at the beginning into the wa­ter all whole, as he did at the end all peir­ced with blowes. The three brothers would haue all eadged their wiues, their children, and the vnmeasurable greatnesse of those [Page 95] French-bodies to be exempt from fight­ings, or rather would haue faigned them­selues sicke: But the desire to make them­selues as gods to posterity, made them ha­zard their liues, by a foolish hope, and a vaine opinion of immortality. It was then a false Valour. In that case, the Honourable desire to serue the Commonwealth, should onely haue put them forward; the desire to doe well, and not to get a famous name af­ter death, or recompence after victory. Yet, notwithstanding that is the least imperfect Ʋalour which is built vpon the beleife of a perpetuall renowne, a worke of faire lau­dable hope, and worthy of reward, because of the example, and of the profit that may come thereby to Commonwealths. The Turkes, who are so couragious, and make no account of their liues; doe not deserue by this meanes, in any fashion whatsoeuer, the name of Valiant; because they hazard themselues, vpon the hope that they haue to tast the agreeable delights, which are promised them, in that pleasant Paradise of Mahomet. They be workes of faith, the strong wings of a false perswasion, that hath so charmed them; and hauing plucked out the eyes of their soule, doe couer also [Page 96] the eyes of their body, to make a bloody sacrifice of all. Should they haue the ap­ples, and the faire maides of the Alcoron taken from them; they would haue much more affection to life, then now they haue of brutish resolution to death.

If the desire to gaine glory, and to per­petuate a mans name, doe not deserue a perfect praise, comming alone in conside­ration; much lesse is the effect which pro­ceedeth from a desperate necessity worthy of Honour. The banished men at Antwerp beeing but sixe thousand did wonders, be­cause they knew well, that by the military Lawes of Spaine, they should neuer finde mercy with their Prince, no more then the English with the Spaniards at Sea; who for that cause haue recourse to the cruell ele­ment of fire. But if pardon might be for the one, and courtesie for the other, it is to be supposed they would not make so good reckoning of their skins. There be a thou­sand considerations in this deed, which would be too long to deduce, of which we must waigh some onely.

Ambition, Loue, and Couetousnes, doe produce great effects, cheifely Ambition at the Courts of great ones. It is furie, that [Page 97] carrieth away the soule, that troubleth the braine, that bewitcheth; a strange Magi­tian, which ouerthroweth all, and some­times giues the lyons courage to Harts. To enter into credit, to be honoured, and estee­med of great Ones, and likewise of the Prince; to attaine to gouernements. There be some that doe despise death, and often­times these three causes, that I haue na­med, doe concurre to end the tragedy the sooner. All these effects, be false Valours, because they be forced; and if not altoge­ther, at the least somewhat like those of pyoners. It ariueth also vnto them, as to those that play vpon Theaters, who haue the headbands royall, and the clubbe of Hercules; but this is neither so heauie, nor so massy, as that of this great mans was; neither doe these Purple-robes, and these Scepters, make them Kings that doe weare them. At the Court neare the shining lights of the world, there be foolish and blinde soules, which doe swell, mooue, lift them­selues vp, and beeing thrust forward with vanity, so naturall to man, and so familiar at the Courts of Princes, doe enterprise with hazard. See what the desire is to be greater then others, and to go before them, [Page 98] not in laudable and vertuous actions, but rather in dignities. Marke this chace to pride. Ambition and enuie be the weake ladders by which some doe ascend to repu­tation. This is to take Honour by a Scala­do. Sometimes the ladder breakes, and so they escape it; there are they in a litter for euer, an vndoubted testimony of a base and artificious soule; resembling the woman, that in old time gaue the Oracles; beeing animated by the deuill she prophesied; and as as soone as he had forsaken her, the gate was shut against her, for things to come. It is a deuillish Ʋalour, which doth neither mooue, nor breath, but by the most blinde and furious passions. If by these wayes, beeing raised on high, they can catch Ho­nour, and some gouernement, according to their minde; they make knots like reeds: they rest themselues, beginne to play Do­ctors with the furred gowne, and cast them­selues vpon discourse; saying, That there is a time to get; a time to keep the thing got­ten, that a man must play the good hus­band, and not be alwayes thus, that they know, that the excellent aeconomie of a ge­nerous and noble soule, is to be alwayes prepared, in the duty of a man of honesty [Page 99] and Honour, which cannot be iustly reie­cted of any age, of any, quality, nor of any ranke. There be no letters of Chancery can helpe therein.

Loue also, doth admirably whet the cou­rage, it doth animate it, and while the fe­uer continues, it putteth on violently; the fit beeing past, there remaines nothing but a shadow. Paris loosing himselfe with con­templation of the rare beauties of his He­len, admiring so many meruailous things in this cheife worke, so soone as she repre­senteth vnto him the reputation of Mene­laus, the highnes of his courage (shewing him thereby that generous women are not friends of cowards) enterpriseth a com­bate against him. The sweete words that loue, and beauty made slide downe from her lippes; happy Arabia that respired no­thing but heauenly Manna, slid into his soule with such force, that he found him­selfe wholly mooued, quite altered, and re­turning as from a swound, resolueth (to make himselfe worthy of the loue of so faire a Mistris) to assault this excellent champion: He thinkes long to be at handy blowes, remembers no more Cipres pow­der, nor the curling iron for his haire; hee [Page 100] hath nothing in his vnderstanding but the ruine of his enemy; he burieth him already by hope, he giueth him the mortall blow, rids himselfe at one time, of a troublesome man; and getteth for euer a pleasing she­friend. This inspiration of Loue, beeing vanished away; and the fumes of the altar of Venus beeing past, he remembers him­selfe of his Helen, not to be pleasing vnto her, and to make himselfe worthy of so rare a possession, but indeed to make himselfe sure of her. He hath recourse to flight, and hath great need to be couered with the cloud of Venus, in which he sheweth, that the Carpet-Knights, are not such friends of the sword, as of perfumes. This is a false Valour, that makes this spruce adoe to as­sault one of the strongest and most redoub­ted men in the world. He gained no Honour thereby, because the feare of death had more power ouer him, then either the de­sire of immortalizing his name, or the con­sideration of his duty.

Iealousie, and Enuie, which be two de­uillish instruments, haue no lesse power; and there haue beene some found, who (thrust on by their rages) haue done mira­cles. The couetousnes of all times, hath held [Page 101] a great ranke among men; and more in this corrupt age then euer it did. It hath shew­ed notable effects, in times past, and doth dayly produce extraordinary ones. Not­withstanding, there is not any of sound iudgement, that doth call the actions of such as are mastered, with these monsters of vice, Valour.

Despaire hath also a great share thereof, and the desire to die; whether it commeth of Loue, or of any other malady, corporall or spirituall, from which a man cannot bee deliuered. The example of the Souldier of Cyrus, is as notable as well knowne: Neare that same great King, who made the second Monarchy, whom the heauen had enriched with so many graces, who was accompani­ed with so many vertues; whose lustre was both the wonder and astonishment of the World. There was a simple Souldiour, who amongst all was remarked to haue an vn­dauntable courage, and to be so resolute in the most dangerous encounters, that it see­med he was a Faerie, like Achilles; so as the opinion to be invulnerable; made him contemne the hazard. The admiration of this so rare a Valour, gaue a desire to this great Monarch to enquire more particular­ly [Page 102] of this man, whom he found to bee affli­cted with a strange maladie, whereof hee made him to be dressed so carefully, that in the end he was healed. After that, he was neuer seen to hazard himselfe as he vsed be­fore: he was not the man he was wont to be. Cyrus asking him the reason, he answered, That he that caused him to bee healed was the onely cause thereof; and confessed vnto him, that the maladie which he had before was so insupportable, that to rid himselfe of it, he sought his end in that manner. The health of his body made his spirit sicke. He ranne after a common euill, to shun a thou­sand extraordinary: he sought one death, to ridde himselfe of many. It was despaire, which proceedeth onely from weakenesse. You shal not see any of these vulgar spirits, and which are not debonaire, but at the first griefe grow faint, and desire their last ende to be deliuered thereof.

So there be a thousand passions which do animate, and doe not doubt but outward things doe serue thereunto. Flutes were in vse amongst the auncient Lacedemonians when they went to fight, as at this day trumpets and drummes: but without doubt it is more for courages which are not firme, [Page 103] and for irresolute spirits, then for the gene­rous, which haue no need of sauce to get them a stomacke. Amongst all that moo­ueth so much, the presence of great Ones, and chiefely of the Prince is one. He that is aduanced vpon the Theatre, abutted neere the Sunne, and the Starres, illuminated with the great lights of the Kingdom; though he were a pusillanimious Adon, he would be­come a Roger; a Larke there would play the Eagle, a Hare the Lyon; especially when there is a magnanimious King, such an one as Ours, the light of all Christian Princes, the admirable and inimitable example of Ʋalour; a thundring tempest in combates, whose heart is so high, that no mortal thing can shake it. He that shall come before so excellent a Prince, that shall be seen of Iu­piter, and shall not be as hardie as Theseus and Samson, hath a courage lower then the Centre of the earth, and is vnworthy euer to lift vp his head, and to behold the Sunne. Let this wretch that shall come and play such a cowardly tricke before this great Warriour, bury himselfe aliue for a iust pu­nishment: let him pull out his eies, as in old time the Emperours of Constantinople did one to another; or let him go and be a dead [Page 104] pay in Hungarie all his life; pierce there the armes of those Infidels, passe vpon the point of their pikes and of their swords, to repaire such a fault.

Truely, Death is a terrible and fearefull image: there is no spirit so high, so resolute, so disdainefull of perill, but doth appre­hend some shadow of the graue: but a man must not put himselfe to this trade, if he do not know that he is of a good stampe. Vertues be not naturall; we haue indeede some disposition, some more, some lesse, to receiue them. Valour beeing a Vertue, ought to bee considered in that manner; her birth is feeble, shee is not in perfe­ction, blood is not capable alone to draw this picture to the life, this picture so rare, so excellent, so diuine. The liuely colours must be taken from example and meditati­on. If Valour were naturall, all men should haue it from their birth, as also the other Vertues: but it is acquired by knowledge and habitude. We must not finde it strange, if for the punishment of pride and pre­sumption, the strongest cords of courage be sometimes loosed, and men admired for this Vertue doe commit notable faults; and be­sides, men are not disposed at all times a­like. I will recount the memorable histo­ry [Page 105] of the Lord D'Aussun, as it was repre­sented vnto me by a Gentleman of Honour and Qualitie, who was at the battell of Dreux, because it serueth to this purpose. This generous Caualier, who had acquired so faire a name, that in a commendation of excellency, they would say, The stoutnesse of d'Aussun, in this battell fled with the rest: returning to himselfe, (as a Lyon, who passing through the Forrest, hearing the noise of the branches, flieth vntil he be out, then turning his head, strikes himselfe with his tayle to enter into fury, and returnes to the same place from whence he came) this hardie Lyon returned to the combat, where in the middest of the throng, he shewed that he did not beare so honourable a Title vnworthily; he appeared like thunder, made himselfe to be felt like a tempest that ouer­throweth all; made himselfe redoubtable to his enemies, and admirable to both the armies. The combate being ended, and he as full of honour, as mad with despight, extolled of his friends and enemies, went to bed, and resolued to die for the displeasure he tooke for his flying. Monsieur de Guise that then was, went to see and comfort him, and attributed much glory to him in the [Page 106] presence of all. To which hee answered: How (Sir) you that are the most Valorous Prince that liues at this day, haue you taken paines to visit the most cowardly and base that euer was borne, a man vnworthy to see the light? No, no: I am worthy of a cru­ell punishment, and not of the praise that you giue me, which I doe iustly reiect be­cause I doe not merit it, and will make an­other man of my selfe, because I haue too well deserued it. He died a while after for want of eating. A man could not Christi­anly praise this excesse: but the rest testifi­ed a soule truely vertuous, and a courage without doubt magnanimious. It is to be considered, that in this exploit almost all the Army-royall, were put to flight. To re­tire, seemed rather wisedome then coward­linesse: and if there had beene a fault in it, he repaired it againe, if it be true as I haue said, that he returned to the Combate. If not (as some beleeue the contrary) yet his fault was common and well accompanied. He was rauished with this confused disor­der, and carried away by the multitude of flyers. So many honest men, couragious, resolute, and full of reputation, did fall in­to the same inconuenience, that hee might [Page 107] haue attributed it to the good fortune of the enemies, haue supported it with pati­ence as others did, haue comforted himselfe in the representation of so many notable proofes, which he had giuen of his Valour, and vpon the common opinion, that armes are vncertaine. But his conscience serued him as a thousand witnesses, his heart was the great comptroller, he found he was a stranger to himselfe, not hauing been accu­stomed to fall into such defaults. This change of his courage, shaken with a wind of feeble humanity, which feareth death, had afflicted him; being one that had a sense so exquisite, and so tickle in things of Ho­nour, and in actions of Vertue. An He­roique spirit, and iealous of it selfe, who chose an extraordinary and vniust death, not for any fault committed, but for omit­ting the custome of doing well, and accor­ding to the measure of that stoutnesse so much esteemed. Hee would content him­selfe, and not an other; in his manner, not to the mind of others; according to his owne rule, not to the rule of strangers; it was the feare to haue done amisse, which is a prick­ing prouocation to doe well. There haue been found some at Court, who hauing gi­uen [Page 108] good proofes of their Valour in a day of battell, and made others beare the markes of their courage, and inuincible resolution; because they escaped the busi­nesse, and did not die with their friends, fea­red that they did ill. We must avow, that such persons be wel borne to Vertue, which is not fed either with publique smoake, or with another mans opinion, but with her owne knowledge, beeing balanced, and knowing her selfe, her waight, and her price. There be not amongst a hundred such faire soules.

Now the feare not to doe well, is the first motiue that carrieth away the gene­rous spirit, and which mooueth it with more force, then the crownes of Oake, and the triumphes did the auncient Romanes. They that goe about to content themselues first, though they were in dennes, in the graue (if it were possible) will neuer faile in their duty. When they haue exploited effects, admired of all; they doe not rest vpon the generall voyce, the common iudgement doth not fill them, they beleeue assuredly, that this action is not exactly ac­complished. Phidias for his workes, was in an incredible reputation; and not any [Page 109] thing of that he did most perfectly did content him. His house beeing on a fire, he cried to saue the Satyre, which was an ad­mirable peice, not that he esteemed it per­fect, but rather imperfect in his fantasie. I will say, that those spirits haue Ide'as of formes, and proportions, which doe rauish all the rest, in some scantling of their beau­ty. But for their contentment, it is not suffi­cient, they haue remaining yet a great hun­ger.

Obstinacy also, which is a terrible wilde beast, that no reason can appease; hath done strange things, which doe approach the magnificent workes of Vertue, and be but shadowes, idols, and fantasies. There be a thousand examples in histories of the obsti­nacie of the Iewes. This great Towne of Paris would furnish out one, not onely ex­traordinary, but fearefull. They be hellish rages bringing forth prodigious effects; which for that respect, are neither lauda­ble nor immitable, because they are with­out Vertue. A thousand Aposted-manslay­ers, haue despised death, and knowing well that they could neuer escape, yet haue not forborne to execute their designes. They be in the Chronicles for an example of ab­homination, [Page 110] and not of imitation: But Iu­dith, and Debora, who did hazard them­selues for their people, whose ende was good and holy; haue left their memory glorious, with as much astonishment at the greatnesse of their courage, as a lau­dable enuie to follow them in so laudable a careere.

There is yet a moouing cause, which is called Emulation, which may be defined; a desire to doe better then others, or in de­spight of others. Emulation is the leauen of all faire deeds, if it be married with the feare to faile, as we haue already said. It is the heauenly seed of Actions, truely wor­thy of praise, and of perpetuall memory. It is the sacreed seed, which thrusts out the Palmes, the Laurells, and the Cedars; but for that it was not well ruled, nor vnder­stood, it hath often been an instrument of shame, and ruine. Alarum of the most slee­pie, quick-siluer of young and old, rauish­ment of the most vnmanly. If thy beauty were not painted, if thy Nectar were not poysoned, if thou wert not gisguised and apparelled with borrowed garments, how excellent shouldest thou be Diuine Prin­cesse, liuely, light of soules: but thou art [Page 111] quite changed, and through the ignorance of men; more of an other, then of thy selfe. The feare of failing, must accompany this moouing: Into which whosoeuer will narrowly looke, will iudge, that the good will to doe better then others, hath beene the Viper, which beeing borne, doth de­uoure that which did beget it. Emulation the efficient cause of Vertue hath deuoured her part; hath destroied Vertue it selfe: they haue put to this drinke venemous ingredi­ents, they haue troubled the cleare spring, they haue couered with a cloud, a faire Sun. Emulation should giue a desire to a man to doe perfectly well, according to Vertue; so as no man may doe better (at least in will) with knowledge of the cause; and onely be­cause it must be so, and not because others doe it. Although he onely should remaine in this action, that no other should trauell with this winde, that no other should run at this tilt; moreouer that there should no aduantage come to him thereby, either of greatnes or profit: yet notwithstanding let him not leaue to seeke it with as much passion and vehemency. This shining flame of Vertue hath beene spoiled by ignorance, and by pride, deuillish serpent, so naturall [Page 112] to man, this first resort of sinne; this father of death which hath mingled all the cards. Enuie is entred with it into this Prouince, these monsters haue foraged all: Men runne into hazards, they goe thereunto hanging downe their heads, they precipitate them­selues thereby, beeing not able to serue the Common-wealth; carried with rage they find nothing too hot; to exceed others they would haue wings, or feet of wind, as A­chilles had. To him that asketh to what this transport tendeth; euery one will say (masking his intention) that it is a desire to doe well. Vice neuer accuseth it selfe. See the end which iudgeth of all. It was against a wall, at the shadow of smoakes of the Canon, and of the Harquebuzes, in a place where they could not annoy the ene­mies, where the hazard was all of rash men, to the detriment of the Prince, and of the Common-wealth. From whence come these stormes? It is pride, it is ambition, violent passions, which do beare such fruit. The desire to see a mans selfe in greater e­steeme by fooles, thinking that therein con­sisteth the true glory, and the point of Ho­nour. Valour is no foole, she regardeth the beginning, the middest, and the end. This [Page 113] faire triangle, is the rule of her motions and steps; she knoweth the danger, she goes thereto by the good way; her end is, to profit her King, or her Countrie, in doing her duty. Shee mockes at them, that makes themselues be peirced for pleasure, with­out beeing able to be profitable: shee saith, that they haue too much blood, (which they drew in old time from the Romane souldier that had beene rash) shee vaunts that shee will sell her selfe very deare; that they shall not haue her cheape, and that her Cypres trees shall not be alone, nor with­out fruite. If these furious courages, as I haue said were corrected by iudgement; they would be without doubt, fit for all high and hard executions. They doe im­ploy themselues most commonly in that which is least necessary: and this gallant, and actiue humour is vnfitly lost, with actions which are neither faire nor profi­table.

These are the principall outward causes, which doe thrust the soules, guide the eies, carry the hands to great executions, and makes them see false actions of Vertue. There remaineth one, and the mother of all the artificiall Ʋalours. It is the Honour, [Page] the Lanterne of the ship, the Pilot, and the Port. I say the appearing Honour, and not the true Honour. The appearing, or vulgar Honour is by force, to content others: the true Honour is voluntary to content ones selfe: the one, will onely shunne blame and reproach; the other leades to dangers, not only not to faile, but to doe well: the one lets himselfe be drawne thereunto by feare of reproach, or else by this so martiall a zeale of a Gentleman: the other runnes thereunto by a laudable and gallant will, to profit the Commonwealth, and to doe ver­tuously. In which there is a notable diffe­rence. But if a man could read within their hearts, there be many that doe runne the fortune of their life (defending their bo­dies) that would haue no will to be at such banquets, if they were not afraid, that they should be afterwards made blush with shame. When such people doe light vpon so hot worke, how they loose their iudge­ment, how they goe all astray, how their heart doth pant, and their blood is all icie. They should make imprecations in their soule against that heretique, which inuen­ted these faire titles of duty and Vertue. Such men should be dispensed withall for [Page 115] wearing of swords, seeing they be so ill fit­ting thereunto, and Kings and Common­wealths should also be dispensed with, for not giuing them any aduantage aboue o­ther men. In which, notwithstanding it must be considered, that there is a difference of those, and the like actions of Vertue, as of white to black, and of the day to the night. He that is pricked forward only with a de­sire not to fall into reproach and infamy, doth a laudable act, with some little beame of Vertue, and a feeble colour. The life whereof is kept by the apprehension of the blame. These be soules halfe lightened. There be many that doe thus meete with hazards, beeing therein engaged, either for their ranke, or by reason of their places, or by some other occasions they encounter-with, who goe to blowes gallantly in shew, yet would be glad to be out of it, what ad­uantage soeuer might come vnto them thereby. Be it, that they be borne great e­nough of themselues, and happy without aspiring further; or that their inclination doth not agree with this troublesome trade. They watch perpetually, that their play may not be discouered. What a mise­rable life is this? It is to giue a great ad­uantage [Page 116] to fortune ouer them, making themselues subect to a thousand trouble­some accidents, in which men truely vertu­ous, and desirous to doe wel, haue no share. For marke you how they worke. They be­leeue they are borne to doe well, not to be of the common sort of men, to serue their Prince, and their Countrie; to assist the weake, to punish the wicked, to maintaine iustice. They know that they are obliged thereunto, by diuine and humane Lawes, as also by the Lawes of nature. What they doe is voluntary, hauing no other end but to doe well, expecting no recompence, car­rying this incorruptible modell of true Ho­nour in their vnderstanding, which lifts them vp, inflames them, and transports them, with all the gracious inchauntments, with all the amarous bates of Vertue, which is the most rauishing figure that can be imagined. They goe to death without feare, and without apprehension, so much as humane nature can permit, not onely be­cause duty doth oblige them (that is too common) but because they will produce a faire action. Others doe keepe themselues from failing and doing euill, by carrying themselues vertuously, because duty doth [Page 117] constraine, and straightly binde them ther­unto; and these doe not expose so precious a gage as life, onely for the consideration of that effect; but for the desire they haue to profit others, and to approach the nea­rer by such actions to the diuinity. Not to faile in things of great importance, not to fall into shame, and to keepe themselues from reproach, is a common thing with the most part. But to make himselfe remarke­able by doing well, to goe about to make himselfe famous by faire actions; is not proper, but to them onely, that are wholy Vertuous. Those soules girt about with the diuine beame, can bring forth nothing that is common, base, or vnworthie. Great things doe appertaine vnto them, and it is for them that the Cedars be planted.

The third pillar that sustaineth the holy worke, of the most worthy Vertue that is amongst men, is Habitude, that is to say, An action repeated, and done many times, which ought to be considered, as the true touch of armes, and the Soueraigne Iudge, which iudgeth in the last resort of all faire actions. It is not all to know the danger, and to goe thereto willingly, as I haue said, with all the circumstances; but a man must [Page 118] goe many times one masters tricke onely: how bould soeuer he be, makes not a good artizan, neither doth one onely act of Ver­tue make a man vertuous. It is this Soue­raigne sounding plummet of hearts, that makes a man sweat blood, and water. It is it that culleth out most curiously, it is the expert workman which endeth this trium­phant portall, with all the dimensions. There be an infinite number, who for that they haue not ballanced this high conside­ration; or (to speake better) not hauing conceiued, or imagined it, after one vertu­ous action only, haue sounded the retreate, and so contented themselues. There be o­thers, after two or three faire actions, be­sides their owne particular contentment, haue come to a presumption, measuring themselues by their shadow, full of pride: for the opinion they haue that they are of a good stampe, not knowing that the end iudgeth of all our life, and that there is no time limited to vertuous effects, but that which commeth with the coffin, and the burning torches. Not that I wil say, that they which are heaped vp with Ho­nour, & by a thousand sufficient testimonies of their Valour, haue been made famous, [Page 119] shall seeke all occasions, and hazard them­selues like young men, or such as haue done no great extraordinary matter. But whē oc­casion shall be offred, & that the losse which they may make of themselues shall not be so preiudiciall, as the profit of the Com­mon-wealth shall be thereby great; they must doe like other men. This Carreere of Glory is infinite; a man must find no end of it, but by the last end; nor euer be weary or filled therewith, so long as his hand can fur­nish his courage. We must not, for all that, come to such vnmeasurable passions, and vnruly motions of such a blind and madde ambition, as Marius had; who ouerloaden with many yeares, as well as with victories; and buried (as a man would say) with the multitude of his Triumphes, did notwith­standing beare enuy to young men. Too much is alwaies to be blamed. Habitude then is the last peice in order, and in perfe­ction, it is one of the principall. There bee some, that once in their liues before their Prince haue done wonderfully. They were prepared for that blow: They would die, or goe out of the mire of their auncestors; enrich, and put themselues to ease. The ar­tifice was not euil, if they saued themselues, [Page 120] and reaped the fruit of hope; vnlesse death had fastened a nayle to their designes, from which beeing escaped, they had yet at the least this pleasure, to haue once in their liues done wel, and to hold that in common with the most honest men. Those people flie at nothing but the Larke. They should haue been in danger many times, furnished with all things requisite, with all the armes of vnderstanding and courage; heauenly armes of the proofe of shots of death, despising the graue, and not esteeming any thing e­quall to the desire of doing well, if they would haue been honoured with the trium­phant Crowne, which is giuen to the ver­tuous. Among the muske of Canon-pow­der, all couered with the Aromatique per­fumes, which the smoake of Harquebuzes doth cast vpon the points of swords and pikes, the generous spirit doth exercise it selfe; there she takes her measure; at this rigorous schoole shee learnes a diuine Mi­strisship: there she gets her durable orders, not once, nor thrice, nor fowre times, but a thousand times; euen as often as need is for the Common good. They which doe not measure themselues by this ell, are fri­uolous shadowes, and (if I may say so) fan­tasies [Page 121] of true Vertue, whereof they haue but a vaine appearance. That likewise doth not endure.

All these things being exactly waighed, I am of opinion, that the cleare-sighted wil pronounce a sentence which cannot be re­tracted: that is, That there be very few men adorned with this incomparable vertue in perfection. Notwithstanding some do ap­proach thereunto more then others, and an infinite number may haue some seeds and sprigs thereof, like weake beames from so supernaturall a light. Thou that goest, see­king by the constellation of starres, by the composition of humours, by the quality of the blood, so rare a treasure, know thou art an Heretique. This sparkling Planet of Mars doth not influe vigour enough. The fowre elementary qualities doe not know what it is to go to blowes; they hate them, the bloud cannot vnderstand so high a les­son, quite contrary to his beeing. This ap­prentiship doth come from elsewhere. It is true (as I haue said) that there bee some soules better disposed to Vertue, then o­thers; and likewise some bodies more fit to receiue the faire influences of the soule.

Yet for all that, all men generally and [Page 122] naturally doe feare death. It is a grieuous thing to forsake this pleasing light of the day, and to goe with wormes, whatsoeuer is imagined. This default comes from sin, this weakenesse hath drawne from thence her beginning. It brought death, which is irkesome to man, because it was not so at the first creation. Without going any high­er in Theologie, I will follow my point. The feare of death, mans perpetuall Hostesse, whose efficient cause, matter and forme, be within the bones, the blood, and the arte­ries, is a miserable worker of all the irreso­tions which doe ariue for this subiect. Feare to die, the hereditary maladie, the dome­sticall weakenes, the naturall falling-sicke­nesse to man, is the beginner of all infirmi­ties, to them that doe not thinke to liue well. Now to liue well, a man must cast his eyes vpon his carriage, he must thinke of the end, he must meditate vpon this com­mon and last passage of men. It was all the Philosophy of the Auncients, which in truth is a good part of perfection, though not the principall. To meditate vpon death, to imagine that after this short and painefull life, there is an eternall and blessed life, is to enter into the way of Vertue, though not [Page 123] to goe to the ende. This answereth to that diuine sentence, Know thy selfe, represent thy selfe that thou art a cleare beame of God, that thy house is heauen, that the di­uine essences doe pertaine to thee of proxi­mitie, that thou art a passenger in this mise­rable life, that Vertue is the onely image, whereof thou must bee an Idolater, and which must wholly gouerne thee. These considerations doe open the barre to faire actions, but the gate is yet shut. This Ver­tue is excellent without doubt, which pre­pareth the soules to good, & lifteth vp thy vnderstanding to all high & worthy things. It is not enough for all that: To command a mans selfe is more then all that. The other hath the tongue, this the hand; one the word, the other the effect; the one prepa­reth the soule to the diet, the other is the di­et it selfe; the one mooues humours, the o­ther purges them; the one guides, the other executes: To conclude, the one beginneth, & the other endeth the work. To know a mans selfe, answereth to the meditation of death: to command a mans selfe, answereth to the contempt of death. The auncients made their Philosophy and loue of wisdome, me­ditation of death only, whereas they should [Page 124] haue said, that it was the meditation and contempt both together. For these two be sister-germanes, and inseparable, to con­duct to the sacred Temple of Sapience. But what is this attracting brightnes? what is this charmious figure? what is this diuine ladder, which when in hath inlightened by the discourse of reason, and by the know­ledge of our selues, and burned by the plea­sing flames of the loue of it, doth make vs enter into heauen? It is Magnanimitie, which is the contempt of death. What is the end of it? to doe alwaies well. If they aske, what Temples, what Sacrifices shee desireth? She will answer, that shee is all that, that she hath all in her selfe. If they doe presse her, to tell what mooueth her; she will say, That it is onely her affection to cary her selfe in all things vertuously. Why she doth not feare death? Because she fea­reth her selfe more. Why she doth not de­sire the conuersation of life, so sweete? Be­cause to liue without Vertue, is to be dead, without any hope to liue againe. Let them question her euery manner of way, she shall be as ready and wise to answer, as firme and couragious to resist. Now as you see, to know a mans selfe goeth not so forward as [Page 125] to command a mans selfe: so it must be said, that to meditate vpon death is not so much as to despise it. Many doe know their own infirmities, they haue euen drawne the very picture of them with all the liuely colours, there wants nothing. They know that they are subiect to a thousand loose passions; they resolue to combate these domesticall enemies; they prepare themselues thereun­to; and euen in the very instant that they are ready to come to handy-blowes, they do as Dolon did in Homer, who cast away his Buckler in the cheife time of the skirmish; or like to him, who after hee had made proud marches cries out against his follies; I see the best and like it, and doe follow the worst. It is cowardize, they haue not force enough to resist, hauing but one feeble obscure sparke of Vertue, which hath not the power to heate, though it giue light. They which commaund them­selues, doe shewe that they haue beene longer exercised in this faire Academy, that they haue beene vpon the iusting, or fencing place: that they haue wrestled against the prodiges of vice, and throwne them to the ground: which makes them worthy of praise, and to haue their names [Page 126] graued in letters of gold in the holy Tem­ple of Honour. This then answereth to the contempt of death, which cannot bee familiar with a man but by Ʋalour, which doth not consist onely in marshall actions, neither is enclosed with those walles alone; because there bee a thousand other instru­ments of this cruell enemy of nature, be­sides those of warre. Socrates who swal­lowed hemlocke, did as much contemne death, as Alexander in the middest of his combates. The one was, as it were tran­sported with marshall fury; and the other was no more mooued, seeing his death pre­pared, then if they had come to inuite to runne at the playes of Olympus: The one was almost out of himselfe with choller: the other was altogether in himselfe, and quite out of the frailty of man, through a firme and constant resolution to this last step. Both of them did it through great­nesse of courage; Valour was in them both, all the worke was hers. Notwithstanding, the one of them was inflamed with the ar­dour of young blood, with ambition and with the desire to make himselfe venerable to posterity: the other was not stupide, nor insensible, but he had a constant cold­nes, [Page 127] a firme resolution, with discourse, iudgement, and meditation, hauing no other end, but manfully to resist fortune, and death, without beeing thrust on by consi­deration of worldly vanities. Wherein is to be noted, that these latter parts be euen as necessary as the others; and that the great and vnheard of effects of Vertue, doe pro­ceede cheifely from the vnderstanding, and intelligence. Truely, they which haue not learned this magnificent Science, but a­mongst Pistolls, and Pikes, haue a Ʋalour, more brutish, lesse considering, and lesse wise. They which haue exercised their for­ces onely in Plato his walke, in the study, haue a more soft spirit, and which doth not seeme so vigorous against euill (because ex­perience assureth weaknes, and is ordinarily seene, among the blood and the sword) it maketh the courages more cowardly, and supporteth the most imbecill; for as much as custome is another nature. The contempt of death for them is by imagination in the aire, not meeting as others doe, among them that are hurt, slaine, and daily at blowes. True it is that Socrates had mar­ried his spirit with his hand, the greatnesse of his courage with his sword, and his high [Page 128] imaginations with execution and proofe. After he had meditated and layed the foun­dations of this faire Pyramides, by the di­uine Idea's of his vnderstanding, and by that proud proiect which carried him away in his thought, he put his hand to the worke. Wee must not meruaile, if by this band which is not common, he brought forth no common thing.

Now, I haue said that it is not at the Warre only that magnanimity is exercised; a long imprisonment, pouerty, maladies, the losse of friends, and other accidents, be proofes of a courage manly, and oftentimes more assured then of death it selfe. In the meane time, a man must well consider what contempt of death is. A man doth not feare death, onely for the griefes that it brings vs, which are soone passed; but for the pleasure whereof it depriueth vs, and for the delights of life; which comes of fol­lie, ignorance, and want of meditation. That which ones leaues, giues more paine, then that which one feeles; and whosoeuer would take away the apprehension of this bitternesse, should but onely tast it. The e­uill comes from the fantasie, which hath most force where there is least reason. [Page 129] Death is made so redoubtable, because it takes from vs the ioyes of life, and for that we are tied to that which doth least apper­taine vnto vs. For feeble pleasures, the long vse whereof should be odious vnto vs: For lewd desires which haue found our tast sicke, to the end to gaine yet some dayes, and to haue a miserable delay, and a shame­full respite; a man would lengthen the parchment, and deferre the matter; so loath is a man to ariue. All that proceeds from want of iudgement, for as much as we haue lodged our Soueraigne good where it is not, and that we seeke it for the most part by his contrary. To haue then the con­tempt of death, we must rather haue know­ledge of the life that is truely worthy of man. Neither could the lot of Africa, nor Circes, nor the Syrens, nor all the attracting delights of the nymph Calypso, retaine the wise Greeke. His designes were more lof­ty, he was tyed with more strong bonds; the knowledge which he had of a greater blesse, made him enter into an extraordina­ry disdaine of these vnworthy pleasures. Contraries one neare the other doe shine most: So the discourses of reason, be cleare Lampes, which shew the way in the dark­nes [Page 130] of our blindnes; it is by them that we vnderstand what to follow, and to take our resolution to doe that which doth most carry a man beyond man. There is no Ver­tue that can lead through these thornes, through these rugged rockes, and through these fearefull solitarinesses to perfection; but magnanimity. Shee is without igno­rance knowing all things, hauing digested all doubts, chased all clouds, taken away all scruples, by the faire and agreeable Theorique meditation, which would haue beene vnfruitefull, if it had not beene put in vse, by this Queene of Vertues. This hea­uenly Queene then, hauing carried her in­telligence, vpon all that concerneth man, and hauing sported her selfe through all this great Theatre of the world, after shee had waighed, [...]ounded, and calculated all: Shee knew that well-doing was the high­est point at which humane nature could a­riue. Glad of this knowledge, and wholly transported with admiration of her owne diuine essence; shee hath made choice of this golden sleece, and there erected her conquests. She is so resolued. This is not all, shee is gone into action. Shee is in the conflict, she remaines glittering with victo­rious [Page 131] glory ouer her enemies. To this begin­ning a thousand difficulties are opposed to her designes. Feeble nature, in a traunce with feare, so sensible, open to all sorts of euills, perfumed soft lasciuious pleasures, couered with amber and muske, with bo­dies without armes, and legges, with may­med shapes, with sad goings, in some, ioyes, and griefes, pell-mell, will violently pull the armes out of her hands. Shee hath o­uerthrowne all, shee hath vanquished all, shee remaines Mistresse of the field. Let them cut, slash, burne, let all the world come together to fall; a man accompanied with this incomparable Vertue, remaines without loosening, stiffe, and firme, as mar­ble. Admirable rampier against misfor­tunes, and most strange euents; how diuine thou art faire Vertue, seeing thou doest draw men from the gouernement of huma­nity, how high and eleuated thou art, seeing thou doest roote from the center of the earth, the earth it selfe; how strong thou art, seeing thou doest giue the forces of Sampson, to the imbecillity of humane na­ture, which is weaknes it selfe; how aboue humane thou art, seeing thou doest make our senses leape ouer the barres of sense; [Page 132] and how rare thou art, seeing thou art so difficill. If I did thinke to be exempt from the blame of presumption for enterprizing to speake of so high a subiect; I would pro­duce for an example, a spirit wholly royall, (that is to say) fully perfect. Let a man be­hold it on all sides, he will iudge it such as I desire it in this Discourse.

Sir, You that are a man, and aboue men, (as such an one) giue me leaue to be so bold to speake of this Vertue, which is admired and reuerenced in you, with many others which haue adiudged you the prize, aboue all Princes of the World. As a man suffer me to speake of your Vertue. As aboue men, for that you are glittering with so many perfections aboue humane. Pardon my presumption, in consideration of the zeale which I haue to honour that which deserues it. As a King permit me to speake the truth. Let a man looke on all sides, with the eyes of enuy, and euill speaking that spares nothing; and with the eyes of iudgement, which doe waigh all things as is meet, taking away those domestique sor­ceresses of Kings Courts, flatterie and passi­on; he shall see, that the magnanimitie of our great Henry is incomparable, and such [Page 133] as a man would desire in perfection. The desire to make himselfe immortall, by the renowne which preacheth the faire deedes after the Tombe, hath not made him pro­duce so many famous military acts. For he that hath his vnderstanding as cleare, as his courage heroicall, knowes right well that Princes may make themselues so by a thou­sand other effects of Vertue. Adrian, Tra­iane, Seuerus, and many other the most fa­mous Emperours, without giuing one blow with a sword, by iustice, sweetnes, magni­ficence, prudence, and liberalitie haue got­ten to themselues, offerings and sacrifices in the Temple of Memorie. Neither hath ambition and couetousnesse giuen him so many hats of triumphs. These are the three strongest and violentest passions, which do most rule men. After that God had called him to this Estate by a lawfull succession, what along time were all his actions rauish­ments to all the World, and monstrous workes? His hand, and his vnderstanding did euery day miracles. The desire to raigne could neuer shake his soule: when all were banded against him, and that (because hee would not be sprinckled with holy-water) all swore his ruine in the most part of Chri­stendome. [Page 134] During these stormes, and thun­der-bolts, he made a counter-battery, he thundered, he stormed by the invincible force of his courage, which could not be vanquished, but by his owne force. Forsa­ken of strangers, betrayed of his owne, de­priued of meanes, he sustained a waight which was not to be borne but by him. He surmounted all mortall accidents, he trode time and fortune vnder his feet, he executed that which was iudged of all most impossi­ble. He relyed vpon few, but his lofty spi­rit, which thought it should faile in forsa­king his first way, held it selfe immoueable among the torrents. It was Magnanimity, which as a celestial anchor did ward so ma­ny sea blowes, in so horrible & sudden a sea­tempest. That very thing, by a more high cōsideration, made him obedient to reason, to gaine by a iust change the reputatiō to be equall and iudicious; and to take away the imagination, to be vnpitifull and obstinate. Behold two notable victories, he hath sur­mounted his friends, and his enemies, he hath vanquished himselfe. If these two frenzies of men that I haue spoken of, Am­bition and the desire of riches, had had ad­uantage ouer him; he would from the first [Page 135] day (to auoid so many troubles, to destroy wholly so many cruell Hydraes, against which he was forced to contest so long) haue yeelded: but hee beleeued hee should haue done wrong to his Vertue.

Not any of the other accidentall causes alleadged, did make him perseuere in that high resolution but one onely, which is, the presence of the King. He was alwaies with him. This continuall representation, increa­sed his courage, raised vp his spirit, and strengthened his armes. He did feare to do any thing vnworthy of the King, he would alwaies be like himselfe. Because I haue discoursed at length, of this particularity, in the treatise which I made vpon the conuer­sation of his Maiestie, I will speake no more of it. After that this excellent Prince had the Flowre de Luce assured, and the Crown well fastened vpon his head, let a man mark all his actions; he shall see that he hath al­waies been the same man he was before, with the same greatnes of courage, hauing no other aime, but to doe well, nor other end but the safetie of his people. It would require many Volumes, to describe wor­thily the high and incredible executions of this great Captaine. With what industry, [Page 136] with what inuentions hath this admirable King, raised so many faire Pyramides, ere­cted so many Colosses, built so many The­atres, and Amphi-theatres of his glory? with the magnanimity, which hath not car­ried, but wrapt him to infinite perils, made his body of marble with continuall toy­ling, his spirit alwaies watching in the am­bushes of fortune, his heart infatigable to all sorts of trauells, and as vnconquerable by his enemies, as by the infinite paines which he suffred in this perpetual torment. Among so many miseries, as enuy, fortune, the corruptiō of the age, the vnheard of ob­stinacy of his subiects, who would haue bu­ried themselues aliue haue shewed, with so much cōfusiō: let vs a litle behold the incō ­parable greatnes of the vertue of this Chri­stian Hercules. At these earthquaks, at these ouertures of the deeps, at these inundations, at these furious and enraged winds, he con­tinued firme as a rocke. By his Prudence he hath brought a sleepe the waking Dra­gons; by his force he hath put in peices the most strong; by his liberalitie, he hath tro­den vnder foot the most insatiable, to chase them as Harpyes, to the comfort of his peo­ple; by his sweetnesse he hath hazarded [Page 137] his life a thousand times, to keepe it for his owne; and by his mercie, hee hath exposed himselfe as a sacrifice, to redeeme his King­dome from the captiuity of Egypt.

Valourous King, and gentle Father: A­mong so many troubles, the last care that he had was of himselfe, whom he had for­gotten for others. Whosoeuer shall well behold all without passion, will be amazed, as if he had seen the face of Medusa, and will not beleeue his eyes, much lesse his eares, and his fantasie; and will be constrai­ned to swoone with admiration. In this Ta­ble, there is not so much as a figure, or li­neament, not so much as a shadow, either of Ambition or Couetousnesse: All is Ver­tue.

This last proofe, so notable, and so im­portant to the Estate, hath of new shewed by good tokens, that this holy fire of Ver­tue, and of the desire to doe well, which kindled him with so much ardour, hath lost nothing of his gallantnes and extraordinary vigour. He ran to that fearefull and vnexpe­cted blow, and of Amious, which had shaken this Estate, filled with astonishment both strangers and all the Realme, which were but newly recouered from so long a sicknes. [Page 138] Hee had seene at Rouen the Anatomic of France, so leane, that it had nothing but skin and bone, hauing the body all couered with vlcers, afflicted with a lingring ague, which the continuall ague had left her, all in a gangrene, full of miseries, and as it were desperate of remedy, with a generall sub­uersion of her Iustice and Piety. At this time then, our King, knowing better then any other so much necessitie, without men, without mony, not seeing almost any means to remedy this high mischiefe, which had seized this Estate in a time so dangerous, put on with the zeale to succour his people, iealous of the glory of his subiects, as desi­rous both of their conseruation, and of their felicitie, went speedily to besiege this great and strong Towne; where to speake better he besieged himselfe. His spirit and cou­rage did neuer find any thing difficil. There was meanes to recouer this faire piece, the way thereto was open. He was called by the repose whereof he had need, to breath a little after so long trauells. The necessity and pouertie of the Realme enuited him. They offered conditions that he might ac­cept, as others haue done in like case with­out reproach. But because hee would not [Page 139] leaue so much as a shadow of want of faith to strangers, nor of affection to the dignitie and splendor of his Name, and honour of the Kingdome, hee chose rather to passe through the mountaine, then through the plaine. Beeing there, he was furnished at all points, exposing himselfe to a thousand dangers to saue the Commonwealth. Iudg­ment guided him. It was to assure his peo­ple; hee shewed himselfe as hee is; it was needfull for the small number that he had. For the space of fowre moneths, they with­in tooke more then those without, which they knew wel. The presence of this French Cesar serued for a mighty army, he found himselfe sufficient. His incomparable zeale to the publique good, the necessity of the times, and his diuine courage would haue it so. All went therein according to the compasse of Vertue. There was but one vnequall motion, (I put one knee to the ground) too much courage was the most dangerous enemy, both of himselfe and of France. These high spirits, wholly diuine, which doe act by some celestial inspiration, doe despise with disdaine the most dange­rous accidents, and doe beleeue that no mortall thing hath power ouer them. The [Page 140] Commonwealth cries, let there be regard had to the particular conseruation, for the generall. This is in this admirable Prince a defect which testifieth a rare perfection, and a figure of humanity, which surpasseth man.

I haue said here before; that Magnamity was the Queene of Vertues: I say, shee is their Mother, and hath engendred them all in our King. It is by her, that the spirit making no account of vulgar, and common things, penetrating the obscurities of igno­rance, and dispersing them, can discerne the day from the night, the good from the e­uill, to be armed against all sorts of euents, with the light of prudence. It is shee, that makes a man forgiue his enemies, by set­ting his foot vpon the throate of that de­spitefull saluage beast reuenge; so naturall to man, a Vertue very extraordinary, as be­ing quite contrary to nature; a triumph, which surpasseth all the triumphs of Ma­rius, a glorious victory, as rare as dificill. It is shee, who burying that deformed and insatiable furie couetousnes, rendreth to e­uery one, that which is his due, not retai­ning the least displeasure for hauing the goods of another man; beeing content with [Page 141] her selfe, and not knowing any thing that may equall her. It is she that driueth away Vanity, despising all the smoakes which the pusilanimious doe adore. Shee flies at the Kite, and at the Riuer, meddles with subiects that are most solide, and thinkes that they which stay themselues at petty things, be not capable of great ones. Which is weaknes, either they doe not knowe them, which is ignorance; or doe despise them which is folly. It is she which makes no account of the flowers, and fruites of fortune, which be the riches, that shee holds as one of her instruments, wherewith she distributes magnificently, thinking that to doe good to others, and to make many happy, makes a man approach nearest to God. It is she, that banisheth cruelty, pre­sumption, pride, and all the other deformi­ties, which makes the soule vnknowne to it selfe. It is she that mockes at Fortune that afflicteth by her perseuerance the afflictions themselues, that braueth necessity, that laughes among hurts, in the gulphes of death, in the middest of blood, fire, sul­phure, the ship-pitch, & the harquebusses. In insupportable maladies, shee makes her selfe insupportable to the sicknes it selfe, [Page 142] which cannot suffer her, she findes her selfe inuincible throughout: why? because she beeing not accustomed to be subdued, doth not know any thing in the world higher then her selfe, she aspireth to heauen, from whence shee beleeues shee is come, shee makes enuie, and all other follies of men, to burst with despite, which shee contem­neth, and driueth farre from her. In good fortunes, and happy successes, which often­times, makes the most temperate disorde­red, she shewes her selfe modest. So is she the Mother of courtesie, and of mercy. In the greatest crosses, and most furious blowes, of mischeifes, shee is inconquera­ble, high eleuated, by her constant resolu­tion. Shee giues place to none, either in bounty or force, alwayes in the same bal­lance, that is to say, alwayes like her selfe. It is no meruaile, if fewe men be indued with this so perfect a Vertue, seeing that all that is within and without in man, is bent against it, whole man is repugnant vnto it. Nature, (as I haue said) doth learne the quite contrary, to that shee sheweth; flesh and blood be her mortall enemies; i­magination, and apprehension, her capitall enemies. She passeth further, and makes [Page 143] her selfe place, offring a terrible drinke of gall to the naturall distast of man. That is the reason, the Auncients did make Al­tars, erect statues, build Temples, iudge of triumphes, eleuate Pyramedes to the me­mory of them which had employed their liues for the Commonwealth. The Scep­ters, the Crownes, and all the orders of Honour which be in the world, were inuen­ted for this end, to giue courage to men to loose themselues for others. These be the dazelings and the magicke inchauntments, that humane weakenesse hath need of, not onely to incite, but to transport them to dificill, and perillous actions, so trouble­some is this lesson to man. Yet all this pre­paration, is onely for courages least noble, and for spirits least accomplished: for Ver­tue regards nothing but her owne action, shee sees no further, shee is her selfe the bounds of her partition, no other thing be­longing to her, shee giues ouer her part to weaknes, neither hope of reward, nor the apprehension of any blame, nor the feare of punishment, nor any other common, or ordinary considerations doe mooue her. One thing onely commaunds her with a wand, the desire to doe well. Yet my mea­ning [Page 144] is not, that a vertuous man should re­fuse the iust Honours that are done vnto him, as did the auncient Cato, who would neuer suffer any Statues to bee erected for him: but I say, that should not be his in­tention, but the consideration onely of the vertuous action. The most magnanimious themselues haue need of some prouocation, to awaken their spirits, which otherwise would be more sleepie, and more soft. They be men It is a default of humanity. Man that is wholly borne to miserie, hath need of outward obiects to mooue his stupidity, and to warme his ice. Hee hath neede of a wheele, with a great spring and a very sharpe fire. But if there may be found any spirits of this diuine stampe, it must be in this Kingdome: Although ambition, and anarice, haue almost corrupted all. There remaines yet of these incorruptible Vir­gins, which be all of fire in laudable acti­ons. Among this faire Nobility of France, there may be seene some, who haue this Vertue within a little, euen as I doe repre­sent it; and abundance that doe approach vnto it. It is also the light of the world, the quintescence of men, the admiration of the earth, the firme foundation of this pu­issant [Page 145] Estate, the soule of the Royalty, and the glistering day of this great Court. She is borne wholly to Vertue: Shee of whom I speake is her familiar. Shee hath but too much transport in perill, shee would cast her selfe into the deepe, shee should rather be deiected, shee flies with gallantnesse, which carries her too often to timerity, and to quarrells. These be two maimes, which doe hinder the perfection of this Vertue, which is neither foolish nor quarrelsome; which intruth cannot suffer an iniurie, but doth well waigh it, before shee be prouo­ked; which hath no pride, and will not take any aduantage vpon another, but by wor­thy actions; which is neither a swaggerer, nor contemptuous. Because shee contents her selfe with effects, and mockes at the rest. If these two defaults were cut off, what great persons would France bring forth? What excellent pollitiques? What worthy Captaines? Our King is happy to haue so many faire lights to lighten this Estate; so many vnmooueable vaults to su­staine it, so many strong bastions to defend it. And you Nobility, how you are fauoured of heauen to haue such a Head, so shining [Page 146] with a thousand Sunnes of Honour, and so couered with Crownes of glory. It is the greatnesse of Kings, to haue neare them a multitude of persons famous by excellent markes. The glory of Iupiter had beene small, if he had raigned ouer the Cyclops, the Centaures, and the Satyres onely. The inuincible Mars, the venerable Saturne, and those other gods, made his Empire re­doubtable. One Lyon had rather obey a­nother, then to haue no commandement, but ouer the Foynes of Alexandria, and the Apes of the great Caire.

If any man thinke, that I doe set out an imaginary Vertue, and which cannot be in man, in that fashion that I describe it, but by diuine inspiration; let him know (if he please) that extraordinary actions also, doe not come but from heauen. In truth I con­fesse, it is very hard in this so peruerse a time, wherein the foundations of all Ver­tues, be turned topsie-turuie. But let a man behold the auncient Romanes, the Lacede­monians, and the Athenians, they shall there marke out Scipio's, Epaminondase's, and A­ristide's, who haue had this Vertue of Mag­nanimity, with all the conditions and cir­cumstances [Page 147] alleadged. Why shall not the Frenchmen be as capable, seeing they haue inherited by their great Vertues, to those of the auncients? I will not speak of Charle­mayne, and of the worthies. During the raigne of King Francis the 1. how many no­table, and admirable personages did ho­nour France? In that time there was the most magnificent, and triumphant Colledge of Honour, that was vnder the heauens, to make Vertue be beloued, to daaw a man from the Centre, and to make him a demy­god among men. It was the order of the King. This temple of glory, and of Vertue, was so sacred, that at that time, there were found in all the Realme but thirteene, that were worthy to enter therein. It is another discourse, which I will leaue for this time, and will say only, that this high, excellent, and diuine mother of Vertues, Magnanimi­ty, may be acquired by discourse, and by vse, and that a man may make himselfe ca­pable of it. Ignorance, for that it knowes her not in all her parts, is one of the strong­est barres, that doth hinder the laudable designes of them, which doe aspire to ef­fects, which doe drawe out of the mire, and [Page 148] out of the ordinary high-way. Pride min­gles it selfe there among, with other defects which doe strangle the fairest actions at their birth, and makes abortiues thereof instead of perfect formes. The most part haue an opinion that it must be so, others are perswaded thereunto because they are brought vp in that errour. A long custome hath made them so sicke of the Lethargie. It is but want of curiositie, to seeke out wherein lyeth cheifely the point, which raiseth a man most high. If that were very exactly waighed, one should roote out all the euill rootes, one should cut off all the rotten branches, one should cleanse this faire tree of life, which makes a man de­spise death, beate fortune and time to the ground, and triumph ouer all humane things. There is nothing impossible to a generous spirit. If it bee guided by a so­lide iudgement, it will alwayes choose the best. All the circumstances aboue-said, are to be neerely considered in this Ver­tue so rare, and dificill, that her name is prophaned, which I will paint out, as it ought and may be, and as it must be appre­hended.

[Page 149] Let them then, that are in the heate of the skirmish, couered with blood, earth and smoake, pressed of all sides, thrust, strooke, and peirced, say in their conscien­ces how they doe there, how they like: let them sound themselues, let them not flat­ter, nor pardon themselues any fault: let them behold themselues, in all their looks, if their hearts remaine assured, firme, and without feare; if they keepe their iudge­ment; if they be neither transported with furie, nor rage; if all their steps bee com­passed according to the time, the occasion, and the place; if the eye doe accompany the hand, the hand the foote, the vnder­standing, and the courage, all three, with­out doubt they may be called Gentle com­panions. These be good testimonies, but yet a man may reiect them, if they be not accompanied with other proofes. If the desire of Vertue onely, and the considerati­on, of the seruice of the Prince, of the good of the Commonwealth, of the protection of the weake, or other very iust causes, doe leade them to these tragicke feasts, they are worthy of Laurell. But if they haue many times rendred such proofes, and that [Page 150] the end be altogether for the faire action, and neither ignorance, ambition, nor vani­ties, haue part in the worke; they must Crowne them with palme, and consecrate statues vnto them. Let not them that haue not yet attained, the third step of this faire ladder, by which men do climbe to immor­tality, be out of heart, and let them know, that the discourse of reason, meditation, and experience, will bring vnto them with the time, if they will imploy their vnder­standing, and take paines therein, that which the first haue acquired. Let others that shall haue but some weake tract of this faire table, and simple mouldes of so rare a building, reuerence the first, honour the second, and endeauour to imitate them. or make their vowes to some other Saint, that may be more fauourable vnto them. Also let not the first thinke that there bee certaine regular limits in doing well. Let them beleeue, that Vertue neuer waxeth old, to the end that their last act may an­swer to the former. Let not them that doe second the Vertue of the most excellent, be rauished with ioy, for that they haue giuen some good testimony of their Valour; nei­ther [Page 151] let them be reiected because they haue not in perfection the ornaments of o­thers. Let not the last despaire in this rough roade, because they know themselues a little hindred therein. So the most vertu­ous following their way, shall continue to the ende, which Crownes the worke; the others shall endeauour with the time to succeed them in faire actions as in will, and knowledge: And the last shall change their designes by despaire, or their condition by their amendment.