This edition of The Anatomy of Melancholy is based on a nineteenth-century edition that modernized Burton's spelling and typographic conventions. In preparing this electronic version, it became evident that the editor had made a variety of mistakes in this modernization: some words were left in their original spelling (unusual words were a particular problem), portions of book titles were mistaken for proper names, proper names were mistaken for book titles or Latin words, etc. A certain number of misprints were also introduced into the Latin. As a result, I have re-edited the text, checking it against images of the 1638 edition, and correcting all errors not present in the earlier edition. I have continued to follow the general editorial practice of the base text for quotation marks, italics, etc. Rare words have been normalized according to their primary spelling in the Oxford English Dictionary. When Burton spells a person's name in several ways, I have normalized the names to the most common spelling, or to modern practice if well-known. In a few cases, mistakes present in both the 1638 edition and the base text have been corrected. These are always minor reference errors (e.g., an incorrect or missing section number in the synopses, or misnumbered footnotes). Incorrect citations to other texts (Burton seems to quote by memory and sometimes gets it wrong) have not been changed if they are wrong in both editions. To display some symbols (astrological signs, etc.) the HTML version requires a browser with unicode support. Most recent browsers should be OK.—KTH
FRONTISPIECE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION
[Illustration: 1. Democritus Abderites; 2. Zelotypia 3. Solitudo; 4. Inamorato; 5. Hypocondriacus; 6. Superstitiosus; 7. Maniacus; 8. Borage; 9. Hellebor; 10. Democritus Junior
THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY
What it is, with all the kinds, causes, symptoms, prognostics, and several cures of it.
In three Partitions, with their several Sections, numbers, and subsections.
Philosophically, medicinally, Historically, opened and cut up.
By Democritus Junior
With a Satyrical Preface conducing to the following Discourse.
The Sixth Edition, corrected and augmented by the Author.
Omne tulit punctum, qui miscit utile dulce.
Printed & to be sold by Hen. Crips & Lodo Lloyd at their shop in Popes-head Alley. 1652]
THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY,
WHAT IT IS,
ALL THE KINDS, CAUSES, SYMPTOMS, PROGNOSTICS, AND SEVERAL CURES OF IT.
IN THREE PARTITIONS.
WITH THEIR SEVERAL
SECTIONS, MEMBERS, AND SUBSECTIONS, PHILOSOPHICALLY, MEDICALLY, HISTORICALLY OPENED AND CUT UP.
BY DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR.
WITH A SATIRICAL PREFACE, CONDUCING TO THE FOLLOWING DISCOURSE.
A NEW EDITION, CORRECTED, AND ENRICHED BY TRANSLATIONS OF THE NUMEROUS CLASSICAL EXTRACTS.
BY DEMOCRITUS MINOR.
TO WHICH IS PREFIXED AN ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci.
He that joins instruction with delight, Profit with pleasure, carries all the votes.
NON MINVS VIRTUTE SUA, QUAM GENERIS SPLENDORE,
MILITI DE BALNEO, BARONI DE BERKLEY, MOUBREY, SEGRAVE,
D. DE BRUSE,
DOMINO SUO MULTIS NOMINIBUS OBSERVANDO,
JAM SEXTO REVISAM, D.D.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE LAST LONDON EDITION.
The work now restored to public notice has had an extraordinary fate. At the time of its original publication it obtained a great celebrity, which continued more than half a century. During that period few books were more read, or more deservedly applauded. It was the delight of the learned, the solace of the indolent, and the refuge of the uninformed. It passed through at least eight editions, by which the bookseller, as WOOD records, got an estate; and, notwithstanding the objection sometimes opposed against it, of a quaint style, and too great an accumulation of authorities, the fascination of its wit, fancy, and sterling sense, have borne down all censures, and extorted praise from the first Writers in the English language. The grave JOHNSON has praised it in the warmest terms, and the ludicrous STERNE has interwoven many parts of it into his own popular performance. MILTON did not disdain to build two of his finest poems on it; and a host of inferior writers have embellished their works with beauties not their own, culled from a performance which they had not the justice even to mention. Change of times, and the frivolity of fashion, suspended, in some degree, that fame which had lasted near a century; and the succeeding generation affected indifference towards an author, who at length was only looked into by the plunderers of literature, the poachers in obscure volumes. The plagiarisms of Tristram Shandy, so successfully brought to light by DR. FERRIAR, at length drew the attention of the public towards a writer, who, though then little known, might, without impeachment of modesty, lay claim to every mark of respect; and inquiry proved, beyond a doubt, that the calls of justice had been little attended to by others, as well as the facetious YORICK. WOOD observed, more than a century ago, that several authors had unmercifully stolen matter from BURTON without any acknowledgment. The time, however, at length arrived, when the merits of the Anatomy of Melancholy were to receive their due praise. The book was again sought for and read, and again it became an applauded performance. Its excellencies once more stood confessed, in the increased price which every copy offered for sale produced; and the increased demand pointed out the necessity of a new edition. This is now presented to the public in a manner not disgraceful to the memory of the author; and the publisher relies with confidence, that so valuable a repository of amusement and information will continue to hold the rank to which it has been restored, firmly supported by its own merit, and safe from the influence and blight of any future caprices of fashion. To open its valuable mysteries to those who have not had the advantage of a classical education, translations of the countless quotations from ancient writers which occur in the work, are now for the first time given, and obsolete orthography is in all instances modernized.
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
Robert Burton was the son of Ralph Burton, of an ancient and genteel family at Lindley, in Leicestershire, and was born there on the 8th of February 1576. He received the first rudiments of learning at the free school of Sutton Coldfield, in Warwickshire from whence he was, at the age of seventeen, in the long vacation, 1593, sent to Brazen Nose College, in the condition of a commoner, where he made considerable progress in logic and philosophy. In 1599 he was elected student of Christ Church, and, for form's sake, was put under the tuition of Dr. John Bancroft, afterwards Bishop of Oxford. In 1614 he was admitted to the reading of the Sentences, and on the 29th of November, 1616, had the vicarage of St. Thomas, in the west suburb of Oxford, conferred on him by the dean and canons of Christ Church, which, with the rectory of Segrave, in Leicestershire, given to him in the year 1636, by George, Lord Berkeley, he kept, to use the words of the Oxford antiquary, with much ado to his dying day. He seems to have been first beneficed at Walsby, in Lincolnshire, through the munificence of his noble patroness, Frances, Countess Dowager of Exeter, but resigned the same, as he tells us, for some special reasons. At his vicarage he is remarked to have always given the sacrament in wafers. Wood's character of him is, that "he was an exact mathematician, a curious calculator of nativities, a general read scholar, a thorough-paced philologist, and one that understood the surveying of lands well. As he was by many accounted a severe student, a devourer of authors, a melancholy and humorous person; so by others, who knew him well, a person of great honesty, plain dealing and charity. I have heard some of the ancients of Christ Church often say, that his company was very merry, facete, and juvenile; and no man in his time did surpass him for his ready and dexterous interlarding his common discourses among them with verses from the poets, or sentences from classic authors; which being then all the fashion in the University, made his company the more acceptable." He appears to have been a universal reader of all kinds of books, and availed himself of his multifarious studies in a very extraordinary manner. From the information of Hearne, we learn that John Rouse, the Bodleian librarian, furnished him with choice books for the prosecution of his work. The subject of his labour and amusement, seems to have been adopted from the infirmities of his own habit and constitution. Mr. Granger says, "He composed this book with a view of relieving his own melancholy, but increased it to such a degree, that nothing could make him laugh, but going to the bridge-foot and hearing the ribaldry of the bargemen, which rarely failed to throw him into a violent fit of laughter. Before he was overcome with this horrid disorder, he, in the intervals of his vapours, was esteemed one of the most facetious companions in the University."
His residence was chiefly at Oxford; where, in his chamber in Christ Church College, he departed this life, at or very near the time which he had some years before foretold, from the calculation of his own nativity, and which, says Wood, "being exact, several of the students did not forbear to whisper among themselves, that rather than there should be a mistake in the calculation, he sent up his soul to heaven through a slip about his neck." Whether this suggestion is founded in truth, we have no other evidence than an obscure hint in the epitaph hereafter inserted, which was written by the author himself, a short time before his death. His body, with due solemnity, was buried near that of Dr. Robert Weston, in the north aisle which joins next to the choir of the cathedral of Christ Church, on the 27th of January 1639-40. Over his grave was soon after erected a comely monument, on the upper pillar of the said aisle, with his bust, painted to the life. On the right hand is the following calculation of his nativity:
and under the bust, this inscription of his own composition:—
Paucis notus, paucioribus ignotus, Hic jacet Democritus junior Cui vitam dedit et mortem Melancholia Ob. 8 Id. Jan. A. C. MDCXXXIX.
Arms:—Azure on a bend O. between three dogs' heads O. a crescent G.
A few months before his death, he made his will, of which the following is a copy:
EXTRACTED FROM THE REGISTRY OF THE PREROGATIVE COURT OF CANTERBURY.
In nomine Dei Amen. August 15th One thousand six hundred thirty nine because there be so many casualties to which our life is subject besides quarrelling and contention which happen to our Successors after our Death by reason of unsettled Estates I Robert Burton Student of Christ-church Oxon. though my means be but small have thought good by this my last Will and Testament to dispose of that little which I have and being at this present I thank God in perfect health of Bodie and Mind and if this Testament be not so formal according to the nice and strict terms of Law and other Circumstances peradventure required of which I am ignorant I desire howsoever this my Will may be accepted and stand good according to my true Intent and meaning First I bequeath Animam Deo Corpus Terrae whensoever it shall please God to call me I give my Land in Higham which my good Father Ralphe Burton of Lindly in the County of Leicester Esquire gave me by Deed of Gift and that which I have annexed to that Farm by purchase since, now leased for thirty eight pounds per Ann. to mine Elder Brother William Burton of Lindly Esquire during his life and after him to his Heirs I make my said Brother William likewise mine Executor as well as paying such Annuities and Legacies out of my Lands and Goods as are hereafter specified I give to my nephew Cassibilan Burton twenty pounds Annuity per Ann. out of my Land in Higham during his life to be paid at two equal payments at our Lady Day in Lent and Michaelmas or if he be not paid within fourteen Days after the said Feasts to distrain on any part of the Ground or on any of my Lands of Inheritance Item I give to my Sister Katherine Jackson during her life eight pounds per Ann. Annuity to be paid at the two Feasts equally as above said or else to distrain on the Ground if she be not paid after fourteen days at Lindly as the other some is out of the said Land Item I give to my Servant John Upton the Annuity of Forty Shillings out of my said Farme during his life (if till then my Servant) to be paid on Michaelmas day in Lindley each year or else after fourteen days to distrain Now for my goods I thus dispose them First I give an C'th pounds to Christ Church in Oxford where I have so long lived to buy five pounds Lands per Ann. to be Yearly bestowed on Books for the Library Item I give an hundredth pound to the University Library of Oxford to be bestowed to purchase five pound Land per Ann. to be paid out Yearly on Books as Mrs. Brooks formerly gave an hundred pounds to buy Land to the same purpose and the Rent to the same use I give to my Brother George Burton twenty pounds and my watch I give to my Brother Ralph Burton five pounds Item I give to the Parish of Seagrave in Leicestershire where I am now Rector ten pounds to be given to a certain Feoffees to the perpetual good of the said Parish Oxon Item I give to my Niece Eugenia Burton One hundredth pounds Item I give to my Nephew Richard Burton now Prisoner in London an hundredth pound to redeem him Item I give to the Poor of Higham Forty Shillings where my Land is to the poor of Nuneaton where I was once a Grammar Scholar three pound to my Cousin Purfey of Wadlake [Wadley] my Cousin Purfey of Calcott my Cousin Hales of Coventry my Nephew Bradshaw of Orton twenty shillings a piece for a small remembrance to Mr. Whitehall Rector of Cherkby myne own Chamber Fellow twenty shillings I desire my Brother George and my Cosen Purfey of Calcott to be the Overseers of this part of my Will I give moreover five pounds to make a small Monument for my Mother where she is buried in London to my Brother Jackson forty shillings to my Servant John Upton forty shillings besides his former Annuity if he be my Servant till I die if he be till then my Servant —ROBERT BURTON—Charles Russell Witness—John Pepper Witness.
An Appendix to this my Will if I die in Oxford or whilst I am of Christ Church and with good Mr. Paynes August the Fifteenth 1639.
I give to Mr. Doctor Fell Dean of Christ Church Forty Shillings to the Eight Canons twenty Shillings a piece as a small remembrance to the poor of St. Thomas Parish Twenty Shillings to Brasenose Library five pounds to Mr. Rowse of Oriell Colledge twenty Shillings to Mr. Heywood xxs. to Dr. Metcalfe xxs. to Mr. Sherley xxs. If I have any Books the University Library hath not, let them take them If I have any Books our own Library hath not, let them take them I give to Mrs. Fell all my English Books of Husbandry one excepted to her Daughter Mrs. Katherine Fell my Six Pieces of Silver Plate and six Silver spoons to Mrs. Iles my Gerards Herball To Mrs. Morris my Country Farme Translated out of French 4. and all my English Physick Books to Mr. Whistler the Recorder of Oxford I give twenty shillings to all my fellow Students Mrs of Arts a Book in fol. or two a piece as Master Morris Treasurer or Mr. Dean shall appoint whom I request to be the Overseer of this Appendix and give him for his pains Atlas Geografer and Ortelius Theatrum Mond' I give to John Fell the Dean's Son Student my Mathematical Instruments except my two Crosse Staves which I give to my Lord of Donnol if he be then of the House To Thomas Iles Doctor Iles his Son Student Saluntch on Paurrhelia and Lucian's Works in 4 Tomes If any books be left let my Executors dispose of them with all such Books as are written with my own hands and half my Melancholy Copy for Crips hath the other half To Mr. Jones Chaplin and Chanter my Surveying Books and Instruments To the Servants of the House Forty Shillings ROB. BURTON—Charles Russell Witness—John Pepper Witness—This Will was shewed to me by the Testator and acknowledged by him some few days before his death to be his last Will Ita Testor John Morris S Th D. Prebendari' Eccl Chri' Oxon Feb. 3, 1639.
Probatum fuit Testamentum suprascriptum, &c. 11 deg. 1640 Juramento Willmi Burton Fris' et Executoris cui &c. de bene et fideliter administrand. &c. coram Mag'ris Nathanaele Stephens Rectore Eccl. de Drayton, et Edwardo Farmer, Clericis, vigore commissionis, &c.
The only work our author executed was that now reprinted, which probably was the principal employment of his life. Dr. Ferriar says, it was originally published in the year 1617; but this is evidently a mistake; the first edition was that printed in 4to, 1621, a copy of which is at present in the collection of John Nichols, Esq., the indefatigable illustrator of the History of Leicestershire; to whom, and to Isaac Reed, Esq., of Staple Inn, this account is greatly indebted for its accuracy. The other impressions of it were in 1624, 1628, 1632, 1638, 1651-2, 1660, and 1676, which last, in the titlepage, is called the eighth edition.
The copy from which the present is reprinted, is that of 1651-2; at the conclusion of which is the following address:
"TO THE READER.
"Be pleased to know (Courteous Reader) that since the last Impression of this Book, the ingenuous Author of it is deceased, leaving a Copy of it exactly corrected, with several considerable Additions by his own hand; this Copy he committed to my care and custody, with directions to have those Additions inserted in the next Edition; which in order to his command, and the Publicke Good, is faithfully performed in this last Impression."
H. C. (i.e. HEN. CRIPPS.)
The following testimonies of various authors will serve to show the estimation in which this work has been held:—
"The ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, wherein the author hath piled up variety of much excellent learning. Scarce any book of philology in our land hath, in so short a time, passed so many editions."—Fuller's Worthies, fol. 16.
"'Tis a book so full of variety of reading, that gentlemen who have lost their time, and are put to a push for invention, may furnish themselves with matter for common or scholastical discourse and writing."—Wood's Athenae Oxoniensis, vol. i. p. 628. 2d edit.
"If you never saw BURTON UPON MELANCHOLY, printed 1676, I pray look into it, and read the ninth page of his Preface, 'Democritus to the Reader.' There is something there which touches the point we are upon; but I mention the author to you, as the pleasantest, the most learned, and the most full of sterling sense. The wits of Queen Anne's reign, and the beginning of George the First, were not a little beholden to him."—Archbishop Herring's Letters, 12mo. 1777. p. 149.
"BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, he (Dr. Johnson) said, was the only book that ever took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to rise."—Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. i. p. 580. 8vo. edit.
"BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY is a valuable book," said Dr. Johnson. "It is, perhaps, overloaded with quotation. But there is great spirit and great power in what Burton says when he writes from his own mind."—Ibid, vol. ii. p. 325.
"It will be no detraction from the powers of Milton's original genius and invention, to remark, that he seems to have borrowed the subject of L' Allegro and Il Penseroso, together with some particular thoughts, expressions, and rhymes, more especially the idea of a contrast between these two dispositions, from a forgotten poem prefixed to the first edition of BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, entitled, 'The Author's Abstract of Melancholy; or, A Dialogue between Pleasure and Pain.' Here pain is melancholy. It was written, as I conjecture, about the year 1600. I will make no apology for abstracting and citing as much of this poem as will be sufficient to prove, to a discerning reader, how far it had taken possession of Milton's mind. The measure will appear to be the same; and that our author was at least an attentive reader of Burton's book, may be already concluded from the traces of resemblance which I have incidentally noticed in passing through the L' Allegro and Il Penseroso."—After extracting the lines, Mr. Warton adds, "as to the very elaborate work to which these visionary verses are no unsuitable introduction, the writer's variety of learning, his quotations from scarce and curious books, his pedantry sparkling with rude wit and shapeless elegance, miscellaneous matter, intermixture of agreeable tales and illustrations, and, perhaps, above all, the singularities of his feelings, clothed in an uncommon quaintness of style, have contributed to render it, even to modern readers, a valuable repository of amusement and information."—Warton's Milton, 2d edit. p. 94.
"THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY is a book which has been universally read and admired. This work is, for the most part, what the author himself styles it, 'a cento;' but it is a very ingenious one. His quotations, which abound in every page, are pertinent; but if he had made more use of his invention and less of his commonplace-book, his work would perhaps have been more valuable than it is. He is generally free from the affected language and ridiculous metaphors which disgrace most of the books of his time."—Granger's Biographical History.
"BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, a book once the favourite of the learned and the witty, and a source of surreptitious learning, though written on a regular plan, consists chiefly of quotations: the author has honestly termed it a cento. He collects, under every division, the opinions of a multitude of writers, without regard to chronological order, and has too often the modesty to decline the interposition of his own sentiments. Indeed the bulk of his materials generally overwhelms him. In the course of his folio he has contrived to treat a great variety of topics, that seem very loosely connected with the general subject; and, like Bayle, when he starts a favourite train of quotations, he does not scruple to let the digression outrun the principal question. Thus, from the doctrines of religion to military discipline, from inland navigation to the morality of dancing-schools, every thing is discussed and determined."—Ferriar's Illustrations of Sterne, p. 58.
"The archness which BURTON displays occasionally, and his indulgence of playful digressions from the most serious discussions, often give his style an air of familiar conversation, notwithstanding the laborious collections which supply his text. He was capable of writing excellent poetry, but he seems to have cultivated this talent too little. The English verses prefixed to his book, which possess beautiful imagery, and great sweetness of versification, have been frequently published. His Latin elegiac verses addressed to his book, shew a very agreeable turn for raillery."—Ibid. p. 58.
"When the force of the subject opens his own vein of prose, we discover valuable sense and brilliant expression. Such is his account of the first feelings of melancholy persons, written, probably, from his own experience." [See p. 154, of the present edition.]—Ibid. p. 60.
"During a pedantic age, like that in which BURTON'S production appeared, it must have been eminently serviceable to writers of many descriptions. Hence the unlearned might furnish themselves with appropriate scraps of Greek and Latin, whilst men of letters would find their enquiries shortened, by knowing where they might look for what both ancients and moderns had advanced on the subject of human passions. I confess my inability to point out any other English author who has so largely dealt in apt and original quotation."—Manuscript note of the late George Steevens, Esq., in his copy of THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY.
DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR AD LIBRUM SUUM.
Vade liber, qualis, non ausum dicere, felix, Te nisi felicem fecerit Alma dies. Vade tamen quocunque lubet, quascunque per oras, Et Genium Domini fac imitere tui. I blandas inter Charites, mystamque saluta Musarum quemvis, si tibi lector erit. Rura colas, urbem, subeasve palatia regum, Submisse, placide, te sine dente geras. Nobilis, aut si quis te forte inspexerit heros, Da te morigerum, perlegat usque lubet. Est quod nobilitas, est quod desideret heros, Gratior haec forsan charta placere potest. Si quis morosus Cato, tetricusque Senator, Hunc etiam librum forte videre velit, Sive magistratus, tum te reverenter habeto; Sed nullus; muscas non capiunt Aquilae. Non vacat his tempus fugitivum impendere nugis, Nec tales cupio; par mihi lector erit. Si matrona gravis casu diverterit istuc, Illustris domina, aut te Comitissa legat: Est quod displiceat, placeat quod forsitan illis, Ingerere his noli te modo, pande tamen. At si virgo tuas dignabitur inclyta chartas Tangere, sive schedis haereat illa tuis: Da modo te facilem, et quaedam folia esse memento Conveniant oculis quae magis apta suis. Si generosa ancilla tuos aut alma puella Visura est ludos, annue, pande lubens. Dic utinam nunc ipse meus (nam diligit istas) In praesens esset conspiciendus herus. Ignotus notusve mihi de gente togata Sive aget in ludis, pulpita sive colet, Sive in Lycaeo, et nugas evolverit istas, Si quasdam mendas viderit inspiciens, Da veniam Authori, dices; nam plurima vellet Expungi, quae jam displicuisse sciat. Sive Melancholicus quisquam, seu blandus Amator, Aulicus aut Civis, seu bene comptus eques Huc appellat, age et tuto te crede legenti, Multa istic forsan non male nata leget. Quod fugiat, caveat, quodque amplexabitur, ista Pagina fortassis promere multa potest. At si quis Medicus coram te sistet, amice Fac circumspecte, et te sine labe geras: Inveniet namque ipse meis quoque plurima scriptis, Non leve subsidium quae sibi forsan erunt. Si quis Causidicus chartas impingat in istas, Nil mihi vobiscum, pessima turba vale; Sit nisi vir bonus, et juris sine fraude peritus, Tum legat, et forsan doctior inde siet. Si quis cordatus, facilis, lectorque benignus Huc oculos vertat, quae velit ipse legat; Candidus ignoscet, metuas nil, pande libenter, Offensus mendis non erit ille tuis, Laudabit nonnulla. Venit si Rhetor ineptus, Limata et tersa, et qui bene cocta petit, Claude citus librum; nulla hic nisi ferrea verba, Offendent stomachum quae minus apta suum. At si quis non eximius de plebe poeta, Annue; namque istic plurima ficta leget. Nos sumus e numero, nullus mihi spirat Apollo, Grandiloquus Vates quilibet esse nequit. Si Criticus Lector, tumidus Censorque molestus, Zoilus et Momus, si rabiosa cohors: Ringe, freme, et noli tum pandere, turba malignis Si occurrat sannis invidiosa suis: Fac fugias; si nulla tibi sit copia eundi, Contemnes, tacite scommata quaeque feres. Frendeat, allatret, vacuas gannitibus auras Impleat, haud cures; his placuisse nefas. Verum age si forsan divertat purior hospes, Cuique sales, ludi, displiceantque joci, Objiciatque tibi sordes, lascivaque: dices, Lasciva est Domino et Musa jocosa tuo, Nec lasciva tamen, si pensitet omne; sed esto; Sit lasciva licet pagina, vita proba est. Barbarus, indoctusque rudis spectator in istam Si messem intrudat, fuste fugabis eum, Fungum pelle procul (jubeo) nam quid mihi fungo? Conveniunt stomacho non minus ista suo. Sed nec pelle tamen; laeto omnes accipe vultu, Quos, quas, vel quales, inde vel unde viros. Gratus erit quicunque venit, gratissimus hospes Quisquis erit, facilis difficilisque mihi. Nam si culparit, quaedam culpasse juvabit, Culpando faciet me meliora sequi. Sed si laudarit, neque laudibus efferar ullis, Sit satis hisce malis opposuisse bonum. Haec sunt quae nostro placuit mandare libello, Et quae dimittens dicere jussit Herus.
DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR TO HIS BOOK
PARAPHRASTIC METRICAL TRANSLATION.
Go forth my book into the open day; Happy, if made so by its garish eye. O'er earth's wide surface take thy vagrant way, To imitate thy master's genius try. The Graces three, the Muses nine salute, Should those who love them try to con thy lore. The country, city seek, grand thrones to boot, With gentle courtesy humbly bow before. Should nobles gallant, soldiers frank and brave Seek thy acquaintance, hail their first advance: From twitch of care thy pleasant vein may save, May laughter cause or wisdom give perchance. Some surly Cato, Senator austere, Haply may wish to peep into thy book: Seem very nothing—tremble and revere: No forceful eagles, butterflies e'er look. They love not thee: of them then little seek, And wish for readers triflers like thyself. Of ludeful matron watchful catch the beck, Or gorgeous countess full of pride and pelf. They may say "pish!" and frown, and yet read on: Cry odd, and silly, coarse, and yet amusing. Should dainty damsels seek thy page to con, Spread thy best stores: to them be ne'er refusing: Say, fair one, master loves thee dear as life; Would he were here to gaze on thy sweet look. Should known or unknown student, freed from strife Of logic and the schools, explore my book: Cry mercy critic, and thy book withhold: Be some few errors pardon'd though observ'd: An humble author to implore makes bold. Thy kind indulgence, even undeserv'd, Should melancholy wight or pensive lover, Courtier, snug cit, or carpet knight so trim Our blossoms cull, he'll find himself in clover, Gain sense from precept, laughter from our whim. Should learned leech with solemn air unfold Thy leaves, beware, be civil, and be wise: Thy volume many precepts sage may hold, His well fraught head may find no trifling prize. Should crafty lawyer trespass on our ground, Caitiffs avaunt! disturbing tribe away! Unless (white crow) an honest one be found; He'll better, wiser go for what we say. Should some ripe scholar, gentle and benign, With candour, care, and judgment thee peruse: Thy faults to kind oblivion he'll consign; Nor to thy merit will his praise refuse. Thou may'st be searched for polish'd words and verse By flippant spouter, emptiest of praters: Tell him to seek them in some mawkish verse: My periods all are rough as nutmeg graters. The doggerel poet, wishing thee to read, Reject not; let him glean thy jests and stories. His brother I, of lowly sembling breed: Apollo grants to few Parnassian glories. Menac'd by critic with sour furrowed brow, Momus or Troilus or Scotch reviewer: Ruffle your heckle, grin and growl and vow: Ill-natured foes you thus will find the fewer, When foul-mouth'd senseless railers cry thee down, Reply not: fly, and show the rogues thy stern; They are not worthy even of a frown: Good taste or breeding they can never learn; Or let them clamour, turn a callous ear, As though in dread of some harsh donkey's bray. If chid by censor, friendly though severe, To such explain and turn thee not away. Thy vein, says he perchance, is all too free; Thy smutty language suits not learned pen: Reply, Good Sir, throughout, the context see; Thought chastens thought; so prithee judge again. Besides, although my master's pen may wander Through devious paths, by which it ought not stray, His life is pure, beyond the breath of slander: So pardon grant; 'tis merely but his way. Some rugged ruffian makes a hideous rout— Brandish thy cudgel, threaten him to baste; The filthy fungus far from thee cast out; Such noxious banquets never suit my taste. Yet, calm and cautious moderate thy ire, Be ever courteous should the case allow— Sweet malt is ever made by gentle fire: Warm to thy friends, give all a civil bow. Even censure sometimes teaches to improve, Slight frosts have often cured too rank a crop, So, candid blame my spleen shall never move, For skilful gard'ners wayward branches lop. Go then, my book, and bear my words in mind; Guides safe at once, and pleasant them you'll find.
THE ARGUMENT OF THE FRONTISPIECE.
Ten distinct Squares here seen apart, Are joined in one by Cutter's art.
I. Old Democritus under a tree, Sits on a stone with book on knee; About him hang there many features, Of Cats, Dogs and such like creatures, Of which he makes anatomy, The seat of black choler to see. Over his head appears the sky, And Saturn Lord of melancholy.
II. To the left a landscape of Jealousy, Presents itself unto thine eye. A Kingfisher, a Swan, an Hern, Two fighting-cocks you may discern, Two roaring Bulls each other hie, To assault concerning venery. Symbols are these; I say no more, Conceive the rest by that's afore.
III. The next of solitariness, A portraiture doth well express, By sleeping dog, cat: Buck and Doe, Hares, Conies in the desert go: Bats, Owls the shady bowers over, In melancholy darkness hover. Mark well: If't be not as't should be, Blame the bad Cutter, and not me.
IV. I'th' under column there doth stand Inamorato with folded hand; Down hangs his head, terse and polite, Some ditty sure he doth indite. His lute and books about him lie, As symptoms of his vanity. If this do not enough disclose, To paint him, take thyself by th' nose.
V. Hypocondriacus leans on his arm, Wind in his side doth him much harm, And troubles him full sore, God knows, Much pain he hath and many woes. About him pots and glasses lie, Newly brought from's Apothecary. This Saturn's aspects signify, You see them portray'd in the sky.
VI. Beneath them kneeling on his knee, A superstitious man you see: He fasts, prays, on his Idol fixt, Tormented hope and fear betwixt: For Hell perhaps he takes more pain, Than thou dost Heaven itself to gain. Alas poor soul, I pity thee, What stars incline thee so to be?
VII. But see the madman rage downright With furious looks, a ghastly sight. Naked in chains bound doth he lie, And roars amain he knows not why! Observe him; for as in a glass, Thine angry portraiture it was. His picture keeps still in thy presence; 'Twixt him and thee, there's no difference.
VIII, IX. Borage and Hellebor fill two scenes, Sovereign plants to purge the veins Of melancholy, and cheer the heart, Of those black fumes which make it smart; To clear the brain of misty fogs, Which dull our senses, and Soul clogs. The best medicine that e'er God made For this malady, if well assay'd.
X. Now last of all to fill a place, Presented is the Author's face; And in that habit which he wears, His image to the world appears. His mind no art can well express, That by his writings you may guess. It was not pride, nor yet vainglory, (Though others do it commonly) Made him do this: if you must know, The Printer would needs have it so. Then do not frown or scoff at it, Deride not, or detract a whit. For surely as thou dost by him, He will do the same again. Then look upon't, behold and see, As thou lik'st it, so it likes thee. And I for it will stand in view, Thine to command, Reader, adieu.
THE AUTHOR'S ABSTRACT OF MELANCHOLY, [Greek: Dialogos]
When I go musing all alone Thinking of divers things fore-known. When I build castles in the air, Void of sorrow and void of fear, Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet, Methinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannise, Fear and sorrow me surprise, Whether I tarry still or go, Methinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, By a brook side or wood so green, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures do me bless, And crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, In a dark grove, or irksome den, With discontents and Furies then, A thousand miseries at once Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce, All my griefs to this are jolly, None so sour as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see, Sweet music, wondrous melody, Towns, palaces, and cities fine; Here now, then there; the world is mine, Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, Whate'er is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see Ghosts, goblins, fiends; my phantasy Presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headless bears, black men, and apes, Doleful outcries, and fearful sights, My sad and dismal soul affrights. All my griefs to this are jolly, None so damn'd as melancholy. Methinks I court, methinks I kiss, Methinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, O sweet content, In Paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, So may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I recount love's many frights, My sighs and tears, my waking nights, My jealous fits; O mine hard fate I now repent, but 'tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, So bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone, 'Tis my desire to be alone; Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy. No Gem, no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. 'Tis my sole plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown, I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone, Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravisht am: can the world bring More joy, than still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toys time to beguile? Do not, O do not trouble me, So sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, None so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, Thou canst from gaol or dunghill fetch; My pain's past cure, another hell, I may not in this torment dwell! Now desperate I hate my life, Lend me a halter or a knife; All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so damn'd as melancholy.
DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR TO THE READER.
Gentle reader, I presume thou wilt be very inquisitive to know what antic or personate actor this is, that so insolently intrudes upon this common theatre, to the world's view, arrogating another man's name; whence he is, why he doth it, and what he hath to say; although, as he said, Primum si noluero, non respondebo, quis coacturus est? I am a free man born, and may choose whether I will tell; who can compel me? If I be urged, I will as readily reply as that Egyptian in Plutarch, when a curious fellow would needs know what he had in his basket, Quum vides velatam, quid inquiris in rem absconditam? It was therefore covered, because he should not know what was in it. Seek not after that which is hid; if the contents please thee, "and be for thy use, suppose the Man in the Moon, or whom thou wilt to be the author;" I would not willingly be known. Yet in some sort to give thee satisfaction, which is more than I need, I will show a reason, both of this usurped name, title, and subject. And first of the name of Democritus; lest any man, by reason of it, should be deceived, expecting a pasquil, a satire, some ridiculous treatise (as I myself should have done), some prodigious tenet, or paradox of the earth's motion, of infinite worlds, in infinito vacuo, ex fortuita atomorum collisione, in an infinite waste, so caused by an accidental collision of motes in the sun, all which Democritus held, Epicurus and their master Lucippus of old maintained, and are lately revived by Copernicus, Brunus, and some others. Besides, it hath been always an ordinary custom, as Gellius observes, "for later writers and impostors, to broach many absurd and insolent fictions, under the name of so noble a philosopher as Democritus, to get themselves credit, and by that means the more to be respected," as artificers usually do, Novo qui marmori ascribunt Praxatilem suo. 'Tis not so with me.
 "Non hic Centaurus, non Gorgonas, Harpyasque Invenies, hominem pagina nostra sapit."
"No Centaurs here, or Gorgons look to find, My subject is of man and human kind."
Thou thyself art the subject of my discourse.
 "Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas, Gaudia, discursus, nostri farrago libelli."
"Whate'er men do, vows, fears, in ire, in sport, Joys, wand'rings, are the sum of my report."
My intent is no otherwise to use his name, than Mercurius Gallobelgicus, Mercurius Britannicus, use the name of Mercury, Democritus Christianus, &c.; although there be some other circumstances for which I have masked myself under this vizard, and some peculiar respect which I cannot so well express, until I have set down a brief character of this our Democritus, what he was, with an epitome of his life.
Democritus, as he is described by Hippocrates and Laertius, was a little wearish old man, very melancholy by nature, averse from company in his latter days, and much given to solitariness, a famous philosopher in his age, coaevus with Socrates, wholly addicted to his studies at the last, and to a private life: wrote many excellent works, a great divine, according to the divinity of those times, an expert physician, a politician, an excellent mathematician, as Diacosmus and the rest of his works do witness. He was much delighted with the studies of husbandry, saith Columella, and often I find him cited by Constantinus and others treating of that subject. He knew the natures, differences of all beasts, plants, fishes, birds; and, as some say, could understand the tunes and voices of them. In a word, he was omnifariam doctus, a general scholar, a great student; and to the intent he might better contemplate, I find it related by some, that he put out his eyes, and was in his old age voluntarily blind, yet saw more than all Greece besides, and  writ of every subject, Nihil in toto opificio naturae, de quo non scripsit. A man of an excellent wit, profound conceit; and to attain knowledge the better in his younger years, he travelled to Egypt and  Athens, to confer with learned men, "admired of some, despised of others." After a wandering life, he settled at Abdera, a town in Thrace, and was sent for thither to be their lawmaker, recorder, or town-clerk, as some will; or as others, he was there bred and born. Howsoever it was, there he lived at last in a garden in the suburbs, wholly betaking himself to his studies and a private life, "saving that sometimes he would walk down to the haven," "and laugh heartily at such variety of ridiculous objects, which there he saw." Such a one was Democritus.
But in the mean time, how doth this concern me, or upon what reference do I usurp his habit? I confess, indeed, that to compare myself unto him for aught I have yet said, were both impudency and arrogancy. I do not presume to make any parallel, Antistat mihi millibus trecentis, parvus sum, nullus sum, altum nec spiro, nec spero. Yet thus much I will say of myself, and that I hope without all suspicion of pride, or self-conceit, I have lived a silent, sedentary, solitary, private life, mihi et musis in the University, as long almost as Xenocrates in Athens, ad senectam fere to learn wisdom as he did, penned up most part in my study. For I have been brought up a student in the most flourishing college of Europe, augustissimo collegio, and can brag with Jovius, almost, in ea luce domicilii Vacicani, totius orbis celeberrimi, per 37 annos multa opportunaque didici; for thirty years I have continued (having the use of as good libraries as ever he had) a scholar, and would be therefore loath, either by living as a drone, to be an unprofitable or unworthy member of so learned and noble a society, or to write that which should be any way dishonourable to such a royal and ample foundation. Something I have done, though by my profession a divine, yet turbine raptus ingenii, as he said, out of a running wit, an unconstant, unsettled mind, I had a great desire (not able to attain to a superficial skill in any) to have some smattering in all, to be aliquis in omnibus, nullus in singulis,  which Plato commends, out of him Lipsius approves and furthers, "as fit to be imprinted in all curious wits, not to be a slave of one science, or dwell altogether in one subject, as most do, but to rove abroad, centum puer artium, to have an oar in every man's boat, to taste of every dish, and sip of every cup," which, saith Montaigne, was well performed by Aristotle, and his learned countryman Adrian Turnebus. This roving humour (though not with like success) I have ever had, and like a ranging spaniel, that barks at every bird he sees, leaving his game, I have followed all, saving that which I should, and may justly complain, and truly, qui ubique est, nusquam est, which Gesner did in modesty, that I have read many books, but to little purpose, for want of good method; I have confusedly tumbled over divers authors in our libraries, with small profit, for want of art, order, memory, judgment. I never travelled but in map or card, in which mine unconfined thoughts have freely expatiated, as having ever been especially delighted with the study of Cosmography. Saturn was lord of my geniture, culminating, &c., and Mars principal significator of manners, in partile conjunction with my ascendant; both fortunate in their houses, &c. I am not poor, I am not rich; nihil est, nihil deest, I have little, I want nothing: all my treasure is in Minerva's tower. Greater preferment as I could never get, so am I not in debt for it, I have a competence (laus Deo) from my noble and munificent patrons, though I live still a collegiate student, as Democritus in his garden, and lead a monastic life, ipse mihi theatrum, sequestered from those tumults and troubles of the world, Et tanquam in specula positus, (as he said) in some high place above you all, like Stoicus Sapiens, omnia saecula, praeterita presentiaque videns, uno velut intuitu, I hear and see what is done abroad, how others run, ride, turmoil, and macerate themselves in court and country, far from those wrangling lawsuits, aulia vanitatem, fori ambitionem, ridere mecum soleo: I laugh at all, only secure, lest my suit go amiss, my ships perish, corn and cattle miscarry, trade decay, I have no wife nor children good or bad to provide for. A mere spectator of other men's fortunes and adventures, and how they act their parts, which methinks are diversely presented unto me, as from a common theatre or scene. I hear new news every day, and those ordinary rumours of war, plagues, fires, inundations, thefts, murders, massacres, meteors, comets, spectrums, prodigies, apparitions, of towns taken, cities besieged in France, Germany, Turkey, Persia, Poland, &c., daily musters and preparations, and such like, which these tempestuous times afford, battles fought, so many men slain, monomachies, shipwrecks, piracies and sea-fights; peace, leagues, stratagems, and fresh alarms. A vast confusion of vows, wishes, actions, edicts, petitions, lawsuits, pleas, laws, proclamations, complaints, grievances are daily brought to our ears. New books every day, pamphlets, corantoes, stories, whole catalogues of volumes of all sorts, new paradoxes, opinions, schisms, heresies, controversies in philosophy, religion, &c. Now come tidings of weddings, maskings, mummeries, entertainments, jubilees, embassies, tilts and tournaments, trophies, triumphs, revels, sports, plays: then again, as in a new shifted scene, treasons, cheating tricks, robberies, enormous villainies in all kinds, funerals, burials, deaths of princes, new discoveries, expeditions, now comical, then tragical matters. Today we hear of new lords and officers created, tomorrow of some great men deposed, and then again of fresh honours conferred; one is let loose, another imprisoned; one purchaseth, another breaketh: he thrives, his neighbour turns bankrupt; now plenty, then again dearth and famine; one runs, another rides, wrangles, laughs, weeps, &c. This I daily hear, and such like, both private and public news, amidst the gallantry and misery of the world; jollity, pride, perplexities and cares, simplicity and villainy; subtlety, knavery, candour and integrity, mutually mixed and offering themselves; I rub on privus privatus; as I have still lived, so I now continue, statu quo prius, left to a solitary life, and mine own domestic discontents: saving that sometimes, ne quid mentiar, as Diogenes went into the city, and Democritus to the haven to see fashions, I did for my recreation now and then walk abroad, look into the world, and could not choose but make some little observation, non tam sagax observator ac simplex recitator,  not as they did, to scoff or laugh at all, but with a mixed passion.
 "Bilem saepe, jocum vestri movere tumultus."
"Ye wretched mimics, whose fond heats have been, How oft! the objects of my mirth and spleen."
I did sometime laugh and scoff with Lucian, and satirically tax with Menippus, lament with Heraclitus, sometimes again I was petulanti splene chachinno, and then again, urere bilis jecur, I was much moved to see that abuse which I could not mend. In which passion howsoever I may sympathise with him or them, 'tis for no such respect I shroud myself under his name; but either in an unknown habit to assume a little more liberty and freedom of speech, or if you will needs know, for that reason and only respect which Hippocrates relates at large in his Epistle to Damegetus, wherein he doth express, how coming to visit him one day, he found Democritus in his garden at Abdera, in the suburbs, under a shady bower, with a book on his knees, busy at his study, sometimes writing, sometimes walking. The subject of his book was melancholy and madness; about him lay the carcases of many several beasts, newly by him cut up and anatomised; not that he did contemn God's creatures, as he told Hippocrates, but to find out the seat of this atra bilis, or melancholy, whence it proceeds, and how it was engendered in men's bodies, to the intent he might better cure it in himself, and by his writings and observation teach others how to prevent and avoid it. Which good intent of his, Hippocrates highly commended: Democritus Junior is therefore bold to imitate, and because he left it imperfect, and it is now lost, quasi succenturiator Democriti, to revive again, prosecute, and finish in this treatise.
You have had a reason of the name. If the title and inscription offend your gravity, were it a sufficient justification to accuse others, I could produce many sober treatises, even sermons themselves, which in their fronts carry more fantastical names. Howsoever, it is a kind of policy in these days, to prefix a fantastical title to a book which is to be sold; for, as larks come down to a day-net, many vain readers will tarry and stand gazing like silly passengers at an antic picture in a painter's shop, that will not look at a judicious piece. And, indeed, as Scaliger observes, "nothing more invites a reader than an argument unlooked for, unthought of, and sells better than a scurrile pamphlet," tum maxime cum novitas excitat palatum. "Many men," saith Gellius, "are very conceited in their inscriptions," "and able" (as Pliny quotes out of Seneca) "to make him loiter by the way that went in haste to fetch a midwife for his daughter, now ready to lie down." For my part, I have honourable precedents for this which I have done: I will cite one for all, Anthony Zara, Pap. Epis., his Anatomy of Wit, in four sections, members, subsections, &c., to be read in our libraries.
If any man except against the matter or manner of treating of this my subject, and will demand a reason of it, I can allege more than one; I write of melancholy, by being busy to avoid melancholy. There is no greater cause of melancholy than idleness, "no better cure than business," as Rhasis holds: and howbeit, stultus labor est ineptiarum, to be busy in toys is to small purpose, yet hear that divine Seneca, aliud agere quam nihil, better do to no end, than nothing. I wrote therefore, and busied myself in this playing labour, oliosaque diligentia ut vitarem torporum feriandi with Vectius in Macrobius, atque otium in utile verterem negatium.
 "Simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vita, Lectorem delectando simul atque monendo."
"Poets would profit or delight mankind, And with the pleasing have th' instructive joined. Profit and pleasure, then, to mix with art, T' inform the judgment, nor offend the heart, Shall gain all votes."
To this end I write, like them, saith Lucian, that "recite to trees, and declaim to pillars for want of auditors:" as Paulus Aegineta ingenuously confesseth, "not that anything was unknown or omitted, but to exercise myself," which course if some took, I think it would be good for their bodies, and much better for their souls; or peradventure as others do, for fame, to show myself (Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter). I might be of Thucydides' opinion, "to know a thing and not to express it, is all one as if he knew it not." When I first took this task in hand, et quod ait ille, impellents genio negotium suscepi, this I aimed at; vel ut lenirem animum scribendo, to ease my mind by writing; for I had gravidum cor, foetum caput, a kind of imposthume in my head, which I was very desirous to be unladen of, and could imagine no fitter evacuation than this. Besides, I might not well refrain, for ubi dolor, ibi digitus, one must needs scratch where it itches. I was not a little offended with this malady, shall I say my mistress Melancholy, my Aegeria, or my malus genius? and for that cause, as he that is stung with a scorpion, I would expel clavum clavo, comfort one sorrow with another, idleness with idleness, ut ex vipera Theriacum, make an antidote out of that which was the prime cause of my disease. Or as he did, of whom Felix Plater speaks, that thought he had some of Aristophanes' frogs in his belly, still crying Breec, okex, coax, coax, oop, oop, and for that cause studied physic seven years, and travelled over most part of Europe to ease himself. To do myself good I turned over such physicians as our libraries would afford, or my private friends impart, and have taken this pains. And why not? Cardan professeth he wrote his book, De Consolatione after his son's death, to comfort himself; so did Tully write of the same subject with like intent after his daughter's departure, if it be his at least, or some impostor's put out in his name, which Lipsius probably suspects. Concerning myself, I can peradventure affirm with Marius in Sallust, "that which others hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholising." Experto crede Roberto. Something I can speak out of experience, aerumnabilis experientia me docuit; and with her in the poet, Haud ignara mali miseris succurrere disco; I would help others out of a fellow-feeling; and, as that virtuous lady did of old, "being a leper herself, bestow all her portion to build an hospital for lepers," I will spend my time and knowledge, which are my greatest fortunes, for the common good of all.
Yea, but you will infer that this is actum agere, an unnecessary work, cramben bis coctam apponnere, the same again and again in other words. To what purpose? "Nothing is omitted that may well be said," so thought Lucian in the like theme. How many excellent physicians have written just volumes and elaborate tracts of this subject? No news here; that which I have is stolen, from others, Dicitque mihi mea pagina fur es. If that severe doom of Synesius be true, "it is a greater offence to steal dead men's labours, than their clothes," what shall become of most writers? I hold up my hand at the bar among others, and am guilty of felony in this kind, habes confitentem reum, I am content to be pressed with the rest. 'Tis most true, tenet insanabile multos scribendi cacoethes, and "there is no end of writing of books," as the wiseman found of old, in this scribbling age, especially wherein "the number of books is without number," (as a worthy man saith,) "presses be oppressed," and out of an itching humour that every man hath to show himself, desirous of fame and honour (scribimus indocti doctique——) he will write no matter what, and scrape together it boots not whence. "Bewitched with this desire of fame," etiam mediis in morbis, to the disparagement of their health, and scarce able to hold a pen, they must say something, "and get themselves a name," saith Scaliger, "though it be to the downfall and ruin of many others." To be counted writers, scriptores ut salutentur, to be thought and held polymaths and polyhistors, apud imperitum vulgus ob ventosae nomen artis, to get a paper-kingdom: nulla spe quaestus sed ampla famae, in this precipitate, ambitious age, nunc ut est saeculum, inter immaturam eruditionem, ambitiosum et praeceps ('tis Scaliger's censure); and they that are scarce auditors, vix auditores, must be masters and teachers, before they be capable and fit hearers. They will rush into all learning, togatam armatam, divine, human authors, rake over all indexes and pamphlets for notes, as our merchants do strange havens for traffic, write great tomes, Cum non sint re vera doctiores, sed loquaciores, whereas they are not thereby better scholars, but greater praters. They commonly pretend public good, but as Gesner observes, 'tis pride and vanity that eggs them on; no news or aught worthy of note, but the same in other terms. Ne feriarentur fortasse typographi vel ideo scribendum est aliquid ut se vixisse testentur. As apothecaries we make new mixtures everyday, pour out of one vessel into another; and as those old Romans robbed all the cities of the world, to set out their bad-sited Rome, we skim off the cream of other men's wits, pick the choice flowers of their tilled gardens to set out our own sterile plots. Castrant alios ut libros suos per se graciles alieno adipe suffarciant (so Jovius inveighs.) They lard their lean books with the fat of others' works. Ineruditi fures, &c. A fault that every writer finds, as I do now, and yet faulty themselves, Trium literarum homines, all thieves; they pilfer out of old writers to stuff up their new comments, scrape Ennius' dunghills, and out of Democritus' pit, as I have done. By which means it comes to pass, "that not only libraries and shops are full of our putrid papers, but every close-stool and jakes," Scribunt carmina quae legunt cacantes; they serve to put under pies, to lap spice in, and keep roast meat from burning. "With us in France," saith Scaliger, "every man hath liberty to write, but few ability." "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers," that either write for vainglory, need, to get money, or as Parasites to flatter and collogue with some great men, they put cut burras, quisquiliasque ineptiasque. Amongst so many thousand authors you shall scarce find one, by reading of whom you shall be any whit better, but rather much worse, quibus inficitur potius, quam perficitur, by which he is rather infected than any way perfected.
 ———"Qui talia legit, Quid didicit tandem, quid scit nisi somnia, nugas?"
So that oftentimes it falls out (which Callimachus taxed of old) a great book is a great mischief. Cardan finds fault with Frenchmen and Germans, for their scribbling to no purpose, non inquit ab edendo deterreo, modo novum aliquid inveniant, he doth not bar them to write, so that it be some new invention of their own; but we weave the same web still, twist the same rope again and again; or if it be a new invention, 'tis but some bauble or toy which idle fellows write, for as idle fellows to read, and who so cannot invent? "He must have a barren wit, that in this scribbling age can forge nothing. Princes show their armies, rich men vaunt their buildings, soldiers their manhood, and scholars vent their toys;" they must read, they must hear whether they will or no.
 "Et quodcunque semel chartis illeverit, omnes Gestiet a furno redeuntes scire lacuque, Et pueros et anus"———
"What once is said and writ, all men must know, Old wives and children as they come and go."
"What a company of poets hath this year brought out," as Pliny complains to Sossius Sinesius. "This April every day some or other have recited." What a catalogue of new books all this year, all this age (I say), have our Frankfort Marts, our domestic Marts brought out? Twice a year,  Proferunt se nova ingenia et ostentant, we stretch our wits out, and set them to sale, magno conatu nihil agimus. So that which Gesner much desires, if a speedy reformation be not had, by some prince's edicts and grave supervisors, to restrain this liberty, it will run on in infinitum. Quis tam avidus librorum helluo, who can read them? As already, we shall have a vast chaos and confusion of books, we are oppressed with them, our eyes ache with reading, our fingers with turning. For my part I am one of the number, nos numerus sumus, (we are mere ciphers): I do not deny it, I have only this of Macrobius to say for myself, Omne meum, nihil meum, 'tis all mine, and none mine. As a good housewife out of divers fleeces weaves one piece of cloth, a bee gathers wax and honey out of many flowers, and makes a new bundle of all, Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant, I have laboriously collected this cento out of divers writers, and that sine injuria, I have wronged no authors, but given every man his own; which Hierom so much commends in Nepotian; he stole not whole verses, pages, tracts, as some do nowadays, concealing their authors' names, but still said this was Cyprian's, that Lactantius, that Hilarius, so said Minutius Felix, so Victorinus, thus far Arnobius: I cite and quote mine authors (which, howsoever some illiterate scribblers account pedantical, as a cloak of ignorance, and opposite to their affected fine style, I must and will use) sumpsi, non suripui; and what Varro, lib. 6. de re rust. speaks of bees, minime maleficae nullius opus vellicantes faciunt delerius, I can say of myself, Whom have I injured? The matter is theirs most part, and yet mine, apparet unde sumptum sit (which Seneca approves), aliud tamen quam unde sumptum sit apparet, which nature doth with the aliment of our bodies incorporate, digest, assimilate, I do concoquere quod hausi, dispose of what I take. I make them pay tribute, to set out this my Maceronicon, the method only is mine own, I must usurp that of Wecker e Ter. nihil dictum quod non dictum prius, methodus sola artificem ostendit, we can say nothing but what hath been said, the composition and method is ours only, and shows a scholar. Oribasius, Aesius, Avicenna, have all out of Galen, but to their own method, diverso stilo, non diversa fide. Our poets steal from Homer; he spews, saith Aelian, they lick it up. Divines use Austin's words verbatim still, and our story-dressers do as much; he that comes last is commonly best,
———"donec quid grandius aetas Postera sorsque ferat melior."———
Though there were many giants of old in physic and philosophy, yet I say with Didacus Stella, "A dwarf standing on the shoulders of a giant may see farther than a giant himself;" I may likely add, alter, and see farther than my predecessors; and it is no greater prejudice for me to indite after others, than for Aelianus Montaltus, that famous physician, to write de morbis capitis after Jason Pratensis, Heurnius, Hildesheim, &c., many horses to run in a race, one logician, one rhetorician, after another. Oppose then what thou wilt,
"Allatres licet usque nos et usque Et gannitibus improbis lacessas."
I solve it thus. And for those other faults of barbarism, Doric dialect, extemporanean style, tautologies, apish imitation, a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dunghills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgment, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, fantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all ('tis partly affected), thou canst not think worse of me than I do of myself. 'Tis not worth the reading, I yield it, I desire thee not to lose time in perusing so vain a subject, I should be peradventure loath myself to read him or thee so writing; 'tis not operae, pretium. All I say is this, that I have precedents for it, which Isocrates calls perfugium iis qui peccant, others as absurd, vain, idle, illiterate, &c. Nonnulli alii idem fecerunt; others have done as much, it may be more, and perhaps thou thyself, Novimus et qui te, &c. We have all our faults; scimus, et hanc, veniaim, &c.; thou censurest me, so have I done others, and may do thee, Cedimus inque vicem, &c., 'tis lex talionis, quid pro quo. Go now, censure, criticise, scoff, and rail.
 "Nasutus cis usque licet, sis denique nasus: Non potes in nugas dicere plura meas, Ipse ego quam dixi, &c."
"Wert thou all scoffs and flouts, a very Momus, Than we ourselves, thou canst not say worse of us."
Thus, as when women scold, have I cried whore first, and in some men's censures I am afraid I have overshot myself, Laudare se vani, vituperare stulti, as I do not arrogate, I will not derogate. Primus vestrum non sum, nec imus, I am none of the best, I am none of the meanest of you. As I am an inch, or so many feet, so many parasangs, after him or him, I may be peradventure an ace before thee. Be it therefore as it is, well or ill, I have essayed, put myself upon the stage; I must abide the censure, I may not escape it. It is most true, stylus virum arguit, our style bewrays us, and as hunters find their game by the trace, so is a man's genius descried by his works, Multo melius ex sermone quam lineamentis, de moribus hominum judicamus; it was old Cato's rule. I have laid myself open (I know it) in this treatise, turned mine inside outward: I shall be censured, I doubt not; for, to say truth with Erasmus, nihil morosius hominum judiciis, there is nought so peevish as men's judgments; yet this is some comfort, ut palata, sic judicia, our censures are as various as our palates.
 "Tres mihi convivae prope dissentire videntur, Poscentes vario multum diversa palato," &c.
"Three guests I have, dissenting at my feast, Requiring each to gratify his taste With different food."
Our writings are as so many dishes, our readers guests, our books like beauty, that which one admires another rejects; so are we approved as men's fancies are inclined. Pro captu lectoris habent sua fata libelli.. That which is most pleasing to one is amaracum sui, most harsh to another. Quot homines, tot sententiae, so many men, so many minds: that which thou condemnest he commends. Quod petis, id sane est invisum acidumque duobus. He respects matter, thou art wholly for words; he loves a loose and free style, thou art all for neat composition, strong lines, hyperboles, allegories; he desires a fine frontispiece, enticing pictures, such as Hieron. Natali the Jesuit hath cut to the Dominicals, to draw on the reader's attention, which thou rejectest; that which one admires, another explodes as most absurd and ridiculous. If it be not point blank to his humour, his method, his conceit, si quid, forsan omissum, quod is animo conceperit, si quae dictio, &c. If aught be omitted, or added, which he likes, or dislikes, thou art mancipium paucae lectionis, an idiot, an ass, nullus es, or plagiarius, a trifler, a trivant, thou art an idle fellow; or else it is a thing of mere industry, a collection without wit or invention, a very toy. Facilia sic putant omnes quae jam facta, nec de salebris cogitant, ubi via strata; so men are valued, their labours vilified by fellows of no worth themselves, as things of nought, who could not have done as much. Unusquisque abundat sensu suo, every man abounds in his own sense; and whilst each particular party is so affected, how should one please all?
 "Quid dem? quid non dem? Renuis tu quod jubet ille."
———"What courses must I choose? What not? What both would order you refuse."
How shall I hope to express myself to each man's humour and conceit, or to give satisfaction to all? Some understand too little, some too much, qui similiter in legendos libros, atque in salutandos homines irruunt, non cogitantes quales, sed quibus vestibus induti sint, as Austin observes, not regarding what, but who write, orexin habet auctores celebritas, not valuing the metal, but stamp that is upon it, Cantharum aspiciunt, non quid in eo. If he be not rich, in great place, polite and brave, a great doctor, or full fraught with grand titles, though never so well qualified, he is a dunce; but, as Baronius hath it of Cardinal Caraffa's works, he is a mere hog that rejects any man for his poverty. Some are too partial, as friends to overween, others come with a prejudice to carp, vilify, detract, and scoff; (qui de me forsan, quicquid est, omni contemptu contemptius judicant) some as bees for honey, some as spiders to gather poison. What shall I do in this case? As a Dutch host, if you come to an inn in. Germany, and dislike your fare, diet, lodging, &c., replies in a surly tone, aliud tibi quaeras diversorium, if you like not this, get you to another inn: I resolve, if you like not my writing, go read something else. I do not much esteem thy censure, take thy course, it is not as thou wilt, nor as I will, but when we have both done, that of Plinius Secundus to Trajan will prove true, "Every man's witty labour takes not, except the matter, subject, occasion, and some commending favourite happen to it." If I be taxed, exploded by thee and some such, I shall haply be approved and commended by others, and so have been (Expertus loquor), and may truly say with Jovius in like case, (absit verbo jactantia) heroum quorundam, pontificum, et virorum nobilium familiaritatem et amicitiam, gratasque gratias, et multorum  bene laudatorum laudes sum inde promeritus, as I have been honoured by some worthy men, so have I been vilified by others, and shall be. At the first publishing of this book, (which Probus of Persius satires), editum librum continuo mirari homines, atque avide deripere caeperunt, I may in some sort apply to this my work. The first, second, and third edition were suddenly gone, eagerly read, and, as I have said, not so much approved by some, as scornfully rejected by others. But it was Democritus his fortune, Idem admirationi et irrisioni habitus. 'Twas Seneca's fate, that superintendent of wit, learning, judgment, ad stuporem doctus, the best of Greek and Latin writers, in Plutarch's opinion; that "renowned corrector of vice," as, Fabius terms him, "and painful omniscious philosopher, that writ so excellently and admirably well," could not please all parties, or escape censure. How is he vilified by  Caligula, Agellius, Fabius, and Lipsius himself, his chief propugner? In eo pleraque pernitiosa, saith the same Fabius, many childish tracts and sentences he hath, sermo illaboratus, too negligent often and remiss, as Agellius observes, oratio vulgaris et protrita, dicaces et ineptae, sententiae, eruditio plebeia, an homely shallow writer as he is. In partibus spinas et fastidia habet, saith Lipsius; and, as in all his other works, so especially in his epistles, aliae in argutiis et ineptiis occupantur, intricatus alicubi, et parum compositus, sine copia rerum hoc fecit, he jumbles up many things together immethodically, after the Stoics' fashion, parum ordinavit, multa accumulavit, &c. If Seneca be thus lashed, and many famous men that I could name, what shall I expect? How shall I that am vix umbra tanti philosophi hope to please? "No man so absolute" (Erasmus holds) "to satisfy all, except antiquity, prescription, &c., set a bar." But as I have proved in Seneca, this will not always take place, how shall I evade? 'Tis the common doom of all writers, I must (I say) abide it; I seek not applause; Non ego ventosa venor suffragia plebis; again, non sum adeo informis, I would not be vilified:
 ———"laudatus abunde, Non fastiditus si tibi, lector, ero."
I fear good men's censures, and to their favourable acceptance I submit my labours,
 ———"et linguas mancipiorum Contemno."———
As the barking of a dog, I securely contemn those malicious and scurrile obloquies, flouts, calumnies of railers and detractors; I scorn the rest. What therefore I have said, pro tenuitate mea, I have said.
One or two things yet I was desirous to have amended if I could, concerning the manner of handling this my subject, for which I must apologise, deprecari, and upon better advice give the friendly reader notice: it was not mine intent to prostitute my muse in English, or to divulge secreta Minervae, but to have exposed this more contract in Latin, if I could have got it printed. Any scurrile pamphlet is welcome to our mercenary stationers in English; they print all
———"cuduntque libellos In quorum foliis vix simia nuda cacaret;"
But in Latin they will not deal; which is one of the reasons Nicholas Car, in his oration of the paucity of English writers, gives, that so many flourishing wits are smothered in oblivion, lie dead and buried in this our nation. Another main fault is, that I have not revised the copy, and amended the style, which now flows remissly, as it was first conceived; but my leisure would not permit; Feci nec quod potui, nec quod volui, I confess it is neither as I would, nor as it should be.
 "Cum relego scripsisse pudet, quia plurima cerno Me quoque quae fuerant judice digna lini."
"When I peruse this tract which I have writ, I am abash'd, and much I hold unfit."
Et quod gravissimum, in the matter itself, many things I disallow at this present, which when I writ, Non eadem est aetas, non mens; I would willingly retract much, &c., but 'tis too late, I can only crave pardon now for what is amiss.
I might indeed, (had I wisely done) observed that precept of the poet, ———nonumque prematur in annum, and have taken more care: or, as Alexander the physician would have done by lapis lazuli, fifty times washed before it be used, I should have revised, corrected and amended this tract; but I had not (as I said) that happy leisure, no amanuenses or assistants. Pancrates in Lucian, wanting a servant as he went from Memphis to Coptus in Egypt, took a door bar, and after some superstitious words pronounced (Eucrates the relator was then present) made it stand up like a serving-man, fetch him water, turn the spit, serve in supper, and what work he would besides; and when he had done that service he desired, turned his man to a stick again. I have no such skill to make new men at my pleasure, or means to hire them; no whistle to call like the master of a ship, and bid them run, &c. I have no such authority, no such benefactors, as that noble Ambrosius was to Origen, allowing him six or seven amanuenses to write out his dictates; I must for that cause do my business myself, and was therefore enforced, as a bear doth her whelps, to bring forth this confused lump; I had not time to lick it into form, as she doth her young ones, but even so to publish it, as it was first written quicquid in buccam venit, in an extemporean style, as I do commonly all other exercises, effudi quicquid dictavit genius meus, out of a confused company of notes, and writ with as small deliberation as I do ordinarily speak, without all affectation of big words, fustian phrases, jingling terms, tropes, strong lines, that like Acesta's arrows caught fire as they flew, strains of wit, brave heats, elegies, hyperbolical exornations, elegancies, &c., which many so much affect. I am aquae potor, drink no wine at all, which so much improves our modern wits, a loose, plain, rude writer, ficum, voco ficum et ligonem ligonem and as free, as loose, idem calamo quod in mente, I call a spade a spade, animis haec scribo, non auribus, I respect matter not words; remembering that of Cardan, verba propter res, non res propter verba: and seeking with Seneca, quid scribam, non quemadmodum, rather what than how to write: for as Philo thinks, "He that is conversant about matter, neglects words, and those that excel in this art of speaking, have no profound learning,"
 "Verba nitent phaleris, at nullus verba medullas Intus habent"———
Besides, it was the observation of that wise Seneca, "when you see a fellow careful about his words, and neat in his speech, know this for a certainty, that man's mind is busied about toys, there's no solidity in him." Non est ornamentum virile concinnitas: as he said of a nightingale, ———vox es, praeterea nihil, &c. I am therefore in this point a professed disciple of Apollonius a scholar of Socrates, I neglect phrases, and labour wholly to inform my reader's understanding, not to please his ear; 'tis not my study or intent to compose neatly, which an orator requires, but to express myself readily and plainly as it happens. So that as a river runs sometimes precipitate and swift, then dull and slow; now direct, then per ambages, now deep, then shallow; now muddy, then clear; now broad, then narrow; doth my style flow: now serious, then light; now comical, then satirical; now more elaborate, then remiss, as the present subject required, or as at that time I was affected. And if thou vouchsafe to read this treatise, it shall seem no otherwise to thee, than the way to an ordinary traveller, sometimes fair, sometimes foul; here champaign, there enclosed; barren, in one place, better soil in another: by woods, groves, hills, dales, plains, &c. I shall lead thee per ardua montium, et lubrica valllum, et roscida cespitum, et glebosa camporum, through variety of objects, that which thou shalt like and surely dislike.
For the matter itself or method, if it be faulty, consider I pray you that of Columella, Nihil perfectum, aut a singulari consummatum industria, no man can observe all, much is defective no doubt, may be justly taxed, altered, and avoided in Galen, Aristotle, those great masters. Boni venatoris (one holds) plures feras capere, non omnes; he is a good huntsman can catch some, not all: I have done my endeavour. Besides, I dwell not in this study, Non hic sulcos ducimus, non hoc pulvere desudamus, I am but a smatterer, I confess, a stranger, here and there I pull a flower; I do easily grant, if a rigid censurer should criticise on this which I have writ, he should not find three sole faults, as Scaliger in Terence, but three hundred. So many as he hath done in Cardan's subtleties, as many notable errors as Gul Laurembergius, a late professor of Rostock, discovers in that anatomy of Laurentius, or Barocius the Venetian in Sacro boscus. And although this be a sixth edition, in which I should have been more accurate, corrected all those former escapes, yet it was magni laboris opus, so difficult and tedious, that as carpenters do find out of experience, 'tis much better build a new sometimes, than repair an old house; I could as soon write as much more, as alter that which is written. If aught therefore be amiss (as I grant there is), I require a friendly admonition, no bitter invective, Sint musis socii Charites, Furia omnis abesto, otherwise, as in ordinary controversies, funem contentionis nectamus, sed cui bono? We may contend, and likely misuse each other, but to what purpose? We are both scholars, say,
 ———"Arcades ambo Et Cantare pares, et respondere parati."
"Both young Arcadians, both alike inspir'd To sing and answer as the song requir'd."
If we do wrangle, what shall we get by it? Trouble and wrong ourselves, make sport to others. If I be convict of an error, I will yield, I will amend. Si quid bonis moribus, si quid veritati dissentaneum, in sacris vel humanis literis a me dictum sit, id nec dictum esto. In the mean time I require a favourable censure of all faults omitted, harsh compositions, pleonasms of words, tautological repetitions (though Seneca bear me out, nunquam nimis dicitur, quod nunquam satis dicitur) perturbations of tenses, numbers, printers' faults, &c. My translations are sometimes rather paraphrases than interpretations, non ad verbum, but as an author, I use more liberty, and that's only taken which was to my purpose. Quotations are often inserted in the text, which makes the style more harsh, or in the margin, as it happened. Greek authors, Plato, Plutarch, Athenaeus, &c., I have cited out of their interpreters, because the original was not so ready. I have mingled sacra prophanis, but I hope not profaned, and in repetition of authors' names, ranked them per accidens, not according to chronology; sometimes neoterics before ancients, as my memory suggested. Some things are here altered, expunged in this sixth edition, others amended, much added, because many good authors in all kinds are come to my hands since, and 'tis no prejudice, no such indecorum, or oversight.
 "Nunquam ita quicquam bene subducta ratione ad vitam fuit, Quin res, aetas, usus, semper aliquid apportent novi, Aliquid moneant, ut illa quae scire te credas, nescias, Et quae tibi putaris prima, in exercendo ut repudias."
"Ne'er was ought yet at first contriv'd so fit, But use, age, or something would alter it; Advise thee better, and, upon peruse, Make thee not say, and what thou tak'st refuse."
But I am now resolved never to put this treatise out again, Ne quid nimis, I will not hereafter add, alter, or retract; I have done. The last and greatest exception is, that I, being a divine, have meddled with physic,
 "Tantumne est ab re tua otii tibi, Aliena ut cures, eaque nihil quae ad te attinent."
Which Menedemus objected to Chremes; have I so much leisure, or little business of mine own, as to look after other men's matters which concern me not? What have I to do with physic? Quod medicorum est promittant medici. The Lacedaemonians were once in counsel about state matters, a debauched fellow spake excellent well, and to the purpose, his speech was generally approved: a grave senator steps up, and by all means would have it repealed, though good, because dehonestabatur pessimo auctore, it had no better an author; let some good man relate the same, and then it should pass. This counsel was embraced, factum est, and it was registered forthwith, Et sic bona sententia mansit, malus auctor mutatus est. Thou sayest as much of me, stomachosus as thou art, and grantest, peradventure, this which I have written in physic, not to be amiss, had another done it, a professed physician, or so, but why should I meddle with this tract? Hear me speak. There be many other subjects, I do easily grant, both in humanity and divinity, fit to be treated of, of which had I written ad ostentationem only, to show myself, I should have rather chosen, and in which I have been more conversant, I could have more willingly luxuriated, and better satisfied myself and others; but that at this time I was fatally driven upon this rock of melancholy, and carried away by this by-stream, which, as a rillet, is deducted from the main channel of my studies, in which I have pleased and busied myself at idle hours, as a subject most necessary and commodious. Not that I prefer it before divinity, which I do acknowledge to be the queen of professions, and to which all the rest are as handmaids, but that in divinity I saw no such great need. For had I written positively, there be so many books in that kind, so many commentators, treatises, pamphlets, expositions, sermons, that whole teams of oxen cannot draw them; and had I been as forward and ambitious as some others, I might have haply printed a sermon at Paul's Cross, a sermon in St. Marie's Oxon, a sermon in Christ Church, or a sermon before the right honourable, right reverend, a sermon before the right worshipful, a sermon in Latin, in English, a sermon with a name, a sermon without, a sermon, a sermon, &c. But I have been ever as desirous to suppress my labours in this kind, as others have been to press and publish theirs. To have written in controversy had been to cut off an hydra's head, Lis litem generat, one begets another, so many duplications, triplications, and swarms of questions. In sacro bello hoc quod stili mucrone agitur, that having once begun, I should never make an end. One had much better, as Alexander, the sixth pope, long since observed, provoke a great prince than a begging friar, a Jesuit, or a seminary priest, I will add, for inexpugnabile genus hoc hominum, they are an irrefragable society, they must and will have the last word; and that with such eagerness, impudence, abominable lying, falsifying, and bitterness in their questions they proceed, that as he said, furorne caecus, an rapit vis acrior, an culpa, responsum date? Blind fury, or error, or rashness, or what it is that eggs them, I know not, I am sure many times, which Austin perceived long since, tempestate contentionis, serenitas charitatis obnubilatur, with this tempest of contention, the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction."
"At melius fuerat non scribere, namque tacere Tutum semper erit,"———
'Tis a general fault, so Severinus the Dane complains in physic, "unhappy men as we are, we spend our days in unprofitable questions and disputations," intricate subtleties, de lana caprina about moonshine in the water, "leaving in the mean time those chiefest treasures of nature untouched, wherein the best medicines for all manner of diseases are to be found, and do not only neglect them ourselves, but hinder, condemn, forbid, and scoff at others, that are willing to inquire after them." These motives at this present have induced me to make choice of this medicinal subject.
If any physician in the mean time shall infer, Ne sutor ultra crepidam, and find himself grieved that I have intruded into his profession, I will tell him in brief, I do not otherwise by them, than they do by us. If it be for their advantage, I know many of their sect which have taken orders, in hope of a benefice, 'tis a common transition, and why may not a melancholy divine, that can get nothing but by simony, profess physic? Drusianus an Italian (Crusianus, but corruptly, Trithemius calls him) "because he was not fortunate in his practice, forsook his profession, and writ afterwards in divinity." Marcilius Ficinus was semel et simul; a priest and a physician at once, and T. Linacer in his old age took orders. The Jesuits profess both at this time, divers of them permissu superiorum, chirurgeons, panders, bawds, and midwives, &c. Many poor country-vicars, for want of other means, are driven to their shifts; to turn mountebanks, quacksalvers, empirics, and if our greedy patrons hold us to such hard conditions, as commonly they do, they will make most of us work at some trade, as Paul did, at last turn taskers, maltsters, costermongers, graziers, sell ale as some have done, or worse. Howsoever in undertaking this task, I hope I shall commit no great error or indecorum, if all be considered aright, I can vindicate myself with Georgius Braunus, and Hieronymus Hemingius, those two learned divines; who (to borrow a line or two of mine elder brother) drawn by a "natural love, the one of pictures and maps, prospectives and chorographical delights, writ that ample theatre of cities; the other to the study of genealogies, penned theatrum genealogicum." Or else I can excuse my studies with Lessius the Jesuit in like case. It is a disease of the soul on which I am to treat, and as much appertaining to a divine as to a physician, and who knows not what an agreement there is betwixt these two professions? A good divine either is or ought to be a good physician, a spiritual physician at least, as our Saviour calls himself, and was indeed, Mat. iv. 23; Luke, v. 18; Luke, vii. 8. They differ but in object, the one of the body, the other of the soul, and use divers medicines to cure; one amends animam per corpus, the other corpus per animam as our Regius Professor of physic well informed us in a learned lecture of his not long since. One helps the vices and passions of the soul, anger, lust, desperation, pride, presumption, &c. by applying that spiritual physic; as the other uses proper remedies in bodily diseases. Now this being a common infirmity of body and soul, and such a one that hath as much need of spiritual as a corporal cure, I could not find a fitter task to busy myself about, a more apposite theme, so necessary, so commodious, and generally concerning all sorts of men, that should so equally participate of both, and require a whole physician. A divine in this compound mixed malady can do little alone, a physician in some kinds of melancholy much less, both make an absolute cure.