to life; and forthwith ate hay with the dam at the rack. At which marvel all the house was greatly astonished, and yielded thanking unto Almighty God, and to that holy bishop. Upon the morrow, this holy bishop took with him the herdman, and yode unto the presence of the king, and axed of him in sharp wise, why that over-night he had denied to him lodging. Wherewith the king | was so abashed, that he had no power to give unto the holy man answer. Then, St Germain said to him: charge thee, in the name of the Lord God, that thou and thine depart from this palace, and resign it and the rule of thy land to him that is more worthy this room than thou art. The which all thing by power divine was observed and done; and the said herdman, by the holy bishop's authority, was set into the same dignity; of whom after descended all the kings of Britain. [Jack Cade's Insurrection.] [Original Spelling. And in the moneth of Juny this yere, the comons of Kent assemblyd them in grete multytude, and chase to them a capitayne, and named hym Mortymer, and cosyn to the Duke of Yorke; but of moste he was named Jack Cade. This kepte the people wondrouslie togader, and made such ordenaunces amonge theym, that he brought a grete nombre of people of theym vnto the Blak Heth, where he deuysed a bylle of petycions to the kynge and his counsayll, &c.] And in the month of June this year (1450), the commons of Kent assembled them in great multitude, and chase to them a Captain, and named him Mortimer, and cousin to the Duke of York; but of most he was named Jack Cade. This kept the people wondrously together, and made such ordinances among them, that he brought a great number of people of them unto the Black Heath, where he devised a bill of petitions to the king and his council, and showed therein what injuries and oppressions the poor comnons suffered by such as were about the king, a few persons in number, and all under colour to come to his above. The king's council, seeing this bill, disallowed it, and counselled the king, which by the 7th day of June had gathered to him a strong host of people, to go again' his rebels, and to give unto them battle. Then the king, after the said rebels had holden their field upon Black Heath seven days, made toward them. Whereof hearing, the Captain drew back with his people to a village called Sevenoaks, and there embattled. Then it was agreed by the king's council, that Sir Humphrey Stafford, knight, with William his brother, and other certain gentlemen should follow the chase, and the king with his lords should return unto Greenwich, weening to them that the rebels were filed and gone. But, as before I have showed, when Sir Humphrey with his company drew near unto Sevenoaks, he was warned of the Captain, that there abode with his people. And when he had counselled with the other gentlemen, he, like a manful knight, set upon the rebels and fought with them long; but in the end the Captain slew him and his brother, with many other, and caused the rest to give back. All which season, the king's host lay still upon Black Heath, being among them sundry opinions; so that some and many favoured the Captain. But, finally, when word came of the overthrow of the Staffords, they said plainly and boldly, that, except the Lord Saye and other before rehearsed were committed to ward, they would take the Captain's party. For the appeasing of which rumour the Lord Saye was put into the Tower; but that other as then were not at hand. Then the king having knowledge of the scomfiture of his men and also of the rumour of his hosting people, removed from Greenwich to London, and there with his host rested him a while. And so soon as Jack Cade had thus overcome the Staffords, he anon apparelled him with the knight's apparel, and did on him his bryganders set with gilt nails, and his salet and gilt spurs; and after he had refreshed his people, he returned again to Black Heath, and there pight1 again his field, as heretofore he had done, and lay there from the 29th day of June, being St Peter's day, till the first day of July. In which season came unto him the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Duke of Buckingham, with whom they had long communication, and found him right discreet in his answers: how be it they could not cause him to lay down his people, and to submit him unto the king's grace. In this while, the king and the queen, hearing of the increasing of his rebels, and also the lords fearing their own servants, lest they would take the Captain's party, removed from London to Killingworth, leaving the city without aid, except only the Lord Scales, which was left to keep the Tower, and with him a manly and warly man named Matthew Gowth. Then the Captain of Kent thus hoving at Blackheath, to the end to blind the more the people, and to bring him in fame that he kept good justice, beheaded there a petty Captain of his, named Paris, for so much as he had offended again' such ordinance as he had stablished in his host. And hearing that the king and all his lords were thus departed, drew him near unto the city, so that upon the first day of July he entered the burgh of Southwark, being then Wednesday, and lodged him there that night, for he might not be suffered to enter that city. And upon the same day the commons of Essex, in great number, pight them a field upon the plain at Miles End. Upon the second day of the said month, the mayor called a common council at the Guildhall, for to purvey the withstanding of these rebels, and other matters, in which assembled were divers opinions, so that some thought good that the said rebels should be received into the city, and some otherwise; among the which, Robert Horne, stock-fishmonger, then being an alderman, spake sore again' them that would have them enter. For the which sayings, the commons were so amoved again' him, that they ceased not till they had him committed to ward. And the same afternoon, about five of the clock, the Captain with his people entered by the bridge; and when he came upon the drawbridge, he hewed the ropes that drew the bridge in sunder with his sword, and so passed into the city, and made in sundry places thereof proclamations in the king's name, that no man, upon pain of death, should rob or take anything per force without paying therefor. By reason whercof he won many hearts of the commons of the city; but all was done to beguile the people, as after shall evidently appear. He rode through divers streets of the city, and as he came by London Stone, he strake it with his sword and said, 'Now is Mortimer lord of this city.' And when he had thus showed himself in divers places of the city, and showed his mind to the mayor for the ordering of his people, he returned into Southwark, and there abode as he before had done, his people coming and going at lawful hours when they would. Then upon the morn, being the third day of July and Friday, the said Captain entered again the city, and caused the Lord Saye to be fette3 from the Tower, and led into the Guildhall, where he was arraigned before the mayor and other of the king's justices. In which pastime he intended to have brought before the said justices the foresaid Robert Horne; but his wife and friends made to him such instant labour, that finally, for five hundred marks, he was set at his liberty. Then the Lord Saye, being as before is said, at Guildhall, desired that he might be judged by his peers. Whereof hearing, the Captain sent a company of his unto the hall, the which per force took him from his officers, and so brought him unto the standard in Cheap, where, or he were half shriven, they strake off his head; and that done, pight it upon a long pole, and so bare it about with them. In this time and season had the Captain caused a gentleman to be taken, named William Crowmer, which before had been sheriff of Kent, and used, as they said, some extortions. For which cause, or for he had favoured the Lord Saye, by reason that he had married his daughter, he was hurried to Miles End, and there, in the Captain's presence, beheaded. And the same time was there also beheaded another man, called Baillie, the cause of whose death was this, as I have heard some men report. This Baillie was of the familiar and old acquaintance of Jack Cade, wherefore, so soon as he espied him coming to him-ward, he cast in his mind that he would discover his living and old manners, and show off his vile kin and lineage. Wherefore, knowing that the said Baillie used to bear scrows, and prophesy about him, showing to his company that he was an enchanter and of ill disposition, and that they should well know by such books as he bare upon him, and bade them search, and if they found not as he said, that then they should put him to death, which all was done according to his com mandment. When they had thus beheaded these two men, they took the head of Crowmer and pight it upon a pole, and so entered again the city with the heads of the Lords Saye and of Crowmer; and as they passed the streets, joined the poles together, and caused either dead mouth to kiss other diverse and many times. And the Captain the self-same day went unto the house of Philip Malpas, draper and alderman, and robbed and spoiled his house, and took thence a great substance; but he was before warned, and thereby conveyed much of his money and plate, or else he had been undone. At which spoiling were present many poor men of the city, which at such times been ever ready in all places to do harm, when such riots been done. Then toward night he returned into Southwark, and upon the morn re-entered the city, and dined that day at a place in St Margaret Patyn parish, called Gherstis House; and when he had dined, like an uncurteous guest, robbed him, as the day before he had Malpas. For which two robberies, albeit that the porail and needy people drew unto him, and were partners of that ill, the honest and thrifty commoners cast in their minds the sequel of this matter, and feared lest they should be dealt with in like manner, by means whereof he lost the people's favour and hearts. For it was to be thought, if he had not executed that robbery, he might have gone fair and brought his purpose to good effect, if he had intended well; but it is to deem and presuppose that the intent of him was not good, wherefore it might not come to any good conclusion. Then the mayor and aldermen, with assistance of the worshipful commoners, seeing this misdemeanour of the Captain, in safeguarding of themself and of the city, took their counsels, how they might drive the Captain and his adherents from the city, wherein their fear was the more, for so much as the king and his lords with their powers were far from them. But yet in avoiding of apparent peril, they condescended that they would withstand his any more entry into the city. For the performance whereof, the mayor sent unto the Lord Scales and Matthew Gowth, then having the Tower in guiding, and had of them assent to perform the same. Then upon the 5th day of July, the Captain being in Southwark, caused a man to be beheaded, for cause of displeasure to him done, as the fame went; and so he kept him in Southwark all that day; how be it he might have entered the city if he had wold. And when night was coming, the mayor and citizens, with Matthew Gowth, like to their former appointment, kept the passage of the bridge, being Sunday, and defended the Kentishmen, which made great force to re-enter the city. Then the Captain, seeing this bickering begun, yode to harness, and called his people about him, and set so fiercely upon the citizens, that he drave them back from the stulpes in Southwark, or bridge foot, unto the drawbridge. Then the Kentishmen set fire upon the drawbridge. In defending whereof many a man was drowned and slain, among the which, of men of name was John Sutton, alderman, Matthew Gowth, gentleman, and Roger Heysand, citizen. And thus continued this skirmish all night, till 9 of the clock upon the morn; so that sometime the citizens had the better, and thus soon the Kentishmen were upon the better side; but ever they kept them upon the bridge, so that the citizens passed never much the bulwark at the bridge foot, nor the Kentishmen much farther than the drawbridge. Thus continuing this cruel fight, to the de struction of much people on both sides; lastly, after the Kentishmen were put to the worse, a trewl was agreed for certain hours during the which trew, the Archbishop of Canterbury, then chancellor of England, sent a general pardon to the Captain for himself, and another for his people: by reason whereof he and his company departed the same night out of Southwark, and so returned every man to his own. But it was not long after that the Captain with hi company was thus departed, that proclamations wer made in divers places of Kent, of Sussex, and Sow therey, that who might take the foresaid Jack Cade, either alive or dead, should have a thousand mark for his travail. After which proclamation thus published, a gentleman of Kent, named Alexander Iden, awaited so his time, that he took him in a garden in Sussex, where in the taking of him the said Jack was slain: and so being dead, was brought into Southwark the day of the month of September, and then left in the King's Bench for that night. And upon the morrow the dead corpse was drawn through the high streets of the city unto Newgate, and there headed and quartered, whose head was then sent to London Bridge, and his four quarters were sent to four sundry towns of Kent. And this done, the king sent his commissions into Kent, and rode after himself, and caused enquiry to be made of this riot in Canterbury; wherefore the same eight men were judged and put to death; and in other good towns of Kent and Sussex, divers other were put in execution for the same riot. Hall, who was a lawyer and a judge in the sheriff's court of London, and died at an advanced age in 1547, compiled a copious chronicle of English history during the reigns of the houses of Lancaster and York, and those of Henry VII. and Henry VIII, which was first printed by Grafton in 1548, under the title of The Union of the two Noble and Illustre Families of Lancastre and Yorke, with all the Actes done in both the tymes of the Princes both of the one linage and the other, &c. Hall is very minute in his notices of the fashions of the time: altogether, his work is of a superior character to that of Fabian, as might perhaps be expected from his better education and condition in life. Considered as the only compilations of English history at the command of the wits of Elizabeth's reign, and as furnishing the foundations of many scenes and even whole plays by one of the 1 Truce. most illustrious of these, the Chronicles have a value in our eyes beyond that which properly belongs to them. In the following extract, the matter of a remarkable scene in Richard III. is found, and it is worthy of notice, how well the prose narration reads beside the poetical one. [Scene in the Council-Room of the Protector Gloucester.] The Lord Protector caused a council to be set at the Tower, on Friday the thirteen day of June, where there was much communing for the honourable solemnity of the coronation, of the which the time appointed approached so near, that the pageants were a making day and night at Westminster, and victual killed, which afterward was cast away. theless, the Lord Hastings, which from the death of King Edward kept Shore's wife, his heart somewhat grudged to have her whom he loved so highly accused, and that as he knew well untruly; therefore he answered and said, 'Certainly, my Lord, if they have so done, they be worthy of heinous punishment.' 'What!' quoth the Protector, 'thou servest me, I ween, with if and with and; I tell thee, they have done it, and that will I make good on thy body, traitor!' And therewith, as in a great anger, he clapped his fist on the board a great rap, at which token given, one cried treason without the chamber, and therewith a door clapped, and in came rushing men in harness, as many as the chamber could hold. And anon the Protector said to the Lord Hastings, I arrest thee, traitor! What! me ! my These lords thus sitting, communing of this matter, Lord,' quoth he. Yea, the traitor,' quoth the Prothe Protector came in among them, about nine of the tector. And one let fly at the Lord Stanley, which clock, saluting them courteously, excusing himself that shrunk at the stroke, and fell under the table, or else he had been from them so long, saying merrily that his head had been cleft to the teeth; for as shortly he had been a sleeper that day. And after a little as he shrunk, yet ran the blood about his ears. Then talking with him, he said to the Bishop of Ely, My was the Archbishop of York, and Docter Morton, Lord, you have very good strawberries in your garden Bishop of Ely, and the Lord Stanley taken, and divers a Holborn; I require you let us have a mess of them.' others which were bestowed in divers chambers, save Giadly, my Lord,' quoth he; I would I had some the Lord Hastings, whom the Protector commanded better thing, as ready to your pleasure as that ;' and to speed and shrive him apace. For, by Saint Poule,' with that in all haste he sent his servant for a dish quoth he, I will not dine till I see thy head off.' of strawberries. The Protector set the lords fast in It booted him not to ask why, but heavily he took communing, and thereupon prayed them to spare him priest at a venture, and made a short shrift, for a a little; and so he departed, and came again between longer would not be suffered, the Protector made so ten and eleven of the clock in to the chamber, all much haste to his dinner, which might not go to it changed, with a sour angry countenance, knitting the till this murder were done, for saving of his ungrabrows, frowning and fretting, and gnawing on his cious oath. So was he brought forth into the green, lips; and so set him down in his place. All the lords beside the chapel within the Tower, and his head laid were dismayed, and sore marvelled of this manner down on a log of timber, that lay there for building and sudden change, and what thing should him ail. of the chapel, and there tyrannously stricken off, and When he had sitten a while, thus he began: What after his body and head were interred at Windsor, by were they worthy to have, that compass and imagine his master, King Edward the Fourth; whose souls the destruction of me, being so near of blood to the Jesu pardon. Amen. king, and protector of this his royal realm?' At which question, all the lords sat sore astonished, musing much by whom the question should be meant, of which every man knew himself clear. ་ Then the Lord Hastings, as he that, for the familiarity that was between them, thought he might be boldest with him, answered and said, that they were worthy to be punished as heinous traitors, whatsoever they were; and all the other affirmed the same. That is,' quoth he, yonder sorceress, my brother's wife, and other with her;' meaning the queen. Many of the lords were sore abashed which favoured her; but the Lord Hastings was better content in his mind, that it was moved by her than by any other that he loved better; albeit his heart grudged that he was not afore made of counsel of this matter, as well as he was of the taking of her kindred, and of their putting to death, which were by his assent before devised to be beheaded at Pomfret, this self same day; in the which he was not ware, that it was by other devised that he himself should the same day be beheaded at London. Then,' said the Protector, in what wise that sorceress and other of her counsel, as Shore's wife, with her affinity, have by their sorcery and witchcraft thus wasted my body! and therewith plucked up his doublet sleeve to his elbow, on his left arm, where he showed a very withered arm, and small, as it was never other.' And thereupon every man's mind misgave them, well perceiving that this matter was but a quarrel; for well they wist that the queen was both too wise to go about any such folly, and also, if she would, yet would she of all folk make Shore's wife least of her counsel, whom of all women she most hated, as that concubine whom the king, her husband, most loved. SIR THOMAS MORE. Passing over Fortescue, the first prose-writer who mingled just and striking thought with his language, and was entitled to the appellation of a man of genius, was unquestionably the celebrated chancellor of Henry VIII., SIR THOMAS MORE (1480-1535). Born the son of a judge of the King's Bench, and educated at Oxford, More entered life with all external advantages, and soon reached a distinguished situation in the law and in state employments. He was appointed Lord Chancellor in 1529, being the first layman who ever held the office. At all periods of his life, he was a zealous professor of the Catholic faith, insomuch that he was at one time with difficulty restrained from becoming a monk. When Henry wished to divorce Catherine, he was opposed by the conscientious More, who accordingly incurred his displeasure, and perished on the scaffold The cheerful, or rather mirthful, disposition of the learned chancellor forsook him not at the last, and he jested even when about to lay his head upon the block. The character of More was most benignant, as the letter to his wife, who was ill-tempered, written after the burning of some of his property, expressively shows, at the same time that it is a good specimen of his English prose. The domestic circle at his house in Chelsea, where the profoundly learned statesman at once paid reverence to his parents and sported with his children, has been made the subject of an interesting picture by the great artist of that age, Holbein. The literary productions of More are partly in Also, there was no man there, but knew that his Latin and partly in English: he adopted the former arm was ever such, sith the day of his birth. Never- | language probably from taste, the latter for the pur ment founded on theoretical views being since then termed Utopian. The most of the English writings of More are pamphlets on the religious controversies of his day, and the only one which is now of value is A History of Edward V., and of his Brother, and of Richard III., which Mr Hallam considers as the first English prose work free of vulgarisms and pedantry. The intention of Sir Thomas More in his Utopia is to set forth his idea of those social arrangements whereby the happiness and improvement of the people may be secured to the utmost extent of which human nature is susceptible; though, probably, he has pictured more than he really conceived it possible to effect. Experience proves that many of his suggestions are indeed Utopian. In his imaginary island, for instance, all are contented with the necessaries of life; all are employed in useful labour; no man desires, in clothing, any other quality besides durability; and since wants are few, and every individual engages in labour, there is no need for working more than six hours a-day. Neither laziness nor avarice finds a place in this happy region; for why should the people be indolent when they have so little toil, or greedy when they know that there is abundance for each? All this, it is evident, is incompatible with qualities inherent in human nature: man requires the stimulus of self-interest to render him industrious and persevering; he loves not utility merely, but ornament; he possesses a spirit of emulation which makes him endeavour to outstrip his fellows, and a desire to accumulate property even for its own sake. With much that is Utopian, however, the work contains many sound suggestions. Thus, instead of severe punishment of theft, the author would improve the morals and condition of the people, so as to take away the temptation to crime; for, says he, if you suffer your people to be illeducated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this, but that you first make thieves, and then punish them?' In Utopia, we are told, war is never entered on but for some gross injury done to themselves, or, more especially, to their allies; and the glory of a general is in proportion, not to the number, but to the fewness of the enemies, whom he slays in gaining a victory. Criminals are generally punished with slavery, even for the greatest misdeeds, since servitude is no less terrible than death itself; and, by making slaves of malefactors, not only does the public get the benefit of their labour, but the continual sight of their misery is more effectual than their death to deter other men from crime. It is one of the oldest laws of the Utopians, that no man ought to be punished for his religion; it being a fundamental opinion among them, that a man cannot make himself believe anything he pleases; nor do they drive any to dissemble their thoughts by threatenings, so that men are not tempted to lie or disguise their opinions among them; which, being a sort of fraud, is abhorred by the Utopians.' Every man may endeavour to convert others to his views by the force of amicable and modest argument, without bitterness against those of other opinions; but whoever adds reproach and violence to persuasion, is to be condemned to banishment or slavery. Such tolerant views were extremely rare in the days of Sir Thomas More, and in later life were lamentably departed from by himself in practice; for in persecuting the Protestants, he displayed a degree of intolerance and severity which were strangely at variance both with the opinions of his youth and the general mildness of his disposition. a curious philosophical work under the title of Utopia, which, describing an imaginary pattern country and people, has added a word to the English language, every scheme of national improve * The following is a specimen of Sir Thomas More's juvenile poetry He that hath lafte the hosier's crafte, The smyth that shall to painting fall, A black draper with whyte paper, An old butler become a cutler I wene shall prove a fole. With her physicke will kepe one sicke, A merchaunt eke, that will go seke With bate and strife, but by my life Whan an hatter will smatter In philosophy, Or a pedlar waxe a medlar In theology, &c. [Letter to Lady More.] [Returning from the negotiations at Cambray, Sir Thomas More heard that his barns and some of those of his neighbours had been burnt down; he consequently wrote the following letter to his wife. Its gentleness to a sour-tempered woman, and the benevolent feelings expressed about the property of his neighbours, have been much admired.] Mistress Alice, in my most heartywise I recommend me to you. And whereas I am informed by my son Heron of the loss of our barns and our neighbours' also, with all the corn that was therein; albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is great pity of so much good corn lost; yet since it has liked him to send us such a chance, we must and are bounden, not only to be content, but also to be glad of his visitation. He sent us all that we have lost; and since he hath by such a chance taken it away again, his pleasure be fulfilled! Let us never grudge thereat, but take it in good worth, and heartily thank him, as well for adversity as for prosperity. And peradventure we have more cause to thank him for our loss than for our winning, for his wisdom better seeth what is good for us than we do ourselves. Therefore, I pray you be of good cheer, and take all the household with you to church, and there thank God, both for that he has given us, and for that he has taken from us, and for that he hath left us; which, if it please him, he can increase when he will, and if it please him to leave us yet less, at his pleasure be it! hatred report above the truth, or else that nature changed her course in his beginning, which, in the course of his life, many things unnaturally committed.) None evil captain was he in the war, as to which his disposition was more meetly than for peace. Sundry victories had he, and sometime overthrows, but never in default for his own person, either of hardiness or politic order. Free was he called of dispense, and somewhat above his power liberal. With large gifts he get him unsteadfast friendship, for which he was fain to pil and spoil in other places, and get him stedfast hatred. He was close and secret; a deep dissimuler, lowly of countenance, arrogant of heart; outwardly coumpinable where he inwardly hated, not letting to kiss whom he thought to kill; dispitious and cruel, not for evil will alway, but oftener for ambition, and either for the surety and increase of his estate. Friend and foe was indifferent, where his advantage grew; he spared no man's death whose life withstood his purpose. He slew with his own hands king Henry VI., being prisoner in the Tower. [The Utopian Idea of Pleasure.] (From Bishop Burnet's translation of the Utopia.) They think it is an evidence of true wisdom for a man to pursue his own advantages as far as the laws I pray you to make some good onsearch what my allow it. They account it piety to prefer the public poor neighbours have lost, and bid them take no good to one's private concerns. But they think it thought therefore; for, if I should not leave myself a unjust for a man to seek for his own pleasure, by spoon, there shall no poor neighbour of mine bear no snatching another man's pleasures from him. And, loss by my chance, happened in my house. I pray on the contrary, they think it a sign of a gentle and you be, with my children and your household, merry good soul, for a man to dispense with his own advanin God; and devise somewhat with your friends what tage for the good of others; and that, by so doing, a way were best to take, for provision to be made for good man finds as much pleasure one way as he parts corn for our household, and for seed this year coming, with another; for, as he may expect the like from if we think it good that we keep the ground still in others when he may come to need it, so, if that should ur hands. And whether we think it good that we fail him, yet the sense of a good action, and the reso shall do or not, yet I think it were not best sud-flections that one makes on the love and gratitude of denly thus to leave it all up, and to put away our folk from our farm, till we have somewhat advised us thereon. Howbeit, if we have more now than ye shall need, and which can get them other masters, ye may then discharge us of them. But I would not that any man were suddenly sent away, he wot not whither. At my coming hither, I perceived none other but that I should tarry still with the king's grace. But now I shall, I think, because of this chance, get leave this next week to come home and see you, and then shall we farther devise together upon all things, what order shall be best to take. those whom he has so obliged, gives the mind more pleasure than the body could have found in that from which it had restrained itself. They are also per suaded that God will make up the loss of those small pleasures with a vast and endless joy, of which religion does easily convince a good soul. Thus, upon an inquiry into the whole matter, they reckon that all our actions, and even all our virtues, terminate in pleasure, as in our chief end and greatest happiness; and they call every motion or state, either of body or mind, in which nature teaches us to delight, a pleasure. And thus they cautiously limit pleasure only to those appetites to which nature leads us; for they reckon that nature leads us only to those delights to which reason as well as sense carries us, and by which we neither injure any other person, nor let go greater pleasures for it, and which do not draw troubles on us after them; but they look upon those delights which [Sir Thomas's account of Richard III. has been followed by men, by a foolish though common mistake, call plea Shakspeare.] Richard, the third son, of whom we now entreat, was in wit and courage egall with either of them; in body and prowess, far under thern both; little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hard-favoured of visage. He was malicious, wrathful, erious, and from afore his birth ever froward. It is for truth reported, that the duchess his mother had so much ado in her travail, that she could not be delivered of him uncut; and that he came into the world with the feet forward, as men be borne outward; and (as the Fame runneth) also not untoothed (whether men of 1 Equal. sure, as if they could change the nature of things, as not advance our happiness, but do rather obstruct it well as the use of words, as things that not only do very much, because they do so entirely possess the minds of those that once go into them with a false notion of pleasure, that there is no room left for truer and purer pleasures. nothing that is truly delighting: on the contrary, There are many things that in themselves have they have a good deal of bitterness in them; and yet by our perverse appetites after forbidden objects, are not only ranked among the pleasures, but are made even the greatest designs of life. Among those who pursue these sophisticated pleasures, they reckon those whom I mentioned before, who think themselves |