Plutarch wisheth all health to his Paccius. 
 It was late before I received your letter, wherein you
					make it your request that I would write something to you
					concerning the tranquillity of the mind, and of those
					things in the Timaeus which require a more perspicuous
					interpretation. At the same time a very urgent occasion
					called upon our common friend and companion Eros to
					sail directly to Rome; that which quickened him to a
					greater expedition was a dispatch he received from Fundanus, that best of men, who, as his custom is, always enjoins
					the making haste. Therefore, wanting full leisure to consummate those things justly which you requested, and
					being on the other side unwilling to send one from me to
					your dear self empty handed, I have transcribed my
					commonplace book, and hastily put together those collections which I had by me concerning this subject; for I
					thought you a man that did not look after flourishes of
					style and the affected elegance of language, but only
					required what was instructive in its nature and useful to us
					in the conduct of our lives. And I congratulate that bravery
					of temper in you, that though you are admitted into the
					confidence of princes, and have obtained so great a vogue
					of eloquence at the bar that no man hath exceeded you,
					you have not, like the tragic Merops, suffered yourself to
					be puffed up with the applause of the multitude, and
					transported beyond those bounds which are prescribed to
					
					 
					
					our passions; but you call to mind that which you have so
					often heard, that a rich slipper will not cure the gout, a
					diamond ring a whitlow, nor will an imperial diadem ease
					the headache. For what advantage is there in honor,
					riches, or an interest at court, to remove all perturbations
					of mind and procure an equal tenor of life, if we do not
					use them with decency when they are present to our
					enjoyment, and if we are continually afflicted by their loss
					when we are deprived of them? And what is this but the
					province of reason, when the sensual part of us grows
					turbulent and makes excursions, to check its sallies and
					bring it again within the limits it hath transgressed, that it
					may not be carried away and so perverted with the gay
					appearances of things. For as Xenophon gives advice, we
					ought to remember the Gods and pay them particular
					devotions when our affairs are prosperous, that so when
					an exigency presseth us we may more confidently invoke
					them, now we have conciliated their favor and made them
					our friends. So wise men always ruminate upon those
					arguments which have any efficacy against the troubles of
					the mind before their calamities happen, that so the
					remedies being long prepared, they may acquire energy,
					and work with a more powerful operation. For as angry
					dogs are exasperated by every one’s rating them, and are
					flattered to be quiet only by his voice to which they are
					accustomed; so it is not easy to pacify the brutish affections of the soul but by familiar reasons, and such as are
					used to be administered in such inward distempers.

Besides, he that affirmed that whosoever would enjoy
				tranquillity of mind must disengage himself from all
				private and public concerns, would make us pay dear for
				our tranquillity by buying it with idleness; as if he should
				prescribe thus to a sick man: — 
				
				
				 
 Lie still, poor wretch, and keep thy bed. 
 
 
				
				 
				
				Now stupefaction is a bad remedy for desperate pain in
				the body, and verily he would be no better physician for
				the soul who should order idleness, softness, and neglect
				of friends, kinsfolk, and country, in order to remove its
				trouble and grief. It is likewise a false position that those
				live most contentedly who have the least to do; for then by
				this rule women should be of more sedate dispositions
				than men, since they only sit at home and mind their
				domestic affairs. Whereas in fact, as Hesiod expresseth
				it, — 
				
				
				 
 The virgins’ tender limbs are kept from cold; 
					 Not the least wind to touch them is so bold; 
 
 
				
				but nevertheless we see that grief and troubles and
				discontentments, arising from jealousy or superstition or
				vain opinions, flow as it were with a torrent into the apartments of the females. And though Laertes lived twenty
				years in the fields secluded from the world, and
				
				
				 
 Only a toothless hag did make his bed, 
					 Draw him his drink, and did his table spread, 
 
 
				
				though he forsook his house and country, and fled from a
				kingdom, yet grief with his sloth and sadness still kept
				him company. There are some to whom idleness hath
				been an affliction; as for instance, — 
				
				
				 
 But raging still, amidst his navy sat 
					 The stern Achilles, steadfast in his hate; 
					 Nor mix’d in combat, nor in council join’d; 
					 But wasting cares lay heavy on his mind: 
					 In his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll, 
					 And scenes of blood rise dreadful in his soul. 
 
 
 
 And he himself complains of it, being mightily disturbed, after this manner: — 
					
					
					 
 I live an idle burden to the ground. 
 
 
 
 Hence it is that Epicurus adviseth those who aspire to
					glory not to stagnate in their ambition, but be in perpetual
					
					 
					
					motion, and so obey the dictates of their genius in managing the commonwealth; because they would be more
					tormented and would suffer greater damages by idleness,
					if they were disappointed of that they were in the eager
					pursuit of. But the philosopher is absurd in this, that he
					doth not excite men who have abilities to qualify themselves
					for charges in the government, but only those who are of a
					restless and unquiet disposition. For the tranquillity and
					perturbation of the mind are not to be measured by the
					fewness or multitude of our actions, but by their beauty or
					turpitude; since the omission of what is good is no less
					troublesome than the commission of evil.

As for those who think there is one positive state of
				life, which is always serene, — some fancying it to be of
				the husbandmen, others of those which are unmarried, and
				some of kings, — Menander clearly shows them their error
				in these verses: — 
				
				
				 
 I thought those men, my Phania, always best, 
					 Who take no money up at interest; 
					 Who disengaged from business spend the day, 
					 And in complaints don’t sigh the night away, 
					 Who, troubled, lamentable groans don’t fetch, 
					 Thus breathing out, Ah! miserable wretch! 
					 Those whom despairing thoughts don’t waking keep, 
					 But without startings sweetly take their sleep. 
 
				
				He goes on and observes to us, that the same lot of misfortune falls to the rich as well as the poor: — 
				
				
				 
 These neighbors slender confines do divide, — 
					 Sorrow and human life are still allied. 
					 It the luxurious liver doth infest, 
					 And robs the man of honor of his rest; 
					 In stricter ties doth with the poor engage, 
					 With him grows old to a decrepit age. 
 
				
				But as timorous and raw sailors in a boat, when they grow
				sick with the working of the waves, think they shall overcome their pukings if they go on board of a ship but there
				being equally out of order, go into a galley, but are therefore never the better, because they carry their nauseousness
				
				 
				
				and fear along with them; so the several changes of life
				do only shift and not wholly extirpate the causes of our
				trouble. And these are only our want of experience, the
				weakness of our judgment, and a certain impotence of
				mind which hinders us from making a right use of what
				we enjoy. The rich man is subject to this uneasiness of
				humor as well as the poor; the bachelor as well as the
				man in wedlock. This makes the pleader withdraw from
				the bar, and then his retirement is altogether as irksome.
				And this infuseth a desire into others to be presented at
				court; and when they come there, they presently grow
				weary of the life.
				
				
				 
 Poor men when sick do peevishly complain, 
					 The sense of want doth aggravate their pain. 
 
 
				
				For then the wife grows officious in her attendance, the
				physician himself is a disease, and the bed is not made
				easy enough to his mind; even his friend importunes him
				with his visits: — 
				
				
				 
 He doth molest him when he first doth come, 
					 And when he goes away he’s troublesome, 
 
				
				as Ion expresseth it. But when the heat of the disease is
				over and the former temperature of the body is restored, then
				health returns, and brings with it all those pleasant images
				which sickness chased away; so that he that yesterday
				refused eggs and delicate cakes and the finest manchets will
				now snap eagerly at a piece of household bread, with an
				olive and a few water-cresses.

So reason makes all sorts of life easy, and every change
				pleasant. Alexander wept when he heard from Anaxarchus
				that there was an infinite number of worlds, and his friends
				asking him if any accident had befallen him, he returns
				this answer: Do not you think it a matter worthy of lamentation, that, when there is such a vast multitude of them,
				we have not yet conquered one? But Crates with only his
				
				 
				
				scrip and tattered cloak laughed out his life jocosely, as
				if he had been always at a festival. The great power
				and command of Agamemnon gave him an equal disturbance: — 
				
				
				 
 Look upon Agamemnon, Atreus’s son, 
					 What mighty loads of trouble he hath on. 
					 He is distracted with perpetual care; 
					 Jove that inflicts it gives him strength to bear. 
 
 
 
 Diogenes, when he was exposed to sale in the market
					and was commanded to stand up, not only refused to do it,
					but ridiculed the auctioneer, with this piece of raillery:
					What! if you were selling a fish, would you bid it rise
					up? Socrates was a philosopher in the prison, and discoursed with his friends, though he was fettered. But
					Phaeton, when he climbed up into heaven, thought himself
					unhappy there, because nobody would give him his father’s
					chariot and the horses of the sun. As therefore the shoe
					is twisted to the shape of the foot and not in the opposite
					way, so do the affections of the mind render the life conformable to themselves. For it is not custom, as one
					observed, which makes even the best life pleasant to those
					who choose it, but it must be prudence in conjunction with
					it, which makes it not only the best for its kind, but sweetest in its enjoyment. The fountain therefore of tranquillity being in ourselves, let us cleanse it from all impurity
					and make its streams limpid, that all external accidents, by
					being made familiar, may be no longer grievous to us, since
					we shall know how to use them well.
					
					
					 
 Let not these things thy least concern engage; 
						 For though thou fret, they will not mind thy rage. 
						 Him only good and happy we may call 
						 Who rightly useth what doth him befall.

For Plato compared our life to a game at dice, where
				we ought to throw for what is most commodious for us,
				but when we have thrown, to make the best of our casts. 
 
 We cannot make what chances we please turn up, if we
					play fair; this lies out of our power. That which is within
					our power, and is our duty if we are wise, is to accept patiently what Fortune shall allot us, and so to adjust things
					in their proper places, that what is our own may be disposed of to the best advantage, and what hath happened
					against our will may offend us as little as possible. But
					as to men who live without measures and with no prudence,
					like those whose constitution is so sickly and infirm that
					they are equally impatient both of heats and colds, prosperity exalts them above their temper, and adversity dejects
					them beneath it; indeed each fortune disturbs them, or
					rather they raise up storms to themselves in either, and
					they are especially querulous under good circumstances.
					Theodorus, who was called the Atheist, was used to say,
					that he reached out his instructions with the right hand,
					and his auditors received them with their left hands. So
					men of no education, when Fortune would even be complaisant to them, are yet so awkward in their observance,
					that they take her addresses on the wrong side. On the
					contrary, men that are wise, as the bees draw honey from
					the thyme, which is a most unsavory and dry herb, extract
					something that is convenient and useful even from the most
					bitter afflictions.

This therefore let us learn and have inculcated upon
				us; like the man who threw a stone at a bitch, but hit his
				step-mother, on which he exclaimed, Not so bad. So we
				may often turn the direction of what Fortune obtrudes upon
				us contrary to our desires. Diogenes was driven into banishment, but it was not so bad for him; for of an exile
				he became a philosopher. Zeno of Citium, when he heard
				that the only ship he had left was sunk by an unmerciful
				tempest, with all the rich cargo that was in her, brake out
				into this exclamation: Fortune, I applaud thy contrivance,
				who by this means hast reduced me to a threadbare cloak
				
				 
				
				and the piazza of the Stoics. What hinders then but that
				these examples should be the patterns of our imitation?
				Thou stoodst candidate for a place in the government, and
				wast baulked in thy hopes; consider that thou wilt live at
				ease in thy own country, following thy own affairs. Thou
				wast ambitious to be the confidant of some great person,
				and sufferedst a repulse; thou wilt gain thus much by it,
				that thou wilt be free from danger and disembarrassed from
				business. Again, hast thou managed any affairs full of
				intricacy and trouble? Hot water doth not so much cherish the soft members of the body, as Pindar expresseth
				it, as glory and honor joined with power sweeten all our
				toils and make labor easy. Hast thou met with any unfortunate success? Hath calumny bit, or envy hissed at thee?
				There is yet a prosperous gale, which sits fair to convey
				thee to the port of the Muses and land thee at the Academy.
				This Plato did, after he made shipwreck of the friendship
				of Diogenes. And indeed it highly conduceth to the tranquillity of the mind, to look back upon illustrious men and
				see with what temper they have borne their calamities.
				For instance, doth it trouble thee that thou wantest
				children? Consider that kings of the Romans have died
				without them, — had kingdoms to leave, but no heirs. Doth
				poverty and low condition afflict thee? It is put to thy
				option, wouldst thou not rather of all the Boeotians be
				Epaminondas, and of all the Romans Fabricius? But thy
				bed is violated, and thy wife is an adulteress. Didst thou
				never read this inscription at Delphi? — 
				
				
				 
 Here am I set by Agis’ royal hand, 
					 Who both the earth and ocean did command. 
 
				
				And yet did the report never arrive thee that Alcibiades
				debauched this king’s wife, Timaea? — and that she herself
				whispered archly to her maids, that the child was not the
				genuine offspring of her husband, but a young Alcibiades?
				
				 
				
				Yet this did not obstruct the glory of the man; for, notwithstanding his being a cuckold, he was the greatest and
				most famous among the Greeks. Nor did the dissolute
				manners of his daughter hinder Stilpo from enlivening
				his humor and being the jolliest philosopher of his time;
				for when Metrocles upbraided him with it, he asked him
				whether he was the offender or his mad girl. He answered,
				that it was her sin but his misfortune. To which Stilpo
				replied: But are not sins lapses? No doubt of it, saith
				Metrocles. And is not that properly called lapse, when we
				fall off from the attainment of those things we were in the
				pursuit of? He could not deny it. He pursued him further with this question: And are not these unlucky traverses
				misfortunes to them who are thus disappointed? Thus by
				a pleasant and philosophical reasoning he turned the discourse, and showed the Cynic that his calumny was idle
				and he barked in vain.

But there are some whom not only the evil dispositions
				of their friends and domestics, but those of their enemies,
				give disturbance to. For a proneness to speak evil of
				another, anger, envy, ill-nature, a jealous and perverse
				temper, are the pests of those who are infected with them.
				And these serve only to trouble and exasperate fools, like
				the brawls of scolding neighbors, the peevishness of our
				acquaintance, and the iniquity or want of qualifications in
				those who administer the government. But thou seemest
				to me to be especially concerned with affairs of this nature;
				for, like the physicians mentioned by Sophocles, — 
				
				
				 
 Who bitter choler cleanse and scour 
					 With drugs as bitter and as sour, — 
 
				
				thou dost let other men’s enormities sour thy blood; which
				is highly irrational. For, even in matters of private management, thou dost not always employ men of wit and
				address, which are the most proper for such an execution,
				but sometimes those of rough and crooked dispositions;
				
				 
				
				and to animadvert upon them for every peccadillo thou
				must not think belongs to thee, nor is it easy in the performance. But if thou makest that use of them, as chirurgeons do of forceps to pull out teeth or ligatures to
				bind wounds, and so appear cheerful whatever falls out,
				the satisfaction of thy mind will delight thee more than the
				concern at other men’s pravity and malicious humor will
				disturb thee. Otherwise, as dogs bark at all persons indifferently, so, if thou persecutest everybody that offends
				thee, thou wilt bring the matter to this pass by thy imprudence, that all things will flow down into this imbecility of
				thy mind, as a place void and capable of receiving them,
				and at last thou wilt be filled with nothing but other men’s
				miscarriages. For if some of the philosophers inveigh
				against compassion which others’ calamities affect us with,
				as a soft affection (saying, that we ought to give real assistance to those in distress, and not to be dejected or sympathize with them), and if — which is a thing of higher
				moment — they discard all sadness and uneasiness when
				the sense of a vice or a disease is upon us, saying that we
				ought to cure the indisposition without being grieved; is it
				not highly consonant to reason, that we should not storm
				or fret, if those we have to do with are not so wise and
				honest as they should be? Let us consider the thing truly,
				my Paccius, lest, whilst we find fault with others, we prove
				partial in our own respect through inadvertency, and lest
				our censuring their failings may proceed not so much from
				a hatred of their vices as from love of ourselves. We
				should not have our passions moved at every provocation,
				nor let our desires grow exorbitant beyond what is just;
				for these little aversions of our temper engender suspicions,
				and infuse moroseness into us, which makes us surly to
				those who precluded the way to our ambition, or who made
				us fall into those disastrous events we would willingly have
				shunned. But he that hath a smoothness in his nature
				
				 
				
				and a talent of moderation can transact and converse with
				mankind easily and with mildness.

Let us recapitulate therefore what we have said.
				When we are in a fever, every thing that we taste is not
				only unsavory but bitter; but when we see others relish it
				without any disgust, we do not then lay the blame either
				upon the meat or drink, but conclude that only ourselves
				and the disease are in fault. In like manner we shall cease
				to bear things impatiently, if we see others enjoy them with
				alacrity and humor. And this likewise is a great promoter
				of the tranquillity of the mind, if, amongst those ill successes which carry a dismal appearance, we look upon
				other events which have a more beautiful aspect, and so
				blend them together that we may overcome the bad by the
				mixture of the good. But although, when our eyes are
				dazzled with too intense a splendor, we refresh our sight
				by viewing something that is green and florid, yet we fix
				the optics of our minds upon doleful objects, and compel
				them to dwell upon the recital of our miseries, plucking
				them perforce, as it were, from the consideration of what
				is better. And here we may insert that which was said to
				a pragmatical fellow, handsomely enough: — 
				
				
				 
 Why so quick sighted others’ faults to find, 
					 But to thy own so partially art blind? 
					 ’Tis malice that exasperates thy mind. 
 
 
 But why, my friend, art thou so acute to discern even
					thy own misfortunes, and so industrious to renew them
					and set them in thy sight, that they may be the more conspicuous, while thou never turnest thy consideration to
					those good things which are present with thee and thou
					dost enjoy But as cupping-glasses draw the impurest
					blood out of the body, so thou dost extract the quintessence
					of infelicity to afflict thyself. In this thou art no better
					than the Chian merchant, who, while he sold abundance of
					his best and most generous wine to others, called for some
					
					 
					
					that was pricked and vapid to taste at supper; and one of
					his servants asking another what he left his master doing,
					he made this answer, that he was calling for bad when the
					good was by him. For most men leave the pleasant and
					delectable things behind them, and run with haste to embrace those which are not only difficult but intolerable.
					Aristippus was not of this number, for he knew, even to
					the niceness of a grain, to put prosperous against adverse
					fortune into the scale, that the one might outweigh the
					other. Therefore when he lost a noble farm, he asked one
					of his dissembled friends, who pretended to be sorry, not,
					only with regret but impatience, for his mishap: Thou hast
					but one piece of land, but have I not three farms yet remaining? He assenting to the truth of it: Why then, saith
					he, should I not rather lament your misfortune, since it is
					the raving only of a mad man to be concerned at what is
					lost, and not rather rejoice in what is left? Thus, as children, if you rob them of one of their play-games, will
					throw away the rest, and cry and scream; so, if Fortune
					infest us only in one part, we grow fearful and abandon
					ourselves wholly to her attacks.

But somebody will object to me, What is it that we
				have? Rather, What is it that we have not? One is
				honorable, the other is master of a family; this man hath
				a good wife, the other a faithful friend. Antipater of Tarsus, when he was upon his death-bed and reckoning up all
				the good events which had befallen him, would not omit a
				prosperous voyage which he had when he sailed from
				Cilicia to Athens. Even the trite and common blessings
				are not to be despised, but ought to take up a room in our
				deliberations. We should rejoice that we live, and are in
				health, and see the sun; that there are no wars nor seditions in our country; that the earth yields to cultivation.
				and that the sea is open to our traffic; that we can talk,
				be silent, do business, and be at leisure, when we please. 
 
 They will afford us greater tranquillity of mind present, if
					we form some just ideas of them when they are absent;
					if we often call to our remembrance how solicitous the sick
					man is after health, how acceptable peace is to put out a
					war, and what a courtesy it will do us to gain credit and
					acquire friends in a city of note, where we are strangers
					and unknown; and contrariwise, how great a grief it is to
					forego these things when we once have them. For surely
					a thing does not become great and precious when we have
					lost it, while it is of no account so long as we possess it;
					for the value of a thing cannot be increased by its loss.
					But we ought not to take pains to acquire things as being
					of great value, and to be in fear and trembling lest we
					may lose them, as if they were precious, and then all the
					time they are safe in our possession, to neglect them as if
					they were of no importance. But we are so to use them that
					we may reap satisfaction and gain a solid pleasure from
					them, that so we may be the better enabled to endure their
					loss with evenness of temper. But most men, as Arcesilaus observed, think they must be critics upon other men’s
					poems, survey their pictures with a curious eye, and
					examine their statues with all the delicacy of sculpture,
					but in the meanwhile transiently pass over their own lives,
					though there be some things in them which will not only
					detain but please their consideration. But they will not
					restrain the prospect to themselves, but are perpetually
					looking abroad, and so become servile admirers of other
					men’s fortune and reputation; as adulterers are always
					gloating upon other men’s wives and contemning their
					own.

Besides, this is a thing highly conducing to the
				tranquillity of the mind, for a man chiefly to consider himself and his own affairs. But if this always cannot take
				place, he should not make comparisons with men of a
				superior condition to himself; though this is the epidemical
				
				 
				
				 frenzy of the vulgar. As for instance, slaves who lie in
				fetters applaud their good fortune whose shackles are off;
				those who are loosed from their bonds would be free men
				by manumission; these again aspire to be citizens; the
				citizen would be rich; the wealthy man would be a governor of a province; the haughty governor would be a king,
				and the king a God, hardly resting content unless he can
				hurl thunderbolts and dart lightning. So all are eager for
				what is above them, and are never content with what they
				have.
				
				 
 The wealth of golden Gyges has no delight for me. 
 
				
				Likewise, — 
				
				
				 
 No emulation doth my spirits fire, 
					 The actions of the Gods I don’t admire. 
					 I would not, to be great, a tyrant be; 
					 The least appearances I would not see. 
 
				
				But one of Thasis, another of Chios, one of Galatia, and a
				fourth of Bithynia, not contenting themselves with the
				rank they enjoyed amongst their fellow-citizens, where
				they had honor and commands, complain that they have
				not foreign characters and are not made patricians of Rome:
				and if they attain that dignity, that they are not praetors;
				and if they arrive even to that degree, they still think themselves ill dealt with that they are not consuls; and when
				promoted to the fasces, that they were declared the second,
				and not the first. And what is all this but ungratefully
				accusing Fortune, and industriously picking out occasions
				to punish and torment ourselves? But he that is in his
				right senses and wise for his own advantage, out of those
				many millions which the sun looks upon,
				
				
				 
 Who of the products of the earth do eat, 
 
 
				
				if he sees any one in the mighty throng who is more rich
				and honorable than himself, he is neither dejected in his
				mind nor countenance, nor doth he pensively sit down
				
				 
				
				deploring his unhappiness, but he walks abroad publicly
				with an honest assurance. He celebrates his own good
				genius, and boasts of his good fortune in that it is
				happier than a thousand other men’s which are in the
				world. In the Olympic games you cannot gain the victory
				choosing your antagonist. But in human life affairs
				allow thee to excel many and to bear thyself aloft, and to
				be envied rather than envious; unless indeed thou dost
				match thyself unequally with a Briareus or a Hercules.
				Therefore, when thou art surprised into a false admiration
				of him who is carried in his sedan, cast thy eyes downward upon the slaves who support his luxury. When thou
				art wondering at the greatness of Xerxes crossing the
				Hellespont, consider those wretches who are digging
				through Mount Athos, who are urged to their labor with
				blows, blood being mixed with their sweat; call to mind
				that they had their ears and noses cut off, because the
				bridge was broken by the violence of the waves; think
				upon that secret reflection they have, and how happy they
				would esteem thy life and condition. Socrates hearing
				one of his friends crying out, How dear things are sold in
				this city! the wine of Chios costs a mina, the purple
				fish three, and a half pint of honey five drachms, — he
				brought him to the meal-shop, and showed him that half a
				peck of flour was sold for a penny. ’Tis a cheap city,
				said he. Then he brought him to the oil-man’s, and told
				him he might have a quart of olives for two farthings. At
				last he went to the salesman’s, and convinced him that the
				purchase of a sleeveless jerkin was only ten drachms. ’Tis
				a cheap city, he repeated. So, when we hear others declare that our condition is afflicted because we are not
				consuls and in eminent command, let us then look upon
				ourselves as living not only in a bare happiness but splendor, in that we do not beg our bread, and are not forced
				to subsist by carrying of burthens or by flattery.

But such is our folly, that we accustom ourselves
				rather to live for other men’s sakes than our own; and our
				dispositions are so prone to upbraidings and to be tainted
				with envy, that the grief we conceive at others’ prosperity
				lessens the joy we ought to take in our own. But to cure
				thee of this extravagant emulation, look not upon the outside of these applauded men, which is so gay and brilliant,
				but draw the gaudy curtain and carry thy eyes inward, and
				thou shalt find most gnawing disquiets to be dissembled
				under these false appearances. When the renowned Pittacus, who got him so great a name for his fortitude,
				wisdom, and justice, was entertaining his friends at a
				noble banquet, and his spouse in an angry humor came
				and overturned the table; his guests being extremely disturbed at it, he told them: Every one of you hath his
				particular plague, and my wife is mine; and he is very
				happy who hath this only.
				
				
				 
 The pleading lawyer’s happy at the bar; 
					 But the scene opening shows a civil war. 
					 For the good man hath a domestic strife, 
					 He’s slave to that imperious creature, wife. 
					 Scolding without doors doth to him belong, 
					 But she within them doth claim all the tongue. 
					 Pecked by his female tyrant him I see, 
					 Whilst from this grievance I myself am free. 
 
 
 These are the secret stings which are inseparable from
					honor, riches, and dominion, and which are unknown to the
					vulgar, because a counterfeit lustre dazzleth their sight.
					
					
					 
 All pleasant things Atrides doth adorn; 
						 The merry genius smiled when he was born. 
 
 
					
					And they compute this happiness from his great stores of
					ammunition, his variety of managed horses, and his battalions of disciplined men. But an inward voice of sorrow
					seems to silence all this ostentation with mournful accents: — 
					
					
					 
 Jove in a deep affliction did him plunge. 
 
 
					
					Observe this likewise: — 
					
					 
					
					
					 
 Old man, I reverence thy aged head, 
						 Who to a mighty length hast spun thy thread; 
						 Safe from all dangers, to the grave goest down 
						 Ingloriously, because thou art unknown. 
 
 
 
 Such expostulations as these with thyself will serve to
					dispel this querulous humor, which makes thee fondly applaud other people’s conditions and depreciate thy own.

This likewise greatly obstructs the tranquillity of
				the mind, that our desires are immoderate and not suited to
				our abilities of attainment, which, like sails beyond the proportion of the vessel, help only to overset it; so that, being
				blown up with extravagant expectations, if ill success frustrates our attempts, we presently curse our stars and accuse
				Fortune, when we ought rather to lay the blame upon our
				enterprising folly. For we do not reckon him unfortunate
				who will shoot with a ploughshare, and let slip an ox at a
				hare. Nor is he born under an unlucky influence who
				cannot catch a buck with a sling or drag-net; for it was
				the weakness and perverseness of his mind which inflamed
				him on to impossible things. The partial love of himself
				is chiefly in fault, which infuseth a vicious inclination to arrogate, and an insatiable ambition to attempt every thing. For
				they are not content with the affluence of riches and the
				accomplishments of the mind, that they are robust, have a
				complaisance of humor and strength of brain for company,
				that they are privadoes to princes and governors of cities,
				unless they have dogs of great sagacity and swiftness,
				horses of a generous strain, nay, unless their quails and
				cocks are better than other men’s. Old Dionysius, not
				being satisfied that he was the greatest potentate of his
				time, grew angry, even to a frenzy, that Philoxenus the poet
				exceeded him in the sweetness of his voice, and Plato in
				the subtleties of disputation; therefore he condemned one
				to the quarries, and sold the other into Aegina. But Alexander was of another temper; for when Criso the famous
				
				 
				
				runner contended with him for swiftness, and seemed to be
				designedly lagging behind and yielding the race, he was in
				a great rage with him. And Achilles in Homer spake very
				well, when he said: — 
				
				
				 
 None of the Greeks for courage me excel; 
					 Let others have the praise of speaking well. 
 
 
 
 When Megabyzus the Persian came into the shop of
					Apelles, and began to ask some impertinent questions concerning his art, the famous painter checked him into silence
					with this reprimand: As long as thou didst hold thy
					peace, thou didst appear to be a man of condition, and
					I paid a deference to the eclat of thy purple and the
					lustre of thy gold; but now, since thou art frivolous, thou
					exposest thyself to the laughter even of my boys that mix
					the colors. Some think the Stoics very childish, when they
					hear them affirm that the wise man must not only deserve
					that appellation for his prudence, be of exact justice and
					great fortitude, but must likewise have all the flowers of a
					rhetorician and the conduct of a general, must have the
					elegancies of a poet, be very wealthy, and called a king;
					but these good men claim all these titles for themselves, and
					if they do not receive them, they grow peevish and are
					presently out of temper. But the qualifications of the Gods
					themselves are different; for the one is styled the deity of war,
					another of the oracle, a third of traffic; and Jupiter makes
					Venus preside over marriages and be goddess of the nuptial
					bed, the delicacy of her sex being unapt for martial affairs.

And there are some things which carry a contrariety
				in their nature, and cannot be consistent. As for instance, the study of the mathematics and practice in oratory
				are exercises which require a great leisure and freedom
				from other concerns; but the intrigues of politics cannot
				be managed, and the favor of princes cannot be attained or
				cultivated, without severe application and being involved in
				
				 
				
				affairs of high moment. Then the indulging ourselves to
				drink wine and eat flesh makes the body strong, but it
				effeminates the mind. Industry to acquire and care to preserve our wealth do infinitely increase it; but the contempt
				of riches is the best refreshment in our philosophic journey.
				Hence it is very manifest that there is a wide difference in
				things, and that we ought to obey the inscription of the
				Pythian oracle, that every man should know himself, that
				he should not constrain his genius but leave it to its own
				propensions, and then that he should apply himself to that
				to which he is most adapted, and not do violence to Nature
				by dragging her perforce to this or that course of life.
				
				
				 
 With generous provender they the horse do feed, 
					 That he may win the race with strength and speed. 
					 The mighty ox is fitted to the yoke, 
					 And by his toil the fertile clods are broke. 
					 The dolphin, when a ship he doth espy, 
					 Straight the good-natured fish his fins doth ply; 
					 By the ship’s motion he his own doth guide, 
					 And lovingly swims constant to her side. 
					 And if you’d apprehend the foaming boar, 
					 The monster by a mastiff must be tore. 
 
 
				
				But he is stupid in his wishes who takes it amiss that he
				is not a lion,
				
				
				 
 Who with a proud insulting air doth tread, 
					 Rough as the mountains where he first was bred; 
 
 
				
				or that he is not a Malta-shock, delicately brought up in the
				lap of a fond widow. He is not a jot more rational who
				would be an Empedocles, a Plato, or a Democritus, and write
				about the universe and the reality of things therein, and
				at the same time would sleep by the dry side of an old
				woman, because she is rich, as Euphorion did; or be admitted
				to debauch with Alexander amongst his club of drunkards,
				as Medius was; or be concerned that he is not in as high a
				vogue of admiration as Ismenias was for his riches and Epaminondas for his virtue. For those who run races do not
				
				 
				
				think they have injury done them if they are not crowned
				with those garlands which are due to the wrestlers, but they
				are rather transported with joy at their own rewards.
				 Sparta has fallen to thy lot; honor and adorn her. Solon
				hath expressed himself to this purpose: — 
				
				
				 
 Virtue for sordid wealth shall not be sold; 
					 It’s beauty far outshines the miser’s gold. 
					 This without Fortune’s shocks doth still endure; 
					 But that’s possession is insecure. 
 
 
				
				And Strato, who wrote of physics, when he heard that
				Menedemus had a great number of scholars, asked: What
				wonder is it, if more come to wash than to be anointed?
				And Aristotle, writing to Antipater, declared, that Alexander was not the only one who ought to think highly of
				himself because his dominion extended over many subjects,
				since they had a right to think as well of themselves who
				entertained becoming sentiments of the Gods. So that, by
				having a just opinion of our own excellences, we shall be
				disturbed with the less envy against those of other men.
				But now, although in other cases we do not expect figs from
				the vine nor grapes from the olive-tree, yet, if we have not
				the complicated titles of being rich and learned, philosophers in the schools and commanders in the field, if we
				cannot flatter, and have the facetious liberty to speak what
				we please, nay, if we are not counted parsimonious and
				splendid in our expenses at the same time, we grow uneasy
				to ourselves, and despise our life as maimed and imperfect.
				Besides, Nature seems to instruct us herself; for, as she
				ministers different sorts of food to her animals, and hath
				endowed them with diversity of appetites, — some to eat
				flesh, others to pick up seed, and others to dig up roots for
				their nourishment, — so she hath bestowed upon her rational
				creatures various sorts of accommodations to sustain their
				being. The shepherd hath one distinct from the ploughman;
				
				 
				
				 the fowler hath another peculiar to himself; and the
				fourth lives by the sea. So that in common equity we
				ought to labor in that vocation which is appointed and most
				commodious for us, and let alone the rest; and so not to
				prove that Hesiod fell short of the truth when he spake
				after this manner: — 
				
				
				 
 The potter hates another of the trade 
					 If by his hands a finer dish is made; 
					 The smith his brother smudge with scorn doth treat, 
					 If he his iron strikes with brisker heat. 
 
 
				
				And this emulation is not confined to mechanics and
				those who follow the same occupations; but the rich man
				envies the learned. He that hath a bright reputation
				envies the miser’s guineas, and the pettifogger thinks he is
				outdone in talking by the sophister. Nay, by Heaven, he
				that is born free sottishly admires the servile attendance of
				him who is of the household to a king; and the man
				that hath patrician blood in his veins calls the comedian
				happy who acts his part gracefully and with humor, and
				applauds even the mimic who pleaseth with farce and
				scaramouchy gestures; thus by a false estimate of happiness they disturb and perplex themselves.

Now that every man hath a storehouse of trouble
				and contentment in his own bosom, and that the vessels
				which contain good and evil are not placed at Jupiter’s
				threshold, but in the recesses of the mind, the variety of
				our passions is an abundant demonstration. The fool
				doth not discern, and consequently cannot mind, the good
				that is obvious to him, for his thoughts are still intent
				upon the future; but the prudent man retrieves things
				that were lost out of their oblivion, by strength of recollection renders them perspicuous, and enjoys them as if they
				were present. Happiness having only a few coy minutes
				to be courted in, the man that hath no intellect neglects
				
				 
				
				this opportunity, and so it slides away from his sense and
				no more belongs to him. But like him that is painted in
				hell twisting a rope, and who lets the ass that is by him
				devour all the laborious textures as fast as he makes them,
				so most men hate such a lethargy of forgetfulness upon
				them, that they lose the remembrance of all great actions,
				and no more call to mind their pleasant intervals of leisure
				and repose. The relish of their former banquets is grown
				insipid, and delight hath left no piquant impression upon
				their palates; by this means they break as it were the continuity of life, and destroy the union of present things to
				the past; and dividing yesterday from to-day and to-day
				from to-morrow, they utterly efface all events, as if they
				had never been. For, as those who are dogmatical in the
				schools, and deny the augmentation of bodies by reason of
				the perpetual flux of all substance, do strip us out of ourselves and make no man to be the same to-day that he was
				yesterday; so those who bury all things that have preceded
				them in oblivion, who lose all the notices of former times
				and let them all be shattered carelessly out of their minds,
				do every day make themselves void and empty; and they
				become utterly dependent on the morrow, as if those
				things which happened last year and yesterday and the
				day before were not to affect their cognizance and be
				occurrences worthy their observation.

This is a great impediment to the tranquillity of the
				mind. But that which is its more sensible disturbance is
				this, that as flies upon a mirror easily slide down the
				smooth and polished parts of it, but stick to those which are
				rugged and uneven and fall into its flaws, so men let what
				is cheerful and pleasant flow from them, and dwell only
				upon sad melancholy remembrances. Nay, as those of
				Olynthus carry beetles into a certain place, which from the
				destruction of them is called their slaughter-house, where,
				all passages being stopped against their escape, they are
				
				 
				
				killed by the weariness of perpetual flying about; so when
				men have once fallen upon the memory of their former
				sorrows, no consolation can take them off from the mournful theme. But as in a landscape we draw the most
				beautiful colors, so we ought to fill the prospect of our
				minds with the most agreeable and sprightly images; that,
				if we cannot utterly abolish those which are dark and unpleasant, we may at least obscure them by more gay and
				lively representations. For as the strings of a lute or bow,
				so is the harmony of the world alternately tightened and
				relaxed by vicissitude and change; and in human affairs
				there is nothing that is unmixed, nothing that is unallied. But as in music there are some sounds which are
				flat and some sharp, and in grammar some letters that are
				vocal and some mute, but neither the man of concord nor
				syntax doth industriously decline one sort, but with the
				fineness of his art mixeth them together; so in things in
				this world which carry a direct opposition in their nature
				one to another, — when, as Euripides expresseth it,
				
				
				 
 The good things with the evil still are joined, 
					 And in strict union mutually combined; 
					 The chequered work doth beautiful appear, 
					 For what is sweet allays the more severe; — 
 
				
				yet we ought not to be discouraged or have any despondencies. But in this case let us imitate the musicians, who
				drown the harsh cadences with others that more caress
				the ear; so, by tempering our adverse fortune with what
				is more prosperous, let us render our lives pleasant and of
				an equal tone. For that is not true which Menander tells
				us: — 
				
				
				 
 Soon as an infant doth salute the day, 
					 A genius his first cryings doth obey, 
					 And to his charge comes hastily away; 
					 The daemon doth assist the tender lad, 
					 Shows him what’s good, and saves him from the bad. 
 
				
				But the opinion of Empedocles deserves more our approbation, who saith that, as soon as any one is born, he is
				
				 
				
				carefully taken up and governed by two guardian spirits.
				 There were Chthonia and far-seeing Heliope, and bloody
					Deris and grave-faced Harmonia, Kallisto and Aeschra,
					Thoösa and Denaea, with lovely Nemertes and black-fruited Asaphaea.

By this diversity of characters is expressed only the
				variety of our passions; and these are the seeds of discontent we brought into the world with us. Since now
				these disorder our lives and make them unequal, he that
				is master of himself wishes for the better, but expects the
				worse; but he useth them both with a moderation suitable
				to that injunction, Do not any thing too much. For, as
				Epicurus said, not only does he that is least impatient after
				to-morrow enjoy it most when it comes; but honor, riches,
				and power give those the greatest complacency who are
				not tormented with any apprehensions that the contrary
				will befall them. For an immoderate craving after things
				of this nature infuseth a fear of losing them, equal to the
				first intemperate desire. This deadens the fruition, and
				makes the pleasure as weak and unstable as flame driven
				by the wind. But he to whom his reason hath given the
				assurance that he can boldly say to Fortune,
				
				
				 
 Welcome to me, if good thou bringest aught, 
					 And if thou fail, I will take little thought, — 
 
				
				this is the man who can confidently enjoy what is present
				with him, and who is not afflicted with such cowardice of
				thoughts as to be in constant alarms lest he should lose his
				possessions, which would be an intolerable grievance.
				But let us not only admire but imitate that temper of mind
				in Anaxagoras, which made him express himself in these
				words upon the death of his son: — 
				
				
				 
 I knew that I had begotten a mortal. 
 
				
				And let us apply it to all the casualties of our life after
				this manner. I know my riches have only the duration of a
				
				 
				
				day; I know that the same hand which bestowed authority
				upon me could spoil me of those ornaments and take it
				away again; I know my wife to be the best of women, but
				still a woman; my friend to be faithful, yet the cement
				might be broken, for he was a man, — which, as Plato
				saith, is a very inconstant creature. These previous expostulations and preparations, if any thing fall out which
				is against our mind but not contrary to our expectation,
				will cure the palpitation of our hearts, make our disturbances settle and go down, and bring our minds to a
				consistence; not indulging us in these lazy exclamations,
				Who would have thought it? — I looked for better, and
				did not expect this. Carneades gives us a short memoir
				concerning great things, that the cause from whence all our
				troubles proceed is that they befall unexpectedly. The
				kingdom of Macedon compared with the Roman empire
				sank in the competition, for it was only an inconsiderable
				part of it; yet when Perseus lost it, he not only deplored
				his own misfortune, but he was thought by all the most
				abject and miserable of mankind. Yet Aemilius that
				conquered him, when he delivered up the command of sea
				and land into the hands of a successor, was crowned and
				did sacrifice, and was esteemed happy. For he knew,
				when he received his honor, that it was but temporary, and
				that he must lay down the authority he had taken up.
				But Perseus was stripped of his dominions by surprise.
				The poet hath prettily illustrated what it is for a thing to
				fall out unexpectedly. For Ulysses, when his dog died,
				could not forbear crying, yet would not suffer himself to
				weep when his wife sate by him crying, but stopped his
				tears; for here he came strengthened with reason and
				beforehand acquainted with the accident, but before it was
				the suddenness of the disaster which raised his sorrow and
				threw him into complaints.

Generally speaking, those things which happen to
				
				 
				
				us against our will afflict us partly by a pungency that is
				in their nature, and partly custom and opinion so effeminate us that we are impatient under them. But against
				all contingencies we should have that of Menander in
				readiness: — 
				
				
				 
 Afflictions to thyself thou dost create, 
					 Thy fancy only is unfortunate. 
 
				
				For what are afflictions to thee, if they touch neither thy
				body nor thy soul? Of this sort is the low extraction of
				thy father, the adultery of thy wife, the loss of a garland,
				or being deprived of the upper seat in an assembly. And
				with all these crosses thou mayest have ease of mind and
				strength of body. But to those things which in their own
				nature excite our grief, — such as sickness, pains of the
				body, and the death of our friends and children, — we ought
				to apply that of Euripides: — 
				
				
				 
 Alas! alas! and well-a-day! 
					 But why alas and well away? 
 
					 Naught else to us hath yet been dealt, 
					 But that which daily men have felt. 
 
 
 There is no reasoning more effectual to restrain our passions and hinder our minds from falling into despair; than
					that which sets before us a physical necessity and the
					common lot of nature. And it is our bodies only that lie
					exposed to this destiny, and which we offer (as it were) as
					a handle to Fortune; but the fort-royal is still secure, where
					our strength lies and our most precious things are treasured up. When Demetrius took Megara, he asked Stilpo
					whether he had not suffered particular damage in the
					plundering; to which he made this answer, that he
					saw nobody that could rob him. So when Fate hath made
					all the depredations upon us it possibly can and hath left
					us naked, yet there is something still within us which is
					out of the reach of the pirate, — 
					
					Which conquering Greece could never force away. 
 
 
 Therefore we ought not so to vilify and depress our nature as if it could not get the ascendant over Fortune, and
					had nothing of firmness and stability in it. But we ought
					rather to consider that, if any part of us is obnoxious to
					this, it is only that which is the smallest, and the most impure and sickly too; whilst the better and more generous we have the most absolute dominion of, and our
					chiefest goods are placed in it, such as true discipline, a
					right notion of things, and reasonings which in their last
					results bring us unto virtue; which are so far from being
					abolished, that they cannot be corrupted. We ought likewise, with an invincible spirit and a bold security as regards futurity, to answer Fortune in those words which
					Socrates retorted upon his judges: Anytus and Meletus
					may kill, but they cannot hurt me. So she can afflict me
					with a disease, can spoil me of my riches, disgrace me with
					my prince, and bring me under a popular odium; but she
					cannot make a good man wicked, or the brave man a mean
					and degenerate coward; she cannot cast envy upon a generous temper, or destroy any of those habits of the mind
					which are more useful to us in the conduct of our lives,
					when they are within the command of our wills, than the
					skill of a pilot in a storm. For the pilot cannot mitigate
					the billows or calm the winds; he cannot sail into the
					haven as often as he has occasion, or without fear and
					trembling abide any danger that may befall him; but after
					having used all his efforts, he at last recommits himself
					to the fury of the storm, pulls down all his sails by the
					board, whilst the lower mast is within an inch of the abyss,
					and sits trembling at the approaching ruin. But the
					affections of the mind in a wise man procure tranquillity
					even to the body. For he prevents the beginnings of disease by temperance, a spare diet, and moderate exercise;
					but if an evil begin more visibly to show itself, as we sometimes steer our ship by rocks which lie in the water, he
					
					 
					
					must then furl in his sails and pass by it, as Asclepiades
					expresseth it; but if the waves grow turbulent and the
					sea rougher, the port is at hand, and he may leave this
					body, as he would a leaky vessel, and swim ashore.

For it is not so much the desire of life as the fear
				of death, which makes the fool have such a dependence
				upon the body, and stick so fast to its embraces. So Ulysses held fast by the fig-tree, dreading Charybdis that lay
				under him, — 
				
				
				 
 Where the wind would not suffer him to stay, 
					 Nor would it serve to carry him away, 
 
 
				
				so that on this side was but a slender support, and there
				was inevitable danger on the other. But he who considers
				the nature of the soul, and that death will transport it to a
				condition either far better or not much worse than what
				he now enjoys, hath contempt of death to sustain him as
				he travelleth on in this pilgrimage of his life, no small
				 viaticum towards tranquillity of mind. For as to one that
				can live pleasantly so long as virtue and the better part of
				mankind are predominant, and can depart fearlessly so
				soon as hostile and unnatural principles prevail, saying to
				himself, — 
				
				
				 
 Fate shall release me when I please myself; 
 
 
				
				what in the whole scope of the creation can be thought of
				that can raise a tumult in such a man, or give him the
				least molestation? Certainly, he that threw out that brave
				defiance to Fortune in these words, I have prevented thee,
					O Fortune, and have shut up all thy avenues to me, did
				not speak it confiding in the strength of walls or bars, or
				the security of keys; but it was an effect of his learning,
				and the challenge was a dictate of his reason. And these
				heights of resolution any men may attain to if they are
				willing; and we ought not to distrust, or despair of arriving
				
				 
				
				 to the courage of saying the same things. Therefore
				we should not only admire, but be kindled with emulation,
				and think ourselves touched with the impulse of a divine
				instinct, which piques us on to the trial of ourselves in
				matters of less importance; that thereby we may find how
				our tempers bear to be qualified for greater, and so may
				not incuriously decline that inspection we ought to have
				over ourselves, or take refuge in the saying, Perchance
				nothing will be more difficult than this. For the luxurious
				thinker, who withdraws himself from severe reflections and
				is conversant about no objects but what are easy and delectable, emasculates his understanding and contracts a
				softness of spirit; but he that makes grief, sickness, and
				banishment the subjects of his meditation, who composeth
				his mind sedately, and poiseth himself with reason to sustain the burthen, will find that those things are vain, empty,
				and false which appear so grievous and terrible to the
				vulgar, as his own reasonings will make out to him in
				every particular.

But many are shocked at this saying of Menander, — 
				
				
				 
 No man can tell what will himself befall, — 
 
				
				in the mean while being monstrously ignorant what a noble
				expedient this is to disperse our sorrows, to contemplate
				upon and to be able to look Fortune steadily in the face;
				and not to cherish delicate and effeminate apprehensions
				of things, like those bred up in the shade, under false and
				extravagant hopes which have not strength to resist the
				first adversity. But to the saying of Menander we may
				make this just and serious reply: It is true that a man
				while he lives can never say, This will never befall me; but
				he can say this, I will not do this or that; I will scorn to
				lie; I will not be treacherous or do a thing ungenerously;
				I will not defraud or circumvent any one. And to do this
				lies within the sphere of our performance, and conduceth
				
				 
				
				extremely to the tranquillity of the mind. Whereas, on
				the contrary, the being conscious of having done a wicked
				action leaves stings of remorse behind it, which, like an
				ulcer in the flesh, makes the mind smart with perpetual
				wounds; for reason, which chaseth away all other pains,
				creates repentance, shames the soul with confusion, and
				punisheth it with torment. But as those who are chilled
				with an ague or that burn with a fever feel acuter griefs
				than those who are scorched with the sun or frozen up
				with the severity of the weather, so those things which are
				casual and fortuitous give us the least disturbance, because
				they are external accidents. But the man whom the truth
				of this makes uneasy, — 
				
				
				 
 Another did not run me on this shelf; 
					 I was the cause of all the ills myself, 
 
 
				
				who laments not only his misfortunes but his crimes, finds
				his agonies sharpened by the turpitude of the fact. Hence
				it comes to pass, that neither rich furniture nor abundance
				of gold, not a descent from an illustrious family or greatness of authority, not eloquence and all the charms of
				speaking can procure so great a serenity of life as a mind
				free from guilt, kept untainted not only from actions but
				purposes that are wicked. By this means the soul will be
				not only unpolluted but undisturbed; the fountain will run
				clear and unsullied; and the streams that flow from it will
				be just and honest deeds, ecstasies of satisfaction, a brisk
				energy of spirit which makes a man an enthusiast in his
				joy, and a tenacious memory sweeter than hope, which (as
				Pindar saith) with a virgin warmth cherisheth old age. 
				For as censers, even after they are empty, do for a long
				time after retain their fragrancy, as Carneades expresseth
				it, so the good actions of a wise man perfume his mind,
				and leave a rich scent behind them; so that joy is, as it
				
				 
				
				were, watered with these essences, and owes its flourishing
				to them. This makes him pity those who not only bewail
				but accuse human life, as if it were only a region of
				calamities and a place of banishment appointed for their
				souls.

That saying of Diogenes extremely pleaseth me,
				who, seeing one sprucing himself up very neatly to go to
				a great entertainment, asked him whether every day was
				not a festival to a good man. And certainly, that which
				makes it the more splendid festival is sobriety. For the
				world is a spacious and beautiful temple; this a man is
				brought into as soon as he is born, where he is not to be a
				dull spectator of immovable and lifeless images made by
				human hands, but is to contemplate sublime things, which
				(as Plato tells us) the divine mind has exhibited to our
				senses as likenesses of things in the ideal world, having the
				principles of life and motion in themselves; such as are
				the sun, moon, and stars; rivers which are still supplied
				with fresh accessions of water; and the earth, which with
				a motherly indulgence suckles the plants and feeds her
				sensitive creatures. Now since life is the introduction and
				the most perfect initiation into these mysteries, it is but
				just that it should be full of cheerfulness and tranquillity.
				For we are not to imitate the little vulgar, who wait impatiently for the jolly days which are consecrated to Saturn,
				Bacchus, and Minerva, that they may be merry with hired
				laughter, and pay such a price to the mimic and stagedancer for their diversions. At all these games and ceremonies we sit silent and composed; for no man laments
				when he is initiated in the rites, when he beholds the games
				of Apollo, or drinks in the Saturnalia. But when the
				Gods order the scenes at their own festivals, or initiate us
				into their own mysteries, the enjoyment becomes sordid
				to us; and we wear out our wretched lives in care, heaviness of spirit, and bitter complaints. 
 
 Men are delighted with the harmonious touches of an
					instrument; they are pleased likewise with the melody of
					the birds; and it is not without some recreation that they
					behold the beasts frolicsome and sporting; but when the
					frisk is over and they begin to bellow and curl their brows,
					the ungrateful noise and their angry looks offend them.
					But as for their own lives, they suffer them to pass away
					without a smile, to boil with passions, be involved in
					business, and eaten out with endless cares. And to ease
					them of their solicitudes, they will not seek out for remedies themselves, nor will they even hearken to the reasons
					or admit the consolations of their friends. But if they
					would only give ear to these, they might bear their present
					condition without fault-finding, remember the past with
					joy and gratitude, and live without fear or distrust, looking
					forward to the future with a joyful and lightsome hope.