encumbrances, to suffer shipwreck in the haven. Then over-many good fortunes bred in them a proud wretchlessness, then through the disuse of arms all things fell into the relapse and private dissensions were kindled to ruin themselves, then the city which was wont to give the law to the whole world began to be fecunda inimicis,1 fruitful in provoking partialities, desirous of civil tumults, crafty in espying and aggravating secret dislikes, ready to catch at any occasion of innovation. Their valor made them quiet, and quiet wealthy; but according to the revolution of all things with a swift and violent return, their wealth effeminated their valor with idleness, idleness occasioned disorder, disorder made ruin. And as the iron begets rust which consumeth it, and ripe fruits produce worms which eat it, so their greatness nourished such vices as by little and little brought them to confusion, insomuch that a great time their state was maintained more by reputation of things done than any other present foundation.

The French are too adventurous in the imminency and nearness of terror with a too furious resolution, in assault more than men, in maintaining the medley less than women, very irregular in their actions, grounding them upon fallible hopes and vain expectations, light, inconstant, insolent in prosperity, destined rather to conquer than keep; as contrarily the Venetians have recovered by the arts of peace and composition that which they have foregone by war.

The Spaniards are subtle, wrapping their drifts in close secrecy, expressing surety in their words but keeping their intentions dissembled; under disguised assurance of amity, betraying the innocency of their friends; in malice infinite, and so over-carried with 1 TACITUS, History, II, 92.

that passion that for the most part they execute a revenge far above the nature of the offence, not giving any sudden appearance of it, but waiting for opportunity; so much redouble the blow by how much it hath been nourished with tract of time and hung in suspense.

'JOHN BARCLAY

[THE BEAUTY OF VARIETY]

(From The Mirror of Minds, Chapter 2)

GREENWICH is an ancient seat of the Briton kings; her situation is by the Thames side, four miles from London. A hill there is that overtops the palace, and at a moderate distance of height takes a fair survey both of the town and river. You ascend to the top of it by other little hills; upon the summit of the high hill is a flat of great circuit. In a morning by chance I ascended thither; no man was near me to disturb the recreation of my thoughts, which wandered about with delicious freedom. But the wonderful pleasure of the place had almost sooner ravished my mind, than filled mine eyes, with the fairest prospect not only in Britain, but it may be in all Europe. A spacious plain commanding from above the lesser hills, and those hills environing round that lofty plain, did neither suddenly debar the prospect nor suffer the sight to be too much dispersed through the empty air, the river Thames filling the adjoining fields with a most pleasant fruitfulness, and at the foot of the hill the waves, returning in manner of a ring, have almost made an island of it. All along the channel were ships of all kinds, both for war and traffic; those that were near I might wholly discern, those that were farther off or partly hidden by interposition of rising banks, appeared to mine eye by their masts and sailyards like a naked wood in the winter time,

The whole coast is most sweetly verdant, and the profit of pasture has exempted it from tillage, nor hardly is there ground anywhere more abundantly fruitful for grazing of cattle. The lands of private men, after the manner of their country, were fenced with ditches whose banks were adorned with rows of trees; especially the highways on each side were planted with poplars, that the whole valleys to him that surveyed them from the top of the hill appeared like continued gardens and walks of pleasure. But the greatest delight is, that so fair a verdancy is almost distinguished into divers colors; the places which are farthest distant, shadowed by the face of the sky, do seem of an azure hew; those which are nearer, and fuller of trees more thick-leaved, are of darker color, the grass on the ground presenting a thinner but brighter green. But the most beautiful object is London itself, esteemed among the fairest of the cities of Europe, a city of innumerable houses, yet scarcely able to contain her people. For at the other side of the River Thames it is far extended and adjoineth itself to the neighboring towns, so that the buildings are continued for four miles together. In all this space not only private houses, but fair churches of perspicuous height do everywhere display their beauty, and the middle of the city, like the swelling or boss of a buckler, is raised by the structure of their greatest temple.

Whilst I was carried away with this sudden delight, I began to recall my mind and thus to consider with myself. What should it be that thus unawares had ravished me? Why should this prospect so wonderfully please? What hidden force or reason had thus wrought upon my mind? Was it the city of London, the course a of the river, the mountains, or the prospect of the fields

and woods? None of all these, but so fair a variety, and the industry, as it were, of nature displaying her riches.

I began then to think with myself that there was nothing in the world so exactly beautiful but at last would glut and weary the beholder, unless after that manner, as this place was, it were beautified with contrarieties and change of endowments to refresh continually the wearied beholder with unexpected novelties. And because the world was to be framed in perfection of beauty, nature was not forgetful of so great an art. Some countries she hath lifted to the tops of mountains, others she hath thrust down into the valleys; some she hath scorched with immoderate heat, others she condemneth to extremity of winter; the residue she ordained, though not equally, temperate.

All lands are not fruitful nor all barren, nor do either continue so at all times. Some countries that heretofore were rich are now deformed and covered over with barren sands, others that of old were miserably barren are now grown into that abundant fertility as to afford means not only for life, but for riot and excess. So that in the beauty of the whole world the parts are often transformed into manifold habits and different appearances. Nor have the stars, though they always keep their constant motions, the same influences upon inferior bodies nor breed in the air the same effects, and therefore, though all years do in equal spaces finish their circuits, yet does no year altogether imitate that that went before, nor is the exact rule of the following year.

But man, created after the image of the deity, and for whose sake especially all other ornaments of the world were framed, is the greatest instance of this beauty of variety. For men have not only in their bodies a difference of habits and proportions, but their minds are