THE FIRST COPY OF MY DISCOURSE TOUCH

ING THE SAFETY OF THE QUEEN'S PERSON.

THESE be the principal remedies, I could think of, for extirping the principal cause of those conspiracies, by the breaking the nest of those fugitive traitors, and the filling them full of terror, despair, jealousy, and revolt. And it is true, I thought of some other remedies, which, because in mine own conceit I did not so well allow, I therefore do forbear to express. And so likewise I have thought, and thought again, of the means to stop and divert as well the attempts of violence, as poison, in the performance and execution. But not knowing how my travel may be accepted, being the unwarranted wishes of a private man, I leave; humbly praying her majesty's pardon, if In the zeal of my simplicity I have roved at things above my aim.

THE FIRST FRAGMENTS OF A DISCOURSE TOUCHING INTELLIGENCE AND THE SAFETY OF THE QUEEN'S PERSON.

THE first remedy, in my poor opinion, is that against which, as I conceive, least exception can be taken, as a thing without controversy, honourable and politic; and that is reputation of good intelligence. I say not only good intelligence, but the reputation and fame thereof. For I see, that where booths are set for watching thievish places, there is no more robbing: and though, no doubt, the watchmen many times are asleep or away; yet that is more than the thief knoweth; so as the empty booth is strength and safeguard enough. So, likewise, if there be sown an opinion abroad, that her majesty hath much secret intelli. gence, and that all is full of spies and false brethren; the fugitives will grow into such a mutual jealousy and suspicion one of another, as they will not have the confidence to conspire to

gether, not knowing whom to trust, and thinking all practice bootless, as that which is assure to be discovered. And to this purpose, to speak reverently, as becometh me, as I do not doubt ut those honourable counsellors, to whom it doth

appertain, do carefully and sufficiently provide and take order, that her majesty receive good intelligence; so yet, under correction, methinks it is not done with that glory and note of the world, which was in Mr. Secretary Walsingham's* time; and in this case, as was said, opinio veritate major.

The second remedy I deliver with less assurance, as that, which is more removed from the compass of mine understanding; and that is, to treat and negotiate with the King of Spain, or Archduke Ernest,† who resides in the place, where these conspiracies are most forged, upon the point of the law of nations, upon which kind of points, princes' enemies may with honour negotiate, viz. that, contrary to the same law of nations, and the sacred dignity of kings, and the honour of arms, certain of her majesty's subjects (if it be not thought meet to impeach any of his ministers) refuged in his dominions, have conspired and practised assassination against her majesty's person.

+ Ernest, Archduke of Austria, son of the Emperor Maxi

milian II., and governor of the Low Countries, upon which government he entered in June, 1594; but held it only a short time, dying February 11, following. It was probably in pursuance of the advice of Mr. Francis Bacon in this paper, that the designs which had been formed against her life by the Count de Fuentes, and Don Diego de Ibarra, and other Spanish ministers concerned in governing the Low Countries after the death of Alexander, Duke of Parma, in December, 1592, and by the English fugitives there; and to desire him to signify those facts to the King of Spain, in order that he might vindicate his own character, by punishing his ministers and delivering up to her such fugitives as were parties in such designs. Camdeni Annales Eliz. Reginæ, p. 625. Edit. Lugduni Bat. 1625.

Queen Elizabeth sent to the archduke, in 1594, to complain of

THE SQUIRE'S SPEECH.

Most excellent and most glorious queen, give me leave, I beseech your majesty, to offer my master's complaint and petition; complaint that, coming hither to your majesty's most happy day, he is tormented with the importunity of a melancholy, dreaming hermit, a mutinous, brain-sick

* Bishop Gibson's Papers, vol. v., No. 118.

+ An account of this device, which was much applauded, is given by Mr. Rowland Whyte to Sir Robert Sydney, in a letter dated at London, Saturday, the 22d of November, 1595, and printed in the Letters and Memorials of State of the Sydney Family, vol. i., p. 362. According to this letter,

the Earl of Essex, some considerable time before he came himself into the Tilt-yard, sent his page with some speech to the queen, who returned with her majesty's glove; and when his lordship came himself, he was met by an old hermit, a secretary of state, a brave soldier, and an esquire. The first presented him with a book of meditations; the second with political discourses; the third with orations of bravely fought battles; the fourth was his own follower, to whom the other three imparted much of their purpose before the earl came in. "Another," adds Mr. Whyte, "devised with him, persuading him to this and that course of life, according to their inclinations. Comes into the Tilt-yard unthought upon, the ordinary postboy of London, a ragged villain, all bemired, upon a poor lean jade, galloping and blowing for life, and delivered the secretary a packet of letters, which he presently offered my Lord of Essex. And with this dumb show our eyes were fed for that time. In the after-supper, before the queen, they first delivered a well penned speech to move this worthy knight to leave his following of love, and to betake him to heavenly meditation; the secretaries all tending to have him follow matters of state; the soldiers persuading him to the war: but the squire answered them all, and concluded with an excellent, but too plain, English, that this knight would never forsake his mistress's love, whose virtue made all his thoughts divine; whose wisdom taught him all true policy; whose beauty and worth were at all times able to make him fit to command armies. He showed all the defects and imperfections of all their times; and, therefore, thought his course of life to be best in serving his mistress." Mr. Whyte then mentions, that the part of the old hermit was performed by him, who, at Cambridge, played that of Giraldi; that Morley acted the secretary; and that the soldier was represented by him who acted the pedant, and that Mr. Tobie Matthew was the squire. "The world," says Mr. Whyte, "makes many untrue constructions of these speeches, comparing the hermit and the secretary to two of the lords; and the soldier to Sir Roger Williams. But the queen said, that if she had thought there had been so much said of her, she would not have been there that night;' and so went to bed."

soldier, and a busy, tedious secretary. His petition is, that he may be as free as the rest; and, at least, while he is here, troubled with nothing but with care how to please and honour you.

THE HERMIT'S SPEECH IN THE PRESENCE.

THOUGH Our ends be diverse, and therefore may be one more just than another; yet the complaint of this squire is general, and therefore alike unjust against us all. Albeit he is angry, that we offer ourselves to his master uncalled, and forgets we come not of ourselves, but as the messengers of self-love, from whom all that comes should be well taken. He saith, when we come, we are importunate. If he mean, that we err in form, we have that of his master, who, being a lover, useth no other form of soliciting. If he will charge us to err in matter, I, for my part, will presently prove that I persuade him to nothing but for his own good. For I wish him to leave turning over the book of fortune, which is but a play for children; when there be so many books of truth and knowledge, better worthy the revolving; and not fix his view only upon a picture in a little table, when there be so many tables of histories, yea, to life, excellent to behold and admire. Whether he believe me or no, there is no prison to the prison of the thoughts, which are free under the greatest tyrants.

Shall any man make his conceit, as an anchor, mured up with the compass of one beauty or person, that may have the liberty of all contemplation? Shall he exchange the sweet travelling through the universal variety, for one wearisome and endless round or labyrinth? Let thy It master, squire, offer his service to the muses. is long since they received any into their court. They give alms continually at their gate, that many come to live upon; but few they have ever admitted into their palace. There shall he find secrets not dangerous to know; sides and parties not factious to hold; precepts and commandments

2 v2

533

not penal to disobey. The gardens of love, wherein he now placeth himself, are fresh to-day, and fading to-morrow, as the sun comforts them, or is turned from them. But the gardens of the muses keep the privilege of the golden age; they ever flourish, and are in league with time. The monuments of wit survive the monuments of power. The verses of a poet endure without a syllable lost, while states and empires pass many periods. Let him not think he shall descend; for he is now upon a hill, as a ship is mounted upon the ridge of a wave; but that hill of the muses is above tempests, always clear and calm; a hill of the goodliest discovery that man can have, being a prospect upon all the errors and wanderings of the present and former times. Yea, in some cliff it leadeth the eye beyond the horizon of time, and giveth no obscure divinations of times to come. So that if he will indeed lead vitam vitalem, a life that unites safety and dignity, pleasure and merit; if he will win admiration without envy; if he will be in the feast, and not in the throng; in the light, and not in the heat; let him embrace the life of study and contemplation. And if he will accept of no other reason, yet because the gift of the muses will enworthy him in love, and where he now looks on his mistress's outside with the eyes of sense, which are dazzled and amazed, he shall then behold her high perfections and heavenly mind with the eyes of judgment, which grow stronger by more nearly and more directly viewing such an object.

THE SOLDIER'S SPEECH.

SQUIRE, the good old man hath said well to you; but I dare say, thou wouldst be sorry to leave to carry thy master's shield, and to carry his books: and I am sure thy master had rather be a falcon, a bird of prey, than a singing bird in a cage. The muses are to serve martial men, to sing their famous actions; and not to be served by them. Then hearken to me.

It is the war that giveth all spirits of valour, not only honour, but contentment. For mark, whether ever you did see a man grown to any honourable commandment in the wars, but, whensoever he gave it over, he was ready to die with melancholy? Such a sweet felicity is in that noble exercise, that he, that hath tasted it thoroughly, is distasted for all other. And no inarvel; for if the hunter takes such solace in his chase; if the matches and wagers of sport pass away with satisfaction and delight; if the looker on be affected with pleasure in the representation of a feigned tragedy; think what contentment a man receiveth, when they, that are equal to him in nature, from the height of insolency and fury are brought to the condition of a chased prey; when a victory is obtained, whereof the victories

of games are but counterfeits and shadows; and when, in a lively tragedy, a man's enemies are sacrificed before his eyes to his fortune.

Then, for the dignity of military profession, is it not the truest and perfectest practice of all virtues? of wisdom, in disposing those things, which are most subject to confusion and accident; of justice, in continual distributing rewards; of temperance, in exercising of the straightest discipline; of fortitude, in toleration of all labours and abstinence from effeminate delights; of constancy, in bearing and digesting the greatest variety of fortune. So that when all other places and professions require but their several virtues, a brave leader in the wars must be accomplished with all. It is the wars, that are the tribunal seat, where the highest rights and possessions are decided; the occupation of kings, the root of nobility, the protection of all estates. And, lastly, lovers never thought their profession sufficiently graced, till they have compared it to a warfare. All that in any other profession can be wished for, is but to live happily: but to be a brave commander in the field, death itself doth crown the head with glory. Therefore, squire, let thy master go with me: and though he be resolved in the pursuit of his love, let him aspire to it by the noblest means. For ladies count it no honour to subdue them with their fairest eyes, which will be daunted with the fierce encounter of an enemy. And they will quickly discern a champion fit to wear their glove from a page not worthy to carry their pantofle. Therefore, I say again, let him seek his fortune in the field, where he may either lose his love, or find new argument to advance it.

THE STATESMAN'S SPEECH.

SQUIRE, my advice to thy master shall be as a token wrapped up in words; but then will it show itself fair, when it is unfolded in his actions. To wish him to change from one humour to another, were but as if, for the cure of a man in pain, one should advise him to lie upon the other side, but not enable him to stand on his feet. If from a sanguine, delightful humour of love, he turn to a melancholy, retired humour of contemplation, or a turbulent, boiling humour of the wars; what doth he but change tyrants? Contemplation is a dream; love a trance; and the humour of a war is raving. These be shifts of humour, but no reclaiming to reason. I debar him not studies nor books, to give him stay and variety of conceit, to refresh his mind, to cover sloth and indisposition, and to draw to him from those that are studious, respect and commendation. But let him beware, lest they possess not too much of his time; that they abstract not his judgment from present experience, nor make him presume upon knowing

much, to apply the less. For the wars, I deny him no enterprise, that shall be worthy in greatness, likely in success, or necessary in duty; not mixed with any circumstance of jealousy, but duly laid upon him. But I would not have him take the alarm from his own humour, but from the occasion; and I would again he should know an employment from a discourting. And for his love, let it not disarm his heart within, as it make him too credulous to favours, nor too tender to unkindnesses, nor too apt to depend upon the heart he knows not. Nay, in his demonstration of love, let him not go too far; for these seely lovers, when they profess such infinite affection and obligation, they tax themselves at so high a rate, that they are ever under arrest. It makes their service seem nothing, and every cavil or imputation very great. But what, Squire, is thy master's end? If to make the prince happy he serves, let the instructions to employ men, the relations of ambassadors, the treaties between princes, and actions of the present time, be the books he reads; let the orations of wise princes, or experimented counsellors in council or Parliament, and the final sentences of grave and learned judges in weighty and doubtful causes, be the lecturers he frequents. Let the holding of affection with confederates without charge, the frustrating of the attempts of enemies without battles, the entitling of the crown to new possessions without show of wrong, the filling of the prince's coffers without violence, the keeping of men in appetite without impatience, be the inventions he seeks out. Let policy and matters of state be the chief, and almost the only thing, he intends. But if he will believe Philautia, and seek most his own happiness, he must not of them embrace all kinds, but make choice, and avoid all matter of peril, displeasure, and charge, and turn them over to some novices, that know not manacles from bracelets, nor burdens from robes. For himself, let him set for matters of commodity and strength, though they be joined with envy. Let him not trouble himself too laboriously to sound into any matter deeply, or to execute any thing exactly; but let himself make himself cunning rather in the humours and drifts of persons, than in the nature of business and affairs. Of that it sufficeth to know only so much, as may make him able to make use of other men's wits, and to make again a smooth and pleasing report. Let him entertain the proposition of others, and ever rather let him nave an eye to the circumstances, than to the matter itself; for then shall he ever seem to add somewhat of his own; and, besides, when a man doth not forget so much as a circumstance, men do think his wit doth superabound for the substance. In his councils let him not be confident; for that will rather make him obnoxious to the success; but let him follow the wisdom of oracles, which uttered that which might ever be applied to the

event. And ever rather let him take the side which is likeliest to be followed, than that which is soundest and best, that every thing may seem to be carried by his direction. To conclude, let him be true to himself, and avoid all tedious reaches of state, that are not merely pertinent to his particular. And if he will needs pursue his affection, and go on his course, what can so much advance him in his own way? The merit of war is too outwardly glorious to be inwardly grateful; and it is the exile of his eyes, which, looking with such affection upon the picture, cannot but with infinite contentment behold the life. But when his mistress shall perceive, that his endeavours are become a true support of her, a discharge of her care a watchman of her person, a scholar of her wisdom, an instrument of her operation, and a conduit of her virtue; this, with his diligences, accesses, humility, and patience, may move him to give her further degrees and approaches to her favour. So that I conclude, I have traced him the way to that, which hath been granted to some few amare et sapere, to love and be wise.

THE REPLY OF THE SQUIRE.

WANDERING hermit, storming soldier, and hollow statesman, the enchanting orators of Philautia, which have attempted by your high charms to turn resolved Erophilus into a statue deprived of action, or into a vulture attending about dead bodies, or into a monster with a double heart; with infinite assurance, but with just indignation, and forced patience, I have suffered you to bring in play your whole forces. For I would not vouchsafe to combat you one by one, as if I trusted to the goodness of my breath, and not the goodness of my strength, which little needeth the advantage of your severing, and much less of your disagreeing. Therefore, first, I would know of you all what assurance you have of the fruit whereto you aspire.

You, father, that pretend to truth and knowledge, how are you assured that you adore not vain chimeras and imaginations? that in your high prospect, when you think men wander up and down, that they stand not indeed still in their place, and it is some smoke or cloud between you and them, which moveth, or else the dazzling of your own eyes? Have not many, which take themselves to be inward counsellors with nature, proved but idle believers, which told us tales, which were no such matter? And, soldier, what security have you for these victories and garlands which you promise to yourself? Know you not of many, which have made provision of laurel for the victory, and have been fain to exchange it with cypress for the funeral? of many which have bespoken fame to sound their triumpns, and have been