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GEORGE CAVENDISH.

if it does not rise from a perfect health, to be a state of stupidity rather than of pleasure. There has been a controversy in this matter very narrowly canvassed among them: Whether a firm and entire health could be called a pleasure or not? Some have thought that there was no pleasure but that which was excited by some sensible motion in the body. But this opinion has been long run down among them, so that now they do almost all agree in this, that health is the greatest of all bodily pleasures; and that, as there is a pain in sickness, which is as opposite in its nature to pleasure as sickness itself is to health, so they hold that health carries a pleasure along with it. And if any should say that sickness is not really a pain, but that it only carries a pain along with it, they look upon that as a fetch of subtility that does not much alter the matter. So they think it is all one whether it be said that health is in itself a pleasure, or that it begets a pleasure, as fire gives heat, so it be granted that all those whose health is entire have a true pleasure in it; and they reason thus: What is the pleasure of eating, but that a man's health which had been weakened, does, with the assistance of food, drive away hunger, and so recruiting itself, recovers its former vigour? And being thus refreshed, it finds a pleasure in that conflict. And if the conflict is pleasure, the victory must yet breed a greater pleasure, except we will fancy that it becomes stupid as soon as it has obtained that which it pursued, and so does neither know nor rejoice in its own welfare.

If it is said that health cannot be felt, they absolutely deny that: for what man is in health that does not perceive it when he is awake? Is there any man that is so dull and stupid as not to acknowledge that he feels a delight in health ? And what is delight but another name for pleasure?

But of all pleasures, they esteem those to be the most valuable that lie in the mind; and the chief of these are those that arise out of true virtue, and the witness of a good conscience. They account health the chief pleasure that belongs to the body; for they think that the pleasure of eating and drinking, and all the other delights of the body, are only so far desirable as they give or maintain health. But they are not pleasant in themselves, otherwise than as they resist those impressions that our natural infirmity is still making upon us; and as a wise man desires rather to avoid diseases than take physic, and to be freed from pain rather than to find ease by remedies, so it were a more desirable state not to need this sort of pleasure than to be obliged to indulge it. And if any man imagine that there is a real hap

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piness in this pleasure, he must then confess that he would be the happiest of all men if he were to lead his life in a perpetual hunger, thirst, and itching, and by consequence in perpetual eating, drinking, and scratching himself; which any one may easily see would be not only a base, but a miserable state of life. These are, indeed, the lowest of pleasures, and the least pure; for we can never relish them but where they are mixed with the contrary pains. The pain of hunger must give us the pleasure of eating; and here the pain outbalances the pleasure; and as the pain is more vehement, so it lasts much longer: for, as it is upon us before the pleasure comes, so it does not cease but with the pleasure that extinguishes it, and that goes off with it: so that they think none of those pleasures are to be valued but as they are necessary. Yet they rejoice in them, and with due gratitude acknowledge the tenderness of the great author of nature, who has planted in us appetites, by which these things that are necessary for our preservation are likewise made pleasant to us. how miserable a thing would life be, if these daily diseases of hunger and thirst were to be carried off by such bitter drugs as we must use for those diseases that return seldomer upon us!

For

GEORGE CAVENDISH, gentleman-usher to Cardinal Wolsey, and in MS. a life of his first-named master, ensubsequently to Henry VIII., died 1557, left titled, "The Negotiations of Woolsey, the Great Cardinal of England," Lond., 1641, 4to.

"There is a sincere and impartial adherence to truth, a reality, in Cavendish's narrative, which bespeaks the confidence of his reader, and very much increases his pleasure. It is a work without pretension, but full of natural eloquence, devoid of spoiled by the affectation of that classical manner the formality of a set rhetorical composition, unin which all biography and history of old time was prescribed to be written, and which often divests such records of the attraction to be found in the conversational style of Cavendish. . . . Our great poet has literally followed him in several passages of his King Henry VIII., merely putting his Add to this the historical language into verse.

importance of the work, as the only sure and authentic source of information upon many of the most interesting events of that reign; and from which all historians have largely drawn (through the secondary medium of Holinshed and Stowe, who adopted Cavendish's narrative), and its intrinsic value need not be more fully expressed.”— S. W. SINGER: The Life of Cardinal Wolsey, and Metrical Versions from the Original Autograph Manuscript, with Notes and other Illustrations. Chiswick, 1825, 2 vols. 8vo, 1. p. 50 copies.

CAVENDISH'S ACCOUNT OF KING HENRY'S

VISITS TO WOLSEY'S HOUSE.

And when it pleased the king's majesty, for his recreation, to repair unto the cardinal's house, as he did divers times in the year, at which time there wanted no preparations or goodly furniture, with viands of the finest sort that might be provided for money or friendship; such pleasures were then devised for the king's comfort and consolation as might be invented, or by man's wit imagine 1. The banquets were set forth with masks and mummeries, in so gorgeous a sort and costly manner, that it was a heaven to behold. There wanted no dames or damsels, meet or apt to dance with the maskers, or to garnish the place for the time with other goodly disports. Then was there all kind of music and harmony set forth, with excellent voices both of men and children. I have seen the king suddenly come in thither in a mask, with a dozen of other maskers, all in garments like shepherds, made of fine cloth of gold, and fine crimson satin paned, and caps of the same, with visors of good proportion of visnomy; their hairs and beards either of fine gold wire, or else of silver, and some being of black silk; having sixteen torch-bearers; besides their drums, and other persons attending upon them with visors, and clothed all in satin, of the same colours. And at his coming, and before he came into the hall, ye shall understand that he came by water to the water-gate, without any noise, where, against his coming, were laid charged many chambers [short guns], and at his landing they were all shot off, which made such a rumble in the air that it was like thunder. It made all the noblemen, ladies, and gentlewomen to muse what it should mean coming so suddenly, they sitting quietly at a solemn banquet. Then, immediately after this great shot of guns, the cardinal desired the lord chamberlain and comptroller to look what this sudden shot should mean, as though he knew nothing of the matter. They thereupon looking out of the window into Thames, returned again, and showed him that it seemed to them there should be some noblemen and strangers arrived at his bridge, as ambassadors from some foreign prince. Then quoth the cardinal to my lord chamberlain, "I pray you," quoth he, "show them that it seemeth me that there should be among them some nobleman whom I suppose to be much more worthy of honour to sit and occupy this room and place than I; to whom I would most gladly, if I knew him, surrender my place according to my duty." Then spake my lord chamberlain unto them in French, declaring my lord cardinal's mind; and they

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rounding [whispering] them again in the ear, my lord chamberlain said to my lord cardinal, Sir, they confess," quoth he, that among them there is such a noble personage, whom, if your grace can appoint him from the other, he is contented to disclose himself, and to accept your place most worthily." With that, the cardinal, taking a good advisement among them, at the last, quoth he, "Me seemeth the gentleman with the black beard should be even he." And with that he arose out of his chair, and offered the same to the gentleman in the black beard, with his cap in his hand. The person to whom he offered then his chair was Sir Edward Neville, a comely knight, of a goodly personage, that much more resembled the king's person in that mask than any other. The king, hearing and perceiving the cardinal so deceived in his estimation and choice, could not forbear laughing; but plucked down his visor, and Master Neville's also, and dashed out with such a pleasant countenance and cheer, that all noble estates there assembled, seeing the king in there amongst them, rejoiced very much. The cardinal eftsoons desired his highness to take the place of estate, to whom the king answered that he would go first and shift his apparel; and so departed, and went straight into my lord's bedchamber, where was a great fire made and prepared for him, and there new-apparelled him with_rich and princely garments. And in the time of the king's absence the dishes of the banquet were clean taken up, and the table spread again with new and sweet-perfumed cloths; every man sitting still until the king and his maskers came in among them again, every man being newly apparelled. Then the king took his seat under the cloth of estate, commanding no man to remove, but sit still, as they did before. Then in came a new banquet before the king's majesty, and to all the rest through the tables, wherein, I suppose, were served two hundred dishes, or above, of wondrous costly meats and devices, subtilly devised.

Thus passed they forth the whole night with banquetting, dancing, and other triumphant devices, to the great comfort of the king, and pleasant regard of the nobility there assembled.

The Negotiations of Woolsey.

NICHOLAS RIDLEY,

born about 1505, became Bishop of Rochester 1547, Bishop of London 1550, and was burnt at the stake, with Bishop Latimer, at Oxford, Oct. 16, 1555.

NICHOLAS RIDLEY.

FROM RIDLEY'S PITEOUS LAMENTATION OF
THE MISERABLE ESTATE OF THE CHURCH
IN ENGLAND, IN THE TIME OF THE LATE
REVOLT FROM THE GOSPEL, 1566.

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Paul that he should be safely conducted out
of all danger, and brought to Felix, the
Emperor's deputy, whenas both the high
priests, the pharisees, and rulers of the Jews
had conspired to require judgment of death
against him, he being fast in prison, and
also more than forty men had sworn each
one to other that they would never eat nor
drink until they had slain Paul!
A thing
wonderful, that no reason could have in-
vented, or man could have looked for: God
provided Paul his own sister's son, a young
man, that disappointed that conspiracy and
all their former conjuration. The manner
how the thing came to pass, thou mayest
read in the twenty-third of the Acts: I will
not be tedious unto thee here with the re-

Now, to descend from the Apostles to the martyrs that followed next in Christ's church, and in them likewise to declare how gracious our good God ever hath been to work wonderfully with them which in his cause have been in extreme perils, it were a matter enough to write a long book. I will here name but one man and one woman, that is, Athanasias, the great clerk and godly man, stoutly standing in Christ's cause against the Arians; and that holy woman, Blandina, so constantly in all extreme pains, in the simple confession of Christ. If thou wilt have examples of more, look and thou shalt have both these and a hundred more in Ecclesiastica Historia of Eusebius, and in Tripartita Historia. But for all these examples, both of holy Scripture and of other histories, I fear me the weak man of God, encumbered with the frailty and infirmity of the flesh, will have now and then such thoughts and qualms (as they call them) to run over his heart, and to think thus: All these things which are rehearsed out of the Scripture, I believe to be true, and of the rest truly I do think well, and can believe them also to be true; but all these we must needs grant were special miracles of God, which now in our hands are ceased, we see, and to require them of God's hands, were it not to tempt God?

Of God's gracious aid in extreme perils toward them that put their trust in him, all Scripture is full both old and new. What dangers were the patriarchs often brought into, as Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but of all other Joseph; and how mercifully were they delivered again! In what perils was Moses when he was fain to fly for the safeguard of his life! And when was he sent again to deliver the Israelites from the servile bondage? Not before they were brought into extreme misery. And when did the Lord mightily deliver his people from Pha-hearsal thereof. raoh's sword? Not before they were brought into such straits that they were so compassed on every side (the main sea on the one side, and the main host on the other), that they could look for none other, (yea, what did they else look for then?) but either to have been drowned in the sea, or else to have fallen on the edge of Pharaoh his sword. Those judges which wrought most wonderful things in the delivery of the people were ever given when the people were brought to most misery before, as Othoniel, Aioth [Ehud], Sangar, Gedeon, Jepthah, Samson. And so was Saul endued with strength and boldness from above, against the Ammonites, Philistines, and Amalechites, for the defence of the people of God. David likewise felt God's help, most sensibly ever in his extreme persecutions. What shall I speak of the Prophets of God, whom God suffered so oft to be brought into extreme perils, and so mightily delivered them again; as Helias, Heremy, Daniel, Micheas, and Tonas, and many others, whom it were but 100 long to rehearse and set out at large? And did the Lord use his servants otherwise in the new law after Christ's incarnation? Read the Acts of the Apostles and you shall Were not the Apostles cast into prison, and brought out by the mighty hand of God? Did not the angel deliver Peter out of the strong prison, and bring him out by the iron gates of the city, and set him free? And when, I pray you? Even the same night before Herod appointed to have brought him in judgment for to have slain him, as he had a little before killed James, the brother of John. Paul and Silas, when after they had been sore scourged, and were put into the inner prison, and there were held fast in the stocks; I pray you what appearance was there that the magistrates should be glad to come the next day themselves to them, to desire them to be content, and to depart in peace? Who provided for

see, no.

Well-beloved brother, I grant such were great wonderful works of God, and we have not seen many such miracles in our time, either for that our sight is not clear (for truly God worketh with us his part in all times) or else because we have not the like faith of them for whose cause God wrought such things, or because after that he had set forth the truth of his doctrine by such miracles then sufficiently, the time of so many miracles to be done was expired withal. Which of these is the most special cause of all other, or whether there be any other, God knoweth: I leave that to God. Bu

[he meaneth truly learned in God's law] shall teach many, and shall fall upon the sword, and in the flame [that is, shall be burnt in the flaming fire], and in captivity [that is, shall be in prison], and be spoiled and robbed of their goods for a long season." And after a little, in the same place of Daniel, it followeth: "And of the learned there be which shall fall or be overthrown, that they may be known, tried, chosen, and be

scoured anew, picked and chosen, and made fresh and lusty. If that, then, was foreseen for to be done to the godly learned, and for so gracious causes, let every one to whom any such thing by the will of God doth chance, be merry in God and rejoice, for it is to God's glory and to his own everlasting wealth. Wherefore well is he that ever he was born, for whom thus graciously God hath provided, having grace of God, and strength of the Holy Ghost, to stand steadfastly in the height of the storm. Happy is he that ever he was born whom God, his heavenly Father, hath vouchsafed to appoint to glorify him, and to edify his church by the effusion of his blood.

know thou this, my well-beloved in God, that God's hand is as strong as ever it was; he may do what his gracious pleasure is, and he is as good and gracious as ever he was. Man changeth as the garment doth; but God, our heavenly Father, is even the same now that he was, and shall be for evermore. The world without doubt (this I do believe, and therefore I say) draweth towards an end, and in all ages God hath had his own manner, after his secret and unsearch-made white"-he meaneth be burnished and able wisdom, to use his elect: sometimes to deliver them, and to keep them safe; and sometimes to suffer them to drink of Christ's cup, that is, to feel the smart, and to feel of the whip. And though the flesh smarteth at the one, and feeleth ease in the other, is glad of the one, and sore vexed in the other; yet the Lord is all one towards them in both, and loveth them no less when he suffereth them to be beaten, yea, and to be put to bodily death, than when he worketh wonders for their marvellous delivery. Nay, rather he doth more for them, when in anguish of the torments he standeth by them, and strengtheneth them in their faith, to suffer in the confession of the truth and his faith the bitter pains of death, than when he openeth the prison doors and letteth them go loose for here he doth but respite them to another time, and leaveth them in danger to fall in like peril again; and there he maketh them perfect, to be without danger, pain, or peril, after that for evermore: but this his love towards them, howsoever the world doth judge of it, it is all one, both when he delivereth and when he suffereth them to be put to death. He loved as well Peter and Paul, when (after they had, according to his blessed will, pleasure, and providence, finished their courses, and done their services appointed them by him here in preaching of his Gospel,) the one was beheaded, and the other was hanged or crucified of the cruel tyrant Nero (as the ecclesiastical history saith), as when he sent the angel to bring Peter out of prison, and for Paul's delivery he made all the doors of the prison to fly wide open, and the foundation of the same like an earthquake to tremble and shake.

Thinkest thou, O man of God, that Christ our Saviour had less affection to the first martyr, Stephen, because he suffered his enemies, even at the first conflict, to stone him to death? No, surely: nor James, John's brother, which was one of the three that Paul calleth primates or principals amongst the Apostles of Christ. He loved him never a whit the worse than he did the other, although he suffered Herod the tyrant's sword to cut off his head. Nay, doth not Daniel say, speaking of the cruelty of Antichrist his time: "And the learned

To die in Christ's cause is an high honour, to the which no man certainly shall or can aspire but to whom God vouchsafeth that dignity; for no man is allowed to presume for to take unto himself any office of honour but he which is thereunto called of God. Therefore John saith well, speaking of them which have obtained the victory by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of his testimony, that they loved not their lives even unto death.

ROGER ASCHAM,

tutor to the Princess Elizabeth, and Latin secretary to Edward VI., Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth, was born in or about 1515, and died 1568.

"He had a facile and fluent Latin style (not like those who, counting obscurity to be elegancy, weed out all the hard words they meet in authors): witness his Epistles,' which some say are the only Latin ones extant of any Englishman, and if so,

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the more the pity. What loads have we of letters from foreign pens, as if no author were complete without those necessary appurtenances! Whilst surely our Englishmen write (though not so many) as good as any other nation. In a word, his Toxophilus' is accounted a good book for young men, his Schoolmaster' for old men, his Epistles' for all men."-FULLER: Worthies of England. EXTRACTS FROM ASCHAM'S SCHOOLMASTER, Lond., 1570, 4to.

It is a pity that commonly more care is had, and that among very wise men, to find

ROGER ASCIIAM.

out rather a cunning man for their horse, than a cunning man for their children. To the one they will gladly give a stipend of 200 crowns by the year, and loth to offer the other 200 shillings. God, that sitteth in heaven, laugheth their choice to scorn, and rewardeth their liberality as it should; for he suffereth them to have tame and wellordered horse, but wild and unfortunate children.

One example, whether love or fear doth work more in a child for virtue and learning, I will gladly report; which may be heard with some pleasure and followed with more profit. Before I went into Germany, I came to Broadgate, in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble Lady Jane Grey, to whom was exceedingly much beholden. Her parents, the duke and the duchess, with all the household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found her in her chamber, reading Phædon Platonis in Greek, and that with as much delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in Bocace. After salutation and duty done, with some other talk, I asked her why she would lose such pastime in the park? Smiling, she answered me, "I wiss, all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas! good folk, they never felt what true pleasure meant.' "And how came you, madam," quoth I, "to this deep knowledge of pleasure? And what did chiefly allure you unto it, seeing not many women, but very few men, have attained thereunto?" [Lady Jane was then in her 14th year.] "I will tell you," quoth she, "and tell you a truth which, perchance, ye will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that ever God gave me, is, that he sent me so sharp and severe parents, and so gentle a schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either of father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing any thing else, I must do it, as it were, in such weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly as God made the world, or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea, presently, sometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs, and other ways, which I will not name for the honour I bear them, so without measure misordered, that I think myself in hell till time come that I must go to Mr. Elmer; who teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with such fair allurements to learning, that I think all the time nothing whiles I am with him. And when I am called from him, I fall on weeping, because whatever I do else but learning, is full of grief, trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me. And thus my book hath been so

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much my pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more pleasure and more, that, in respect of it, all other pleasures, in very deed be but trifles and troubles unto me."

Learning teacheth more in one year than experience in twenty; and learning teacheth safely when experience maketh more miserable than wise. He hazardeth sore that waxeth wise by experience. An unhappy master he is that is made cunning by many shipwrecks; a miserable merchant that is neither rich nor wise but after some bankrouts. It is costly wisdom that is bought by experience. We know by experience itself that it is a marvellous pain to find out but a short way by long wandering. And surely, he that would prove wise by experience, he may be witty indeed, but even like a swift runner, that runneth fast out of his way, and upon the night, he knoweth not whither. And verily they be fewest in number that be happy or wise by unlearned experience. And look well upon the former life of those few, whether your example be old or young, who without learning have gathered by long experience a little wisdom and some happiness; and when you do consider what mischief they have committed, what dangers they have escaped (and yet twenty to one do perish in the adventure), then think well with yourself whether ye would that your own son should come to wisdom and happiness by the way of such experience or no.

It is a notable tale that old Sir Roger Chamloe, sometime chief justice, would tell of himself. When he was Ancient in inn of court certain young gentlemen were brought before him to be corrected for certain misorders; and one of the lustiest said, "Sir, we be young gentlemen; and wise men before us have proved all fashions, and yet those have done full well." This they said because it was well known Sir Roger had been a good fellow in his youth. But he answered them very wisely. "Indeed," saith he, "in my youth I was as you are now and I had twelve fellows like unto myself, but not one of them came to a good end. And therefore, follow not my example in youth, but follow my counsel in age, if ever ye think to come to this place, or to these years that I am come unto; less ye meet either with poverty or Tyburn in the way."

Thus, experience of all fashions in youth. being in proof always dangerous, in issue seldom lucky, is a way indeed to overmuch knowledge; yet used commonly of such men which be either carried by some curious affection of mind, or driven by some hard necessity of life, to hazard the trial of overmany perilous adventures.

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