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desire, whereby they incline to something which they may be; and when they are it, they shall be perfecter than now they are. All which perfections are contained under the general name of Goodness. And because there is not in the world any thing whereby another may not be made the perfecter, therefore all things that are, are good. Again, sith there can be no goodness desired, which proceedeth not from God himself, as from the supreme cause of all things, and every effect doth after a sort contain, at leastwise resemble the cause from which it proceedeth: all things in the world are said in some sort to seek the highest, and to covet more or less the participation of God himself; yet this doth no where so much appear, as it doth in Man, because there are so many kinds of perfection which Man seeketh.
XVIII. It is a very melancholy reflection, that men are usually so weak, that it is absolutely necessary for them to know sorrow and pain, to be in their right senses. Prosperous people (for happy there are none) are hurried away with a fond sense of their present condition, and thoughtless of the mutability of fortune. Fortune is a term which we must use in such discourses as these, for what is wrought by the unseen hand of the Disposer of all things. But methinks the disposition of a mind which is truly great is that which makes misfortunes and sorrows little when they befal ourselves, great and lamentable when they befal other men. The most unpardonable malefactor in the world going to his death, and bearing it with composure, would win the pity of those who should behold him; and this not because his calamity is deplorable, but because he seems himself not to deplore it. We suffer for him who is less sensible of his own misery, and are inclined to despise him who sinks under the weight of his distresses. On the other hand, without any touch of envy, a temperate and well-governed mind looks down on such as are exalted with success, with a certain shame for the imbecility of human nature, that can so far forget how liable it is to calamity, as to grow giddy with only the suspense of sorrow, which is the portion of all men.
Steele. XIX. The Perceptions of Sense. The perceptions of sense are gross; but even in the senses there is a difference. Though harmony and proportion are not objects of sense, yet the eye and the ear are organs, which offer to the mind such materials, by means whereof she may apprehend both the one and the other. By experiments of sense we become acquainted with the lower faculties of the soul; and from them, whether by a gradual evolution, or assent, we arrive at the highest. Sense supplies images to memory. These become subjects for fancy to work upon. Reason considers and judges of the imaginations. And these acts of reason become new objects to the understanding. In this scale, each lower faculty is a step that leads to one above it. And the uppermost naturally lead to the Deity, which is rather the object of intellectual knowledge than even of the discursive faculty, not to mention the sensitive. There runs a chain throughout the whole system of beings. In this chain one link drags another. The meanest things are connected with the highest.
With the return of the heroes from Troy to their own lands, the mythic history of Greece may be said to terminate. For the migration of the Dorians, commonly called the Return of the Heracleids, though mingled with many fabulous circumstances, is to be regarded as a portion of true history. From this time forward, the gods cease to appear visibly among men and to mingle in their affairs. The oracle and the soothsayer alone remain to give to events a tinge of the supernatural. The wonderful is now confined to the display of human powers and virtues, to the heroism of an Aristomenes, the self-devotion of a Codrus. To the purely mythic age succeeds one, in which truth struggles against fable and prevails over it. This reaches to the end of the Persian war : its chief record is the captivating story of Herodotus. After this period, Grecian history becomes contemporary, and as credible as any history exposed to the influence of party spirit and local prejudices.
Siege of Naples. BELISARIUS accordingly invested it both by sea and land; and obtained, by capitulation, a castle serving as an outwork to the suburbs.
Meanwhile a deputation from the Neapolitans endeavoured to dissuade him from his enterprise. Their spokesman, whose name was Stephen, represented that the native inhabitants were withheld by the Gothic soldiers from displaying their feelings in his favour, and that these soldiers, having left behind them, at the mercy of Theodotus, their wives, their children, and their property, could not surrender the city without incurring the certain vengeance of the tyrant.
* And what benefit,' he added, 'could ensue to the imperial army from our forcible subjection? Should you succeed in your subsequent attempts upon the capital, the possession of Naples will naturally, and without effort, follow that of Rome; should you on the contrary, as is not improbable, be worsted, your conquest of this city would be useless, and its preservation impossible.'
Whether or not,' replied the Roman general, the siege I have undertaken be expedient, is not for the citizens of the invested city to determine; but it is on the situation of your own affairs, and the alternatives now offered to you, that I desire your deliberation. Do not close your gates against an expedition aiming to vindicate Italian freedom, and your own amongst the rest, nor prefer a barbarian bondage to the laws and liberties of Rome.'
Richard XXX. THE historians who favour Richard (for even this tyrant has met with partisans among the later writers) maintain, that he was well qualified for government, had he legally obtained it; and that he committed no crimes but such as were necessary to procure him possession of the crown. But this is a poor apology, when it is confessed that he was ready to commit the most horrid crimes which appeared necessary for that purpose; and it is certain, that all his courage and capacity, qualities in which he really seems not to have been deficient, would never have made compensation to the people for the danger of the precedent, and for
the contagious example of vice and murder, exalted upon the throne. This prince was of a small stature, hump-backed, and had a harsh disagreeable countenance; so that his body was in every particular no less deformed than his mind,
XXIII. Perkin Marbeck his design on Kent. THERE he cast anchor, and to prooue the affections of the people, sent some of his men to land, making great boasts of the power that was to follow. The Kentish men perceiuing that Perkin was not followed by any English of name or accompt, and that his forces consisted but of strangers borne, and most of them base people, and free-booters, fitter to spoyle a coast, than to recouer a kingdome; resorting vnto the principall gentlemen of the countrie, professed their loyaltie to the King, and desired to bee directed and commanded for the best of the King's seruice. The gentlemen entring into consultation, directed some forces in good number, to shew themselues vpon the coast; and some of them to make signes, to entise Perkins' souldiers to land, as if they would ioyne with them; and some others to appeare from some other places, and to make semblance as if they fled from them, the better to encourage them to land. But Perkin, (who by playing the prince, or else taught by Secretarie Frion, had learned thus much; that people vnder command, doe vse to consult, and after to march in order, and rebells contrariwise runne vpon an heade together in confusion) considering the delay of time, and obseruing their orderly, and not tumultuary arming, doubted the worst. And therefore the wily youth would