No More Learning

_Fa. _ I mean the Body that is felt.

_Eu. _ Nay, those Bodies that are not to be felt are the most perfect
Bodies, as God and the Angels.

_Fa. _ I have heard that God and Angels are Spirits, but we feel the
Spirit.

_Eu. _ The Holy Scriptures condescend to those low Expressions, because
of the Dullness of Men, to signify a Mind pure from all Commerce of
sensible Things.

_Fa. _ Then what is the Difference between an Angel and a Mind?

_Eu. _ The same that is between a Snail and a Cockle, or, if you like the
Comparison better, a Tortoise.

_Fa. _ Then the Body is rather the Habitation of the Mind than the
Instrument of it.

_Eu. _ There is no Absurdity in calling an adjunct Instrument an
Habitation. Philosophers are divided in their Opinions about this. Some
call the Body the Garment of the Soul, some the House, some the
Instrument, and some the Harmony; call it by which of these you will, it
will follow that the Actions of the Mind are impeded by the Affections
of the Body. In the first Place, if the Body is to the Mind that which a
Garment is to the Body, the Garment of _Hercules_ informs us how much a
Garment contributes to the Health of the Body, not to take any Notice of
Colours of Hairs or of Skins. But as to that Question, whether one and
the same Soul is capable of wearing out many Bodies, it shall be left to
_Pythagoras_.

_Fa. _ If, according to _Pythagoras_, we could make Use of Change of
Bodies, as we do of Apparel, it would be convenient to take a fat Body,
and of a thick Texture, in Winter Time, and a thinner and lighter Body
in Summer Time.

_Eu. _ But I am of the Opinion, that if we wore out our Body at last as
we do our Cloaths; it would not be convenient; for so having worn out
many Bodies, the Soul itself would grow old and die.

_Fa. _ It would not truly.

_Eu. _ As the Sort of Garment that is worn hath an Influence on the
Health and Agility of the Body, so it is of great Moment what Body the
Soul wears.

_Fa. _ If indeed the Body is the Garment of the Soul, I see a great many
that are dress'd after a very different Manner.

_Eu. _ Right, and yet some Part of this Matter is in our own Power, how
conveniently our Souls shall be cloathed.

_Fa. _ Come, have done with the Garment, and say something concerning the
Habitation.

_Eu. _ But, _Fabulla_, that what I say to you mayn't be thought a
Fiction, the _Lord Jesus_ calls his Body a _Temple_, and the Apostle
_Peter_ calls his a _Tabernacle_. And there have been some that have
call'd the Body the Sepulchre of the Soul, supposing it was call'd
[Greek: sôma], as tho' it were [Greek: sêma]. Some call it the Prison of
the Mind, and some the Fortress or fortify'd Castle. The Minds of
Persons that are pure in every Part, dwell in the Temple. They whose
Minds are not taken up with the Love of corporeal Things, dwell in a
Tent, and are ready to come forth as soon as the Commander calls. The
Soul of those that are wholly blinded with Vice and Filthiness, so that
they never breathe after the Air of Gospel Liberty, lies in a Sepulchre.
But they that wrestle hard with their Vices, and can't yet be able to do
what they would do, their Soul dwells in a Prison, whence they
frequently cry out to the Deliverer of all, _Bring my Soul out of
Prison, that I may praise thy Name, O Lord. _ They who fight strenuously
with Satan, watching and guarding against his Snares, who goes about as
_a roaring Lion, seeking whom he may devour;_ their Soul is as it were
in a Garison, out of which they must not go without the General's Leave.

_Fa. _ If the Body be the Habitation or House of the Soul, I see a great
many whose Mind is very illy seated.

_Eu. _ It is so, that is to say, in Houses where it rains in, that are
dark, exposed to all Winds, that are smoaky, damp, decay'd, and ruinous,
and such as are filthy and infected: and yet _Cato_ accounts it the
principal Happiness of a Man, to dwell handsomly.

_Fa. _ It were tolerable, if there was any passing out of one House into
another.

_Eu. _ There's no going out before the Landlord calls out. But tho' we
can't go out, yet we may by our Art and Care make the Habitation of our
Mind commodious; as in a House the Windows are changed, the Floor taken
up, the Walls are either plaistered or wainscotted, and the Situation
may be purified with Fire or Perfume. But this is a very hard Matter, in
an old Body that is near its Ruin. But it is of great Advantage to the
Body of a Child, to take the Care of it that ought to be taken presently
after its Birth.

_Fa. _ You would have Mothers and Nurses to be Doctors.

_Eu. _ So indeed I would, as to the Choice and moderate Use of Meat,
Drink, Motion, Sleep, Baths, Unctions, Frictions, and Cloathings. How
many are there, think you, who are expos'd to grievous Diseases and
Vices, as Epilepsies, Leanness, Weakness, Deafness, broken Backs,
crooked Limbs, a weak Brain, disturbed Minds, and for no other Reason
than that their Nurses have not taken a due Care of them?

_Fa. _ I wonder you are not rather a _Franciscan_ than a Painter, who
preach so finely.

_Eu. _ When you are a Nun of the Order of St. _Clare_, then I'll be a
_Franciscan_, and preach to you.

_Fa. _ In Truth, I would fain know what the Soul is, about which we hear
so much, and talk of so often, and no Body has seen.

_Eu. _ Nay, every Body sees it that has Eyes.

_Fa. _ I see Souls painted in the Shape of little Infants, but why do
they put Wings to them as they do to Angels?

_Eu. _ Why, because, if we can give any Credit to the Fables of
_Socrates_, their Wings were broken by their falling from Heaven.

_Fa. _ How then are they said to fly up to Heaven?

_Eu. _ Because Faith and Charity make their Wings grow again. He that was
weary of this House of his Body, begg'd for these Wings, when he cry'd
out, _Who will give me the Wings of a Dove, that I may fly away, and be
at rest_. Nor has the Soul any other Wings, being incorporeal, nor any
Form that can be beheld by the Eyes of the Body. But those Things that
are perceiv'd by the Mind, are more certain. Do you believe the Being of
God?

_Fa. _ Yes, I do.

_Eu. _ But nothing is more invisible than God.

_Fa. _ He is seen in the Works of Creation.

_Eu. _ In like Manner the Soul is seen in Action. If you would know how
it acts in a living Body, consider a dead Body. When you see a Man Feel,
See, Hear, Move, Understand, Remember and Reason, you see the Soul to be
in him with more Certainty than you see this Tankard; for one Sense may
be deceiv'd, but so many Proofs of the Senses cannot deceive you.

_Fa. _ Well then, if you can't shew me the Soul, paint it out to me, just
as you would the King, whom I never did see.

_Eu. _ I have _Aristotle_'s Definition ready for you.

_Fa. _ What is it? for they say he was a very good Decypherer of every
Thing.

_Eu. The Soul is the Act of an Organical, Physical Body, having Life_ in
Potentia.

_Fa. _ Why does he rather call it an _Act_ than a _Journey_ or _Way? _

_Eu. _ Here's no Regard either to Coachmen or Horsemen, but a bare
Definition of the Soul. And he calls the Form _Act_, the Nature of which
is to _act_, when it is the Property of Matter to _suffer_. For all
natural Motion of the Body proceeds from the Soul. And the Motion of the
Body is various.

_Fa. _ I take that in; but why does he add _of an Organical_?

_Eu. _ Because the Soul does nothing but by the Help of Organs, that is,
by the Instruments of the Body.

_Fa. _ Why does he say _Physical_?

_Eu. _ Because _Dædalus_ made such a Body to no Purpose; and therefore he
adds, _having Life_ in Potentia. Form does not act upon every Thing; but
upon a Body that is capable.

_Fa. _ What if an Angel should pass into the Body of a Man?

_Eu. _ He would act indeed, but not by the natural Organs, nor would he
give Life to the Body if the Soul was absent from it.

_Fa. _ Have I had all the Account that is to be given of the Soul?

_Eu. _ You have _Aristotle_'s Account of it.

_Fa. _ Indeed I have heard he was a very famous Philosopher, and I am
afraid that the College of Sages would prefer a Bill of Heresy against
me, if I should say any Thing against him; but else all that he has said
concerning the Soul of a Man, is as applicable to the Soul of an Ass or
an Ox.

_Eu. _ Nay, that's true, or to a Beetle or a Snail.

_Fa. _ What Difference then is there between the Soul of an Ox, and that
of a Man?

_Eu. _ They that say the Soul is nothing else but the Harmony of the
Qualities of the Body, would confess that there was no great Difference;
and that this Harmony being interrupted, the Souls of both of them do
perish. The Soul of a Man and an Ox is not distinguished; but that of an
Ox has less Knowledge than the Soul of a Man. And there are some Men to
be seen that have less Understanding than an Ox.

_Fa. _ In Truth, they have the Mind of an Ox.

_Eu. _ This indeed concerns you, that according to the Quality of your
Guittar, your Musick will be the sweeter.

_Fa. _ I own it.

_Eu. _ Nor is it of small Moment of what Wood, and in what Shape your
Guittar is made.

_Fa. _ Very true.

_Eu. _ Nor are Fiddle-Strings made of the Guts of every Animal.

_Fa. _ So I have heard.

_Eu. _ They grow slack or tight by the Moisture and Driness of the
circumambient Air, and will sometimes break.

_Fa. _ I have seen that more than once.

_Eu. _ On this Account you may do uncommon Service to your little
Infant, that his Mind may have an Instrument well tempered, and not
vitiated, nor relaxed by Sloth, nor squeaking with Wrath, nor hoarse
with intemperate drinking. For Education and Diet oftentimes impress us
with these Affections.

_Fa. _ I'll take your Counsel; but I want to hear how you can defend
_Aristotle_.

_Eu. _ He indeed in general describes the Soul, Animal, Vegetative, and
Sensitive. The Soul gives Life, but every Thing that has Life is not an
Animal. For Trees live, grow old, and die; but they have no Sense; tho'
some attribute to them a stupid Sort of Sense. In Things that adhere one
to another, there is no Sense to be perceived, but it is found in a
Sponge by those that pull it off. Hewers discover a Sense in
Timber-Trees, if we may believe them: For they say, that if you strike
the Trunk of a Tree that you design to hew down, with the Palm of your
Hand, as Wood-Mongers use to do, it will be harder to cut that Tree down
because it has contracted itself with Fear. But that which has Life and
Feeling is an Animal. But nothing hinders that which does not feel, from
being a Vegetable, as Mushrooms, Beets, and Coleworts.

_Fa. _ If they have a Sort of Life, a Sort of Sense, and Motion in their
growing, what hinders but that they may be honoured with the Title of
Animals?

_Eu. _ Why the Antients did not think fit to call them so, and we must
not deviate from their Ordinances, nor does it signify much as to what
we are upon.

_Fa. _ But I can't bear the Thoughts on't, that the Soul of a Beetle and
of a Man should be the same.

_Eu. _ Good Madam, it is not the same, saving in some Respects; your Soul
animates, vegetates, and renders your Body sensible; the Soul of the
Beetle animates his Body: For that some Things act one Way, and some
another, that the Soul of a Man acts differently from the Soul of a
Beetle, partly proceeds from the Matter; a Beetle neither sings nor
speaks, because it wants Organs fit for these Actions.

_Fa. _ Why then you say, that if the Soul of a Beetle should pass into
the Body of a Man, it would act as the human Soul does.

_Eu. _ Nay, I say not, if it were an angelical Soul: And there is no
Difference between an Angel and a human Soul, but that the Soul of a Man
was formed to act a human Body compos'd of natural Organs; and as the
Soul of a Beetle will move nothing but the Body of a Beetle, an Angel
was not made to animate a Body, but to be capable to understand without
bodily Organs.

_Fa. _ Can the Soul do the same Thing?

_Eu. _ It can indeed, when it is separated from the Body.

_Fa. _ Is it not at its own Disposal, while it is in the Body?

_Eu. _ No indeed, except something happen beside the common Course of
Nature.

_Fa. _ In Truth, instead of one Soul you have given me a great many; an
animal, a vegetative, a sensitive, an intelligent, a remembring, a
willing, an angry, and desiring: One was enough for me.

_Eu. _ There are different Actions of the same Soul, and these have
different Names.

_Fa. _ I don't well understand you.

_Eu. _ Well then, I'll make you understand me: You are a Wife in the
Bed-Chamber, in your Work-Shop a Weaver of Hangings, in your Warehouse a
Seller of them, in your Kitchen a Cook, among your Servants a Mistress,
and among your Children a Mother; and yet you are all these in the same
House.

_Fa. _ You philosophize very bluntly. Is then the Soul so in the Body as
I am in my House?

_Eu. _ It is.

_Fa. _ But while I am weaving in my Work-Shop, I am not cooking in my
Kitchen.

_Eu.
_ Nor are you all Soul, but a Soul carrying about a Body, and the
Body can't be in many Places at the same Time; but the Soul being a
simple Form, is so in the whole Body, tho' it does not act the same in
all Parts of the Body, nor after the same Manner, how differently
affected soever they are: For it understands and remembers in the Brain,
it is angry in the Heart, it lusts in the Liver, it hears with the Ears,
sees with the Eyes, smells with the Nose, it tastes in the Palate and
Tongue, and feels in all Parts of the Body which are adjoined to any
nervous Part: But it does not feel in the Hair, nor the Ends of the
Nails; neither do the Lungs feel of themselves, nor the Liver, nor
perhaps the Milt neither.

_Fa. _ So that in certain Parts of the Body it only animates and
vegetates.

_Eu. _ It should seem so.

_Fa. _ If one and the same Soul does all these Things in one and the same
Man, it follows of Consequence, that the _Foetus_ in the Womb of the
Mother, both feels and understands, as soon as it begins to grow; which
is a Sign of Life, unless a Man in his Formation has more Souls than
one, and afterwards the rest giving Place, one acts all. So that at
first a Man is a Plant, then an Animal, and lastly a Man.

_Eu. _ Perhaps _Aristotle_ would not think what you say absurd: I think
it is more probable, that the rational Soul is infus'd with the Life,
and that like a little Fire that is buried as it were under too great a
Quantity of green Wood, it cannot exert its Power.

_Fa. _ Why then is the Soul bound to the Body that it acts and moves?

_Eu. _ No otherwise than a Tortoise is bound or tied to the Shell that he
carries about.

_Fa. _ He does move it indeed; but so at the same Time that he moves
himself too, as a Pilot steers a Ship, turning it which Way he will, and
is at the same Time mov'd with it.

_Eu. _ Ay, and as a Squirrel turns his Wheel-Cage about, and is himself
carried about with it.

_Fa. _ And so the Soul affects the Body, and is affected by the Body.

_Eu. _ Yes indeed, as to its Operations.

_Fa. _ Why then, as to the Nature of it, the Soul of a Fool is equal to
the Soul of _Solomon_.

_Eu. _ There's no Absurdity in that.

_Fa. _ And so the Angels are equal, in as much as they are without
Matter, which, you say, is that which makes the Inequality.

_Eu. _ We have had Philosophy enough: Let Divines puzzle themselves about
these Things; let us discourse of those Matters that were first
mentioned. If you would be a compleat Mother, take Care of the Body of
your little Infant, so that after the little Fire of the Mind has
disengaged itself from the Vapours, it may have sound and fit Organs to
make Use of. As often as you hear your Child crying, think this with
yourself, he calls for this from me. When you look upon your Breasts,
those two little Fountains, turgid, and of their own Accord streaming
out a milky Juice, remember Nature puts you in Mind of your Duty: Or
else, when your Infant shall begin to speak, and with his pretty
Stammering shall call you _Mammy_, How can you hear it without blushing?
when you have refus'd to let him have it, and turn'd him off to a
hireling Nipple, as if you had committed him to a Goat or a Sheep. When
he is able to speak, what if, instead of calling you Mother, he should
call you Half-Mother? I suppose you would whip him: Altho' indeed she is
scarce Half a Mother that refuses to feed what she has brought into the
World. The nourishing of the tender Babe is the best Part of Geniture:
For he is not only fed by the Milk, but with the Fragrancy of the Body
of the Mother. He requires the same natural, familiar, accustomed
Moisture, that he drew in when in her Body, and by which he received his
Coalition. And I am of that Opinion, that the Genius of Children are
vitiated by the Nature of the Milk they suck, as the Juices of the Earth
change the Nature of those Plants and Fruits that it feeds. Do you think
there is no Foundation in Reason for this Saying, _He suck'd in this ill
Humour with the Nurse's Milk? _ Nor do I think the Greeks spoke without
Reason, when they said _like Nurses_, when they would intimate that any
one was starved at Nurse: For they put a little of what they chew into
the Child's Mouth, but the greatest Part goes down their own Throats.
And indeed she can hardly properly be said to bear a Child, that throws
it away as soon as she has brought it forth; that is to miscarry, and
the _Greek_ Etymology of [Greek: Mêtêr] from [Greek: mê têrein], _i. e. _
from not looking after, seems very well to suit such Mothers. For it is
a Sort of turning a little Infant out of Doors, to put it to a hireling
Nurse, while it is yet warm from the Mother.

_Fa. _ I would come over to your Opinion, unless such a Woman were
chosen, against whom there is nothing to be objected.

_Eu. _ Suppose it were of no Moment what Milk the little Infant suck'd,
what Spittle it swallow'd with its chew'd Victuals; and you had such a
Nurse, that I question whether there is such an one to be found; do you
think there is any one in the World will go through all the Fatigue of
Nursing as the Mother herself; the Bewrayings, the Sitting up a Nights,
the Crying, the Sickness, and the diligent Care in looking after it,
which can scarce be enough. If there can be one that loves like the
Mother, then she will take Care like a Mother. And besides, this will be
the Effect of it, that your Son won't love you so heartily, that native
Affection being as it were divided between two Mothers; nor will you
have the same Affection for your Son: So that when he is grown up, he
will neither be so obedient to you, nor will you have the same Regard
for him, perhaps perceiving in him the Disposition of his Nurse. The
principal Step to Advancement in Learning, is the mutual Love between
the Teacher and Scholar: So that if he does not lose any Thing of the
Fragrancy of his native good Temper, you will with the greater Ease be
able to instil into him the Precepts of a good Life. And a Mother can do
much in this Matter, in that she has pliable Matter to work upon, that
is easy to be carried any Way.

_Fa. _ I find it is not so easy a Thing to be a Mother, as it is
generally looked upon to be.

_Eu. _ If you can't depend upon what I say, St. _Paul_, speaking very
plainly of Women, says, _She shall be saved in Childbearing. _

_Fa. _ Are all the Women saved that bear Children?

_Eu. _ No, he adds, _if she continue in the Faith_. You have not
performed the Duty of a Mother before you have first formed the little
tender Body of your Son, and after that his Mind, equally soft, by a
good Education.

_Fa. _ But it is not in the Power of the Mother that the Children should
persevere in Piety.

_Eu. _ Perhaps it may not be; but a careful Admonition is of that Moment,
that _Paul_ accounts it imputable to Mothers, if the Children degenerate
from Piety. But in the last Place, if you do what is in your Power, God
will add his Assistance to your Diligence.

_Fa. _ Indeed _Eutrapelus_, your Discourse has persuaded me, if you can
but persuade my Parents and my Husband.

_Eu. _ Well, I'll take that upon me, if you will but lend your helping
Hand.

_Fa. _ I promise you I will.

_Eu. _ But mayn't a Body see this little Boy?

_Fa. _ Yes, that you may and welcome. Do you hear, _Syrisca_, bid the
Nurse bring the Child.

_Eu. _ 'Tis a very pretty Boy. It is a common Saying, there ought to be
Grains of Allowance given to the first Essay: But you upon the first
Trial have shewn the very highest Pitch of Art.

_Fa. _ Why, it is not a Piece of carved Work, that so much Art should be
required.

_Eu. _ That's true; but it is a Piece of cast Work. Well, let that be how
it will, it is well performed. I wish you could make as good Figures in
the Hangings that you weave.

_Fa. _ But you on the Contrary paint better than you beget.

_Eu. _ It so seems meet to Nature, to act equally by all. How solicitous
is Nature, that nothing should be lost! It has represented two Persons
in one; here's the Nose and Eyes of the Father, the Forehead and Chin of
the Mother Can you find in your Heart to entrust this dear Pledge to
the Fidelity of a Stranger? I think those to be doubly cruel that can
find in their Hearts so to do; because in doing so, they do not only do
this to the Hazard of the Child; but also of themselves too; because in
the Child, the spoiling of the Milk oftentimes brings dangerous
Diseases, and so it comes about, that while Care is taken to preserve
the Shape of one Body, the Lives of two Bodies are not regarded; and
while they provide against old Age coming on too early, they throw
themselves into a too early Death. What's the Boy's Name?

_Fa. Cornelius_.

_Eu. _ That's the Name of his Grand-Father by the Father's Side. I wish
he may imitate him in his unblemished Life and good Manners.

_Fa. _ We will do our Endeavour what in us lies. But, hark ye,
_Eutrapelus_, here is one Thing I would earnestly entreat of you.

_Eu. _ I am entirely at your Service; command what you will, I will
undertake it.

_Fa. _ Well then, I won't discharge you till you have finished the good
Service that you have begun.

_Eu. _ What's that?

_Fa. _ First of all, to give me Instructions how I may manage my Infant,
as to his Health, and when he is grown up, how I may form his Mind with
pious Principles.

_Eu. _ That I will readily do another Time, according to my Ability; but
that must be at our next Conversation: I will now go and prevail upon
your Husband and Parents.

_Fa. _ I wish you may succeed.

¶ A treatise
of Schemes & Tropes
very profytable
for the better vnderstanding of good
authors, gathered out of the best
Grammarians & Oratours
by Rychard Sherry Lon
doner.

Whervnto is added a declamacion,
That chyldren euen strayt frõ their
infancie should be well and gent-
ly broughte vp in learnynge.
Written fyrst in Latin
by the most excel-
lent and
famous Clearke, Erasmus
of Rotero-
dame.




That chyldren oughte to
be taught and brought vp gẽtly in
vertue and learnynge, and that
euen forthwyth from theyr na
tiuitie: A declamacion of
a briefe theme, by E-
rasmus of Rote-
rodame.


If thou wilt harken vnto me, or rather to Chrisippus,
the sharpeste witted of Philosophers, y^u shalte
prouide y^t thyne infante and yonge babe be forthewyth
instructed in good learnyng, whylest hys wyt is yet
voyde from tares and vices, whilest his age is tender
and tractable, and his mind flexible and ready to
folowe euery thyng, and also wyl kepe fast good
lessons and preceptes. For we remẽber nothynge so well
when we be olde, as those thynges y^t we learne in
yonge yeres. [Sidenote: Diuision of y^t confutaciõ]
Care not thou for those fooles wordes which chatter
that thys age, partly is not hable inough to receiue
discipline, & partlye vnmete to abyde the labours of
studies. For fyrst, the beginninges of learning, stãd
specially by memorie, which as I sayd, in yõg ones is
very holdfast. Secondly because nature hath made vs to
knowledge the study of y^t thynge can not be to hasty,
wherof y^e author of al thyng her self hath graffed in
vs y^e seedes. Beside this some thinges be necessary
to be knowẽ whẽ we be sũwhat elder, which by a certẽ
peculier readines of nature, y^e tender age perceiueth
both much more quickly, & also more esily thẽ doth y^e
elder, as y^e first beginnings of letters, y^e
knowledge of tõges, tales & fabels of poetes.
Finallye, why shulde y^t age be thought vnmete to
lerning, which is apt to lerne maners? Or what other
thinge shuld chyldrẽ do rather whẽ they be more able
to speake, seyng nedes thei muste do sumwhat? How much
more profite is it y^t age to sporte in letters, then
in trifles? Thou wilt say y^t it is but of litle value
y^t is done in those fyrste yeres. Why is it dispised
as a smal thing, which is necessary to a very greate
matter? And why is y^t lucre, be it neuer so litle,
yet a lucre, dispised of purpose? Now if you oftẽ put
a lytle to a litle, there riseth a greate heape.
Herewith cõsider this also, if beyng an infant he
lerne smaller thinges, he shalt lerne greter, growynge
vpwardes in those yeres, in which those smaller shuld
haue ben lerned. Finally whyle he doth these thinges,
at y^e least he shal be kept frõ those fautes, wherw^t
we se comẽly y^t age to be infected. For nothynge doth
better occupy y^e whole mynd of man, thẽ studies.
Verely this lucre ought not to be set light bi. But if
we shuld graũte that by these labours y^e strength of
y^e body is sumwhat diminished; yet thinke I this
losse well recõpensed by winnynge of wyt. For the
minde by moderate labours is made more quicke, &
lustye. And if ther be any ieopardy in this pointe, it
may be auoyded by our diligẽce. You must haue for this
tender age a teacher to enter it by fayre meanes,
& not discorage it by foule. And ther be also some
things both plesaũt to be knowen, & as it wer sibbe to
childrẽs wittes, whiche to lerne is rather a play thẽ
a labour. Howbeit childehod is not so weake which euẽ
for thys is y^e more mete to take paynes & labour,
because they fele not what labour is. Therfore if thou
wylte remember how far vnworthy he is to be counted a
mã which is void of learning, and how stirring the
life of man is, how slypper youth is to myschiefe, and
mans age howe it desyreth to be occupied, how baren
olde age is, and further how few come vnto it, thou
wylt not suffer thy yong babe in the whych thou shalte
lyue styll as it were borne agayne, to let go any
parte of hys tyme vnoccupied, in the whych any thynge
maye be gotten that eyther maye do muche good to all
y^e whole lyfe afterwardes, or kepe it awaye from
hurtes, and mischiefes.


The selfe same matter enlarged by copye.

After the longe despayred fruitfulnes of thy wyfe,
I hearsay thou art made a father, and that wyth a man
chylde, whyche sheweth in it selfe a meruelous
towardnes, and euen to be lyke the parentes: and
that if so be we maye by such markes and tokens
pronosticate anye thyng, maye seeme to promise perfite
vertue. And that therfore thou doest entend, to se
thys chylde of so grete hope, assone as he shalbe
somewhat of age to be begonne in good letters, and to
be taught in very honest learnynge, to be instructed
and fashioned with the very wholsome preceptes of
philosophy. In deede you wyll be the whole father, and
you wyll haue hym your very son, and to loke lyke you,
not only in the fashion of hys face, and liniamẽtes of
hys bodye, but also in the giftes of hys wytte. Verely
as I am hertelye glad for the good fortune of myne
especiall friende, so I greatlye alowe your wyse
entente. This one thynge I wolde warne you of boldlye
in deede, but louinglye, not to suffer after the
iudgemente and example of the cõmon people, that the
fyrst age of your infante shulde flytte awaye without
all fruite of good instrucciõ, and then at the last to
set hym to learne hys fyrste letters, when bothe hys
age wyll not so well be handled, and hys wytte shall
be more readye to euyll, and peraduenture possessed
alreadye w^t the fast holdyng bryers of vices. ¶ Yea
rather euẽ now loke about for some man, as of maners
pure & vncorrupt, so also wel learned: & into his lap
deliuer your litle chyld, as it wer to a nurse of hys
tẽder mind, that euẽ w^t his milke he may sucke in
swete lerning: & deuide the care of thy litle sõne to
his nurses & teacher that they shuld suckun the litle
body w^t very good iuyce, & so indue hys mynd w^t very
wholsom opinions, & very honest lernynge. For I thinke
it not conuenient that y^u one of al the best learned,
& also wysest shuldest geue care to those piuyshe
women, or vnto mẽ very lyke to thẽ the beard excepted,
whych by a cruell pytie, & hateful loue, iudge that
the chyldren euen vntyl they waxe springoldes, shuld
be kept at home kyssyng theyr mothers, and among the
sweete wordes of theyr nurses pastymes, and vnchaste
trystynges of seruauntes and maydens. And thynke that
they ought vtterlye to be kepte awaye from learnyng as
from venome, saying that the fyrst age is so rude that
it can receiue no discipline, and so tender that it is
not mete for the labours of studies: and finally that
the profite of that age is so lytle worth, that
neyther anye coste shulde be made vpon it, neyther y^t
the weakenes of the chyldrẽ shuld be vexed. Whyle I
proue euery of these thynges false, I pray you a lytle
whyle take hede, countyng as the truth is, fyrst that
these thynges be writtẽ of him which loueth you as wel
as any mã doth, & inespecially of y^t thing which so
perteineth to you, y^t none can do more. For what is
more derer to you thẽ your son, inespecial hauing but
him alone, vpon whõ we wold be glad if we might
bestowe yea our life, not only our substaũce. Wherfore
who mai not se y^t thei do leudly & also vntowardli
which in tilling their lãd building their houses,
keping their horse, vse y^e gretest diligẽce thei cã,
& take to counsell men y^t be wyse, & of great
experience: in bringing vp and teachynge theyr
chyldren, for whose sakes al other thinges ar gotten,
take so litle regard that nether they once councel
with theyr owne mynd, not seke for the iudgements of
wyse men, but as thoughe there were a trifle in hande,
geue care to folyshe women, and to euery rascal
wretche, whych is no lesse shame to hear, then if a
man taking thought for the shooe, wolde set naught by
the foote, or wyth great study wold prouide that there
shuld be no faut in the garmente, naught reckynge for
the healthe of the bodye. Good syr, I wyl not here
cause you to tarye wyth common places, howe muche the
strength of nature, how much fatherly loue, the law of
god, mens constitucions require the parentes to owe
vnto the childrẽ, thorowe whom asmuche as we maye wee
escape to dye, and be made to lyue euer. But some
thynke they haue gaylye done the office of a father,
when they haue only begottẽ chyldren, where as thys is
the least porcion of loue that the name of a father
requyreth. What greate thought take the mothers
comenlye leste the infant shulde loke a gogle or a
squint, lest he shuld be puffe cheked, wrie necked,
croke shuldred, croke legged, splaye footed, and lest
that the proporcion of his bodye shuld not be trimme
in euery point: whereunto besyde other thynges, they
be wont to vse swadelbondes, and keepe in their chekes
wyth lytle miters. They haue regard also to theyr
mylke, their meate, theyr bathes, & their mouinges,
by whyche thynges the phisicions in many bookes, and
inespeciall Galene hath taught that the chyldren get
good healthe of theyr bodye: neyther do they differ
thys diligẽce vnto the seuenth or tenth yere, but euẽ
assone as the chylde commeth oute of the mothers
wombe, they take greate charge of thys. And they do
well, for the infancie not regarded, oftentymes
causeth men to haue a syckely and sore disseased olde
age, if they happen to come to it. Yea moreouer or
euer the chyld be born, yet dothe the mother take
great heede: Thei eate not of euery meat when they be
greate with chylde, they take heede that they moue not
theyr bodie to hurte them: and if there happen any
thyng to fall vpon their face, by and by they take it
away wyth theyr hand, and laye it vpon the priuie
part of theyr body. It hath ben proued by many
experimentes, that by this remedie the deformitie
whych wold haue bene on that part of y^e body that is
sene, hathe lyen hyd in the secrete place. No mã
calleth this to hasty a care whych is vsed for the
worser parte of man. Why then is that parte of man,
wherby we be properly called menne, neglected so many
yeres? ¶ Shuld he not do all agaynste gods forbod which
wold trim his cap, lettyng his head be vnkempt, and
all scabbed? Yet much more vnreasonable is it that we
shuld bestow iuste labours vpon the mortall bodye, and
to haue no regarde of the immortal soule. Further, if
a mã haue at home an horse colte, or a whelpe of a
good kynd, wyl he not straight waye begynne to fashion
hym to do sumwhat, and wyll do that so muche the more
gladlye, the readyer the yonge age is to folow the
teachers mynde? Wee wyl teache a popiniaye while time
is, to speke as a manne dothe, knowynge well that the
elder he waxeth, the lesse apte he wyll be to be
taughte, yea the common prouerbe geuyng warnynge of
thys thynge: That an old popiniaye careth not for the
rod. ¶ And what a thynge is it to be diligente in a
byrde, and slowe in teachynge thy sonne? What do the
wytty husbandmen? Do they not teach euen straight way
the plãtes whyle they be yet tender, to put awaye
theyr wylde nature by graffynge, and wyll not tarye
tyll they be waxen bygge and myghtye? ¶ And they do not
onlye take heede that the litle tree grow not croked
or haue any other faute, but if ther be anye, they
make haste to amend it, whyle it wyll yet bowe, and
folowe the hande of the fashioner. ¶ And what liuyng
thynge, or what plante wyll bee as the owener or
housebande manne wolde haue it to serue for, excepte
oure dylygence helpe nature? The sooner it is donne,
the better will it come to passe.

¶ In dede to manye dumme beastes, nature the mother of
all thynges, hath geuen more helpe to do theyr natural
offices, but because the prouidẽce of God hath of al
creatures vnto men onlye geuen the strength of reason,
she hath left the greatest parte to educacion, in so
much that one hath written very wel the first poynte,
the middle, and the thirde, that is the chyefe of all
mans felicitye, to be good instruccion, & ryght
bryngynge vp. Whych prayse Demosthenes gaue to ryght
pronunciacion, and that in deede not falsely, but
ryghte bryngynge vp helpeth muche more to wysedome,
then pronunciation to eloquence. For diligente and
holy bringing vp, is the founteyne of al vertue. As to
folye and myschief, the fyrst, seconde, and thyrde
poynte, is vndiligente and corrupte educacion. Thys is
the thynge that is chiefelye lefte vnto vs. That is
the cause why vnto other beastes nature hathe geuen
swyftnes, flyght, sharpnes of sight, greatnes, and
strengthe of bodye, scales, flyshes, heares, hornes,
nayles, venome, wherby they may both defende their
healthe, and prouide for theyr liuynge, and brynge vp
their yonge: and bryngeth forthe man onlye softe,
naked, and vnfensed: but in stede of all thys, hath
geuen hym a mynde hable to receiue all discipline,
because in this onlye are all thynges, if a man wyll
exercise it. And euerye liuynge thynge, the lesse mete
it is to teachynge, so muche the more it hathe of
natiue prudence. Bees learne not to make their celles,
to gather iuce, and to make honye. The Emets are not
taughte to gather into their holes in somer, wherby
they shulde lyue in wynter, but all these thynges be
done by instruccion of nature. But man neyther can
eate, nor go, nor speake, except he be taught. Then if
the tree brynge forthe eyther no fruite or vnsauerye,
without the diligence of graffing, if the dogge be
vnmete to hunte, the horse vnapte to iuste, the oxe to
the plowe, except oure diligence bee putte to, howe
wylde and vnprofitable a creature wolde man become,
except diligẽtlye, and in dewe tyme he shulde be
fashioned by good bryngynge vp. ¶ I wyll not here
rehearse vnto you the example of Lycurgus knowen of
euerye man, whyche bryngynge oute two whelpes, one of
a gentle kynde, but euyll taughte, that ran to the
meate, that other of sluggyshe syres, but diligently
brought vp, that leafte the meate and leapt vpon the
beast. Nature is an effectuall thynge, but educacion
more effectuall, ouercommeth it. Menne take heede that
they maye haue a good dog to hunte, to haue a good
horse to iournei with, and here thei thynke no
diligence to be to hastie, but to haue a sonne that
shulde be both worship and profite to the parentes,
vpon whome they myghte laye a good part of the charges
of their houshold, whose loue mighte noryshe and beare
vp their vnweldy age, and y^t shuld shew hym self a
trustye and healpynge sonne in a lawe, a good husbande
to his wife, a valiaunte and profitable citizen to the
common wealthe, I saye to haue suche one, eyther they
take no care, or else they care to late. For whõ do
they plant? for whõ do they plowe? for whõ do they
buylde? for whõ do they hunt for riches both by land &
by sea? not for theyr chyldrẽ? But what profite or
worshyp is in these thinges, if he y^t shal be heire
of thẽ can not vse thẽ? With vnmesurable studye be
possessions gotten, but of the possessor we take no
kepe Who prepareth an harpe for the vnskylfull of
musycke? Who garnysheth a librarie for hym that can
skyl of no bookes? And are so great ryches gotten for
hym whyche can not tell howe to vse them? If thou
gettest these thynges to hym that is well broughte vp,
thou geueste hym instrumentes of vertue: but if thou
get them for a rude and rusticall wytte, what other
thynge doest thou then minister a matter of
wantonnesse and mischiefe? What canne bee thoughte
more folyshe then thys kynde of fathers? They prouide
that the bodie of the sonne maye be wythout faute, and
shulde bee made apte to do all manner thynges comelye,
but the mynde, by whose moderacion all honeste wyrkes
do stand, that they care not for.